The extremes are labeled “left” and “right,” but the dividing lines of separation meander all over the place enveloping all sorts of ideologies about economics, culture, religion, and society. Many people find themselves falling along different points of the left-right spectrum depending on the topic and who is defining the terms.

As the debates intensify, we feel pressure to pledge absolute loyalty to one of the two sides. Critical thinking loses out to tribalistic thinking.

Stress, anxiety, and confusion are high as we struggle to find our own “solid ground,” the place where we will pitch our ideological tent and defend our position.

Christians have been courted by thought leaders on both sides, explaining how their views most closely align with Christianity. The ability of these persuasions to uncover and inflame cultural and political divisions within the Church is a serious indictment of the Church. These appeals, mostly from outside the Church, usually contain some fatal flaw which stems from a misunderstanding of the Christian faith.

While I am no great thinker or gifted scholar (just another person with an opinion), I have spent my whole life immersed in 20^th & 21^st Century American Christianity. As an “insider,” for what it’s worth, I would like to share some thoughts specifically with my brothers and sisters who share my Christian faith…a faith based on God’s revelations about Himself in the words of the Bible.

Biblical Idolatry

A pattern I see throughout the Bible is the tendency of God’s chosen people to add idolatry to their worship of God.

Exodus 32 relates an incident which conveys a sometimes-overlooked aspect of this inclination. The narrative describes Aaron creating a golden calf to appease an impatient and restless people while Moses was away meeting with God. What I find interesting is that this idol was not intended to be a replacement god. It did not have the name of some other god from Egypt…but they claimed it to be the image of their God – the God who brought them out of Egypt.

Of course, the golden calf was not the image of their God (that is what humans are), rather it was a tangible, familiar, and controllable substitute. But their intentions did not lessen the severity of the error or of the consequences…because what they made was not true.

The implication being, even those of us who believe in the true God of the Bible become anxious and impatient and may caste Him in the image of our culture, looking for something agreeable to us which will meet our needs.

Later we see the Israelites struggling to possess their promised land. They did not completely clear the land and, as a result, started worshiping other gods alongside their worship of God. They did not throw God out right away, but it seemed harmless to include a few more culturally acceptable and less demanding gods. If idols helped them gain the very victories God promised, where was the harm? If the idols lessened some anxiety and, true or not, benefited people…why not?

This behavior is inevitable for humans looking for control. But according to the Old Testament narrative, over time, love and devotion for the idols grows and the true God is reimagined to resemble tame idols – and then rejected altogether. The result is spiritual decline, abuse, violence, and destruction.

In the Old Testament Biblical narrative, idols were mostly obvious. They were statues with temples and there was no ambiguity about whether the people were worshiping an idol or a false image of God.

However, transitioning into the New Testament church age, God’s “adult” people now incorporate Old Testament principles about who He is and who humans are in relation to God into our understanding of New Testament theology. And now it’s not always so obvious who or what we are worshipping.

Humans continue to desperately crave autonomy, and the essence of the struggle has not changed, which makes the Biblical narratives about idolatry relevant and instructive to modern day Christians. Theologians throughout history have made this same observation and offered various ideas for understanding what more abstract idols might look like. The framework I find most helpful is: an idol is anything created by God which we elevate to the place of God.

The thing in and of itself is irrelevant. It can be a good and useful tool such as money. It can be a beautiful gift such as love. It can be a force greater than ourselves like nature or a valuable attempt at mastery like science.

 It’s not the moral quality of the thing, it is our view of the thing which makes it an idol…our view of the thing as the source of everything we need -the guiding principle by which we evaluate all ideas, actions, and motives – our meaning for life – the thing we cannot survive without.

This can become trickier than it might seem on the surface, because humans obviously need things to survive physically, mentally, and emotionally on Earth. The very act of living life requires that we work to meet our needs. We can and should engage in our own self-care. But our wish to do this with complete autonomy conflicts with the reality of God….God is the all-powerful, all-knowing, everywhere present Creator who calls humans to join with Him in love, worship, and surrender.

So, we need to remember that it really makes more sense to worship the One who created and controls the sun, for example (an ancient idol-god), rather than the sun itself…or the One who created and controls all resources in the universe (i.e. money), rather than the resources themselves (a common and timeless idol-god).

When we fail to acknowledge God and worship Him for who He truly is, we are left to our own devices to meet our needs…and we must engage in a struggle with other human beings for power. Everyone is looking out for their own interests and the only way for anyone to enjoy the autonomy they seek is to possess the power to defend their autonomy against another whose interests are undermined by that autonomy.

Even though the struggles for power are the result of abandoning reality, the actual struggles are real… creating winners and losers, victims and oppressors, and even a man-made version of good and evil. This creates an alternate and completely human framework with which to view the world and the story it tells. Because the struggles are real and there is a version of goodness and morality within the framework, Christians can get pulled into adopting this same framework. 

One way this happens, ironically, is when Christians become so alarmed by the surrounding culture’s commitment to “idols” that they enter into the very human framework which gives those idols legitimacy in order to do battle with them.

My dad used to tell me that when you try to manipulate someone, you give them power to manipulate you.

I have found this to be true, and I think this is why. Manipulation is about our power and control. Faith and worship of God is about His power and control. When we react to the culture within the power and control framework, we effectively abandon our worship of the God of the Bible . . . denying He already has all the power and control.

American Idols

This has been a particularly thorny issue for the church in America. Even as good and beneficial Biblical ideals were woven into the founding of our country, the thread of autonomy worship was woven in right alongside them – granting power and favor to Christianity. And Christians, by and large, accepted this seemingly harmless add-on idol, basking in popularity and growing accustomed to cultural dominance, and incorporating it into an Americanized version of Christianity.

American Christians today have very real concerns about their country. The idol of autonomy worship has grown in power and influence and led to the rejection of objective moral truth. Society can no longer tolerate the worship of the God of the Bible alongside the god of personal autonomy. Systems and institutions are increasingly hostile to anyone claiming any morality which would take power from personal autonomy.

So, what is a Bible believing Christian to do?

As I see it, there are three options. One is to engage the culture on their level. We think the God of the Bible should maintain dominance, so we pursue political and cultural power, popularity, and control for our God (being our heritage and right, after all!), effectively reducing him to an impotent reflection of the idol of autonomy.

Another option is a more honest acknowledgement that the God of the Bible has now taken a back seat to autonomy…the inevitable path of Progressive Christianity and just a pit-stop on the way out the door of Christianity.

And the third option is to see our American Idols for what they are, stop trusting in them (tear them down), and seek to know, love, and trust in the true God of the Bible.

I am deeply troubled by the vast majority of American Christians choosing between the first two options. I fear the consequences will be dire when Evangelical Christians – having discarded the constraints of Christian principles along the path to brokering political power – are exposed as complicit in the apparatus which dismantles the very freedoms we are trying to preserve.

But I don’t urge a different path because of that fear, or because of the accusations of disillusioned young people fleeing the Church, or because of any other matter of pragmatism. I urge a different path because reality and truth matter…because God’s people should represent His righteousness and trust in His power – not align themselves with any human system in an attempt to accomplish His purposes.

The Way of the Cross

Certainly, we are called to act for the benefit of our communities, to participate in and influence our societies, and to stand and defend unpopular truths. But even as Daniel and company were entering civil service in a Godless country, they did not compromise their obedience to God. They refused to eat the king’s food, to worship idols, or give up their prayers.

I don’t know what the path of faith would look like exactly, or how it would play out in the culture. Christians could still become scapegoats and lose more freedoms. But I would rather that happen because of our faithfulness to the message of the Cross of Christ than to be either rescued or denigrated because of a political alliance. And who knows, maybe a Church wholly devoted and trusting in God might be more effective in slowing our country’s moral decay than a powerful and controlling Church.

I understand the struggle. In the face of helpless humans losing their lives every day, it makes sense that we feel compelled to take matters into our own hands. But abortion – and all exploitation really – is the logical consequence to the worship of autonomy (a modern version of the ancient child sacrifices). Does God call us to engage in a power struggle over this? I’m not talking about proclaiming truth…I’m talking about making a bid for political power to force an end to the practice.

I say, “no.” That is not the course I see in Scripture.

I say we need to tear down the god demanding the sacrifice, the god of personal autonomy . . . and to do that we will have to start with the Church. That would be the first step to following the Biblical instruction for Christians – to influence culture as a testament to the reality of God, trusting His plan and purpose. If we did that, we might also notice the many other victims caught in human power systems…the ones we’ve abandoned in our other power struggle with leftist ideology. But we are the ones with the answers for those victims as well…it’s not a “left” or “right” answer. It’s a God answer.

Brothers and sisters, political power struggles do not fit into Jesus’ teaching about the Kingdom of God. We need to stop pulling out our “back-up god” to do our primary God’s work.

I know my small voice is but a whisper in a whirlwind of Christian leaders urging their followers down the path of compromise; abandoning our standards of truth and morality to engage in a political fight. These are big names with huge followings. But I must respectfully dissent.

I understand their concerns, their rationale, and their arguments. But the flaw in their thinking is that we can (and should) accomplish a greater good by allowing ourselves to be pawns in a political power grab. This desire for the greater good allows them to be manipulated and blinds them to the implications of their own deeply held convictions, as well as to the bigger picture of a president who has spent four years pushing their fear buttons, exploiting and deepening divisions in our country, and undermining the three-branch system of checks and balances of power – the very system which protects our freedoms.

My trust is not in the American system of government. Nevertheless, I see wisdom in the balance of power and will not be helping to take it apart. I don’t believe the ends justify the means, and I don’t believe God is honored or glorified by his people trusting in the word and protections of a narcissistic bully and pathological liar, handing over the keys of the country in exchange for a short-lived victory.

My concern is for the integrity of Christianity and our witness to the truth of who God is. We should never expect that witness to become culturally popular, because the message of the cross is a stumbling block to the religious and foolishness to the irreligious (I Cor 1:23). But Scripture continually commands God’s people to speak what is true about Him.

On a purely practical level, even if President Trump keeps the Christians around when he’s done with them, which I doubt, we won’t really be enjoying the enduring power and favor we seek because when anyone’s freedoms are undermined, everyone’s freedoms are undermined. The compromises required of Christians to maintain favor will never end.

Please…my dear Christian friends…don’t let your good intentions be exploited by an immoral politician.

The post American Idol appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

He had arrived home from military service about eight years before suffering from a bad case of PTSD.  The first few years were rocky, but he eventually managed to “suck it up and drive on” – complying with the expectation to quit drinking and using drugs and get on with life, as his dad did after Vietnam.  A few years later we got married and he began college.  Our first child arrived 16 months later.

On the surface, he was doing great…husband, father, full-time student, part-time university employee…but not far below the surface he was starting to splinter.  Stress overwhelmed him all day, every day.  People told him to relax.  He would say, “I’d LOVE to relax! How do you DO that?”

He went to a pastor… he went to a therapist…they both said to take a vacation and “relax”.  He went away frustrated that no one could tell him the magical secrets of relaxation.  He really needed treatment for PTSD, but they were still defining and naming the condition back then, and any help available was strictly for Vietnam veterans.

Then a friend gave him speed…just to get this one paper written…just this one time…

For the next three years my husband was a slave to his cruel mistress.  He threw away everything he had…and everything I had. I shared on another post some things I wish I had known – but here I want to talk about the question: to stay or not to stay?  When you love someone who treats you like garbage and throws you over for anything else (whether another woman or any kind of addiction)…do you “stand by your man”?  Or do you cut your losses and move on?

Well, those are unrealistic extremes, and I have learned good judgment is more often somewhere in-between.

While I don’t believe in an “answer-in-a-box” that fits all people in all situations, there are absolutes – and the supreme absolute is love.

When a marriage veers off track, love is easily thrown out the window.  We forget our actions (and reactions) should be motivated by love . . . and love does what is in the best interest of the beloved.  What is best won’t necessarily line up with what I want or what he wants.  It is not about one or the other “winning”, or even about saving the marriage.

Motive is key.

If I choose my actions based on what I think will save the marriage . . . that is not love.  If I get fed up and, in anger, kick my husband out….that is not love.  But, if I recognize that it is wrong and harmful for him to continue this selfish and destructive lifestyle and refuse  to continue supporting his behavior (by kicking him out) . . . that is an act of love.

Knowing that motive is key and love is required is a good start, but figuring out a course of action can still be tough.  We church-goers receive a lot of training on being a good spouse and what it takes to have a good marriage, but there’s not much instruction when your spouse abandons you (or abuses you, or turns into an enemy, etc – whatever the case may be).

I’ve found that listening to the experiences of others is a big help in sorting out the issues to make difficult decisions…motivated by love, rather than vindictiveness or anger.

That’s a tall order, but so is a marriage vow.

Many times in the middle of the insanity I just wanted to take our daughter and get off the crazy train!  Some of my reasons for sticking with him were not completely rational.  Since we had a child, he would always be involved in my life (that part is true), and I wanted to control the situation as much as possible (a reasonable desire, but). I believed I could put enough pressure on him to get him into treatment (ah, the unreasonable part).

Of course, I could NOT make him do anything, and the more I tried to fix him the more he focused on me as his problem.  I also worried how our daughter would react to losing her father, but I underestimated the negative impact he already had on her.

I never gained the objective perspective of true love, but I did finally kick Caleb out.

He went to a “recovery house” for a while.  He came home playing at recovery…talking a good game and doing the bare minimum to avoid being kicked out again. For instance, I required him to attend 12 step meetings. When he did go, it was just to appease me…and often he did not even go.  Having only one car and a toddler to care for, I could never prove it…so I felt trapped.

The last year of his addiction we lived like that.  I probably should have kicked him out again based on my gut instincts (or God’s promptings?), but I did not trust myself and was too fearful of making the wrong choice.

In the end, God took it out of my hands.  Caleb was arrested.

I considered this the final blow…the end to any hope of a normal life.  At that moment, did I care more about my husband’s welfare or about my “normal” life?  I honestly could not see the difference. I thought they were the same thing.

Though I still had so much to learn, God showed mercy to me.

As it turns out, Caleb’s arrest marked the beginning of his recovery from addiction.  The court offered an intensive, 12-month minimum, court-supervised program, with the threat of jail for non-compliance and/or non-completion.  Drug tests 5 days a week and random, unannounced house searches left no wiggle room for my very slippery husband!

Although the program was court supervised, it was not court mandated.  By this time Caleb was desperate for a way out. He wanted his life back.  Our second daughter was only a few days old and he was determined to be a father to his two girls…so he volunteered for the program.  You may ask, “Why didn’t he care about you and his oldest daughter enough to do whatever it takes?” The answer is unknown…even to him.  It was just time.

During that year, we both learned a great deal about the nature of addiction, principles of recovery, and perhaps most importantly, relapse prevention.  We realized Caleb had exhibited classic relapse warning signs at least 18 months before his buddy made the fateful offer.  One of which was associating with said friend!

Knowing the signs and the right ways to respond has made a huge difference for us.

I am glad I chose not to abandon him.  I always believed “he” was still in there somewhere…the man I loved and married.  It was not easy, and none of my doing, but God was gracious and brought him back to me…and I am grateful.

The post When Love Doesn’t Go the Way it Should appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

Well, maybe I should just say “people” don’t like to talk about their dark days.  There may be more pressure in the Christian community to “have it all together”, but I think it’s the norm for most people to put on a façade of success and happiness.  Except for the martyrs…then it’s darkness and despair 24/7!

The thing is, we experience the most growth during difficulty. . .and when others are going through similar circumstances, it can be encouraging to hear from someone who has already been there…and lived to tell about it!

Probably the most traumatic time for me was the three years that my husband was addicted to drugs.  It may not have been the most dreadful circumstance I’ve experienced, but I was so completely blindsided by it and I never developed coping skills.  It was just three horrific years and then it was over.  What I gained from that time was mostly in hindsight.

There are three things I wish I had known back then…maybe they can help someone else.

1.  You Can’t Fix Them:  Ironically, I only began to understand this when my husband (in recovery) insisted that HE was in charge of his own recovery…not ME.  He had been so out of control that I had become obsessed with controlling and fixing him. I took the “two shall become one” a bit too far and lost all perspective on his individual responsibility.  Be aware, you will never be able to understand the “why” of anything they do…you can’t figure it out and you can’t change it.  You can only change you.

That’s a nice saying, but when you need to know, “what do I do?” and “How do I handle this?”. . .well, move on to #2

2.  Get Support:  Find people who have walked in your shoes and can encourage you. Avoid anyone who says they have the answers or can solve your problems! I did not get support because I lived in a sea of well intentioned problem solvers.  I resented being viewed as a “person with a problem” and could not tolerate another lecture on how to fix my messed up life!  Why in the world would I willingly go to a “support” group? I had no use for a gang of angry women pushing their agenda on me.  The thing is, none of my well-intentioned-problem-solvers had any comparable experience and were not representative of the kind of support that was available to me.

As I struggled with my husband managing his own recovery, I began to attend an Al-Anon group.  To my amazement, there was not a word of advice given, they were not angry, they were not all women, and they did not have an agenda! They simply shared their stories and what they had learned (experience, strength, and hope, as they say).  I could relate to their circumstances and found a lot of truth and wisdom that could have been very helpful during the “years of desolation.”

3.  Ask For & Accept Help:  As a very self-reliant problem solver, this was a foreign concept to me. (Could be why I was surrounded by problems solvers?)  I was aware that I was drowning, but was so overwhelmed and inexperienced at seeking help that I didn’t even know what I needed.  One friend in particular asked many times what she could do for me . . . I absolutely never knew what to say.

Several years later when my brother’s wife passed away, a wonderful group of friends did NOT offer to help…they just showed up every other day with a meal, once a week to clean his house, every morning to pick up his kids (taking one to school and the others home to play with their own kids so my brother could go to work).  He probably could have managed all these things…but he had no experience at running a household, he was grieving and overwhelmed, and these ladies really helped him get through the next few years.

In the best of situations, you would have friends like these.  I however, had become very isolated over the three years and had very few friends (just problem solving acquaintances).  But if you have any friends or family who would be willing to lend a hand, ask them to babysit, vacuum, help with laundry and cooking, work on your car or do some yard-work.  Actually, make a list of the things you do or need to do that someone else could do.  When someone offers to help, let them choose!  I was capable of accomplishing everything myself, so I didn’t understand why I should ask for help…but it would have taken a bit of the load off me…and reducing stress is very helpful!

Most importantly, in the middle of the darkness, when you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, hold on to the truth that God is with you.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4

The post The Valley of the Shadow of Death: 3 Things I Wish I Knew When My Husband Was Hooked on Drugs appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

So many life events took place in May.  I have to admit, some were a tad scary . . . but there is just a sense that something is going to happen in May.

Today is the 30^th anniversary of my first date with my husband.  It was Spring Formal, our Christian school version of Prom.  That wasn’t one of the scary occasions . . . although it was Friday the 13^th  . . . maybe we should have been scared.

It was also May when I kicked him out . . .

. . . but his appendix burst before he even started packing.  He was in the hospital for two days before he had surgery.

I was so young and naïve and overwhelmed by it all, but looking back, I suspect the doctor may have intended to let him die because he was a drug addict.

An angelic nurse, alarmed and incensed by the situation, began calling the doctor continuously about his duties.  He seemed more than a little perturbed when he had to come in on Mother’s Day to do the appendectomy on my not-dead husband.  My mother-in-law and I were not sympathetic to his plight.  People in the medical field think I am exaggerating when I say he waited 48 hours for surgery (but I am not) . . . he really should have died.

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that . . .

It was May when the AVM in my brain burst.  It was 48 hours before I was even hospitalized . . . and then another three days before surgery.  I should have died too.

You may be getting the impression that medical care is a bit “sketchy” in this town (as my 14-year old would say).  It sure is a good thing that God apparently has some more plans for the two of us!

A few years ago I wrote an account of my “brain event” in story form.  I am going to share that again here.

My husband and I settled into our seats along the third base line at the Modesto A’s stadium that warm, late-spring evening.  I stashed the coats and blankets as we chatted with my co-worker, Zoe, and her boyfriend. I scanned the program we received on entering the park after the Rotary Club’s tri-tip barbeque in the parking lot.

I anticipated getting out of the house with my husband for the first time since the birth of our third daughter eight weeks earlier.  It wasn’t wonderfully romantic, but it was a fun and welcome break.

“Oh, look!” I said.  “My uncle and cousins are singing the national anthem tonight.  I didn’t even know they did that.”

Zoe checked her program and chuckled, “Really?  That’s your family?” followed by her infectious belly laugh. “How cool.”

I searched the stadium.  “Hey, there they are!  Opposite us on the first base line.”

“You should go over and say ‘hi’,” my husband suggested.

“Sure, I’ve got time before the game.  Be back in a bit.”

Across the stadium, my aunt and I exchanged status updates on our families.  This was pre-facebook era.  When she asked about my husband, I said he was fine and turned to point him out.  Suddenly, the back of my head exploded with excruciating pain.

I tried to continue the conversation, but struggling I said, “I’m sorry.  It feels like my head just exploded.”  My aunt looked alarmed beyond all proportion and shouted, “Well sit down!  Sit down, right now!” and pushed on my shoulders.  It seemed inappropriate to sit down on the walkway and I didn’t want to cause a scene, but I finally complied and dropped to the pavement.

My husband was suddenly there. Medics were there.  I threw-up in a trash can.  I was lying on a cot, screaming in pain, embarrassed by the fuss.  I was in an ambulance and then the hospital.

Following my two previous child births, I experienced a severe “migraine” headache which lasted about twelve hours.  Believing this headache was simply my usual postpartum migraine, I assured everyone I would be fine. My husband continually maintained this was no migraine and my minimizing frustrated him.

The CT scan showed “a small cyst”, but nothing of concern.  The doctor sent me home with a prescription for pain medication and instructions to return if I experienced worsening symptoms and/or vomiting…both of which happened as a nurse wheeled me to our car.

My husband watched me through that night while his mother cared for the baby.  I was never able to keep any pain medication down and by morning my headache was screaming again.

On my return to the emergency room, the staff assigned a “med seeking” designation and shuffled me into a tiny cubicle (more like a closet, according to my husband) on a Morphine and anti-nausea drip.  My husband was furious and kept insisting there was a serious problem.  The doctor dismissed his appeal for another CT scan as unnecessary. I knew my husband was beyond upset, but I did not care about anything that day.  Eight hours later the doctor released me again with the same instructions.

The next day was Monday and my husband made a solemn oath that nothing could prevent him from getting me admitted to the hospital that day.  I still believed he was over-reacting, however my condition had so deteriorated that I did not know the day or where our children were.  There was a delay in processing what people said to me and my response.  People began shouting at me.

At one point I went into the restroom and almost immediately my husband was banging on the door demanding to know if I was o.k.  I thought he was completely insane and swore at him (something I don’t do).  It had actually been over thirty minutes and the string of profanities I screamed at him sent a sickening chill through his whole body.  During his military career he had seen a lot of head injuries and now his concerns became an all-out panic.

Our “work families” were now alerted. One of my husband’s co-workers, a former E.R. physician, suspected the truth . . . an AVM bleed.  He made this assumption based on my age and the fact that I had just had a baby.  He suggested my husband request my primary care physician admit me to the hospital.

Not the Actual Dumb Doctor

My husband drove to my doctor’s office and demanded he see me immediately.  My annoyed doctor made a preliminary diagnosis of post-partum depression and sent us back to the E.R. for admission and probable transfer to a mental health facility!

On our third arrival, I could no longer walk and my husband carried me into the E.R.  The physician from Saturday night was now on duty again.  Alarmed at my condition, she ordered another CT scan.  The “small cyst” was now a “massive bleed” caused by a burst AVM, or tangle of veins in my brain.  I was finally admitted to the hospital, but now with little hope of survival.

The initial plan was to keep watch and hope the bleed would resolve.  The neurosurgeon gave my husband the grim prognosis that I would most likely die, and if not, I would have the functioning of a small child. The size and location of the bleed made surgery to repair it unlikely to succeed.  The slim chance of mere survival as a “vegetable” was not considered a good enough outcome to warrant the cost of a risky surgery.

My husband’s physician friend knew surgical repair was strictly a last-ditch effort and the fifth day was the last chance to do it with any hope of survival.  However, he and my husband felt every possible effort should be made.  He helped bring enough pressure to bear on the neurosurgeon that he finally attempted to clip the veins . . . five days after the bleed began.

The surgery was a success!

Discharged ten days later, I began therapy to learn to walk and to think logically.  I had also lost some language and a lot of conversational ability.

(c) Can Stock Photo / Leaf

The rehabilitation experience gave me new empathy for people with mental illness.  Our brain tells us what is real and a malfunction causes a lot of difficulty!  Several times during my hospitalization I believed I heard people talking who were not there and believed that events occurred that did not.

According to medical types who know this stuff, I experienced a remarkably speedy recovery.  I returned to work part-time four months after the surgery.  Eight months after surgery I was about 99% recovered and returned to work full-time.

What a relief it is to me that God is orchestrating and sustaining life.  Regardless of how careful and responsible I am, I could not prevent the AVM bleed.  I was born with it.  I was also helpless to save myself.  God made it clear to me that He is actually the one accomplishing His will in my life as surely as He caused the walls of Jericho to fall by His own might, not by Joshua’s brilliant military strategy or the fighting skills of the bad-to-the-bone Israeli soldiers.  God put them in a ridiculous situation to show that they weren’t responsible for winning battles.  They were responsible for showing up and following orders.

(c) Can Stock Photo / ruskpp

If the medical community had handled my case correctly, they would have taken credit for the outcome.  Their mistakes allowed God’s power and command of the situation to clearly shine through.  God was not limited by circumstances or doctors or insurance companies.  What an opportunity to experience the awesome power of God!  How can I worry about what tomorrow will bring when the All Powerful, All Knowing, Everywhere Present God of the Universe has my days already numbered and perfectly in his hands?

As it turns out, this was only the beginning of a difficult era for my family, and God has continually brought me back to the same comforting truth of his plan, purpose, and power in my life; and then shown me something new.

The post May Flowers appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I feel just like I did that time in Tel-Aviv when I was beaten from head to toe and left for dead.  I’m serious.  That is EXACTLY how I feel right now.”

“Well, let’s get going to the doctor.”

Caleb groaned, “I don’t want to go to the doctor.”

“This is your third day missing work.  The County requires a doctor’s excuse.”

Over nine months, Caleb had lost almost 100 pounds and was battling severe anemia. He was seeing a G.I. specialist and a blood specialist (hematologist) but there was no diagnosis or improvement.

On this day, Caleb’s primary doctor said there was a flu going around, but considering Caleb’s overall status, he wanted some labs.  Caleb managed to endure the trip to the doctor and the lab and collapsed back into bed as soon as we were home.

That evening, his doctor called to say the labs showed nothing new and he ordered something for the nausea.  That was a Wednesday.

Thursday night (actually about 2:00 a.m. on Friday) while sleeping on the couch, I heard strange noises coming from our room.

I found Caleb lying sideways across the bed, on top of the covers, feet on the floor.  It looked like he had tried to get up and fell back.  I asked him if he was o.k. . . . he made some garbled noises.  He seemed to be sleeping so I chalked it up to nightmares and returned to sleep.

A few hours later I heard more noises.

This time it was like muffled screaming and I discovered Caleb thrashing around.  It was as if an invisible person was holding him down and he was desperately trying to overpower them to stand up.

Going to help him, I saw blood trickling from his mouth.  He was trying to talk but couldn’t.  I told him not to get up and called 9-1-1, followed by my mother-in-law.  It was not even 5:00 a.m. and the girls were all sleeping.  I needed her to stay with them while we went to the hospital.

The paramedics were the first to arrive (of course).  Some of their questions seemed absurd.

“Is this his normal state?”

What?  Is comatose his normal state?  Uh, no…

Grandma arrived next and then the ambulance (yep, a mom can get there faster than an ambulance!)  Our five year old had been wakened by the commotion and Grandma was holding her on the couch as Caleb exited on a stretcher.

In the sunlight one of the EMT’s commented that he looked see-through.  I pulled my van behind the ambulance and waited in the middle of the street for about 20 minutes.

An EMT finally ran around to my window and said, “We’ve been starting an I.V.  He’s going to be o.k. When I got the I.V. in he gave me a thumbs up and said ‘good job.’”  It was hard to take too much comfort in her words, but I held on to them as we headed for the hospital.

At the E.R., Caleb was completely surrounded and I had to stand way back.  After several minutes the doctor broke away to talk to me.  Those words are etched into my memory.

“I’m going to do everything I can for him, but you need to understand that he is in bad shape.” 

I nodded and understood, but it all seemed unreal.  I just stood there watching.

At one point I heard him yell, “I don’t want to die like this!”

The doctor yelled back, “We’re not going to let you die, Mr. Lane.”

Caleb’s mom joined me after dropping the kids at school and daycare.  I repeated the doctor’s words. Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped away, calling Caleb’s dad to come from work. A soft-spoken hospital employee touched my shoulder.

“Do you need me to call anyone for you?”

“I don’t know, I guess someone should call his work.”  I gave him the phone number.

“I’ll take care of this.  We also have a room set aside for you and your family.  Would you follow me?”

I didn’t really want to, but I followed him to a private room in the waiting area.  Some of Caleb’s relatives had already arrived.  I updated everyone. Caleb’s co-workers started to appear.

His apologetic boss needed some document faxed that day to set up a sick bank so other County employees could donate their sick time to Caleb.  I talked to my soft-spoken hospital guy who took care of it.

I was summoned for an update.  He was stable, on a breathing machine, and being moved to ICU.  He had been given three units of blood.

Caleb’s primary doctor arrived to take over his treatment and gave me a little more information.  Caleb seemed to have aspiration pneumonia (caused by inhaling vomit) and a pulmonologist (lung doctor) would be consulting.

Finally able to sit next to Caleb, I touched his arm, kissed his cheek, and told him I was there. A nurse placing monitors opposite me asked about the scar around his index finger.

I flatly replied, “It was caught in a machine gun clip. The tip was cut off and they re-attached it.  That probably won’t work very well on that finger.”

He looked at me for a few moments and finally answered, “That is not something I hear every day.”

Well, Desert Storm had just begun . . . by now he has probably heard a lot more explanations like that!

In our new ICU waiting area, one of Caleb’s co-workers handed me a sandwich from the cafeteria.  Even though it was mid-afternoon, I honestly did not feel hungry. But I appreciated his kindness and ate it anyway.

When I was allowed to see Caleb, he was still unconscious. He had tubes into his lungs breathing for him and other tubes pumping out the contents of his lungs, which was a lot of blood.

The G.I. doctor determined that the blood had never been in Caleb’s stomach (so it wasn’t true aspiration pneumonia) and felt it would be up to the hematologist to figure it out.

The plan was to be on the breathing machine in ICU for about five days and then moved to another floor to investigate his underlying condition (i.e. what is this?)

The intake nurse, I’ll call her “Jennifer”, was one of the most self-righteous, unprofessional people I have ever encountered.  She disparaged the medication he was taking (for pain and for mental health) and commented that they were doing such a huge favor taking care of him when he obviously was not taking care of himself.  Given the nine months of perplexed specialists and unproductive tests we’d been through, I just wanted to strangle that woman! (O.K. I was also tired and stressed)

Jennifer’s attempt to “get him off all that stuff” caused him to be without his regular medications for almost five days.  This, along with PTSD, caused him to go into a panic every time he started to regain consciousness (being tortured and in restraints in a strange environment…nightmare situation for him). The impatient and skittish nurses would knock him out again, usually in the middle of the night when I was not there.

I encountered some caring and compassionate nurses, but Jennifer’s disdainful attitude toward a person suffering from mental illness and chronic pain was the norm.  The hospital staff often made it clear to me that they did not like my husband and caring for him was a distasteful part of their job.  I hated leaving him alone in that place, and his mother and I were there as much as possible.  But I also had a job to attend to as well as a two, five, and ten year old who needed a parent.

On day thirteen of his ICU confinement, Caleb finally managed an escape attempt…I am sure it was fueled by the delusion that he was being held captive, but that’s o.k.  He gradually loosened the restraints by pretending they were already tight and faked sleep so they wouldn’t drug him again.  Once he pulled the tubes for the breathing machine, the staff took all the credit, everyone on the unit was happy, and he was finally moved to another floor.

Good to be out of ICU, but not out of the woods yet.

His medication routine had been so disrupted that he continued to be suspicious and paranoid.  Again, the hospital staff did not appreciate his behavior and treated him with disregard.  One nurse, annoyed at having to deal with him, handled his IV after cleaning his bedding.  She was openly contemptuous when Caleb complained about it.

As a result, on the eve of being released he was found to have sepsis.  According to the doctor, “the most dangerous strain” – and back to ICU we go!

As he was recovering from sepsis, he began to swell from his arm up to his neck…now there was a blood clot! I began to despair that he would make it out of the hospital alive.  I always knew there was a possibility that he would not live, but now it seemed that he just needed to get out of the quagmire of the hospital!

The idea of doing some investigation while hospitalized was abandoned. Caleb’s doctor was just as eager to get him out of that environment as we were.  As soon as it was medically feasible, Caleb was released to home under the care of a visiting nurse. (Who was awesome and super nice, by the way!)  He was still very ill and on IV treatment for another six weeks.

In the hospital he had received a total of five units of blood and after discharge he received another two units.  There was never a medical explanation of why all this had happened, but he very nearly died three times during his five weeks in the hospital!

He was off work for about six months, going back at part-time and gradually increasing to full time after a year. He struggled for another fifteen months to continue working, but could never get his feet back under him.  He had suffered some brain damage caused by the lack of oxygen and showed signs of dementia.  He continued to be in poor health and was hospitalized twice more before finally, reluctantly admitting the need to retire.

As a result of Caleb’s brain damage and retirement, our family has been in a constant state of adjusting and learning for the past eight years.  It’s been an education I didn’t really want, but it has definitely shaped us and I would not change a thing!

The post 5 Weeks in the Hospital: When a Person With Mental Illness Requires Medical Care appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

“The only way to get through life is to laugh your way through it. You either have to laugh or cry. I prefer to laugh. Crying gives me a headache.” ― Marjorie Pay Hinckley

My husband’s 5 weeks in the hospital marked the beginning of a four year slice of life I call The Tumultuous Years of Ambiguity.

What caused the deterioration which landed Caleb in the hospital was a mystery. After his discharge, he required one more infusion of blood. His weight finally stabilized and over the course of a year he slowly regained strength. We continued our hunt for answers, going from specialist to specialist – blood tests, EEG’s, EKG’s, scans, studies – all “negative”.

I hated the news that this illness or another was “ruled out” . . . even the scary ones. I just wanted to know so we could move on and start to deal with it.  Not knowing was the worst part.

Caleb’s short term memory was not good, so I needed to attend all his doctor visits. . . going to several visits per week and managing the investigation was like another job for me. I was working full time and our two, five, and ten year olds needed more attention than I was able to give them.

Caleb finally talked his doctor into allowing his return to work. He was going stir crazy at home, but within a few months of working his brain injury symptoms dramatically increased. He would get so absorbed in a project that he would forget to go to work.  He sometimes got lost. He became almost obsessed with taking things apart. Our house became littered with computer and flashlight parts, among other things. His thoughts were disorganized and his environment was chaotic.

In the sixteen months back at work before retirement, he was on disability leave for over two months (not consecutive) and he never managed to work a full 40 hour week. After about nine months, his boss and I began to suggest retirement. He refused to even consider the notion – until another blood in the lungs episode.

Caleb wanted to keep working – to support his family. That’s what any husband and father wants. But what if it was in his family’s best interest to retire?

His symptoms were worse when he was working . . . and that put a strain on the family.  And his health was not improving – there was not even a diagnosis – which put him in danger of losing his job anyway.  At least retirement would bring an income.

Even though it went against every fiber of his being – and he fully expected to be viewed as a social outcast – he chose what would be best for his family. It was one of the most painful and self-sacrificial things he has ever done!

The process of applying for and receiving disability retirement took about a year. I (mistakenly) believed that once he was approved for social security there would be resources available to us – assistance with housekeeping and going to appointments, etc – so that I could continue to work and not have a nervous breakdown.

When I found out that there would be no help I cried for a long time.

We were nearing the end of our investigative journey. A few months after his retirement was finalized, we finally saw the specialist who gave us the diagnosis . . . a neuropsychiatrist.

He said there had been numerous onslaughts to Caleb’s brain over the years, from multiple concussions in the army, to drug abuse and pain, and finally the period of time he went without oxygen before I discovered him drowning.

But he also said that Caleb had the highest level of stress that he had ever seen in a patient. He felt the stress was making the brain injury so debilitating and causing the physical symptoms of anemia, weight loss, and even the blood in his lungs.

Finally! A diagnosis! A prognosis! A course of treatment!

As great as that was, nothing really changed the next day, or even the day after that. We still had a long road of acceptance and adjustment to travel – but now at least we could begin!

The post The Tumultuous Years of Ambiguity (Part 1): In Search of a Diagnosis appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

Have I ever mentioned that I love instructions?

Maybe that is why I did so well in school.  I don’t love being told what to do so much, but I really appreciate a good map, a list, 7 steps to succeed at . . . whatever.

And these things have value.  It is good to know where you are going and how you will get there and if you have enough money for the trip!

Ephesians 4:14 that we should no longer be children, tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, in the cunning craftiness of deceitful plotting.

But for me, like so many other things, I became too focused on my own ability to identify a problem, analyze the data, research the topic, and develop a course of action.  Where does God fit into this?

Well, He’s in my heart, right?  He’s right there watching me do my thing . . . maybe giving me a little nudge or boost if I need it . . . on occasion . . .

But thankfully God loved me too much to let me continue in my arrogant way.  I never would have even realized there was a problem if God had not sent me (kicking and screaming, by the way) into Uncharted Waters!

I can’t say that I am the first Christian wife in the history of time to be married to a man with a mental health issue.  But I can tell you this – search as I might – I have not been able to find a single one who wrote about it.

That’s not surprising, really.  I don’t even want to write about it.

We can readily accept that body parts malfunction for a bunch of reasons, only one of which is a physical trauma – but when it comes to the brain, we only accept malfunction that results from some type of physical blow . . . and even then, because behavior is mostly controlled by the brain, we often reject people whose brains are not perfect.

But I digress,

There are some resources in the secular realm . . . but they don’t help with the issue of the husband being the head of the home, the provider, etc.  Non-Christian wives (the really dedicated ones who stay with their ill husbands) just throw that out as “does not apply”.  Maybe it never actually applied to them.

I have also known a few Christian men whose wives had mental illness.  Some of their experiences were helpful (dealing with negative “church” attitudes, etc), but still no help for the head of household thing.

I suspect there are other Christians dealing with circumstances “on their own” . . . feeling that there is no one to point the way, to ask questions and get advice, even if their exact situation is different from mine.

Out in the Uncharted Waters I have learned some awesome things about God.  And I discovered three resources.

First is the person of Jesus Christ.  Never has the story of Peter walking on the water, sinking, and being rescued (Matthew 14:25 -31) been more vivid and real to me.  My normal course of analyzing problems and figuring out solutions was exactly the opposite of what I needed to do.  I had to take my eyes off of the problems and focus only on Christ.

Initially that seemed totally unrealistic.  How does stuff get done if you refuse to look at it? So what, you’re supposed to pretend you don’t have problems?  I can’t totally explain it, but the tasks I needed to do and decisions I needed to make all happened . . . I did them, but they did not overwhelm and drain me in the way they had before.

It’s sort of like learning to ride a bike – you are “balancing” and pedaling – but Dad’s really the one steadying and propelling.

Second are islands . . . large chunks of truth out there.  Even though there are no directions on how to get from here to there, I can see the islands.  I know basically where I need to go.

So, the Bible says, “wives be submissive to your own husbands.” I know how that would look in a “normal” marriage (lots of books, sermons, and seminars on that!) The question is, how does that actually work for us if his brain isn’t totally intact?

The answer to that question is not the point of this post . . . my husband and I would have to write about that together.  The point of this post is that the Bible gives us major truths, so that even in Uncharted Waters, we can find our way by them . . . even if no human has written down supplemental instructions.

And third, previous experience.  God brought many experiences my way before sending me into the Uncharted Waters . . . each with lots of helpful resources.  I have been able to draw on principals I learned in these other situations.

• Having a daughter with (severe) ADHD gave me some understanding of brains and what can happen if they don’t work properly.
• My own brain surgery also gave me some insight on what it is like to be on the other side of the “impaired” equation, both in terms of brain injury and requiring care.
• Even Caleb’s previous drug addiction and the things I learned in Al-Anon gave me some tools I would need for this part of my journey.

We don’t always need step by step instruction from someone who has been there.  God is our guide and we can know the right things to do.  It may not be easy to see, it may take some time and some trial and error, but we are not abandoned.

I did not chose these Uncharted Waters and I often find myself wishing to be done and/or to have more understanding and support . . . but I know that God has prepared and equipped me with everything I need for today.

The post Uncharted Waters appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

Seven years post-diagnosis . . . seven years of learning, accepting, accommodating, adjusting, finding our new normal . . . and now I guess it’s time to raise the bar.

There you go changing my plans again
There you go shifting my sands again
For reasons I don’t understand again
Lately I don’t have a clue

Just when I start liking what I see
There you go changing my scenery
I never know where you’re taking me
But I’m trying just to follow you

It’s out of my hands, it’s out of my reach
It’s over my head and it’s out of my league
There’s too many things that I don’t understand
So it’s into your will and it’s out of my hands – Matthew West/Out of My Hands

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I “was liking” our life, but things were stable and we had (mostly) figured out ways to manage.

Almost a year ago Caleb’s health started to decline.  I didn’t think much of it – there are always ups and downs – but as time passed I became aware that he was gradually losing ground.  His forgetfulness increased – his dependence on “rituals” increased.

He refused to leave the house without his e-reader and a glass of tea, even if he was just going to drop off one of the girls and return directly home (Yes, he’s been called Uncle Si).  Because they were often “misplaced”, he would rather be late than go without one of these items.  No amount of reasoning could convince him that punctuality was more important than the very remote possibility that he might have to sit without something to read or drink for any amount of time.

Shuttling the kids to and from their various activities was one of the most helpful things Caleb contributed to our family – but we eventually could not depend on him.

I continued to hope this was a temporary situation, that he’d find his footing again and regain the ground he’d lost. But then the gradual decline became a nosedive. The simple tasks that used to take him months to complete he can no longer do at all.  He has trouble even holding things without dropping them.  He is always exhausted.  He started using a cane to keep his balance.  Showers have become unacceptably infrequent.  He even forgets to eat.

His symptoms are consistent with the earlier diagnosis of traumatic brain injury, combined with post-traumatic-stress disorder; although this sudden drop in functioning is troubling and has sent him on another round of doctor visits and tests.  There could be an added aggravating factor.  We are looking at various neurodegenerative disorders.  Hopefully we’ll find out soon.

As a result, we are back on the medical merry-go-round, and I am back to micro-managing Caleb’s life . . . not something husbands are particularly fond of!  The caregiver support organization I recently joined informed me that husband hostility is very common in this situation.  (So that’s a relief!)

So, here we go again…it feels way too early on a Saturday morning to be dragged out of bed.  But I’ve done the annoyed groaning and finished the grumbling.  I’m on my feet, sighing with resignation as I guzzle my coffee and shed a tear or two.  Let’s see what God has in mind for us now.

Proverbs 3:5-6   Trust in the Lord with all your heart.
Do not depend on your own understanding.
In all your ways obey him.
Then he will make your paths smooth and straight.

The post Once More Unto the Breach . . . (Here We Go Again) appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

“You are such a strong person.”

Do you know how many times I’ve received that pronouncement?  A LOT!

It’s strange to hear and my mind struggles to manage two simultaneous thoughts.

First, “Wow! So my life is so terrible – you don’t even know how I can stand to be me.”  And immediately, “Well, you’re wrong . . . I’m not that strong.”

I don’t think I’m alone in these reactions.  I’ve noticed that many who receive the “strong person” label recognize we haven’t really earned it; partly because others just aren’t around to see the tears and hear our discouraged complaints, and partly because any strength we might have actually comes from an outside source.

Most people won’t venture ask about this source of strength – I think they are afraid to catch what I’ve got!  But, a few people have risked curiosity, and I also know that many struggle with circumstances far too difficult for any person to bear – much more horrific than my own set of troubles.  So . . .  I’ll share my secret.

The joy of the Lord is my strength.

Believe it or not – that’s it…just some words from a song.  This phrase actually does make one appearance in the Bible:

Nehemiah 8:10 “This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.”

But there is just not enough information here.  How does that even work?  What is the “joy of the Lord” anyway? Where would it come from?   HOW would the joy of the Lord result in strength?

So, here are more seemingly contradictory and impossible verses to help clear things up.

Romans 15:13 “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

I Thessalonians 1:6 “You became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you welcomed the message in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit.”

James 1:2 “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds,”

That last verse has always seemed particularly unreasonable to me.  I have always believed the best I could hope for would be to see the purposes of suffering after the fact . . . to consider actual trials as joy (pure joy to be exact) was just not realistic!

Two things, though, I see in these verses (and many others):  Joy is given by the Holy Spirit in response to trust in the Lord; and joy is not just something we have after enduring the trial – it is something we have in the midst of suffering.

So then:  Trusting in the Lord brings peace and joy.  When we trust in the midst of trouble, the joy sustains us – and becomes our source of strength.  God also warns He will take away joy when we fail to trust – particularly in good times – but that is another topic!

This is not merely academic stuff – this is how we survive life.

It’s not about “digging deep” and “thinking positive” and all that other “I can do this” nonsense.  Positive thinking and determination can get us through some tough situations, to be sure, but when life is just too unbearable to go on and we come to the end of our own resources, that’s when we realize the only place to go is to God.

Ironically, many of us get angry at God about this time.  We complain, blame, try to control, and everything just about the opposite of trust.  And anger robs us of peace and joy and the strength to endure.

I actually started writing this a while ago, but decided I needed to finish after a recent traumatic weekend.  I’ll tell you about it to illustrate how this can work.

My husband’s health, mental and physical, has declined rapidly over the past year.  (That story here)  He has become increasingly despondent about the “burden” he places on our family.  We had a very scary couple of days when he recently struck out on his own, got lost, and ended up in an emergency room about 60 miles from home.  Given his struggles and state of mind, we were very worried about him for about 24 hours until we got him back home.

Let me be clear, that 24 hours was NOT fun.  It was stressful and exhausting.  But, having been through one or two stressful and exhausting events in the past, and in the midst of writing this, I decided to try this trust thing out and immediately surrendered the situation to God, or trusted in the Lord.  I felt so liberated knowing Caleb’s welfare was out of my hands!  I prayed for wisdom and made plans according to what seemed best, even knowing that things might not go the way I would prefer, but having a peaceful confidence no matter what happened, that God’s will would be done, that God loves Caleb even more than I do, that God loves and cares for me…and yes, there was even joy.

Now, I don’t want a repeat performance of that weekend!  But I suspect I have a few more traumas ahead before we find some resolution.  And so I choose to live day by day:

Day by day, and with each passing moment,
Strength I find to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father’s wise bestowment,
I’ve no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure,
Gives unto each day what He deems best,
Lovingly its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.

Every day the Lord Himself is near me,
With a special mercy for each hour;
All my cares He fain would bear and cheer me,
He whose name is Counselor and Pow’r.
The protection of His child and treasure
Is a charge that on Himself He laid;
“As thy days, thy strength shall be in measure,”
This the pledge to me He made.

Help me then, in every tribulation,
So to trust Thy promises, O Lord,
That I lose not faith’s sweet consolation,
Offered me within thy Holy Word.
Help me, Lord, when toil and trouble meeting,
E’er to take, as from a father’s hand,
One by one, the days, the moments fleeting,
Till I reach the Promised Land.

The post My Strength appeared first on Adventures in Loving.

Those words shot off the page and struck me between the eyes.  Wow.  Of course they don’t.  That’s like adding insult to injury.

There are two messages I received growing up.

From my family I learned about faithfulness and commitment.  Love is primarily a choice – not a feeling.  Marriage takes work.  Getting married is not one great big, fun filled, never ending, romantic date.  It is more like Dan Fogelberg’s thoughts on life:

Cursing the quest
Courting disaster
Measureless nights forebode
Moments of rest
Glimpses of laughter
Are treasured along the road.

My cultural instruction consisted of the teachings of the “me generation” marinated in Disney Princess ideology . . . marriage is about self-fulfillment and happily ever after.

My own expectations for marriage were formed mostly by my family . . . tinged with some cultural wishes.

When my husband became ill, I never considered abandoning him. After my brain bleed, our roles could easily have been reversed. However, it was clear that our life together would never look like the one I pictured, so I buckled down for the bumpy road ahead.

He had to come to terms with loss and disappointment; acceptance of the new realities of life . . . but so did I.  What I came up with was a patiently enduring stance.

It seemed like the right thing to do. I was even complimented on it . . . until I read those words. . .

I thought back to the first few months after my brain surgery . . . and how frustrating that had been. I hated being a “burden” on my family.  My husband was cooking and cleaning, doing laundry and giving baths, chasing after kids and putting them to bed – and on top of all that, he had to wait on me hand and foot.  Stress was oozing out of his ears and I felt so guilty – so frustrated – so useless.

That was a temporary situation.  The bad feelings went away when I was able to jump back in to taking care of my family.

My husband was not so fortunate. Although he is always working towards a better quality of life, he will never have the physical, emotional, or mental capabilities he once did. . . and now he gets to have a martyr for a bride! Yay! That’s just the cherry on top!

And why was I a martyr? Because I was disappointed.

Why was I disappointed? Because of the happily-ever-after mentality! I guess I fell for it more than I thought. I placed too much importance on what my husband did, rather than who he is.

My husband is kind and compassionate, intelligent and funny, unwavering in love, loyalty and faith. He is a champion of the underdog and crusader for justice.

Seeing someone hurt or in need, his immediate response is to help.  He does not question why – or if it is their own fault.  All that matters is a fellow human is in need . . . and he will help, even to his own detriment.

No illness or damage has taken these qualities from him. He is more limited in his expression of love and concern, but that does not change the core of who his is . . . a truly amazing person.

When I take the time to remember and be grateful for those characteristics, the ones that attracted me in the first place – and which have not changed – the outlook of a martyr falls away.  Love is a choice . . . and sometimes being in love takes some effort.

The post What? Me a Martyr? appeared first on Adventures in Loving.