Entertaining Angels {Hebrews 13:1-2}
/Let brotherly love continue.
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers,
for thereby some have entertained angels unawares
{Hebrews 13:1-2}
You don’t know their story, but you know grace.
/I mentioned yesterday that I’m limping. And that God is teaching me as I limp.
You see, my knee doesn’t bend on its own most of the time now. Over the weekend, the pain was excruciating, but right now it’s just uncomfortable and inconvenient. Because no other joints are flaring up and because I’m not running the low-grade fever I usually have with a flare, odds are good that this issue isn’t due to active disease. Yes, what’s happening is the direct result of rheumatoid arthritis, but my disease is being held at bay with my IV meds. Right now we’re dealing with problems due to damage from previous disease activity.
Let me pause to give a little bit of a rheumatoid arthritis primer:
- It’s an autoimmune disease, as is one other condition I have. In simplest terms, my immune system is an ignorant overachiever.
- Overachiever, because it does what it’s supposed to do – fight off illnesses – and then it goes even further. That’s where the ignorant part comes in. My immune system fights bad stuff…and then ignorantly fights a couple of a good things, which include my thyroid gland and the lining of my joints.
- With RA, you can also have inflamed lungs, heart, and eyes – which I haven’t experienced – as well as a higher rate of serious infections like MRSA and c. diff – which I have experienced, though I've thankfully been infection-free for nine months.
- What most people know about RA, though, is the joint problems. The lining of my joints – called synovium - is attacked by my immune system, and the joint becomes red and swollen and painful. Since that occurs from the inside out, the bones and cartilage in the joint rub against the swollen synovium. That friction results in erosions in bone, deterioration of cartilage, and creation of bone spurs.
When I say that my present knee problem isn’t the result of active disease, I mean that the synovium doesn’t seem to be inflamed. Right now, my immune system isn’t misbehaving. The problem is that previous inflammation has weakened my knee – both the bones and the cartilage – so that the joint is functioning more like a rusty hinge than a fresh one. I'll have an MRI tomorrow to figure out what the (probably surgical) solution will be.
If you look at my knee, you can’t see anything wrong. It’s a little puffy, but you won’t notice that unless you look closely. From the outside, you wouldn’t notice that I’m anything other than a typical 29-year-old mom. You wouldn’t guess that previous damage is impacting my ability to walk right now.
Likewise, when you meet a family member of a person with a disability – for example, a parent – you don’t know what previous damage has occurred. Has a church rejected them? Did a ministry leader elsewhere promise to love their child but fail to follow through? Have they spent the previous week fighting for basic services for their child from a school or insurance company? Did they have their parenting abilities questioned at a previous church when people misunderstood their child’s disability?
Parents at my church have shared stories of each of those situations with me, and they each brought their own damage. Some are so used to the fight that they have trouble trusting that our motives are genuine. Others are hesitant to even trust us with basic information about a disability, choosing not to disclose any information if the disability isn’t physically obvious. And some seem unfriendly until you realize that they’re simply exhausted.
If you aren’t aware that damage could be lurking under the surface of my knee, you might wonder why I stay sitting even when my kids want me to run and play with them.
And if you aren’t aware that damage could be lurking under the surface of their lives, you might get frustrated if a parent is pushy or cryptic or disengaged.
You don’t know their story. But, if you know Jesus, you do know his – the story of a love so powerful that the Father sent his Son to live a sinless life, die a sinner’s death, and rise from the dead. the story of a Savior taking the penalty we deserve so that we can receive the reward he deserves. the story of grace.
You don’t know their story, but you know grace. Show that grace to others, fueled by the power of the One who does knows my story and your story and their stories.
Choosing joy.
/
When I was first diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, I found that my blog encouraged new and old friends in a whole new way. One of my favorite passages in scripture is Daniel 3, and my heart's desire is to reflect the same trust in the same God that Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael trusted. He is wholly trustworthy, even when my joints are not.
Today I wrote on my disability ministry blog that I don't want to be noticed for my limp but that I don't mind people noticing the limp if they notice my God in the process. While I would love for you to check out that post, I also wanted to come back here to talk a little more personally.
It's been a tough week. A week and a half ago, I was considering going on a mile run in the beautiful weather. (I didn't, thankfully.) The next day my knee started acting up, not from an active RA flare but from previous damage to bone and cartilage caused by previous flares and a few injuries from my childhood. By Saturday, my knee started painfully locking into a straight position. Sunday morning I broke down in tears at one point, frustrated that my mobility was limited when I really wanted to poke my head into a few Sunday school classes to check on some of my kids. (And by "my kids," I mean the ones who are supported by Access Ministry. I can't check on Dingle kids on Sunday morning without having them cry to join Momma!) By Monday, I was nearly ready to make reservations for a pity party: Shannon, party of one, please. On Tuesday, I had steroids injected into my knee, and I'll spend Saturday morning in an MRI tube to figure out which (probably surgical) option we'll be considering next.
Since Saturday, I've been fighting against the pity party. I know it won't do any good, but it's still enticing. A few friends have been on their knees on my behalf, fighting that pity party desire for me. And I am thankful.
Something happened last night to change that. I'm not fighting the pity party anymore.
Don't worry! I'm not giving in, either. I just don't desire a pity party now. It's not tempting to go there anymore.
You see, I could count on a blogger I've never met to help me get out of my pity party mode in the past. Sara wrote for {in}courage, but she also has another blog called GitzenGirl. Sara's disease, Ankylosing Spondylitis, has a lot in common with rheumatoid arthritis. In fact, AS and RA are much more similar than RA and osteoarthritis are, so much so that my friend Kelly (aka RA Warrior) is hoping to get the name of RA changed so that "arthritis" isn't even in it. RA, like AS, is systemic but also affects specific joints; both can wreak havoc in specific spots as they weaken the rest of your body as well. And both are treated with the same arsenal of drugs, like my trusty Remicade.
Sara is allergic to the effective drugs that sustain me, though, so the disease just runs its course for her. Her breathing is labored, her movements cause pain, and her immune-related allergies have flared to the point that she can't go outside. Not for a walk, not to get the mail, nothing. She can't even open the windows to let fresh air in or feel a breeze on her face. This has been her reality for years.
Yet the tagline of her blog is Choose Joy, and she chose the word praise as her resolution word to define 2011 for her.
And it will, my friends, in a way she couldn't have known when she chose it back in January. You see, when I stopped by her blog yesterday for the first time in months, I was looking for encouragement. And I found out that Sara is dying. Hospice is there, and she probably won't see October from her current body.
But, praise God, she knows Jesus and has learned to trust and rejoice in him, despite harder circumstances than many of us will ever face. So praise will define 2011 for her, as she will soon praise our sweet Jesus face to face, able to breathe and move and laugh without pain or tears.
And I am so privileged to know her. And I can't wait to meet her in heaven one day.
My blog header will be changing soon in honor of what Sara has taught me. I'll be adding "choose joy" in the corner as a reminder to you, but more importantly as a reminder to me.
Because why would you ever choose a pity party when joy is the other option?
Thank you, Sara. Rest well. I will encourage others to choose joy while you praise Jesus beyond the walls of your earthly home and the confines of your sick body.
Today I wrote on my disability ministry blog that I don't want to be noticed for my limp but that I don't mind people noticing the limp if they notice my God in the process. While I would love for you to check out that post, I also wanted to come back here to talk a little more personally.
It's been a tough week. A week and a half ago, I was considering going on a mile run in the beautiful weather. (I didn't, thankfully.) The next day my knee started acting up, not from an active RA flare but from previous damage to bone and cartilage caused by previous flares and a few injuries from my childhood. By Saturday, my knee started painfully locking into a straight position. Sunday morning I broke down in tears at one point, frustrated that my mobility was limited when I really wanted to poke my head into a few Sunday school classes to check on some of my kids. (And by "my kids," I mean the ones who are supported by Access Ministry. I can't check on Dingle kids on Sunday morning without having them cry to join Momma!) By Monday, I was nearly ready to make reservations for a pity party: Shannon, party of one, please. On Tuesday, I had steroids injected into my knee, and I'll spend Saturday morning in an MRI tube to figure out which (probably surgical) option we'll be considering next.
Since Saturday, I've been fighting against the pity party. I know it won't do any good, but it's still enticing. A few friends have been on their knees on my behalf, fighting that pity party desire for me. And I am thankful.
Something happened last night to change that. I'm not fighting the pity party anymore.
Don't worry! I'm not giving in, either. I just don't desire a pity party now. It's not tempting to go there anymore.
You see, I could count on a blogger I've never met to help me get out of my pity party mode in the past. Sara wrote for {in}courage, but she also has another blog called GitzenGirl. Sara's disease, Ankylosing Spondylitis, has a lot in common with rheumatoid arthritis. In fact, AS and RA are much more similar than RA and osteoarthritis are, so much so that my friend Kelly (aka RA Warrior) is hoping to get the name of RA changed so that "arthritis" isn't even in it. RA, like AS, is systemic but also affects specific joints; both can wreak havoc in specific spots as they weaken the rest of your body as well. And both are treated with the same arsenal of drugs, like my trusty Remicade.
Sara is allergic to the effective drugs that sustain me, though, so the disease just runs its course for her. Her breathing is labored, her movements cause pain, and her immune-related allergies have flared to the point that she can't go outside. Not for a walk, not to get the mail, nothing. She can't even open the windows to let fresh air in or feel a breeze on her face. This has been her reality for years.Yet the tagline of her blog is Choose Joy, and she chose the word praise as her resolution word to define 2011 for her.
And it will, my friends, in a way she couldn't have known when she chose it back in January. You see, when I stopped by her blog yesterday for the first time in months, I was looking for encouragement. And I found out that Sara is dying. Hospice is there, and she probably won't see October from her current body.
But, praise God, she knows Jesus and has learned to trust and rejoice in him, despite harder circumstances than many of us will ever face. So praise will define 2011 for her, as she will soon praise our sweet Jesus face to face, able to breathe and move and laugh without pain or tears.
And I am so privileged to know her. And I can't wait to meet her in heaven one day.
My blog header will be changing soon in honor of what Sara has taught me. I'll be adding "choose joy" in the corner as a reminder to you, but more importantly as a reminder to me.
Because why would you ever choose a pity party when joy is the other option?
Thank you, Sara. Rest well. I will encourage others to choose joy while you praise Jesus beyond the walls of your earthly home and the confines of your sick body.
go ahead and stare
/I’m limping, but I’m still here. And, as He is apt to do, God is teaching me about Himself in these present circumstances.
I’ll explain a little more about what’s happening with my knee in tomorrow’s post. Today all you need to know is that I’m limping and that my right leg occasionally gets locked in a straight position, unable to bend unless I use my hands to manipulate the joint. That means I’m not walking around much, but I made an exception Tuesday night.
You see, we had our last respite planning meeting on Tuesday, and I needed to be there to lead the team. I also need (okay, wanted) to be there to eat dessert. We met at Yogurt Mountain, which is a wonderful world of about a dozen flavors of frozen yogurt and 50+ toppings that you can combine in any way you’d like. For the record, I’m an acai berry energy + vanilla bean yogurt topped with Nerds candy and sour gummy worms kind of gal.
This is not the sort of treat you can have someone else make for you.
Because the proportions have to be just right for it to near perfection, I had to hobble around to make my own.
Because not making one isn’t an option, no matter how injured you are.
And as I hobbled, I felt conspicuous. Some people were more tactful in their glances while others just stared. A couple of young guys awkwardly went out of their way twice to make sure they weren’t in my way. (Their youth gave them the awkwardness; I bet their mommas gave them the good manners.)
When we met at Yogurt Mountain two weeks ago, no one looked my way. No one noticed me. Everyone ate their yogurt, had their own conversations, and went on their merry way, myself included. I had rheumatoid arthritis then too, but it wasn’t visible.
Tuesday night, though, I was noticed. And, with the exception of kids’ staring in curiosity or the young guys’ trying not to hinder me in my quest for yogurt, I didn’t want to be noticed. Not for my limp.
Generally speaking, people like to be noticed. But they like to be noticed for some skill or talent or accomplishment, not for a challenge or problem. We like to be noticed for what we can do, not for what we can’t do. We like to be noticed for ability, not disability.
The gospel turns this desire to be noticed upside down, though. We like to be noticed for good things; but as Christians, we confess that we are sinners. We like to be noticed for accomplishments; but as Christians, we confess that only accomplishment that means anything is what Christ accomplished at the cross as the perfect, final sacrifice for the sins of his people. We like to be noticed for what we can do; but as Christians, we have to admit that Christ did what we couldn’t do.
I emailed the rest of our church’s Family Discipleship team yesterday to share details with them about what’s going on with my knee, and I’ve been overwhelmed by their sweet replies. One, though, I have to disagree with. The response began, “Shannon, You are remarkable.”
The truth is, though, that I’m not. I am clinging to God’s truth, not because I am strong but because I know nothing else will satisfy. I can trust that God has a plan to make good out of my knee failing me at age 29, not because I have a great ability to trust but because God is absolutely trustworthy. I am willing to share these challenges through the internet, even though most of you will never see my limp, not because I want you to be impressed with my faith but because I want to impress upon you the reason for the hope I have.
It’s Jesus.
And if my limp will point others to Christ, I would rather limp than walk normally. If noticing my limp will make others notice my God as well, then I don’t mind the stares.
To him be the glory.
not understanding the circumstances, but trusting anyway
/
I'm still not feeling up to generating new content here, but I'd love to share an old post from my other blog. I wrote it the day before my then six-month-old son Robbie had an MRI to explore possible spinal abnormalities. It turned out that no abnormalities were present, but the whole process was daunting for us.
As an update, I am doing better than I was yesterday. This head cold has me curled up in bed or on the couch with far more television being consumed by the kids than usual, but I can hobble with a little less pain due to a cortisone injection in my knee. It will get me through our October 1st respite event and through an MRI, which will help us know what other next steps we'll need. Thanks for your prayers and encouragement yesterday!
And now, my post from October 7, 2009...
Tomorrow is the MRI for Robbie. I was sharing with a friend last night that my biggest concern isn't the results, since we're totally trusting God with all of that. I told her that what still had my stomach in knots was the thought of tomorrow morning. Robbie can't nurse after 1:30am because he has to be sedated. We have to be at the hospital at 7:30am. As I told my friend, by the time of the MRI at 8:30am, he would have nursed twice, sometimes three times, on a typical day (since our little man cluster feeds in the morning). I told her that he would be hungry and crying and wouldn't understand why Mommy wasn't feeding him. I told her that the part I was dreading of all this wasn't the MRI or the wait for results (not sure how long that'll be) ... but rather the morning of seeing my son hungry, being capable of feeding him, and choosing to withhold that from him. Tears are coming to my eyes right now as I anticipate his cries as he can see Mommy but can't understand why Mommy won't feed him. There isn't a way for me to explain to him why he's hungry or to explain to him that it's just temporary or to help him understand that nothing will keep me from nursing him as soon as the medical professionals give me the green light. I know all of that, but he won't. He can't grasp that we're letting this occur for his good, so that we can see what his spine looks like. And it's likely that he'll be crying, upset and confused and hungry, not understanding the circumstances at all.
And as I thought about this tonight, it brought me back to my favorite thing about parenting: what it teaches me about God.
How many times have I cried, not understanding the pain or discomfort of my circumstances? How many times have I thought I knew exactly what I needed, praying in a way that tries to demand, "God, give me this," as if I know my needs and the big picture better than He does? And, yet, our wise Father has reasons for withholding what I think I need. Looking back at my past, I can understand some of those reasons now. Other reasons I may never understand. But my prayer tonight is that I'll remember this the next time I'm crying to God about something that has made me upset, confused, and hungry. And that, in that moment, I'll be reminded that our sovereign God causes and allows those moments in our lives as part of His plan for our good and His glory, just as Lee and I are going to allow some discomfort into Robbie's life tomorrow morning because it's part of a plan we've made with his doctor for his ultimate good.
I am SO thankful that God has given me the sweet blessing of mothering these two darlings! And I am amazed by the lessons He teaches me as I live out that blessing every day.
(Oh, and my sweet friend - the one who I shared these concerns with last night - told me that she had had similar concerns when one of her babies had to have some procedures done. She prayed that it wouldn't be an issue, and it wasn't. There were no tears, no fits, no angry baby-ness, even though her little one was hungry. That made me realize how much I limit my prayers! Instead of praying that God will help me deal with Robbie's cries tomorrow, I'm now praying that He will supernaturally comfort Robbie even though he can't eat. And, just as Azariah, Hananiah, and Mishael answered Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel 3:16-18, my attitude is simply that God can do that ... but, even if He doesn't, He is still God and we still trust Him.)
~+~
As I mentioned at the beginning, the MRI was all clear. And you know what? He didn't even cry to nurse until the whole procedure was done and we were nearly cleared for him to eat ... cuddles and thumb-sucking held him over until then! You wouldn't guess it from the picture below, taken on that day in October, 2009, but he is now a tenacious two-year-old boy who keeps me on my toes and who blesses me beyond measure!
As an update, I am doing better than I was yesterday. This head cold has me curled up in bed or on the couch with far more television being consumed by the kids than usual, but I can hobble with a little less pain due to a cortisone injection in my knee. It will get me through our October 1st respite event and through an MRI, which will help us know what other next steps we'll need. Thanks for your prayers and encouragement yesterday!
And now, my post from October 7, 2009...
Tomorrow is the MRI for Robbie. I was sharing with a friend last night that my biggest concern isn't the results, since we're totally trusting God with all of that. I told her that what still had my stomach in knots was the thought of tomorrow morning. Robbie can't nurse after 1:30am because he has to be sedated. We have to be at the hospital at 7:30am. As I told my friend, by the time of the MRI at 8:30am, he would have nursed twice, sometimes three times, on a typical day (since our little man cluster feeds in the morning). I told her that he would be hungry and crying and wouldn't understand why Mommy wasn't feeding him. I told her that the part I was dreading of all this wasn't the MRI or the wait for results (not sure how long that'll be) ... but rather the morning of seeing my son hungry, being capable of feeding him, and choosing to withhold that from him. Tears are coming to my eyes right now as I anticipate his cries as he can see Mommy but can't understand why Mommy won't feed him. There isn't a way for me to explain to him why he's hungry or to explain to him that it's just temporary or to help him understand that nothing will keep me from nursing him as soon as the medical professionals give me the green light. I know all of that, but he won't. He can't grasp that we're letting this occur for his good, so that we can see what his spine looks like. And it's likely that he'll be crying, upset and confused and hungry, not understanding the circumstances at all.
And as I thought about this tonight, it brought me back to my favorite thing about parenting: what it teaches me about God.
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9
How many times have I cried, not understanding the pain or discomfort of my circumstances? How many times have I thought I knew exactly what I needed, praying in a way that tries to demand, "God, give me this," as if I know my needs and the big picture better than He does? And, yet, our wise Father has reasons for withholding what I think I need. Looking back at my past, I can understand some of those reasons now. Other reasons I may never understand. But my prayer tonight is that I'll remember this the next time I'm crying to God about something that has made me upset, confused, and hungry. And that, in that moment, I'll be reminded that our sovereign God causes and allows those moments in our lives as part of His plan for our good and His glory, just as Lee and I are going to allow some discomfort into Robbie's life tomorrow morning because it's part of a plan we've made with his doctor for his ultimate good.
I am SO thankful that God has given me the sweet blessing of mothering these two darlings! And I am amazed by the lessons He teaches me as I live out that blessing every day.
(Oh, and my sweet friend - the one who I shared these concerns with last night - told me that she had had similar concerns when one of her babies had to have some procedures done. She prayed that it wouldn't be an issue, and it wasn't. There were no tears, no fits, no angry baby-ness, even though her little one was hungry. That made me realize how much I limit my prayers! Instead of praying that God will help me deal with Robbie's cries tomorrow, I'm now praying that He will supernaturally comfort Robbie even though he can't eat. And, just as Azariah, Hananiah, and Mishael answered Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel 3:16-18, my attitude is simply that God can do that ... but, even if He doesn't, He is still God and we still trust Him.)
~+~
As I mentioned at the beginning, the MRI was all clear. And you know what? He didn't even cry to nurse until the whole procedure was done and we were nearly cleared for him to eat ... cuddles and thumb-sucking held him over until then! You wouldn't guess it from the picture below, taken on that day in October, 2009, but he is now a tenacious two-year-old boy who keeps me on my toes and who blesses me beyond measure!