Part I - The Nightmare

I have lived in Arizona for about 2 ½ years and now have this amazing community of friends that I love dearly. I believe the more you get to know people, the more you find you DON’T know about them, and the treasures and pains they hold close to their heart. Sometimes unearthing these treasures and pains is like chipping away at a block of ice. Other times it’s like finding a geyser, looking inconspicuous at first, but when it erupts you stand in awe of what’s in front of you. Even with this amazing community of friends, I have yet to see so many treasures erupted and pain chipped away. We are all a work in progress, are we not? We all have these pains and treasures that have shaped our lives in ways we usually never see coming.

In my eyes, my story is no different than anyone else’s. I have suffered pain, have felt love, have experienced tragedy and have counted blessings innumerable. So, it is with that understanding that I write this. This is part one (and a VERY compacted part one) of a story I have been encouraged to write. What story? My dream. But the dream I have comes from a part of my life where I experienced tremendous hurt and pain. Isn’t that just the way of it? Beauty from ashes, blessings from curses, and triumph from tragedy? My dream story will be Part 2, so hang in there. I’m in the midst of school and traveling, and new jobs. Somewhere in there Part 2 will be written, but Part I needs to be shared first, because without it, the dream won’t make sense. So…here it goes.

There is a part of my near past that has really shaped who I am. For a long time it defined my very existence, but now it has become an unshakable part of my past, and a catalyst and purpose for my future. I have mentioned to people “an accident”, and they look at me strangely. Lots of people have car accidents. Lots of people go through tragedies…

In July of 2004 I was a 25 (almost 26) year old, very independent woman, living just outside Philadelphia, PA, where I had moved three years prior. Life was good. I was working at a private university where I stood ten classes short of finishing my Bachelor’s degree. I was also involved in an amazing church, sung in the choir, played piano in the praise band, acted in the Easter plays, helped lead a single’s group, and taught Kindergarten Sunday School classes. I loved my life. At 25, I made no time for any dating relationship. Who would have the time with that kind of schedule?! Hah! My days were full. My life was full…of all these things I loved. And I was started to feel like maybe this schedule was a bit too much, that maybe I was neglecting my personal life in all the business. After all, school was getting more difficult, it was probably time for something to go.

I was a couple of weeks into the second summer session of school. It was a Thursday afternoon, and I was headed down I-95 from my job in New Jersey, to my home in Levittown, PA. Since it was the summer, we got off early, which was great because I had a vet appointment to take my dog to as soon as I got home. It was a beautifully clear day, sunny and warm. I had the windows down, the radio up and cruising along…after getting through the daily traffic jam at the bridge, of course!

I was about 3 miles from my exit when I started to hear sirens. I could tell they were getting closer, but I couldn’t see any emergency vehicles. “Oh well”, I thought, “I’ll move over anyway, just to be safe.” Traffic was backed up on the other side of the divided highway. “Maybe there was an accident”, I thought to myself. Traffic was heavy, in a little cluster as I was trying to move to the outside lane. There was an entrance ramp there as well. If you know anything about driving in that area, you’ll understand when I say if you have an inch, you take it, and I was looking for an inch to squeeze into.

Off to the side in the large grass median area I saw a pickup truck, looking like it was trying to make a U-turn from the other side of the highway onto our side to avoid the traffic backed up on his side. This was pretty common practice out there, so I thought nothing of it. He wasn’t going fast, or driving erratically. I was more concerned about moving my car over because I kept hearing the sirens from this seemingly invisible emergency vehicle!

I turned my head back around from looking in the next lane for an open spot and there he was, his dark green pickup truck like a flash of white light. I screamed and hit the brakes.

“Ma’am. Can you hear me? Ma’am, can you hear me?! I’m ______ from the ______ department. If you can hear me, can you say something?” I don’t know if you consider groaning a response, but it was the best I could get out, and at least he knew I wasn’t dead. My body felt immovable, straight down to the vocal chords. That’s the first thing I remember.

What seemed like seconds later it was another attempt from someone (I think) from the fire department. Being down the street, it didn’t take them long to arrive. This time I was a little more responsive. I think he asked for my name this time, which I’m pretty sure I gave him. And then he asked me to move my foot. And I remember this clear as day because I suddenly became aware that I couldn’t feel it, nor could I move it. A slight panic set in. I couldn’t feel my legs, but I could feel blood running down my arm. I don’t remember hearing any other sounds until my next memory.

“Okay Ma’am, we’re going to have to cut you out of the car. You’re going to hear some loud noises, and a bunch of crunching metal. Don’t be scared. I’m just going to put this towel over your face to make sure we don’t get any glass on you. Just hang in there. We’re going to get you out of here.” I honestly had no idea what was happening. I mean, I knew where I was, I knew I had been hit, but other than that I was in an unconscious state. I do, however, remember the sounds of the Jaws of Life as they peeled the roof off of my car.

Up until this point I had no feeling of pain necessarily. It felt like my body was stiff, immovable and like someone had a heavy press lying on top of my body. That’s the best way I can describe it. I had no idea of what, if anything, in my body was injured. That is until it came time to extract me from the car. Enter…pain.

I’m no small fry to begin with, but now I was a large fry AND dead weight. Thank God for hefty firemen! As they lifted me out of the vehicle I knew I was injured badly. I would later find out that my pelvis and hip were completely shattered on my right side, all the way through to my acetabulum, a very hard bone to break (so I hear). Basically, my leg was holding on by skin, tissue and muscle. The bones that used to hold it together were now in pieces. So as my leg dangled there, as I was being lifted out of my car, the first words I screamed in pain were, “MY LEG!!!” And that is what I kept screaming.

I was taken to the local hospital where I was met by an amazing trauma team. I don’t remember seeing anything. I must have had my eyes closed. My right eye had been split open. But I remember the list of questions. Name, date of birth, social security number, phone number, emergency contact, their phone number, closest relative, their phone number, blood type, etc., etc., etc. I rattled them off like I wasn’t even in an accident. I even told them which pocket in my messenger bag my cell phone was in so they could contact my family. It was obvious I had no brain injuries.

Then they started asking about what happened, what color was the car that hit you, what do you remember? They told me I was doing great. I asked them what happened to the other driver. “He’s here too…unfortunately”, said the nurse. I asked what happened. “He was drunk, Sweetie. Unfortunately, we have to treat him just like we do you. But, don’t worry, he’s surrounded by police and he’s not going anywhere.” I asked if he was hurt. “Just bumps and bruises.” “That figures”, I thought to myself.

The doctor (who was super awesome) says to me, “It’s okay to let it out. If you want to be mad, you can just scream, yell, and cuss him out, whatever you want. You’re not going to hurt our feelings at all.” My response was “I’m not that kind of girl.” That made everyone laugh. That doctor remembered me for that, and reminded me of it when he came to visit me at a different hospital several weeks later. It was apparent at this point that along with no brain injuries, I also had no loss of my Midwestern sarcasm and good girl manners.

Despite my funny comment, I was actually in and out of consciousness the whole time, and very weak. I was able to talk to my mom. The nurse thought it would be good for my mom to hear my voice before she spoke with her, so she dialed the number and held the phone up to my ear. My mom answered the phone.

“Mommy?”
“Hi baby. What’s wrong?” (She could tell.)
“I got in an accident.”
“What?!”
“And I have to have surgery.”
“What???!!!”
“I have to go now because I’m starting to fall asleep again. The nurse is going to talk to you now.”

I was out again. But the next hour and a half became the quickest packing and preparation period my mom ever had in her life. With a suitcase full of magazines (for the hours of waiting room time she planned on having) and summer clothes (because she wasn’t staying long, of course), they hit the road for the 12-hour drive from Michigan to Center City Philadelphia, where I was being transferred.

By this point there was a small army of people from my church camped out in the waiting area praying for me. My family started calling everyone I knew. My friend Mary, who worked at the hospital started calling my family and friends, and passing out numbers from my cell phone to my sister, who called everyone to let them know what happened.

Because my injuries were so extensive, and the insurance I had allowed it, I was air lifted to a trauma hospital in downtown Philadelphia, where I would spend the next six weeks, undergoing two 10-hour pelvic reconstruction surgeries, at the skillful hands of my amazing, amazing, amazing surgeon, Dr. Susan Harding.

My parents and step-parents came in right away, my dad and stepmom arriving first. I actually don’t remember what I said to them. I remember being extremely anxious for my mom to arrive. It wasn’t that I didn’t want my dad there, because I absolutely did. But I needed my mom for this one. I needed my mom to tell me I was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t true. After I was airlifted, most of my church people had to go home, as the security staff strictly patrolled the waiting room and freed it from “evil after-hours visitors”. Shame on them!

My mom had only been there a half an hour when they tried to kick her out because visiting hours were over. I’m not sure if “angry mama bear” is an accurate enough description of what took place in that moment. Needless to say, mom was staying…after some intervention by hospital administration.

Three holes were drilled through my knee area, and a traction rod was put in. It was attached to a pulley that hung off the end of my bed with weights to keep my leg dislocated. The purpose was to keep the intact part of my femur from getting damaged further from the other pieces of bone. A week went by before my first surgery to allow time for the swelling to go down. In the meantime, I lay almost motionless, except for bedding changes.

Bedding changes started the day after I arrived. First, I was disconnected from the pulleys then I was turned on each side. I cannot describe the pain this caused. The thing about being loaded up on drugs is all of your inhibitions are removed, so when you’re writhing in pain, you scream…which I did - enough to send my mom to the hallway throwing up. I went through this every day. It’s the worst pain I have ever been in in my life. I can’t describe it any other way.

After 2 weeks in to my 6-week stay at the hospital, I was still under the assumption that my injuries would only need about 6 weeks of recovery time. I mean, what did I know?? They had just completed surgery number 1 and I was still optimistic. My spirits were still up, my determination still at peak. I was ready to get out of there! The first blow came when I actually asked the doctor about the recovery time. At this point, no one had told me anything. I think that was on purpose.

The words, “At least a year” hit my ears like a ton of bricks. “A year”, I asked, and then started sobbing. A year of my life, are you kidding me?! What about school? What about work? What about my life?!

I endured another surgery, and then it was time to start preparing for my exit from the hospital. It would have been lovely to go home and recover there, but that was not an option. Instead, my mom took on the task of trying to find a suitable nursing care/rehabilitation facility for her now immobilized daughter to start therapy in. After several visits to nearby places, we found a place not far from where I lived.

During this entire hospital stay, I had a constant flow of visitors, some I don’t remember seeing at all because I was so drugged I slept most of the time. My 26th birthday was three days before the accident. A couple of guys from my singles group brought in cake and sang to me. I missed that entire party. I was there, and have a picture of me sleeping with the cake sitting on my bed. Good times.

My constant visitors were people from my church mostly. My room was full of banners from kids that I taught at church, stuffed animals, flowers. You name it, it was in there. Food was brought to feed my family and visitors practically every day. The staff at the hospital made room for our stuff in the refrigerator, and we gladly shared food with them. We always had a ton of leftovers. Oddly, the thing I craved the most while I was there was fruit. Word got around, and fruit was put on the delivery menu.

My mom had moved into the hospital. You think I’m joking. No, she was literally sleeping there…on one of those horrible chairs. When they finally moved me to a private room, she was upgraded to being allowed to sleep in the empty bed next to me. She deserved to stay at the Ritz. Not only did she move in, she also took over my care.

Several times, my mom stepped in when mistakes were made in my care, saving me from massive infections, and delays in my progress. She became my advocate, fighting for me while I slept. She changed my bed sheets, gave me my sponge baths, handled all the bedpans (ewe), and kept me going. She became the rock I leaned on for every single thing. This was both good and bad, to be so reliant on her, but I am confident when I say if my mom hadn’t been there, my recovery would have taken a very different route.

When my dad and stepmom came to visit, I had friends who lent them a car, and gave them a place to stay. My stepdad was housed as well when he came out to visit and eventually stayed along with my mom. There wasn’t a need I had that was not taken care of by the people in my life. My church took up a donation for me to help with any extra expenses I had, in addition to everything else they did. They were such examples of Christian love.

My time in the nursing home was hard. There is no other word to describe it. I not only had to learn how to walk again, but I had to do so on one half of one foot. See, not only was my right leg damaged and completely non-weight bearing, but my left big toe had been crushed as well. Two 3-inch long pins were inserted into my foot to keep the bones set in place. I was fitted with a special boot that only allowed me to put pressure on the back side of that foot. Walking turned into more of a test of arm strength than anything else. It was a terrifying process.

I spent another six weeks in the nursing home learning how to walk. I was finally able to sit, but only at up to a 60 degree angle. That was how I would sit for another few months after I left too. That’s what had to be done in order for my pelvis to heal. I had a special wheelchair that allowed me to sit at different angles.

I had victories in the nursing home like being able to “walk” ten feet. Walking was with a walker and 3 people surrounding me, but still, I did it. I even learned how to do a stair. I actually sat on a toilet for the first time (at a 60 degree angle). I even got to take my first shower (in my wheelchair). It felt so good. I sat under the water for so long I got so weak. The Bible study group I was a part of at my church, relocated to my nursing home, holding their weekly meetings in the visitor’s room so I could attend if I felt up to it.

But my time in the nursing home also brought new challenges. Depression hit so hard I thought about taking my own life. I developed a Deep Vein Thrombosis in my leg, so that was another ER trip, and then anti-coagulant treatments for the next three years. And then I had to figure out where to go next after the nursing home.

Thankfully, word got around my church family (yet again), and a friend of a friend had a handicap accessible house for both my mom and I to stay in. Finally, a real bed! I wheeled around, becoming more independent in my bathroom and shower use, but still lacking a lot of strength when it came to getting around. I had in-home physical therapy and occupational therapy visits until I was able to travel more in the car to go to the office.

After about another six weeks there, it was time for me to make a more permanent decision about my care. I was about ready to start weight-bearing on my legs, and physical therapy was about to get more intense. I made the decision to go back to Michigan and continue my care. After almost 4 months, I said goodbye to my wonderful friends and second family, fully expecting to be back and working at the end of this “yearlong” recovery.

By January of 2005 I started pool therapy. I loved it. I used this machine that I slid onto from my wheelchair that would move me over the pool and lower me in. Then I would get out, but would have to hop on my better leg until I got into much deeper water. The deeper the water, the less pressure on my legs to hold me up. The first time I put both feet on the ground and stood up straight I was so happy. It felt amazing! I was only allowed to do this for very short periods of time at first. But the more time went by the longer the stretches, and the shallower the water.

Not only was there pool time 3 times a week, but also strength and mobility training the other days of the week. Every day my mom would drive me to doctor’s appointments. And it wasn’t just therapy appointments; it was the family doctor, the orthopedic, the x-rays, the MRI’s, the this, the that. It was painful…so painful. It was stressful, exhausting and laboring for me and my family.

Getting around my house was a challenge. Getting into the bathtub was a challenge. Getting into the car was a challenge. Everything was a challenge, took 50 times longer than normal, and was more time and stress on my mom, who was still wearing all the hats! There were people and things that helped along the way, but it was just hard. That’s all there is to it.

I’m skipping over SO MANY details during this time. I could go on and on, and tell so many stories of things that happened over what turned out to be my 7-year recovery process. I say seven years, because it was after that that I started working again, but honestly my recovery continues even today. I have pain every day. There are certain things I can’t do anymore, always precautions I have to take, and things I have to consider before doing many of the things I love. But I am walking, biking, hiking, dancing, and finally laughing again.

My move to Arizona was not by chance, but a choice I made for my own health. It turned out to be a great one! I feel like the weather and heat has allowed me to do many of these things. I wish I could live near the water, because I am happiest parking my butt on a beach and just listening to the waves roll in, and watching the sunset fall on the water. But my body can’t survive there anymore…at least not right now. So I survive in the desert!

I have looked back on this time in my life and grieve over the things that happened. Grieving for things is healthy. Ignoring the things I went through is just as detrimental as dwelling on them. So I grieve when I need to, and then I count my blessings. And this is what I stand on. Blessings, upon blessings, upon more blessings. I can’t even count them all, there are so many. And they came from this community of people I had surrounding me and my family. Most immediately were my church friends where I lived in PA, and my family. But my story made its way around the world, where people prayed earnestly for me about every detail of my recovery.

When I really think about the people praying for me, all the blessings, the protection, the providence in my life it gets really overwhelming. For a long time, I felt guilty for surviving, and even thriving. I met so many people along my journey that have lost loved ones, or have suffered horrific injuries in accidents similar to mine. I would feel so bad, and wonder why I survived, why I was given the blessing of walking, among other things. I questioned God so many times. Why did this happen to me? And at the same time, why save me and not them? Why let me walk again, and not them?

The answer is I don’t know. I don’t know why bad things happen to good people, why good things happen to bad people, and why some suffer, while others thrive. These are the questions I’ll bring to Heaven, because I think the answers are reserved for God alone. I do know that in the midst of my struggle I was given a verse from 2 Corinthians 2:4, “He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” I hated this verse when it was given to me. Absolutely hated it!! But the more I have lived it, the more I understand it.

This brings me to Part 2 of my story, which will come later – The Dream. It’s been on my heart for about 5 years now, and I know it’s where I’m headed. It’s one of those God-sized dreams, the kind you know you can’t do on your own because it’s so huge you couldn’t possibly. With everything that He has allowed and given me in my life, I can only believe that it is with purpose, for a reason I may or may not fully understand in my lifetime. But I can be sure that my life has meaning, that this disaster in my life had purpose, and that without the people in my life I had carrying me through everything I would not be the same person I am today.
Please stay tuned for Part 2 of this story!

Here, Let Me Push You!

Wow, it's been almost a year since I posted anything.  Yikes.  Alright, here it goes...

My church has been going this series titled "The Worst Friend Ever".  While you might think it's all about having a bad friend, or what to do with bad friends, it's really about asking yourself if you ARE the bad friend!  The series was, I believe, on week #4 today, and the message brought this morning is really resonating in my heart.

Our pastor likes to use props and demonstrations to get his point across, and he's very conversational in his "preaching", which I love.  He's talking with us, not at us, or down to us.  It's refreshing.  This morning he asked for a volunteer.  The man got up on stage, and Pastor Linn explains to him that he's going to push him in a direction, and wanted the man to resist him.  The prop at the other end of this was a cross.  It was to illustrate, a friend pushing the other friend towards the cross, towards Jesus.

The whole point this morning was that we, as Christians, need to surround ourselves with people who will push/nudge/guide/nurture us towards Jesus, and asking ourselves if we have and are those kinds of friends.  My immediate reaction was yes, I do have those kinds of friends!  I have this amazing support system, this community of believers who speak truth into my life, who challenge my thinking and my heart, to follow God in everything I do.  And we walk this way together, not because we are better, smarter, or holier than anyone else, but because we are called to be this in each others' lives.  We are called to edify, encourage and support each other.

I, of course, have friends that are not "of my faith", and therefore don't necessarily point me in the direction of God.  Am I any less whole for having these people in my life?  No, because they offer a perspective that my Christian friends can't.  They challenge my thinking, my beliefs, and my faith.  They test me, maybe even criticize me at times.  As our pastor put it this morning, they "drain me".  The "draining" process can be both good and bad, and I better make sure I have people there ready to help fill me back up again.  (The friends that point me right back to God.)

It got me thinking though.  If you're pushing a friend towards Jesus, that means they're either resisting, or they're walking the opposite direction, because you're having to push.  If you were just walking alongside them, in the same direction, no action would be necessary.  So, how does it go for you when you're pushing someone the opposite direction?  You meet resistance.  How does that translate into friendship?  Do you love silently?  In other words, do you not say something or do something you know you should, to help your friend, because you're worried about it "ruining" the relationship, or causing friction?  Or do you face the fact that it might make things awkward, it might get really uncomfortable, that person might reject you, hate you, walk away completely from you, and do what's right in love for this person?  Tough decision.

I was having a discussion with a man in our singles group after coming out of this service.  He hadn't been yet, so he was unaware of the message.  We were talking about how sometimes people say, "Oh, all I need is God.  I don't need people in my life to fulfill me."  Seriously?  God created us to live with people, to be in community.  We are the essence of God in people's lives.  God can't hug you, deliver food to your house when you've got so much going on you can't think about planning meals.  He can't loan you a car, run to your aid when you're in trouble.  But His people can!

So, why do people say that God is all I need, and I'm just fine without friends or people in my life?  I mean, I get it.  I get that God can supply our every need.  But He does that in so many ways.  One is through people.  I honestly think that the main reason we want to retreat to a world less people is because it's freakin' hard to deal with people!!

Relationships are it.  It's like the thing that makes the world go 'round.  But we're flawed humans!!  We screw up ALL the time!!  We do and say hurtful things to each other every day, and have to apologize, forgive, move on and deal, all while balancing the consequences of what we do with learning to forgive ourselves, accept forgiveness, still knowing that we're going to jack things up again the very next day.  It's a mess!!  We try, we really do.  But honestly, we're just plain and simple flawed.  It's these flaws in ourselves and in others that make living in a community so hard.  It's humbling, scary, and flat out annoying knowing that no matter how hard we try, we're still going to fail someone or ourselves, in some way(s).  Wouldn't it be grand if we were all perfect?!  Some say yes, most say no.  The jury's still out. :)

All I'm saying is, I have friends in my life that when the going gets tough they offer one-liners and "that's too bad's", or "you should try meditation or yoga", and then I have other friends that point me to Jesus and say, "Go ask for wisdom, forgiveness and grace, because he's the only one big enough to give it, and he's the only one who's never going to fail you."  And while sometimes I Really hate hearing that, and want to tell them to "buzz off and just feel sorry for me for once", I know they're right.

They might be pushing me towards Jesus against my stubborn will, but at least they're pushing me in the right direction!!

And if that doesn't work, there are always the proverbial 2 x 4's upside the head.

I was challenged this morning to look at myself AS a friend.  Am I being That friend?  Am I joining God in what He's doing in the lives of my friends?  Am I helping them stay on that path?  Am I showing love at all costs?
And what about my friends?  Am I surrounding myself with people who are guiding me back to Jesus?  Are my friends filling me, or draining me?

Can't wait for next week's challenge in "The Worst Friend Ever" series!

Little Jesus Worshiper

I went to a Diamondbacks baseball game the other night, which included fireworks and a concert from The David Crowder Band.  I went with a large group of friends from the singles group that I attend.  It was a lot of fun watching the game, catching up with friends, eating hot dogs and a couple handfuls of cotton candy.  What a great weeks end!
I had never had the opportunity to hear The David Crowder Band in person, but am a fan of their music, so I was excited to be able to go to this concert.  I dig his style, and his sold out lyrics and music, praising Jesus through worship and a good 'ole country hoedown.
As I was sitting there in the stands, listening to beautiful music on an absolutely gorgeous night, I looked over to to see a young girl, maybe 8 or 9 years old, hands in the air, singing along and praising Jesus.
A general definition given to the term "reckless abandon" is this:  "To do or say something without regards for the consequences".  Children have this down pat!  The older we get, the more we lose that innocent, childlike faith.  Children can see things we adults cannot, because for the most part they are untainted by the world around them.  They have imaginations that run wild, and trust far easier than adults who have experienced hurts and lies from people they were meant to trust.
Matthew 19:13-14 shares a tiny blip about a few parents bringing their children to Jesus, and being shewed away by his disciples.  Almost as if they were annoyed with these people for bringing their children to Jesus, when he had so many other important things he could be doing.  Jesus was a busy guy.  He didn't have time for these kids.  What do they need from him anyways?  There are tons of hurting people out here all wanting him to save them, help them, heal them.  Surely these children didn't have these kinds of urgent matters to attend to.
But Jesus corrects his disciples, "Let the children come to me.  Don't stop them!  For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children."  Childlike faith.  Reckless abandon.
Scripture is littered with examples of people forsaking all for Christ, and yet it took me forever to feel comfortable raising my hands in worship, IN CHURCH!  The place where I am among fellow believers, and I am worried about what THEY think instead of worshiping God with everything I have, and no regard for anything else.
This little girl, who I watched as she sang and waved her hands in the air, unconcerned with who was watching or what anyone else thought of her, reminded me of the childlike sincerity that God desires from each of his children.  We have an audience of One!
It made me smile, watching this little Jesus-worshiper, and knowing that God was smiling too, as this child, in reckless abandon, let her soul free in worship. :)  What an example!

Camping in Sedona!

I remember camping as a child.  It was definitely not my favorite thing to do.  My main memory is of camping with my grandparents, and having to sleep on this bed that was about 6 inches away from the ceiling of the camper.  I couldn't move.  It was hot.  It was so uncomfortable.  That, and walking half a mile to the restrooms. 
I've had some better experiences camping as an adult, which gave me a little courage to take a camping trip with my friends, and 60 other single people, to Sedona this past weekend.  The group is part of a local Phoenix church, and a group that I had never met before.  I was glad to go with a couple of friends, for that reason, and decided I could handle 24 hours of "pot toilets" and all things camping.
 
Honestly, saying I was "roughing it" out in the wild, would be a far stretch, as dinner was hot dogs, hamburgers and tons of other food.  Breakfast was bacon, eggs, muffins, fruit, and even more food.  I spent the night in my van, with an air mattress and blankets.  And although we had no hand-washing stations, and the bathroom stalls were just a deep hold in the ground with a toilet in a large stall, that was the extent of the "hardships".

Driving into Sedona, Arizona is breathtaking.  Everything red (rocks and dirt) juxtaposed with the desert flora and fauna, and the green of the trees, including pines, and the white of the alpines, makes you stand there in awe of things so beautiful.  Huge mountain cliffs everywhere, that look like hiking thrills waiting to happen, until you get close and realize how massive these things are. 
My traveling companions and I stopped at the Chapel of the Holy Cross, which is built into the side of a mountain.  From the road, you can see the huge cross against the glass of the side of the chapel.  It's beautiful.  Even more so when you go into the chapel.  That glass wall you can see from the road, once inside give you a breathtaking view of Sedona, while the huge cross casts shadows through the room.  It is peaceful and serene, the kind of place I could spend an hour or two in just praying, thinking, reflecting.  But there was no time for that.  Although I did get a picture, and that will have to do!

Normally I find a sitter for my dog for trips like this, but I decided it was time for Neena to get out of the house and enjoy the great outdoors.  I was a little worried about her "spunky" attitude being too much for such a large group of people, but she did great.  This trip wore her out, which kept her calm, and she had fun visiting all the people in our group.  I'm pretty sure she loved being the center of attention!

We got to the campsite, which was on a creek.  Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love the water,  so this immediately drew my attention.  Forget the hiking, the camp games, and get me to the water!  Within 30 minutes my water shoes were on and I was down in the creek trying to walk the rocks while carrying the dog.  Not the smartest of ideas, but my dog doesn't like the water.  It worked out fine, and I was able to make my way out into the middle of the creek, park myself on a rock, and enjoy the beautiful scenery.

The creek bed was bull of rocks and boulders, surrounded by trees, and through the trees...mountain cliffs.  It was so picturesque, like someone should have had a canvas out right there, painting this beautiful scene.  The water was cold at first, but was so refreshing I couldn't help but keep my legs and feet dangling in the current.  I could have stayed there all day, but eventually my body got tired of sitting on a rock.  So I did a little more wandering through the creek, and then made my way back to camp.

I decided to take some pictures along the creek, and as I was doing so, the dog yanked on the leash and my camera fell right out of my hands, straight into the dirt.  After thinking I got it all cleaned off, I tried to open and close it.  It got stuck.  It was broken.  Good thing I took a ton of pictures before it busted.  So much for my nice camera.  That lasted all of a month. :(

It was great to meet some new people on the trip.  I was surprised at how large the group was, and then found out that the group itself is about 250 people, all 20-30's singles.  Wow.  It was interesting to watch the eclectic group of people that attended.  Conversations sparked and invitations were made to come to more events, which I'm planning on doing.

Our night was filled with singing songs around the campfire, with a guitar, and 60 voices.  While our campground neighbors were enjoying Cinco De Mayo celebrations, we were singing and listening to one of the guys preach about God.  I couldn't help but think about how this must look to these people.  I'm sure they're thinking, "These people are crazy."  Not that I care.  I've been there, done that, wondering if my religion is real, if God is even real.  At this point, I know why I believe what I believe, and what other people think is not going to deter me from practicing my faith.  But as I've been through some things, my understanding of what other people think of Christians has grown.  There's more to say here, but I'll wait...

Since this was the night of the super moon, we were able to enjoy it from the outdoors.  Unfortunately, because we were in the mountains, we couldn't see it until it was all the way risen.  But, as I was sitting there enjoying the cedar wood campfire (heavenly smell, by the way), I looked past to the creek bed and thought for sure someone had a spotlight shining on it.  The moon was so bright!  We hiked up to the road to see it and take some pictures.  I love full moons, night skies, stars.  Love the stars.  I could stare up into a night sky for hours and still want more!

I had the smart idea of sleeping in my van again, which was awesome.  I had an air mattress, and egg crate mattress, blankets all lined up in the back.  Sleeping on the ground, or out in the open is wonderful, but cold temps and hard ground doesn't really go that well with all the metal residing in my body.  And while I'm miles better than I have ever been, I didn't want to push it.  I knew if I slept on the ground I would be so uncomfortable the next day.  Hence, the air mattress.  

My plan would have turned out great, except my air mattress sprung a leak, and somewhere in the middle of the night I woke up sleeping on the floor of my van, which was pretty much like sleeping on the ground.  I think I actually starting laughing at this point.  So much for that idea!  I woke up two times during the night, shivering cold.  The dog was shivering too, which is definitely not good.  Good thing I was in the van.  I just turned the car on for ten minutes the first time, let it get warm and then went back to sleep.  The second time however, I woke up and turned the car on, but fell asleep in the nice hot air pumping through every single vent in the vehicle.  The car ran for about 45 minutes before I woke up super hot!  Oops.  Oh well.  It was worth it.

The only bad things were the air mattress deflating, the broken camera, and the renegade pebble that cracked my windshield on the way back to Phoenix.  I could think of worse things that could happen.  I honestly enjoyed myself.  And it was great to meet some new people as well.  Just another adventure to add to the list, and I'm sure there will be more to come.

After my 24 hour camping experience I can honestly say I could do it again, and would love to have stayed longer.  So much for bad childhood camping experiences!!

Hypersensitivity!

I share these things on my blog, because my hope is that they will be shared.  I've met enough people, and talked with enough of them suffering to know that understanding and encouragement is necessary in order to deal with it!

This week at work, my "lunch group" somehow got on the topic of hypersensitivity to pain during childbirth.  While I couldn't relate to the pain of childbirth, I could relate to hypersensitivity to pain.  So, I mentioned something about understanding that feeling.  This sparked the question from one co-worker as to what I was referring to.  Sometimes I feel like I've shared enough of this story that everyone already knows it, so I guess I was thinking he kind of knew "my story", and said, "Oh, when I had my accident."  I figured that would be the end of it, but more questions came.  "What accident?"  Apparently he didn't know.

I can't be the only one that is faced with these questions, because we all have "a story".  Generally, everyone has something in their life that hits them hard, and changes the way they think, act, live.  The more you get to know people, or share your life with them, the more questions come, and eventually you get to that question that hits your story.  How much do you share with people, and will they look at you differently because of it?
One of two things generally happens after I answer questions like the one my co-worker presented to me.  Either you receive pity, or you are put on a pedestal.  You hope for that rare third option...understanding.  Because if people can understand the thing that makes you you, that erases the vulnerable feeling you have in the pit of your stomach, and replaces it with respect and understanding.

So, here in front of 4 of my co-workers, people I care about, respect and spend the majority of my time with, I place myself in vulnerability, and share.

Preface:  Drunk driver, escaping police, came across the grass median on the highway in his truck.  I stopped him.  Shattered pelvis and hip.  6 Weeks in the hospital, 6 weeks in the nursing home, another several months in a wheelchair.  Had to learn to walk again, pretty much learn to do everything that would require the bottom half of my body, again.  It's a miracle I survived.  5 years of full-time therapy, another two years of trying to figure out what my body would allow me to do, and then finally a year of slowly working my way back to being "me".  Just a different version of me.

Tidbits:

I remember pins inserted in my toe to help set it after it was crushed.  These long metal pins were inserted at some point when I was out of it, so I didn't feel them getting put in.  One went in through the top of my big toe, straight down.  The other from the ball of my foot, straight across.  They were about 3-4 inches long, not that big around.  The pins made it impossible for me to bend my toe, but just out of fear I had taken to not moving any of my other toes.
One day, the bandages came off, and my foot was covered with dead skin, much like someone who just had a cast removed.  My mom was trying to pull the dead skin off, and as it started to pull on my toe (still pinned) I would wince in pain.  It was basically like pulling peeling skin off your arm after a bad sunburn.  Not usually painful, but for some reason any pull this toe skin would send pain waves through my entire foot.

The worst pain I ever felt, of course, was during the first few days after my accident while they were waiting for the swelling to go down so they could do surgery.  Because my leg (femur) bone had no socket to sit in, my leg was pretty much dangling free and clear.  To keep my femur head from being damaged, my leg was put in traction.  This consisted of three holes drilled through my knee, a rod placed through with pulleys attached that ran to the end of my hospital bed with weights hanging on the end.
Any time someone bumped my bed, even in the slightest, it was like shock waves all through my body.  That happened a lot.
In order for my bedding to be changed, these pulleys needed to be disconnected.  After that I was instructed to grab the opposite bar with right hand, and pull my top half towards it.  Unfortunately, no matter how many signals I sent from my brain to my leg, I was unable to move it, so there it laid.  Top half moved, bottom half didn't.  Pain ensued, only made worse when they had to lift my leg onto my other one so they could change everything out.  I have never felt such pain in my entire life.
The screams that came out of me were nothing short of blood-curdling, forcing my own mother to leave the room throwing up, when she saw this all for the first time.  I was on the largest possible dosage of morphine I was allowed to legally have at one time, and still felt this king of pain.
Of course, this procedure was only half-done, as I would then have to have my leg taken down, turn my top half back, get moved into a straight line, and then have the pulleys and weights reattached to my rod in my knee.  Every single touch of a hand, no matter where on my body was like shock waves.  I know I used that reference before but it's the best way to describe how it felt.  It's your entire body writhing in pain.

There was a very long period of time after this procedure that even the slightest touch, anywhere on my body was like falling into a pricker bush.  Hypersensitivity to pain is horrible, because the smallest thing feels like the worst pain ever.  Every sensor in your body is fired up.

This lunchtime conversation got really serious, really quick.  I write in more detail than I shared at lunch, just to be clear. :)

"So you have metal parts?  Do you set off metal detectors at the airport?"
"Yes, I do, and yes, all the time.  This area (pointing to my pelvis/hip area) is pretty much like a kitchen sink."

Learning to walk again was the scariest thing I've ever done.  You would think it would be hard, not scary.  For me it was terrifying.  Here I am with a boot on one foot that only allows me to put weight on the back half of my foot, the other leg completely non-weight bearing, and a walker...with wheels.  The plan was to use my arms to bear my weight while I used my "good leg" to hop a step.  Then swing the bad leg forward to meet the other, and continue the process.
But this walker had wheels!!  Because I had been laying flat for the last six weeks my muscles had atrophied.  My arms were weak, my legs even weaker.  Grabbing onto a walker and trying to lift your entire body (dead weight) and hop felt impossible.  The scary part were the wheels because as I grabbed onto it, it moved.  Slid forward with the slightest effort.  Great for people who are already walking and just need stability.  Not so great for people who can't even hold themselves up.
I freaked out.  I cried.  I practically hyperventilated.  My therapist tried to play drill instructor to motivate me.  I almost threw up.
Day 2 - take the wheels off the walker, and put on the rubber stoppers.  This day I actually took one "step", maybe two.  Remember the shock waves?  Every hop was a jolt of pain, that just kept on reverberating through my body.  I used every inch of brain power to try and send signals to my bad leg, trying to get it to swing forward.  Still not luck.  It was like trying to take a step with an 100-pound person attached to your ankle.  It just wasn't happening.  So I used the rest of my body to try and swing it forward...more like drag it forward.

I wish I could say that things got easier from that day forward, with a miraculous recovery and everything was great from then on.  While things did get "better", it sure didn't feel like any of my hard work was making any difference.  Things were moving at a snail's pace.  I eventually moved back to Michigan and began water therapy at 6 months post-accident.  I was still non-weight bearing on my one leg, and still in a wheelchair, only able to sit at a 60-degree angle.
I slid onto a special machine, which lowered me into the water for the first time.  What a trip!  The warm water felt great, and I hopped on my good leg out into deeper water, probably 4.5 feet.  The deeper you go, the less strain on your body.  Perfect for my first attempt at taking a step on my bad leg.  "Are you ready Marci?  I want you to move your leg forward, step quickly and then shift your weight back to your other leg."
Go time.  Time for this leg to move.  If it's going to happen, it's going to happen here, in the deep water, with no pressure on my leg.  I sent the signals from my brain to my leg, which wasn't hard to get it lifted as it was pretty buoyant in the water.  I straightened it out, pushed it down, felt my foot hit the ground for the first time in 6 months, and then it was done.  First step taken...success!

From this point on success was evident and gradual, but still long, difficult and painful.  Sometimes I wonder how I was able to handle so much pain.  So, I'll refer back to the birthing experience my co-workers starting out talking about.  What makes a woman go through this once, and then agree to it again?  The body has an amazing way of forgetting the pain you were in.  Pain is relative, and while you feel something one time that makes you writhe in pain, you may experience something more severe later.  But both times you will only remember that you were in horrible pain, and that it was horrible.  Thankfully you don't usually relive the actual pain itself.  The human body is incredible!

People deal with all sorts of pain, whether physical or emotional.  While my references here are about physical pain, I believe hypersensitivity can also be experienced with emotional pain.  The body is experiencing an overload of emotion, and the mention of something small can trigger those extreme reactions, when normally they would not.

The goal is to move past the pain.  But sometimes in order to move past it you have to sit in it for a while.  Like trying to walk again, or trying to recover from something like depression, both require an amount of determination similar to trying to walk out of a mud pit.  The snail pace that I felt was frustrating beyond belief, but necessary for me to go through to come out the other side.  Pain is unpleasant in every form, so our natural instinct is to get out of it as soon as possible.  Taking a bigger leap than your heart, mind or body is ready for will only land you back in the very same position you started in, usually more hurt and frustrated than before.

The hard part of all of this is that you can't always see the end result.  At least then you have something to go towards.  But when you can't see the end because it's so far down the road, the tiny victories are almost unrecognizable.  Set realistic, achievable goals.  Set your mind to realizing the smallest of goals and celebrating them.  The celebration is worth every inch of effort you put in to achieve it!!

FEAR: The reason we are not, and don't do.

Sometimes God is really obvious about what He wants to perfect in my life.  Other times He's a still small voice.  But, right now, in my life, He's speaking loud and clear. 
At first I thought maybe God was going to work on this singleness junk, then I thought maybe my need to control things.  Then I thought maybe it was my insecurities (of which there are several).  I finally was like, "Okay God!  I can't work on all these things at the same time!  It's just too much!"  Then one day not too long ago it hit me, like a ton of bricks, or a mack truck, or a light bulb turned on right in front of my face after a long night's sleep. 

Fear.  FEAR!!

Why do I need to control things?  Fear.
Why do I cringe when my boss confronts me?  Fear.
Why don't I just talk to that guy?  Fear.
Why can't I just be myself around other people?  Fear.  Am I too much?  Am I not enough?
Why am I so worried about what others think about me? Fear.
Why can't I take that great leap of faith into the unknown?  Fear.
Why do I find myself reluctant to be great?  Fear.
Why am I panicked about money?  Fear.
Why am I reluctant to go back to school?  Fear.
What if I make myself vulnerable and share my heart with someone and they don't like me? Fear.

Why this, why that, it always comes back to fear.

Fear holds me back from being myself all the time.  I just never realized it until now!  I thought the reason I was single was because I was awkward, or uninteresting, not attractive, or had no idea how to flirt.  And although every one of those things is true (to some degree or another), the real reason is because I have been afraid.  And I have been afraid for a very long time. 

I can remember at a very young age, learning to be afraid.  Because I am who I am, I started making lists in my mind of things I could and couldn't do because they were right or wrong.  Everything fell into the right or wrong category, leaving nothing in between.  The more "spiritual" I got, unfortunately, the bigger this list got.  And pretty soon these lists of what I thought was right and wrong started to turn into these little things we Christians like to call "walls".  I formed this protective barrier around my heart, until it grew to protect my entire self, and then my entire existence.  We Christians also like things called "boundaries".  The problem is that calling something a boundary is often a mask for a wall, that has been justified in our mind to keep ourselves safe.  There are a few things we have to have boundaries on, and absolute no-no, stay away attitude with, and that is to protect us from sinning.  As Christians we ought to have these.  But honestly, I think we take this whole idea of boundaries waaaaay to far.  I know some will disagree with me, and that's okay!

These boundaries/walls/lists protect us, and rightfully so when used correctly.  But when we justify boundaries as walls or just good boundaries to have in place, we give ourselves a way out of a situation just because it makes us vulnerable.  Think of it this way.  I may have a boundary of no sex before marriage.  Therefore, I will set boundaries for myself based on when that point of no return is for me.  I'm comfortable with this, but not with that.  Because if I do that, I know I won't be strong enough to turn back.  This is a good boundary.  It protects me from what I believe is sin.  And I believe that is sin based on God's word.
However, if I have a boundary of no sex before marriage, and therefore say I'm not going to be alone in my apartment with a man, or be in a car alone with a person of the opposite sex because someone might see us and wonder if we're going to have sex, in my opinion this is a wall.  And what is that wall in place for?  That wall is in place because we fear what others may perceive of us.

These lists/boundaries/walls I created have lead to a life of fear.  The more lists you have, the more rules you abide by, the smaller your risk.  The less risk, the less open you can be, because vulnerability equals risk.  And in a lot of people's minds risk equals weakness.  Therefore, if you are open with people (and in doing so make yourself vulnerable), you are weak.  And weakness is like death.  Because if we are weak, that means we can't do this thing called life on our own.  And that my friends, is a very scary place to be.

Unfortunately, for a Christian, vulnerability shouldn't be scary.  It should be freeing.  God said there's no way we can do life on our own.  That why we have Him.  That's why He gave us others.  I heard it said once that "Vulnerability is the most accurate measurement of courage".  Why?  Because vulnerability is scary, and having courage isn't always possible on our own strength.

For the Christian, a life of fear is full of lies.  There is nothing Satan wouldn't love more than to disable a Christian.  The fastest way to do that is fear.  Strike fear into the heart of Christian and you have no made them ineffective.  Why?  Because everything God asks a Christian to do takes courage, and not the kind you can pull out on a moment's notice.  I mean the huge kind.  The kind only God can give us.  It always requires a leap of faith.  Because God is magnified in our weakness, what He asks of us will always be out of our own reach.  It's scary.  That's why it's called a "leap of faith".

I remember as a kid, with my dad in the pool, and me on the edge, scared to jump in for fear of drowning.  He's standing there with his arms outstretched saying, "I'm right here.  I won't let anything happen to you.  Just jump!"  I stood there paralyzed, until finally I closed my eyes, held my nose, and forced myself over the edge.  As I land in the water I feel my dad's big strong arms grab me and lead me to the top safe and sound. 

I think about Eve and how Satan tempted her in the garden.  What is one of the things he spoke into her heart?  "You know, God told you you couldn't eat that fruit because if you do you'll be like him, and know everything.  He's holding out on you.  You can't trust him."  FEAR!

So, all these things I'm in the process of learning I have tried to focus on this area of fear.  The more I hear people talk around me, the more I see and hear it.  Fear dominates us.  It's incredibly powerful.  But thank God, He is more powerful than anything Satan throws at us.  Fear is not from God.  God have GIVEN us a life of freedom! 

I have to choose to live in this freedom, and it is hard!  I think I have to practice this behavior, because like anything practice makes better!  So every time I sense that feeling welling up inside me, that fear screaming at me to crawl back into my corner and withdraw, I say to myself, "I will not be afraid.  God is greater than my fear.  I will not be afraid."  So, as I stand on the edge, looking at my Father with arms stretched open wide, I close my eyes, hold my breath...and JUMP!

Thankful at Thanksgiving

It's time for the annual listing of one's blessings!  As I was contemplating what to write and started off thinking, "I'm thankful for God, and for everything he's given to me...", I realized that this sounded like some stupid award's show where one's acceptance speech starts off the same way, thanking god during an acceptance speech for singing a song about shaking your ass and other "wobbly bits" in front of someone, or inciting other people to do the same while listening to your song (however catchy it might be).  It seems not only ironic, but completely and utterly WRONG!!  So, to avoid sounding like such a cliche, I decided that wouldn't be the best way to start my list.

I just spent the last couple of days with an aunt that I have had very little occasion to visit during most of my life.  Several states have separated us since I was elementary/middle school age, and because traveling is expensive, the little time we did see each other was short and separated by several years.  Now I live only a few hours away, and have been able to visit a few times already in the short time I have lived in Arizona.  It has been a real blessing...for several reasons.

One, there is nothing like having family to be with when you are separated from the large majority of them. 
Two, it is wonderful to be able to spend time with that family after years of not being able to.
Three, my mom's sister (as much as they are different) are a lot alike, and being with my aunt feels so similar to being with my mom...different but the same.  They hug the same way, big, long and strong, where if it lasts more than several seconds you start wondering if you will be able to breath again.  There's nothing better!  The other similarity is that they are both great cooks...and not the fat-free kind.  I'm talkin' meat and potatoes, homemade cooking, without recipes or measuring cups, but full of love!  Thank God I grew up in this kind of family!  I'm haulting on reason three for a moment while I share some more blessings.
While visiting for Thanksgiving, I was taught how to make the turkey, how to make stock, gravy, stew, and soup, how to live off one 20 pound turkey for a year, which is like teaching a man to fish instead of just feeding him for a day. :)  I had many moments of reflection over my family this holiday, moments where I was thinking through how I was raised, what kind of family and culture I come from, and how grateful I am for it all.  True, I may be lacking in knowledge of the finer things in life, I might have lived a "sheltered" life in some ways, but I was taught about things that matter, family, love, God, hard work and self-respect.  So while I may not be able to tell the difference between Monet and Picasso, I know what it means to be loved and to love back.  I know the difference between a liar and a friend, a fake and an authentic.  I was taught to love people, not things, and that family is most important.  I was raised in church, where potlucks and softball games were the usual, where everyone is in your business, and that even though people look like they have it all together, no one does.  I learned that God trumps everything.  I learned invaluable skills like fishing and how to bait my own hook, learned to cook while standing next to my mom in the kitchen, music because my house was filled with singing and the family piano, watched my dad filet a fish on the picnic table in the back yard while my mom got the beer batter ready to fry it up, knew that hunting season was really important not only for male bonding, but because it filled our freezer for the entire year with meat for our family.  I great up knowing guns were meant for hunting for food, for protection, not for hurting others.  I knew that I better respect my elders or I would get a smack across the mouth or the butt.  Either one hurt enough to remind me the next time my ignorant youth wanted to cross the line it was best to bite my tongue.  I watched my dad fix the car and change the oil in the driveway, and that it was best not to disturb him while he was "yelling" at the car. :)  I learned how to care for animals, and respect the danger in some of them.  My family is loud, sarcastic, blunt, stubborn, middle class, blue collar, hunters, fishers, cooks, always laughing together, sometimes fighting each other, but always come back to love for each other.  Yeah, I'm a hick, but I don't mind if you call me that, because I'm proud of who and what I come from. :)
All these thoughts were running through my head this weekend as I'm being fed amazing food, and learning more about my family members and enjoying this time with my aunt.  And I realized how many things I am truly grateful for.  I mean, once you crack the "thankfullness box" open it's pretty hard to stop.
Moving on...
I'm general thankful for lots of other things, my family and a relatively healthy year for everyone, for my siblings and all the things they have accomplished this past year and continue to do, my parents that they are working, healthy and happy.  I'm thankful for a job, a place to live, the ability to provide for myself, and for the health that I do have, and the improvements I've had in that area this past year.  I'm thankful for my friends, scattered all over the country and the world, and that we have social media to be able to keep in touch and be involved in each others' lives dispite the miles between us.  I'm thankful for new friends, and how they are adding to my life, and letting me add to theirs.  I'm thankful for finding a church that I love and has challenged me in my spiritual life.
The list could go on and on.  Like I said, it's hard to stop being thankful for things once you take a minute to think about it.  I could spend my whole life wondering what if, or pondering choices made, or chances not taken.  I could wish for a more affluent upbringing, or a life of luxury.  But why?  I love what I had, love what I have, and know that I don't need things to make me fall in love with my future.  If I stay grounding in what's important, and remember to count my blessings I'm pretty sure that next year I'll be saying the same thing I am this year...that I'm so filled with thanks and love that I couldn't possibly need anything else in life.
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!