Grace and Grace Alone

May 24th, 2013

It was after 8pm when we pulled into my in-laws drive way. Sage sputtered periodic cries of hunger and exhaustion from the back seat. Bryan and I were equally worn down from the hours spent at the car dealership. Our stomachs rumbled, but our hearts were full.

I cried when I walked out and saw the exact car my parents were buying us. I was amazed – awe struck. As I wrote before it felt like too much, far too much. And in that moment I fell completely undeserving upon their generosity.

But, I first felt myself choking up long before that. It happened as I told my mom about the radiation appointment Bryan had that morning.

I don’t want to do radiation – I don’t understand it, it doesn’t fit well into my ideology, and I just plain don’t like it. But, I can’t even begin to describe to you how clearly we’ve known that this is the right next step for us. I don’t want Bryan to do radiation, but I know that he’s suppose to.

As I sat in that very public car dealership telling my mom about the appointment we also looked at the modifications that can be made to the car to accommodate a wheelchair for my daughter, Sage, down the line, as she is likely to need one. I could feel the lump rising in my throat and I could also feel myself raising my voice to talk a little louder. I found myself wanting the sales agent and others to know our situation. I found myself wanting their pity, their empathy.

It was not the first time I’d felt this. There have been moments where I’ve wanted to play the victim, wanted the pity of those around me. Most of the time I don’t feel that, but every now and then that feeling rises up.

As we pulled up to my in-laws house surrounded by new car smell everyone came rushing out. Bryan’s grandparents and aunt and uncle were there visiting from California as well as my parents who had left the dealership before us.

They all swarmed to see the new car. We were greeted with hugs and congratulations and Bryan’s grandma said a number of times, “You deserve it.” Perhaps my mother-in-law chimed into that chorus too and it seemed to be the general consensus of the group.

“You deserve it.”

As I heard that comment something about it just didn’t sit right with me, but I also felt the feelings I had felt sitting in the dealership, the desire for my struggle to be known and pitied, rise up again. “Yeah, we’ve been through a lot. We do deserve this.”

Bryan later sobered me up, when he commented on how untrue it actually was.

“We don’t deserve this car. That’s the whole point.”

That is the truth. We don’t deserve this car. That is the whole point. It is grace to us. Grace from God acted upon by my parents.

There is something about pain. We are incredibly uncomfortable with pain, aren’t we?

Because Bryan and I have experienced pain, and a twist in our road that seems completely unfair, those around us feel that we deserve and have earned some great tangible good. In fact I feel that too at times. I feel that my pain earns me the pity, help, and empathy of others. We are so uncomfortable with our suffering that we want to tip the scale back in the favor of those who suffer. We say it isn’t fair. We want things to be more balanced.

We want the “righteous” to prosper and the “wicked” to be swept away with troubles and when it doesn’t happen that way we feel that God has wronged us and those we care for. We believe that we are owed something better.

And when we see those who have been suffering given a massive blessing we feel they deserve it. It balances the scale for us a little bit.

In that moment of excitement, rushed upon by those who care for us, I felt we deserved it. We have been through a lot and in my pride I could say that we have walked through it gracefully and taken each hit in stride. I could cry out with Hezekiah and claim that I have “walked before [God] faithfully and with wholehearted devotion and have done what is good in [His] eyes.” Doesn’t that get me something? God owes me a good turn, right?

Oh, how very childish I am!

We all know on some level that our world is out of balance. That the suffering and pain we all have to face is wrong… is off…was not intended. We know in our souls that it wasn’t meant to be this way. And we are right! But, how wrong we become when we begin to think that we are entitled to something other than suffering. When we begin to think that we are owed, or that we deserve, grace.

We want the scale to be balanced and fair, but it is not and it never will be. Life is unfair. As the writer of Ecclesiastes put it “the righteous and the wise and what they do are in God’s hands, but no one knows whether love or hate awaits them. All share a common destiny – the righteous and the wicked, the good and the bad, the clean and the unclean, those who offer sacrifices and those who do not.” We will all face suffering of one kind or another. We will all face death.

We all fall into the hands of a loving God and each of us falls undeserving on his grace.

Grace and grace alone.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

If you like this post please consider buying me a cup of tea (Suggested: $3 a cup)

No Comments »

Extravagant Gifts and Unnecessary Signs

May 9th, 2013

I’ve always thought it was sort of silly when someone was too proud to ask for or accept help. I’ve always thought that when someone offers you a gracious gift you should accept it with gratitude and the hope that one day you could graciously gift someone else.

But, today I’m sort of struggling with those concepts. Here’s why…

“We want to buy you a car.” My dad’s words where clear, direct and concise  but I am pretty sure I still responded by saying “What?” into the phone a number of times. I was stunned. And he wasn’t talking about just getting us any car, he was talking about getting us a new car, a minivan – something large enough for the wheelchair or other equipment Sage will most likely need eventually – something reliable that will last us a long time.

Only a week before they had told us they wanted to pay for our airfare to go back to Prague for a visit this summer.

It’s too much. It felt like too much to accept.

And for some reason it’s harder for me to accept right now. It feels excessive and unnecessary.

We have spent years of our married life living below what the US federal government considers the poverty line. We have in the past made choices to value time together, traveling and living abroad over building up some post-college career in a specific location. We have lost jobs unexpectedly. And we have made a few poor financial decisions (like buying a condo in Prague just before the market crashed everywhere).

Because of that we have had opportunity to accept help from friends and family alike in the past. We lived with another couple in Prague without them charging us rent, we accepted an older car as a gift from our church, and whenever my mom came to visit I let her buy groceries for me. These were not terribly difficult things to accept beacuse they were things we really truly needed and things that at the time we really truly couldn’t provide for ourselves.

Our financial situation is very different now. Bryan has a steady full-time job with a decent salary. We are slowly starting to build up our savings again. Sure, medical bills continue to come in and slow that process down, but we are doing well, really well, relative to past years.

Despite that, a trip to Prague and a new car are far outside what we can afford. They are things that we definitely can’t give ourselves. They are not necessities. They are extravagant.

We don’t need a trip to Prague. We want to go back to Prague and visit our friends and show the kids where we used to live, but it’s not a necessity.

And neither is a new car. Sure our present car is older and has had some problems in the past few months. It’s not completely reliable, but it works (most of the time). Sure eventually we will probably need a different car – soemthing that’s easy to get Sage in and out of even as she gets bigger without gaining much mobility and something that would allow us to carry around any equipment she may need, but for right now, at this season, our current car still meets our needs.

And that’s where my struggle comes in. I’m struggling to accept these extravagant non-necessary gifts.

I was thinking today about how I also struggle to accept God’s extravagant gifts. It’s not terribly hard for me to believe in a all-powerful God, or to accept that this God desires to save humanity – I need a God like that. I need saving and it feels necessary.

But, is it necessary for him to love me in the daily bits of my life? Is it necessary for him to provide for us time and time again? Is it necessary for him to pour out grace upon grace on us? No not really. And honestly I often struggle to accept that God really loves me and cares about me. That the eternal creator, that the Spirit of life, wants to give me good things.

Even with Sage’s diagnosis and Bryan’s diagnosis too, I haven’t felt angry with God or even questioned why. He doesn’t owe me anything. He has every right to give AND to take and I don’t struggle to accept that. What it’s harder for me to accept is that perhaps he would want to miraculously give Bryan more time. Perhaps he would want to miraculously surprise us with Sage’s abilities.

I pray every day that God would grant Bryan and I more time together, that he would extend Bryan’s life like he did Hezekiah’s, but even as I pray this prayer I feel like God granting it would be so extravagant, that I struggle to accept that he might.

The other day I was talking to a friend about this and telling her how I feel like dispite the fact that I do pray for a miracle like Hezekiah’s what I really need is for others to pray for that, because I can’t fully enter into that prayer. I need someone else to hold my arms like Moses and intercede on my behalf in my weakness and unbelief.

A few days ago I was reading the story of Hezekiah again and was struck by the fact that after Isaiah told Hezekiah that God was going to extend his life for 15 years Hezekiah asked for a sign that it would really happen and God graciously granted it. Hezekiah didn’t really need a sign, Isaiah had already told him. Perhaps Hezekiah was a bit like me and struggled to accept God’s gracious gift. Remarkably God gave Hezekiah an extravagant gift – an extravagant sign – talk about an extravagant sign too! He added more hours to the day just like he was adding more years to Hezekiah’s life!

As I prayed and did the dishes that night I told God I wanted a sign. I wanted to know like Hezekiah knew. I wanted that sort of extravagant unnecessary gift of knowledge from God.

Then I started wrestling with myself about whether or not it was even right for me to ask for a sign. I thought of the verse in the Gospels, “A wicked and idulterous generation asks for a sign and none will be given it accept the sign of Jonah.” I felt guilty. It must be wicked of me to ask this of God.

But, as soon as I thought of that verse I looked up and saw our goldfish swimming in his bowl.

The sign of Jonah… three days in the belly of a fish. I know this is refering to Christ being burried for three days before rising again, but somehow I felt like God was trying to tell me something about this goldfish on my counter.

“Could that be my sign?” I wondered.

And then a thought came to me that didn’t feel like it was my own – perhaps it was my subconcious, perhaps it was just me, but it felt different, you know?

“This goldfish looks strong and healthy and there’s no reason to think that it will be dead tomorrow, but statistically goldfish don’t live very long. Bryan looks strong and healthy and there’s no reason to think that he won’t live long, but statistically people with melanoma don’t.”

“Lord, could this be your sign to me? If the goldfish lives or dies?” The question bounced around in my head as I got ready for bed and as I woke up the next morning to be greeted by a happy goldfish. I thought of it all that day.

That night as I lay in bed I asked God, “how would it work if this was your sign to me?” And instantly, clear as day, a thought popped into my head that again seemed not my own, “Every day is a year.”

“Starting from this morning or tomorrow?” I asked.

“Starting today.” The answer came.

It has now been eight days. And as each day has come I have felt more hopeful, but also more doubt. I can’t fully believe that God would grant us another eight years or more. It’s easier for me to believe that things won’t go well, than it is for me to believe that God would want to give us the gracious gift of more time. It’s easier for me to believe that I am making up this whole goldfish sign nonsense than to think that perhaps God would give us this clarity.

And so with each passing day that my fish lives I wonder, “Is this really God’s sign to me? Or did I just make it all up? Would God really be gracious enough to give us more time like he gave Hezekiah? Would he gift us as extravagantly as my parents want to? Would he gift us as extravagantly as to gift us with the knowledge of how much time we have? Is he really that extravagant in his love?”

 

Do you ever struggle to accept the extravagant love of friends, family, or God? Has there ever been something that has helped you to accept a really big, or unnecessary, or unbelievable gift?

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

If you like this post please consider buying me a cup of tea (Suggested: $3 a cup)

No Comments »

The Kind of Son I Want to Raise

May 7th, 2013

NOTE: This post was written a few weeks ago and then put on the back burner, but somehow in my mind it’s sort of connected with some of the thoughts I shared yesterday so I’m sharing it now. It was also inspired partly from this wonderful article. I encourage you to take the time to read it, especially if you are raising a son. After reading the above article I saw this picture on a friends facebook page and was again deeply disturbed. The following post is made up of the thoughts I had as a mom raising a young boy amidst all of this.

I vividly remember the day that I learned that someone I knew had been date raped and that someone else I knew had been the perpetrator. It was shocking for me.

Suddenly something that had always been a distant disturbing act, something that happened to the “other” somewhere out in the world, became something real that happened all to close to home. Suddenly something shifted in my world view and I realized that perpetrators of rape and abuse weren’t some distant “other”, weren’t just “bad boys”, those who were underprivileged or raised poorly, it was someone I knew. And my very young, naïve, overly analytical mind made a sad generalization. When I realized that any man was capable of such abuse I feared all men were perpetrators of such abuse. And thus began my man hating stage. Thankfully it didn’t last terribly long and I quickly came to see that although the rapist or the abuser could be anyone, it did not mean that it was everyone.

But, something stayed with me from that period of my life and it haunts me as a parent. I learned an important truth… Simply being from a “good family”, a “nice”, well respected family is not enough to safeguard against a boy being abusive. Simply having a good education is not enough to guarantee that a boy will be well educated about how to respect and care for a girl.

When I found out I was having a boy I was terrified. And it wasn’t just because of my memories of my brother and his friends doing stupid things in their adolescent attempts at masculinity (like standing up on a moving car), it was also because I feared the abuse my son would be capable of.

My son is entirely capable of putting his own physical desires above the desires of another. He is entirely capable of abusing his strength to satisfy his own urges. He is entirely capable if buying into the masculine hero worship that leads men to think that they are invincible and that they have some right over another person. He is entirely capable of rape or abuse.

I stand now in the middle of a new realization on all of these matters. Raising a son is terrifying, but it is also a wonderful opportunity.

I am not going to safeguard my son against becoming the perpetrator just by giving him a good home and some general sex education. It’s going to take more than that. What my son really needs, what we all MUST fight every day to instill in all our children, but especially our sons, is compassion and empathy.

I must teach my son to feel what others feel. I must teach him to listen and care even in the midst of his own urges and needs. I must teach him the deep value of EVERY person. I must teach him that just because he can do something doesn’t mean he should. I must teach him not only that “no means no”, but also that hesitation and silence doesn’t mean yes. I must teach him not just to respect women as “the weaker sex”, but to respect them as equals.

I must teach him these things and so much more. And I must start today. No one else is going to do it for me.

But if I can succeed in teaching these values, if I can speak openly and honestly with my son about these issues in age appropriate ways, I have an opportunity to raise a true hero. The kind of hero who would give up his own desires and happiness for the happiness and safety of another. The kind of hero who doesn’t really consider himself a hero at all and instead counts others of equal value to himself. The kind of hero that slowly but surely makes the world a better place. That’s the kind of hero I want to raise.

 

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

If you like this post please consider buying me a cup of tea (Suggested: $3 a cup)

No Comments »

A Long Way To Go or Why I’m Not a Very Good Feminist

May 6th, 2013

 

“She’s so beautiful”
“What an adorable baby.”
“She’s so cute.”

These are statements I hear regularly about my daughter, Sage. And maybe I’m biased but I think they are right. I have always felt like my daughter, Sage, is a really beautiful baby and little girl.

Her soft curls, her smooth skin, the curve of her cheek, her delicate features, her big sea blue eyes all combine beautifully. But, Sage also has an inner beauty that shines so strongly and apparently to all who meet her. The way she looks people right in the eye, her ginormous smile that lights up her whole face, her sweet tender nature, and empathetic energy – these things are truly beautiful. And at this tender age her inner beauty seems perfectly matched with her outer image. Her sweet nature perfectly paired with her gentle features.

But, each time I think to myself “she’s so beautiful” and each time someone else makes a statement like that I feel a tinge of sadness.

I guess it just shows how little progress I have truly made when it comes to issues of beauty. How deeply indoctrinated I still am.

The thing is I know that because of my daughters diagnosis one day she will fall outside of the culturally accepted realm of beauty – in fact she will probably fall pretty far outside it. In all likelihood eventually her head and body will not be proportionate, she will need a variety of devices to move and communicate. She will draw stares from children and adults will look away awkwardly.

So, whenever someone compliments her beauty I feel a tinge of sadness, knowing that though they feel that way now they might not feel that way later on. I wish that it didn’t bother me, I wish I was farther along in my journey of changing my views on beauty, but it does bother me. Like it or not I do feel a weird sense of pride whenever someone compliments my daughter on how beautiful she is or whenever someone says my son is smart.

I believe in gender equality. I’ve been careful not to push gender stereotypes on my children. I was really excited when I had a daughter. It felt healing. I wanted to instill in her an innate sense of her own beauty and brilliance and the beauty and brilliance in ALL human beings. I wanted her to know that she could be anything. That she was smart and intelligent and capable. That she could climb trees and play trucks. That she could be powerful and strong and intellegent. Just like I wanted my son to know that colors are for everyone and he could like pink if he wanted to, and girls are not inferior, weaker, beings with coodies.

I consider myself a little bit of a feminist. Although I usually avoid the word in the circles I run in because of the negative connotations it has. I love reading PhDinParenting.com and I was inspired by the sort of feminism that connected so well to the home birthing and attachment parenting philosophies I was drawn to.

When I found out I was having a boy I thought this is my chance to raise up a man who understands and values the equality of women. And when I found out I was having a girl I thought this is my chance to raise up a daughter who is not afraid of her own brilliance, who does not buy into societies stereotypical views of beauty and place.

I thought I had come so far in my own broadening views. I am realizing now that I still have a long way to go.

Having a daughter with severe special needs has really challenged all of that. Not only will my daughter fall far outside of societies stereotypical view of beauty, but in all likelihood she will fall far outside of societies view of intelligence as well. She will probably never climb a tree even if she wants to. And whether or not she will even learn to talk is still up in the air.

I thought that I had a fairly developed view of equality – gender equality, race equality, etc etc. But, my daughter is challenging me with how far I really have to go.

I love my daughter. I think she is perfect and amazing. But, I struggle with how to raise her to believe in her own equality and brilliance when I don’t feel like I can tell her that she is truly equal. Because truth be told there’s a lot of things she’s not going to be able to do. And there’s a lot of things that society will say she can’t do even if she thinks she can.

I realize that I like having people see her as beautiful, just like I like people telling me my son is smart. I still do pick out mostly pink clothes for Sage to wear and I still cried the first time I saw the Dove commercial instead of seeing the shocking lack of diversity in color, age or special needs. I still like the message that we all fit the socially acceptable view of beauty more than we think we do, more than I want to challenge that socially acceptable view and acknowledge that beauty is so much more than that.

Equality isn’t just about saying people are equal or treating people as equal. The truth is people are not equal in ability, talent or in how they measure up to arbitrary societial images of beauty. My daughter will not be seen as beautiful for long. She will probably never be seen as intelligent either. But, she is equal in essence.

She is equal in value.

I know that so very well. Her soul is beautiful, her strength is so much greater than the most powerful women on earth, her essence is intelligent in a way that I have never confronted before.

I know the value my daughter has. I see it in her eyes everyday. I feel it in her love for me and the love I feel for her. But, I have to admit, I don’t think I have always seen the value in those like my daughter.

I thought I was enlightened because I held some beliefs on gender equality and racial equality. But, I realize now that I have a long way to go. I still care too much about how beautiful society see’s me or my child as being. I still pride myself in my sons intellect. I still hold an idea in my head that if you aren’t contributing to society in some way you are somehow less than. I still struggled to look those with special needs right in the eye and see all the value that they bring to the table.

That’s what feminism is really about I think. Not equality, but value.

And my daughter is stretching my views of value in really beautiful ways.

I hope that people always see the value in my daughter, I hope I do.
I hope that people can always raise their eyes to meet my daughters kind and intense gaze.
I hope that people take the time to see the sweetness of her nature, her deep empathy, her deeply motivated heart, her strength that keeps trying in the face of adversity.
I hope I can instill in her a deep sense of value, even if she can never contribute to a society that says the only value is in contribution.
I hope that I can raise her to be confident and assured of her own self-worth, despite a society that tells her she’s not pretty enough, good enough, or “normal” enough.
I hope that both of my children hold less prejudices than I do and are les indoctrinated into a society that values some people over others, whether because of skill or beauty.
And I hope that they can find ways to empower those who might not normally be empowered in our culture.

 

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

If you like this post please consider buying me a cup of tea (Suggested: $3 a cup)

3 Comments »

Best Medicine for Pent-Up Anxious Fear

April 26th, 2013

I’m sitting in bed with Sage asleep on my lap and Bryan sitting next to me. Bryan’s distracted, watching coding tutorials.

I’ve been trying to distract myself with Pinterest and Instagram, but with each picture I feel my heart beat a little faster. To be honest I’m struggling not to hyperventilate as a wave of anxiety hits me. I try to focus on the pretty pictures, a child in a field, a cup of coffee, a building. I try to use each picture to squeeze the feelings rising up inside me back down into the dark. But right now it’s not working.

I don’t know exactly how to describe what I’m feeling…its like a wave, a wave of panic flooding my body. I’ve felt it before, I hate it.

I look away from the phone. I try to bring my attention back to my breathe. Back to the present moment. Away from the what-ifs.

But, I can’t.

My mind wanders to the dream I had last night. I’ve been dreaming about an old crush lately. I think it’s my subconscious’s way of trying to process through the what-ifs by latching onto the only other guy I really cared for besides Bryan.

My anxiety level rises.

Sage stirs and I automatically latch her on to nurse more.

My mind now rambles to the dream I had two nights ago. Dreaming that Bryan was hospitalized for melanoma treatment with little hope of him recovering and the nurse wouldn’t let me see him. It was traumatizing.

20130426-104249.jpg

Another wave hits and nearly takes my breath away. What if…? Then my mind becomes ablaze with a check list of if-then statements. If Bryan can’t work how will I provide? Could I really make a living writing? Should I even try? Then the “I should” statements flood in. I should learn all Bryan’s passwords, especially the financial ones. I should take over paying the bills. I should do more research about melanoma treatments. I should eliminate what few processed foods still sneak into our diet. I should… I should… I should.

Heart racing.

Somehow it’s easier to let my mind go to the logistics and the right brained planning despite the anxiety it brings than it is to let myself really feel… well, all of it… the fear, the grief, the sadness, even the joy that carries it’s own pain.

My mind recalls the conversation I had with my dad while he was up visiting. Reminding me that there will be plenty of time to worry about logistical planning later. There is no need to go to those places yet… hopefully not ever. Calling me to stay present in the moment, to enjoy each day that a have together with Bryan. Reminding me that no one really knows their end, but we have today.

I try.

But, my heart continues to race.

Wish I could get up. Shake it off. Sage stirs at my breast and cries out. I soothe her and get her nursing calmly again grateful for the distraction.

I pull myself back to the screen in front of me. I need a stronger distraction. Bryan and I put a show on the iPad and curl up to watch as Sage quietly starts to snore now on the bed beside us.

This is how most nights have been for me since the surgery. Really it’s how much of the day has gone – fighting to keep my feelings in check. Fighting to keep my fears at bay. Searching for distraction.

Before the surgery I felt like I was in this really great place – I felt so much peace. I felt so open. I was worried, but not so worried that it was overwhelming. I felt energetically open. I could enter into my feelings and express them. I could allow myself to get teary – and I often did. I felt tender, but not raw.

When Bryan’s surgeon showed me a picture of his 15cm tumor that all changed.

20130426-104316.jpg

Suddenly the surgery didn’t feel like a slightly scary inconvenience that we just had to get past, it felt like a slap in the face. Suddenly it didn’t feel like the end of something, it felt like the beginning.

People keep saying to me how great it is that Bryan’s recovering so well and that the surgery is behind us. People keep acting like the struggle, the hard time, the fear, is over and we should be celebrating and grateful. But, I haven’t felt much like celebrating and to be honest I’ve struggled to be grateful too. It was easier before the surgery. Before I saw face-to-face what we’re up against. Before I knew that the tumor had grown to half a foot in only a handful of months, before I knew that they found melanoma in every single one of the lymph nodes they removed from Bryan’s body.

After the surgery my emotions felt ten times bigger then before. Suddenly it wasn’t safe to enter into those emotions any more. I couldn’t let myself cry for fear that the cry would turn into the unending sobs I experienced last year… or worse. I could feel the walls going up and with them my anxiety rose as well.

I felt antsy, anxious, irritable.

For most of the two weeks I was able to keep my anxious irritability at bay through distraction. Bryan’s parents took Thaddeus for most of the first week, so I had less to trigger me. My parents were here for a good bit the second week so I had lots of fun distractions. But in the evenings it would all rush up to me… and soon enough Thad came back and my parents left… well, lets just say that I wasn’t very fun to be around the past few days.

Wednesday I blew up at Thad more than once and knew I needed to do something. Bryan put a show on for the kids and offered to sit with them while I did some yoga or took some alone time. But, I couldn’t do yoga – it left too much space for my mind to wander and it did nothing to get out the anger, fear, and anxiety that were the only feelings I was allowing to rise to the surface.

For the first time in my life I kind of wanted to go for a run – and I HATE running. I wished I had girlfriends here I could call up and go out dancing with and blow off steam. I wanted a punching bag.

My body longed for something physical, so I decided to listen to that longing. I dug up an old Tae Bo video on YouTube and you know what? It worked. It helped a lot. The squats, the punching, the push ups, the sweat, it all helped me get out that pent up frustrated fear so that I could allow other feelings to come to the surface.

Here’s what I learned…

When you’re feelings are too big to even feel them…
When the primary feeling you feel is aggravated fear, irritable anger…
The best medicine is physical activity, something that will really work up a sweat.

The tension was broken after that. The tears finally came, not in overwhelming waves yet, but they came. Now and then they’ve risen up in the past 24 hours, cleaning the slate, releasing the tension.

Slowly I begin again the long process of weeding through these emotions and working through all that Bryan’s diagnosis means for us, for me, for the future.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany

 

Never Miss A Post – Receive free updates via RSS or Email

If you like this post please consider buying me a cup of tea (Suggested: $3 a cup)

3 Comments »