Sunshine Days

"Because on and off the clouds have fought // For control over the sky // And lately the weather has been so bi-polar // And consequently so have I // And now I'm sunny with a high of 75 // Since you took my heavy heart and made it light // And it's funny how you find, you enjoy your life // When you're happy to be alive."

Relient K - High Of 75 Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

Two years ago I found myself in one of the darkest places, physically and spiritually, I have ever experienced. I was "recovering" from the loss of a sibling, which felt more like flailing and not like recovering at all. At that same time my stomach and back went on a full-scale rebellion. I couldn't eat anything without experiencing abdominal pain and/or acid reflux. My left shoulder hurt constantly and the muscles were tense all the time. 

I was in a lot of pain and I was not happy. I didn't know how to smile easily, and I was worried I'd never know how to again. I didn't know what I could eat and what I couldn't, and so most of the time I didn't. I couldn't sleep because of the back pain, and I would lay awake for hours trying to get comfortable, feeling the ache and throb of the muscles in my shoulders refusing to relax. 

This was a very dark time for me, and it didn't magically go away.

I spent a lot of my prayer time asking God why He was doing what He did. I was very weak and very broken, and it felt like it would never end.

Then, about a year later, things changed. I went to a doctor who recommended physical therapy, and for the first time in months I felt relief from my back pain. I went on an elimination diet and my abdominal discomfort quieted. 

I stood on a scale last summer and nearly laughed out loud; I had gained 5 pounds. A small win, but a win.

And slowly, over time, I found joy in things again. It took a long time. I had to learn how to trust God again, to not be afraid of His will, to not instinctively flinch in submission to Him. I had to rediscover joy in His purpose, and this I had to do in the midst of a lot of pain and weakness. I learned that being weak isn't a bad thing, but that our weakness often gives the loudest testimony to God's grace and strength. 

I learned a lot over the past two years. 

And more recently I have learned restoration. God doesn't just take things away for no reason, or to fulfill some ambiguous "will" that impersonally dictates hardship upon us. God restores. He doesn't necessarily restore exactly what was taken; He usually gives more. We are the ones who have to take the time to see it.

Two years ago I couldn't run because I was in too much pain. Two years ago I felt sick and weak and just plain horrible because of the weight I lost. Two years ago I struggled to laugh. Two years ago I was resentful towards God's will. It took me a long time to realize He had a bigger, better purpose to all of it, and that I could only see part of that purpose at times.
Today I can run again. I weighed myself for the first time in months and discovered I had gained back nearly everything I had lost. I can laugh easily again. My body and my heart are not the same as before; suffering changes you like that. But they have been restored.

I still struggle to joyfully accept God's will. I still wrestle with the fear of being thrown back into that unknown place of suffering and pain. Some things take a lot longer than two years to overcome, and something tells me that these fights are going to last a lifetime. But I have a great God who will fight with me in those moments, and whose presence is constant in all moments. I am indeed happy to be alive.

A Portrait of My Mom and the Art of Loving Selflessly

My mom has always been someone I've looked up to as being older and wiser (obviously). She also gave birth do me and my many siblings, a feat that should never be taken lightly. In recent years, however, I have been reminded of just how amazing she is. I see it over and over again, and, no matter how many times I see it, each time I stand in wonder at all she does.
I will admit, part of this is because I am her daughter, and so I am already biased in some respects. But I lived with her for eighteen years of my life, so I have also seen her many failings and shortcomings. I am the most biased and the most unbiased, all rolled into one mess of a child. Looking back on the twenty-three years she has been my mother, I see many hurts, dark days, sufferings, and struggles. I remember the times our family hurt together, and the times we healed, and the time we rejoiced. As I think back to these times, one thing stands out to me: my mom's love for all of us.

I took the winding road down memory lane while thinking about this post, and now I'm going to drag you down it with me. Rewind 10 years. My youngest brother was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. He was hospitalized for several weeks; every single joint in his body swelled up and was extremely inflamed. He was in massive amounts of pain.
Mom was hospitalized with him. People so easily empathize with the sick child because they are so young and so weak. They don't understand or process pain very well. People sometimes forget the parents as easily as they remember the child. They don't realize that a parent, or both parents, are hospitalized with their child. they don't realize that each time that child cries out in pain, that parent cries with them. They don't realize that a parent's life stops when that child's life is in danger; suddenly the parent's life doesn't matter, and all of their energy, time, and attention is focused on their hurting child. My mom did that without question. She spent sleepless nights with her son, consulted doctors, wrestled with insurance companies, and learned as much as she possibly could about her child's condition.
My brother couldn't walk for three months. Getting up in the mornings and getting his joints moving was the hardest thing for us and for him to do, but my mom did it without question.
I learned compassion from my mother that year. I learned what expensive love was, because I saw it lived every day.

Fast-forward five years. I was supposed to graduate from high school. Two weeks from graduation I got a phone call from mom while I was driving my siblings to their co-op classes: Our youngest brother was going to be hospitalized immediately for an undetermined amount of time. His body was broken again and they didn't know what was wrong with it.
They were hospitalized again.
I discovered something else about my mom the night of my graduation. My mom wasn't there. She missed it. Two of the most important people in my life weren't there. It was a sweet time, and my dad, grandmothers, and remaining siblings made sure it was. But I couldn't wait to get home. I practically ran to the phone (back when landlines still existed), and I dialed her cell phone.
We talked for almost an hour, and I shared every detail. She cried. She cried because she couldn't be there, and she wanted to more than anything. And I cried, because I wanted her there more than anything. That is when I discovered this truth: My mom loved me. 100%, without question, she loved me. She loved me enough to cry with me and for me. The thing about being a mom that I learned was this: you don't divide your love up between your children. You love each child 100%. My mom loved each of us completely, which mathematically gave her a deficit. Except my mom never had a deficit. Somehow, she managed to love all eight of us 100% each. How did she do it? I wondered this for many years. And it wasn't until two years later that I discovered the answer.
Fast-forward two years from my graduation: my parents' eldest son died in an accident.
Not the one they fought so hard to keep alive all those years. No, this son was completely healthy, thriving, and full of life. I won't go into detail about all of it - that is a story for another time.
But that Summer my youngest brother, the one who was so frequently sick and hospitalized, became sick again.
My mom put aside her grief and struggle over the son she lost, dropped everything, and rushed to the hospital to be with him. Not only that, but she sent out updates to the rest of us on his condition. She had her entire Church family praying for him. She fought with the doctors for a good care plan for him. She stepped into the role of his caregiver, a role she had become an expert in. She laid aside her grief and her heartache, and she loved expensively.
My youngest brother is currently very healthy (praise God!).
My mom lost a son two and a half years ago; she has gained two wonderful sons-in-law and two beautiful grandchildren. What God took away, He restored ten-fold. But mom didn't know that He would do this at the time, and she didn't know my youngest brother would recover.
And in this I came to understand how my mom could love so expensively: Because God, in Christ, made up the deficit, and continues to meet it. Mom now not only has eight, but ten children she loves, as well as two grandchildren. She has more, not less, of a deficit in the love department. Yet she never comes up empty. The reason is not that she is a great mom in her own power, or that she has boundless energy, or some secret healthy lifestyle, or even essential oils (though she uses all of those at times).
My mom is tired; she has given her entire life to us, her children. Yet she has joy. Yet she still loves us. More importantly, she has Christ. She wouldn't have joy and she wouldn't have love if she didn't have Jesus first. Because she has been loved by Christ and because she loves Christ, she can love each of us completely. Because Jesus laid His life down for her, she daily lays her life down for us. This is the secret to her expensive, exhausting love: Jesus.

My mom is beautiful. Sure, her hair is graying, and she has wrinkles. Sure, her body isn't as thin or in shape as she would like. But that doesn't change the fact that she is one of the most beautiful people I know. Those gray hairs and those wrinkles are a testimony to the expensive life she has lived, caring for all of us. I wouldn't want to change a single one of those hairs or those wrinkles, because they tell the story of her love, and of God's provision, better than my pitiful words ever could.
My mom is amazing. She's amazing because of the life she has lived. But even more so, she is amazing because of the One she is living her life for; the One who enables her to love so selflessly and so expensively.
I love you, Mom. 

My Love Affair with Epsom Salts and Discovering my Inner 65-Year-Old

I used to be one of those cool, careless kids. I ate whatever I wanted, slept as much or as little as I wanted, went on ridiculously late-night road trips, slept in tents and on floors (and loved it), gave little or no thought to diet, exercise, or medication. Yes, I used to be one of those reckless kids, living life with careless ease and little concern for myself.
Then one fateful day that all changed. Suddenly - I ate things and the bitter metallic taste of acid reflux would fill my mouth, dull my senses, and leave me guzzling water and mint tea for the next forty-five minutes. I would sleep on the floor and wake to find knots in all the wrong places, that is, all over my back and neck. I would go for a late-night road trip and arrive at my destination cranky. Then the seemingly impossible happened: I started taking vitamins.
Gone were the days of abandoned youth and careless living. Suddenly I had to buy new mattresses, and pillows, and vitamins. I had to start a new diet, and then change that diet, and then modify that diet. I began to feel exhausted by 10:00pm, and I hated being out of the house past 9pm, because I needed that hour to wind down. And yes, that hour had a routine that I had to keep or else I would toss and turn all night.
That all began two years ago.

 Guys, I'm 23 years old.

My "reckless youth" abandoned me pretty fast.
And then I realized something: I enjoyed going to bed early. I enjoyed eating vegetables, lean meat, and all of that "healthy stuff" I used to sneer at. I didn't like candy and desserts half as much as I liked kale and kimchi. Oh kimchi.
I've been obsessed with kimchi since I got my hands on the recipe a month before my 21st birthday. We've been friends ever since. And I've set a new standard this past week: I made kimchi and granola. Both.
But that isn't even the best part of my week. No, no, the best part was the epsom salts.

Yes, I know what you're thinking right now, because I thought it not so very long ago (two weeks in fact): Epsom salts. That's what my grandma used to recommend all the time. Yuck.
And if your grandmother was anything like my grandma (and mom. And mildly hippie sister) she did. All the time. Every time. For EVERYTHING.
And we laughed it off because nothing could be that good. Could it?

Oh yes, it could.

I've taken up long-distance running, because half-marathons are a bucket of laughs y'all. Actually, it's a personal goal I set for myself a while back: to run a marathon by the time I'm 30. But I have to get past the 5k first.
So I started running. A lot.
My job, as stated before, involves a lot of walking and stair-climbing.
Two weeks into training, my knees and calves hurt.
Like any normal sister would, I took my troubles to my older sister, Anna. She prescribed the one thing I should have seen coming but didn't expect: "Epsom salts."
Then she actually explained why these magical salts are so magical: Magnesium. Apparently magnesium soothes sore muscles and eases the pain.
So I went and bought a giant bag of epsom salts. With that purchase I saw the last of my recklessly youthful ideas crumble to the ground.
And guess what? The salts worked. They actually do help with muscle tension and soreness. I've now used them for my neck, my back, as well as my legs. They are fantastic!
And yes, I am obsessed.

I was talking with my other sister I get all my life advice from, Libby, about the wonderful substance called "epsom salts", and in the midst of our conversation I realized something: All this time I thought I was losing my reckless, invincible youthful side, when what really has happened has been the slow revealing of my inner 65-year-old.

As I looked back on the past two years I realized that coupled with each negative, restrictive experience there has been a pleasant revelation about myself.
Let's look at the timeline:
Dietary restrictions -- Discovered I love rocking chairs. I want one, but I haven't found the perfect one yet. I'm still looking.
Inability to sleep on the floor -- Discovered the wonder of a good night's sleep. I just didn't realize I was missing it until I had to give thought to where I slept.
Hatred for late-night road trips -- Discovered how much I loved simply staying home, reading a book, curled up in my favorite blanket with a cup of tea. Spontaneous weekend trips will never rival the comfort of one's hearth, home, and bookshelf.
All of these things I've discovered I've enjoyed have earned me the title "old lady" from my friends.

I still stay up late, because my job sometimes dictates I do so. I still sleep on the floor sometimes, and I don't have as much trouble with it as I used to (epsom salts, kids, they really work), I will still take late-night road trips (though usually someone else is driving and I end up falling asleep in the passenger seat), and I still fail to faithfully keep every aspect of my diet all the time. But my struggle with each of these things has led me to find a deeper and greater joy in simpler things.
But really, I think the reason we classify these things - epsom salts, early bedtimes,  careful diet - as what 65-year-olds would do is because they are the really good things to do. And the 65-year-olds who do these things have spent a good deal of their lives getting to the point where they realized just how good, healthful, and refreshing such things were. The rest of us are still discovering those things, and we're too young to realize how satisfying and good they really are. Maybe that's the reason why grandmothers keep telling us we need to use epsom salts: because they discovered the salts worked first. Maybe we should spend more time listening to our grandmothers and less time listening to ourselves. Maybe we all need more epsom salts.