Does this bus go to the Meat Department?

I am most decidedly not driving the bus. I am merely a passenger on this journey that is my life. If I were driving, this would not be the route I would have chosen to take. And, try as I might to get the Driver to make a left at the next light because I think I know a shortcut or a faster way, I am not The Driver. I haven’t always known this and there are times that I still want to take over at the wheel. Usually that just ends up getting me lost on some bumpy road, broken down in the middle of nowhere. Then I end up having to call for road side assistance and wait for the Jesus to get me out of the situation I have gotten myself into. I am convinced that what He wants me to do is simply sit back, take in the scenery as He points it out, learn what I can from my road trip, and revel in the ride. Let the Driver drive. You may ask how I know this. Well…



I have been told dozens of times that I am a good story teller and that I should consider writing a book someday. One person even told me that my writing reminded her of a young Erma Bombeck. Of course that was years ago and now I am sure if we were having that conversation again, she would leave out the young part. I have always loved writing and loved the idea of writing a book, but never really had much to tell except funny short stories about my family life.



While still in the hospital recovering from my illness, several people, upon hearing my survival story, suggested that I should write a book. I had lots of time to think about it and ultimately decided that I did indeed want to write about it. After all, I had asked God to give me a story to tell, and I had promised Him I would tell it. I definitely wanted to write for my own sake. If it turned out to be a book, well, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. I wasn’t yet able to go back to work, so there was nothing keeping me from giving it a shot. I climbed up into the driver’s seat, started the bus, and pulled out of the station.



I had come up with an idea of what I thought I wanted to write and how it would be laid out. I sat down one day and wrote a list of topics I wanted to include, stories I felt should be told, and a list of clever chapter titles to keep myself organized as I wrote. In four weeks time, I had written what I determined to be four chapters of my “someday” book. I was driving the bus for all it would go.

What I ended up with was four cute stories, at best. Nothing compelling, nothing life changing, maybe a few laughs or something witty, but definitely lacking in the meat department. After those four chapters, I had nothing. Nada. On top of that, in my weakness from muscle atrophy, my hands shook constantly. The mere task of writing or typing was harder than I expected it to be. I could barely read my own handwriting and I shook too much to type accurately. I felt very defeated and uninspired, so I stopped writing altogether. My proverbial bus was out of gas and had a flat tire.



I decided I needed to focus on my recovery and completely forgot about the idea of writing. Little did I know that in doing so, this was allowing the Bus Driver to get back into the driver’s seat.



When God answered my prayer about giving me a story, He also gave me a task to do. Tell it. I knew this. I knew this. What I also should have known was that He never intended for me to tell it without Him. He is the main character, after all. I am now convinced that this is why my initial four chapters were so lack luster. I set out on my own to do this task, without praying about it, without asking for His direction, and He sat back and watched me try to drive the bus. Free will. Hmph. When I finally threw my hands up in defeat and announced rather loudly that “I can’t do this!” that is when He said “No, you can’t, but I can.” Well, okay then.



Just when I had decided to scrap the whole idea of a book, inspiration started to flow like water from a spring. The bus was once again pulling out of the station, first stop: Meat department.

From that moment on, God was writing the book. I was merely writing transcript like a court stenographer. I realized that the events I would encounter during my recovery was where the book was to come from; the emotional highs and lows of pure joy, sheer frustration, and yes, even unbridled anger, would all be a part of the story. If I have learned anything in the past year of attempting to write, it is this: When God says write, I write. Even if He wakes me up at 2 am from a sound sleep, I write. When He says “Write about this” I write about it. Sometimes I don’t even know why I am writing about the subject until I reach the end of a session and then read it back to myself and say “Whoa. Where did that come from?” Then and only then, it makes perfect sense. The words flow in such a way that I know they are not coming from me.



I started this blog only a few days ago, with the intention of telling my story in chronological order about an illness I dealt with one year ago, yesterday. Since then, yes, since yesterday, there have been three key events that have taken over my foremost thoughts and I am cannot wrap my mind around anything else. Try as I might to tell this story in chronological order, you may as well know right now, it’s not going to happen. Nope. He wants me to tell it in His perfect timing.



Chronological order makes sense to me, it is what I thought I should do. Can you hear my voice from the second row of the bus? “Driver, turn left at the next light, I know a faster way.” Thank God I am a life time card carrying member of The Savior’s Road Side Assistance Club.



Have you signed up yet? It’s free.

Until next time,
Lisa

It Only Took Me a Year, God

As I type this, one year ago to this moment, I was dying.

How's that for a dramatic start of a blog???

As I type this, one year ago at this moment, my husband was telling my daughter to call 911.

One year ago today, a prayer I have prayed for 20 some odd years was answered, but in a most unexpected way.  

God has laid it on my heart to tell my story.  This blog is dedicated to the telling of that story. I am not sure who He will bring to read it, why they will be brought by Him to read it, or what my words will mean to those that do, but I do know that He has told me to write it, and that He wants me to write it now.

Actually, He has been working on me to write for quite some time, and I have been.  But you see, I wanted it to be done. Finished. Wrapped up nice with a pretty bow on top. Ready for the world to see. That isn't His plan. One year has passed and my attempts to "wrap the package" have failed. Miserably.  What I have is a jumbled mess of words saved in a document called "Book Draft" that make no sense to anyone but me, and that is only on a good day.

I told Him I wanted it to represent me and my sense of humor, and I felt it just wasn't quite there yet. He said it isn't about you.

I said that it wasn't finished, that I needed more time to fine tune things. He said it didn't matter.

I said I wanted it to touch people and bring them closer to Him and it still needed tweaking.  He said to let him handle that.

I said I was all out of excuses.  He said  "Well, it 's about time!"

I am not going to pretend to have it all figured out.  The words here are His, flowing thorugh me. If there is anything in my words here that speak to you, it is totally and purely a gift to you, from Him.

So, as all stories have a beginning, this is mine.  It is my prayer that God blesses you somehow with the words that He has given me to write.

Giving Me My Story -

When I look back on my days and years, I can recall over and again, different scenes playing out on the movie screen that is my life. I’ve been decidedly unhappy with my weight, my hair style, my accomplishments and/or lack thereof, or even my stumpy-fingered hands, of all things. Then it happens. Snap back to present day when I come across a photo or some random memento of an event that causes the exact opposite reaction to the emotions playing out on the movie screen. I find myself looking at the photo and thinking how I would love to have the weight problem I thought I had back then, wishing I still had that much hair and I‘d take even have half the energy I had back then. And my hands? In the photo on my wedding day, they may have been stumpy-fingered, but they didn’t have the wrinkles I have been noticing on them as of lately. The list could go on and on.

I had one of these movie scenes play out for me recently. Last month, in the midst of preparing to file our taxes, I found a receipt for postage that I had bought to ship out a custom wedding album I did for a client last year. The date on the receipt was two days before I suffered a major pulmonary embolism in both of my lungs and had to have emergency open heart surgery. I remember the day clearly. I had been sick for a few weeks and didn’t feel well when I stopped at the post office and I was on my way to a doctor’s appointment.

It is difficult to explain the flood of emotions that came over me as I held that receipt in my hand. I know that we all experience this phenomenon from time to time, but this time it was the reverse of what I am used to. Instead of wishing that my circumstances had been different in some way or that I could change what happened, I found myself suddenly very thankful that God had seen me through my darkest hour and had been at my side for the entire journey. Instead of asking "Why me?"  I was simply stating "Why not me?"

I wasn’t just thankful for the fact that he carried me through it, because I have prayed that prayer almost daily, but, for the first time, I found myself truly thanking Him for the fact that He put me through it.

I was thankful that He immersed me in something so life altering, that I will forever be changed by it. You see, in the twenty two years that I have been a Christian, I have struggled with what I call “why me syndrome.” In the past, I have asked a lot of stupid questions of God, who is forever patient with me as I struggle to find the answers.

It had always bugged me that there was no momentous event that took place on the day I got saved. Envious may not be the right word here, but for lack of a better way to put it, I had always been envious of people who had amazing testimonies, the kind that upon hearing them shared, one sees undeniable evidence that God was working in their lives in an incredible way.

To be someone that had undeniable proof of God’s hand in their lives was something I desired so badly. One of the questions I had repeatedly asked Him was why I didn’t have a testimony worth sharing in Sunday School, at bible studies, or revival week. I have even brought this up to my pastors, in various bible studies and Sunday school classes, as the subject presented itself over the years, always getting varied answers and opinions, but never satisfied with them.

I never doubted my salvation, nor the fact that I was a sinner. I never doubted God‘s presence in my life, because that was evident in many numerous ways. I never questioned that Christ died for me as equally as He did for those who had overcome great obstacles on their way to finding salvation. I just wanted to know why I didn’t have a story to tell.

Picture a child, relentlessly asking for something from a parent, over and over again even though it may not be in their best interest to get what they are asking for. I was that child of God, asking Him why He didn’t give me a tangible life event that I could use to share His greatness with others. I hope that it never got to the point in God’s eyes that it looked like I was throwing a tantrum about it, or that I needed proof of His existence, but I certainly was persistent about wanting an answer to my question. I simply wanted my story.

In hindsight, I am ashamed that I desired this so badly. God knew all along what I would have to endure, what path I would take to get there, the questions I would ask of Him over and over, and ultimately, that the experience would bring both He and I great pain. He doesn’t like to see His children suffer.

He also knew that He would hold me at my word, my promise to actually tell my story, and He knew when I would be ready and able to do so. Apparently, it would take exactly one year. And for the record, I still don't have an amazing salvation story, but I do have a pretty good page turner of a second chapter. :)

So, while pondering why it is that we humans tend to constantly desire a change in our circumstances in the here and now, yet we look back in time and find ourselves wishing for what we used to have, a new thought suddenly dawned on me. I can't help but wonder what it is that I am taking for granted right here, right now, that I will be wishing for in a few years? Today I think I’ll fold those stumpy-fingered, wrinkled hands of mine in prayer and thank Him for right here, right now.

Til next time,
Lisa