3 brain surgeries and a “pacemaker” (VNS) should’ve killed my desire to live.   

Honestly, I’ve  heard countless times someone else’s opinion that, “there’s no way [they] could survive all that.” But I did… Every trauma became a story to tell and a reason to value joy. 

I grew up getting used to being “friends” with people who loved being around me as long as my parents or siblings were there to catch me when the seizures hit. Not once did I question my value in life. I constantly questioned my purpose… But I kept going. I knew someone thought I was valuable enough to withstand the heartache. 

This past week, I think I’ve gotten my brain around why God allowed so much to happen to me when I was young. Life hadn’t hit me yet, singing Jesus Loves Me still made me smile and gave me hope. His verbal reminder of His grace, power and sovereignty convinced me the first time. 

I rarely shouted at the Heavens for proof. I rarely had fears that I was believing in the wrong thing. 

Now, as an adult, the smallest test of my faith sends my heart into over drive and my tearducts into over time. “What if” becomes thrown at the Heavens with a bitter taste of resentment and absolute fear that I’m just a pawn in a Deity’s game. 

I have no reason to doubt God, but my life has given me lies of other things to view as powerful. Those other things have limitations, but my fear of their impending impact often leaves me unable to see the weakness in their power. 

I’m not proud of my doubts. I can very quickly identify with Thomas and Peter of the Bible as one more test looms close. All I hear God whisper is, “Baby Girl, trust Me.” … Instead of running into His arms to find comfort, I respond with:

“But Jesus! You’ve forgotten what I’ve done. You’ve forgotten who I am. Are you sure you’re bigger than this new fear? Can I trust you?!

And then, I remember the one thing that quiets my heart immediately. I remember where the battle for relationship first began and my value was first declared. 

The Sacrifice of the Son on the Cross spoke my value and future before I ever had a reason to prove Jehovah wrong. Over 2,000 years ago, He saw this timid, terrified girl-within-a-woman and allowed His son to die for me anyway. 

I may have “grown up” enough to make Child-like faith an option rather than a necessity, but this little girl will always need the Father who gave her value in the first place. 

The Comparison Between God & Massages

I have a history of getting addicted to massage therapy. It’s amazing what you can get for free when you tell the masseur you have cerebral palsy. They get all experiment-crazy and decide they’ll be the next massage-guru to cure you. They won’t, but what the heck, it’s a blasted massage. Experiment all you want, honey.

I really didn’t think I’d get much out of a hot rock massage. I thought I’d walk away smelling like incense (not something I’m ecstatic about, I assure you), possibly have some bruises, and be able to claim that I finally took a nap. I got the smells, the bruises, but no nap. The guy talked my ear off. I’m a chatty person, but seriously, massages are meant to immediately induce naps– not keep the victim (uh, I mean client) awake with lame jokes, weird glimpses into times gone by, etc etc.

But, I digress. (Nothing new.) He really did have some good ideas. At one point, he continually put pressure on one portion of my gluteus maximus and was mumbling, “ohhhh, okaaaaay.” Guys! Typically, even if you’re prodding someone like myself who made a living out of getting poked and prodded, saying that while poking a woman’s butt?! Not. A. Good. Idea. I repeat. No.

I think I went rigid enough to make him realize he needed to start talking to the living body in front of him. He finally explained. Apparently, the tenderness and tightness in my butt (I can’t believe I just blushed typing that. Pull it together, Chick. It’s a butt. Butt. Butt. Butt. Get over it) was due to some pulled muscle in my foot, which effected my hip, which effected the muscle in my butt, and all of that threw out my back. To make it even worse all of that caused migraines. Who knew? Oooooh. Okaaaay.

I walked away amused, sarcastic, analytical and incredibly relaxed. And then my brain went into overdrive. It’s not supposed to do that on vacation.

All of my pain – according to this masseuse -was because of the “newer” pain in my foot. But the pain was felt quite clearly all the way up through my neck. Isn’t it funny that that same phenomenon occurs within the Body of Christ?

Think about it. We pass on phrases like, “I’ll laugh as you laugh” “I’ll weep when you weep” with those we fellowship with through the unity found in Christ’s gift of salvation. Yet have we ever stopped to ponder how one person’s wound, concern or heartache effects those around us? Have we ever experienced how our one “pain” can infiltrate and change an entire Church Body (not 4 walls and a roof, by the way) and how it operates?

Huh. Weird, no? Also, a completely incomplete thought because I don’t think it should ever end. But holy smokes- who knew God could show up through hot rocks and a massage bed?