In God's hands

Here's something I shared in church this morning:

Good morning.

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Heather, I'm married to Martin and we live with Sarah.

I have a medical condition called chronic fatigue syndrome.  It's a somewhat controversial condition.  Some medical people think that people with this condition have become convinced that they can't do things that they really can do - so to get better they need someone to make them do things that they think they can't manage.  Other medical people think that CFS people have got something wrong in how with how their body works, and that pushing them to do things they can't do actually makes their health a lot worse.  Probably they're both right - some people with these symptoms will get better if you push them, other people will get worse.  For myself, I've had this condition for 10 years and I know that I get worse if I push myself to do more.

Anyway, last week I went to see some specialists about a different problem. While I was there, they kept on talking about my fatigue and trying to persuade me that I needed to push myself.  They implied that my other problem wouldn't get better if I didn't do so.  I got really angry and upset: they weren't specialists in this area, I've been properly diagnosed with chronic fatigue by people who know about the condition - why didn't they just mind their own business!!!  And I was scared - I really wanted help with my other problem, but they didn't seem willing to help me unless I was willing to do things I knew would make me really sick.

After stewing about this for a day or two, I realised I needed to take it to God.

I started praying and acknowledged that I was in His hands - He is the one who is my real help, not the medical people.  As I spent time with God, I realised something else.  I was partly upset because I felt that the attitude of the specialists I'd seen meant that I might not be able to get any help from them with my other problem, but I realised that that wasn't the main reason.  The main thing that actually upset me was that they had offended my pride.

I believe that I'm a strong person who's coping very well with a really challenging illness and I'm proud of that.  When they seemed to see me instead as someone who's all scared and weak, I was offended and angry.  When I realised that, I had to repent of that.  Repent of the pride and also repent of putting my self-worth in their good opinion, rather than in who I am in God.

Having done that, God showed me something else.  The other reason I was so upset was because, whenever something like this happens, I have a sneaky fear that maybe they're right: maybe there isn't anything really wrong with me and I've brought all my problems on myself by just being too scared to push myself.  Ten years of my life spent mostly bed ridden for no good reason is a pretty scary thought!!  So I spent some time talking to God about that one, too - just acknowledging that fear and allowing myself to be reminded that, whether or not my CFS is 'real', it's God who's in charge of my life.

After taking all that to God and talking it over with Him I was finally calm again.  I may not be able to get the help I want from these specialists, but I know that I'm safe in God's hands never-the-less.  Whenever the upsetness has started to come back, I've reminded myself of that.

Thank you.

Being human

Last week Martin and I listened to a lecture by N.T. Wright on 'Being Human'.  I was intrigued by his concept of Jesus as the most 'real' human there ever was - living in the world in the way we were always meant to.  I've been chewing over that ever since.

If you'd like to listen to it it's available here.  It's a bit over an hour long and we found it very engaging.  The whole blog that we found it on (from Compass) is also well worth a poke around :-)

Faith and deeds

Recently our Bible study group was looking at James 2:14-26.  It starts out with:

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds?

it then continues with what I've always taken as an example of 'deeds':

Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?

however, it's not clear from the text that that's actually what it's an example of: instead, it may simply be an example of words and actions not matching up.  After all, the text simply continues by saying:

 In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

This interpretation is borne out by the two explicit examples of 'deeds' the passage does give.  I found these two examples quite obscure until Martin realised that we were thinking of the wrong kinds of deeds.  I was thinking that the 'deeds' being talked about would be 'good works' - feeding the hungry etc.  The examples given weren't like that at all: they were Abraham offering his son as a sacrifice to God, and Rahab helping the Israelites who were besieging her city.  Martin realised that what links these two stories is that the people in them are acting like God is God (indeed in Rahab's case, she is also acting like her enemy's God was more powerful than her own).  The point being made is not that their faith was complemented by good works: instead, James is saying that their faith was shown to be real by the fact that they acted on it.

Martin and I have recently started reading the gospel of John and yesterday we came across another example of this kind of deed.  In John 4:43-53 a powerful man comes to Jesus and begs him to come and heal his dying son.  Instead of going with him, Jesus simply says "go, your son will live".  Without protest, the man goes: his action demonstrates his faith in Jesus and his words.

Martin and I are both priveleged to have examples of this kind of faith in our own parents.  In different ways, they have allowed God's claims on them to totally shape how they have lived their lives: their lives show what they believe.  We are grateful to have been raised by such people.

Healing

Earlier this month I noticed a letter in the newspaper of the New Zealand Baptist churches.  In it, a man explained that he had been a Christian for 50 years when he experienced significant complications after a routine operation.  He prayed for healing and other members of his church also prayed for him.  He wasn't healed (although his problem was later resolved by further surgery) and that led him to conclude that God was indifferent to his suffering.  He still believes in God but no longer worships or follows Him.

I felt that, due to my own medical history, I had an unusual authority to reply to this letter.  It's taken a me a few weeks to do so and I've missed the deadline for getting it into April's edition. Hopefully it'll appear there in May.  Here is what I have written:

I was deeply saddened by D. S.'s letter in the March issue of The Baptist.

Like Mr. S., I am afflicted by a medical condition that significantly restricts my life.  For the last ten years I have been largely bed-bound, living with constant pain and also 'brain fog' that makes it hard for me to think straight.  All this began when I was only 26 years old: I often feel like my life has been stolen from me.  And yet, unlike Mr. S., I still believe in a loving God.

Why?

I believe God can and does heal people.  I also believe God never promised to heal His followers: He is under no obligation to heal me.  However, God has promised to be with us in our suffering and I can testify that He has been with me in mine.  I know through the Holy Spirit in me that He loves me and delights in me.  His presence in me sustains me on this difficult path.  However, it seems He has other priorities than making me well and that's OK: He's the boss.

I believe God's imagination is larger than my own.  I long for the healing of my body and mind.  God aches to heal not just me, not even all Christians, but everyone and everything: all of Creation.  Since the Fall, everyone and everything has been "groaning" and "in bondage to decay" (Romans 8:18-30).  My suffering and that of Mr. S. are examples of this.  In some cases, God chooses to remove an illness from the life of an individual; however, what He's mostly working on is removing suffering and decay from His creation altogether.  What a glorious and wonderful prospect!  We truly can look forward to a time when God "will wipe every tear from [our] eyes and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain." (Revelation 21:4)

Mr. S. assumes that, as God didn't heal him, He cannot be all of omniscient, omnipotent and caring.  Yet God is all of these things.  It's just that His love is bigger than Mr. S. has been led to expect - not smaller.

The idea that God will remove our suffering so long as we pray and have faith is a dangerous and unbiblical lie.  I am so sad that Mr. S. has been taught that view and understand why he has rejected it.  I pray that he will encounter and accept a more Biblical view on these matters and turn back to God before it is too late.

Neighbours Day

On the weekend, our street celebrated Neighbours Day.  It was the third time we've done it, and definitely the best.  A few more people came and most people stayed a lot longer than in previous years.  I think the bouncy castle and face painting had a big impact on that: drawing the kids out of their houses, bringing their mums and dads with them :-)  I had a good catchup with someone I hadn't spoken to since last year as well as some general chitchat.  It's nice to gradually recognise more of the people I see on the street :-)

Kingfisher

Last week we spent a day staying with friends in the next street - escaping the sounds of chainsaws next door.  In the afternoon, a flash of movement caught my eye.  My subconscious promptly identified the bird that settled on the neighbouring roof as a kingfisher; my conscious mind was doubtful.  Surely kingfishers don't have such stunning irridescent plumage?!  Then it turned and showed me its distinctive beak.  No doubt about it: the bird was definitely a kingfisher!

It was a wonder to behold.  I know I only felt that way because my life is so restricted and because it's years since I saw my last kingfisher.  But that doesn't make it any less of a wonder :-)

image source

Ten years on

Last Monday was the 10th anniversary of my developing CFS.

It was a curious day.  Leading up to it I was very aware of it looming ahead of me, and yet whenever I tried to think about what the day meant to me I couldn't: my mind shied away from the topic.

I sincerely believe that I have a remarkably good quality of life, despite my illness.  In may ways, I'm pleased to be ten years down the track.  Those early days were so scary and baffling; these days I'm mostly dealing with the familiar.

And yet I do so wish life was different.

I grieve for the lost possibilities - especially for the children I most likely will never have.  I'm sick of hurting all the time, of rarely having the mental energy to have a decent conversation, of having to push through mud every move I make, of failing to understand so much of what I hear.  I'm sick of having to be so disciplined.  I'm sick of feeling exhausted all the time. I miss human company and generally being out and about in the world.  I so wish I had a body and a mind that worked.

And I wish it was more OK to say these things.


I recently listened to a radio programme about the new Disability Studies course being offered at Otago University.  As the lecturer talked about negative stereotypes people have about disability, I came to think that she was conflating two quite different things: statements/acts that suggest people with disabilities are of little value and statements/acts that suggest that life with a disability is harder than life without one.  For example, she thought it was bad that people had sent sympathy cards to the parents of a baby born with Downs Syndrome.  But what is wrong with coming alongside parents in their grief at the loss of the kind of future they'd imagined for their child?  That child is likely to have a much more difficult path through life than their peers - both because of their disability and because of society's attitude to it - and I wish it was more acceptable to say so!

Sadly, in the church people with disabilities experience another kind of pressure that again makes it hard for us to acknowledge how hard our lives are.   The church doesn't enjoin us to feel good about our disabilities but it does exert considerable pressure on us to endure them cheerfully - to be like Cousin Helen in the What Katy Did books, rather than like Katy herself in the early months after her accident.


So, on this anniversary, I wanted to tell some of the bits of my story I don't often tell: the bits about how hard it is, rather than the bits about how, on balance, it's OK.  I guess the fact that I'm posting this nearly a week after the actual anniversary tells part of that story, too,  It's hard having a head that takes more than a week to put ideas together coherently, and fingers that struggle to type, even when I am using my mouse-typing programme...