My plan was/is to go back to work tomorrow, but I wonder if I should, even after having already recklessly spent 3 of the leave days I have been saving for a possible medical absence later in the Fall. I decided on Saturday or Sunday or whenever that one nurse's advice to take a week might not have been such a bad idea, especially since, as it turned out, Monday night is the first one I actually slept more than I lay awake thinking of bees.

For the past few weeks, I have spent the mornings coughing clear my lungs, not to put too fine a point on it. After hacking them clear, I have been basically okay for the rest of the day. Several times I thought to go ahead and make an appointment with the pulmonologist, but frankly I am seeing altogether too many doctors of late. And she would be sure to point out the weight loss, the biopsy and surgery, work, and her latest "factor" on why I still need to cart around a nebulizer: my mother! [And she doesn't even know her!]

Today, I coughed this morning, on the way to bible study, and while sitting outside, thinking I finally was clear. I left early so as not to be late, but had intended on sitting in the car so that I might finish the catechism lesson I fell asleep reading last night (so far, I feel as if I am 0/2 with Pastor and am trying to cover my bases more). I did finish it, but ended up asking Pastor to explain the liturgy part some since not everyone had arrived yet. For the briefest of moments, I felt as if I understood how it fit together, but then I lost it. SIGH. I tried to review it this afternoon as well as watch the video I posted earlier again, but my brain is still clouded from...well, just about everything I am taking right now.

JW asked how the lesson went Tuesday, and I shared my despair that I will not finish until 2011. She very quickly responded that he spends a year with the children, so surely I will be finished at least no more than that amount of time. DOUBLE SIGH.

[In case you had any doubts about Pastor D's perseverance, he is sacrificing yet another evening to try attempt #3 on Thursday evening. And in case you are reading this, Pastor, I apologize for being petulant about not getting to ask my questions yesterday. You must think I am worse than the children you shepherd! Probably so, but hunger for doctrine has been known to drive otherwise sane people--not that I classify myself as such--into rather inexplicable behaviour that is a significant departure from their "normal" state.]

So, there I sit, all ready to delve into Psalm 18 again [Pastor announced he planned to finish it and actually did], when I felt the need to cough again. And again. And again. I did use my inhalers and perhaps should have tried to give them more time, but when I slipped the oximeter on my finger, it was at 90 already and I am supposed to nebulize then. So, I did, still coughing and actually still hacking up stuff, which was making me even more nauseous that I have been. When I jumped up to go to the sink so I didn't have to swallow something large, I decided to stay there. And, of course, by then the effects of the albuterol inhaler and liquid were making me tremble and my heart race. I ended up lying on the kitchen floor for most of the study. I was glad that I could hear it, but very disappointed that I couldn't take notes. And I was frustrated because I was being a distraction. [Tonight is evening prayer service again, but Pastor literally barred me from coming, from trying again. Who can blame him? MS stinks. So does asthma.]

Once I felt as if my heart would no longer explode, I returned to the table to fetch my things and listen to the talk around me as everyone was visiting since the lesson was finished. At one point, JW's husband asked if I wanted to hold her daughter A. Such a brave act on both their parts, but JW told me later that she trusted me to know my strength. Arms a trembling, I held her baby for a few minutes before asking her husband (also JW, perhaps JW2) to take A back. In my opinion, that moment of peace helped calm my heart more quickly.

JW drove me home, her husband following in their car with children, friend, and her baby all in tow. When we arrived at the house, she took a gander at my incision and noted it was swollen on the left side and, after an experimental poke I could have told her was completely unnecessary, was tender to the touch. A bit swollen, not too much. But, perhaps, too much because I have been icing my incision since Monday? I find it interesting that in contemplating bees, I have concluded that the worst "stings" are on the left side. [Again, this is me not worrying.]

A nurse from the hospital called on Monday for follow-up and instead of maintaining my resolve to not worry for at least a week, I expressed my frustration at the extreme pain I felt and my fears that I was going to end up with an even greater gaping wound since the burning and stinging were worse now than before the surgery. Ice packs was her only suggestion. She promised to ask around and call me back, but did not. I suspect she was glad her routine-follow-up-obligation was over. The ice does help, but it is temporary. And I am sure that I am risking frostbite since I prefer to get my back so numb that should you care to slice it open again I wouldn't bat an eyelash. Doing so lessens the stinging.

Her other thought was nerve involvement (good as an answer to an unknown, but a less-than-optimal one) that would just take time to go away. Given the MS, that is a logical possibility since the surgeon has now told me twice that this was just a small incision and a "little" wound clean-up. However, I cannot stop thinking about the fact that it feels exactly the same as it did leading up ripping open after the first stitches were removed.

I need a distraction.

JW said she would like to read my novel, so I dusted off the edits that have been lying around since I paid my writing student to do them last August and started plowing in on them. I had picked them up last fall, but stopped on page 27, dismayed at all of the red on the pages. Granted, I told K to be brutal, ruthless even, for I wanted an honest response. The end result? She cut over 4,000 words, noted every bit of sap, gleefully pointed out my seemingly inability to use periods and question marks correctly within quotes, and mercilessly highlighted the most overused phrases in my story.

In addition to the edits and revision, I rewrote much of the teaching and preaching portions to reflect what I have come to believe as right doctrine. I am not sure what that means for the story since I am fairly sure that none of the Christian Historical Fiction out there is Lutheran based, but it did enhance the story and align better with the scripture I used. Funny how Truth can do that!

Unfortunately, that project is done.

Pastor did bring me his sermons to review for two book ideas he has, but I wonder if I understand enough doctrine to edit them truly. They are meant to be spoken and need editing for a reader. He is most nervous about my doing so because he is fearful I will change his voice, strip his ownership. Or, so I believe. He would say it is just the doctrine he is guarding. But any truly talented writer, which he is, will work to protect each word on the page! [Look how strongly I reacted to K's butcher job of my novel!] He says he is willing to duke it out with me on the edits so that we can get the project done. However, how do you argue with your own teacher?

So, here I sit, nebulizing again. I normally do not cough up stuff when I am struggling, but I am doing it again. Should I cart myself on over to the ER? I'd rather not. Wanting a distraction, I chose to blather here, nattering about my worries and struggles and silly thoughts and wishing I could better articulate some of what I have been studying.

I think it was JW, who wrote on her blog, that doctrine should be accessible. Surely a 1,001 others have said the same. Yet I found that one line gave me great pause. I wholeheartedly agree! That has been, in part, the joy I have found in studying the Book of Concord. I have literally spent hours each day reading and studying and taking notes and following verses in the bible and writing questions and reflecting (and sending Pastor too long emails). Yes, I have been hungry. Yes, I feel as if I have come home after 31 years in the Church. But, even so, never before has doctrine been so available, so clear, so straightforward. Right there on the page (or online), I can read what was agreed upon 400 years ago, based on pure teaching, and delve into the theology for myself.

The liturgy, that set form that outsiders often find so strange and restricting, is absolutely beautiful in how it bathes us in law and Gospel, how the breadth and depth of what God has done for us is covered from the beginning of the opening of the service until the benediction. It is rich in tradition, dating back God's people in the Old Testament, and overflowing with scripture. Such power is there in reading the Living Word aloud. Such fellowship is there in doing so with other believers.

And the best part is that all of this is centered around what you could call a "right" relationship between God and man, to fit current Christian "speak." He is the god. I the man. He does it all. He saves all. I can do nothing. Such freedom is there in that! No amount of works can save me or make my faith greater, and when I fail, I can know that I am baptized, I am forgiven anew. When I am broken and weak, His power is made strong. Not 3 steps to achieve holiness or 5 paths to a godly life. The focus is God and His desire to save us, on Christ and His sacrifice in order that we might live and how the Holy Spirit works so mightily in order that we can believe. He is the giver. I the receiver. At the birth of the world. At the Red Sea. At the cross. Every moment we read the Living Word. Each time we enter His church.

Oh, how I wish I could be there tonight....

Imagine you are being stung by a bee. That first initial burning pain that then radiates outward. Then imagine that you are being stung by a swarm. That is how my incision feels. Add unbelievable itching and you understand my misery. For the record, it feel exactly like it did the first time when I knew that something was wrong and ended up with a gaping hole. However, I am working very hard to ignore my fears until at least a week has passed.

Yes, you know me. You know how well that is going.

Below is Pastor D's sermon for today. In brief, it is on how God's power is made strong in our weakness. Now, he preaches from a 3-year lectionary. He does not scheme and plan, plot to assail his congregation with the words he feels they need to hear, but rather the Truth from the three Scripture readings for the week, the same readings his brother pastors are using across many Lutheran churches. Still, I could almost think he was doing just this to speak that which I have been too deaf to hear. Week after week after week. The part that gave me the greatest pause was this:

Because while power and weakness do not go together for the children of men, they do for the Son of God. The Son of God who is rich, yet for your sake became poor. The Son of God who is strong, yet for your sake became weak. The Son of God who is the Lord of life, yet for your sake died your death, that You might have a share in His resurrection. That your sins be forgiven, your death overcome, and your enemy, the devil, be vanquished. That as in Christ, so in you - that God’s power be perfect in weakness.

For the truth is that when Jesus was the weakest, He was also the strongest. For while on the cross, weak and dying, He was bearing all the sin of the world, battling the forces of evil, and feeling the crushing weight of death. He was enduring all the wrath of God against sin and making atonement for sin as THE Lamb of God. He was both priest and sacrifice as He offered Himself as a sin offering for us. And on the cross He was loving, caring, and forgiving, showing the power of His mercy and compassion for you and me and all people. No mightier work was done by His hands than this, even while they were attached to the cross by nails made by His own creatures, and hammered home by fallen hearts. Like Paul, Jesus prayed three times in Gethsemane that His Father take this cup from Him. And like with Paul, the answer was no. The cup and the thorn would remain, that in that weakness, God might unleash His power against sin and death and devil, that you and me and all people might be saved.

Really, I should not put a part ahead of the whole, lest you miss his message, but I did want to give you just a taste of how God works so in our weakness.

Before I add the rest, I wanted to share a bit of teaching that occurred after the sermon (when the two of us were talking in the pews) about the "East-West" thing. Remember what he said when he ripped my post-it note of sins into tiny pieces? He was quoting Psalm 103:12. "As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us."

Well, today, he told me that he had wondered why God wrote East-West instead of North-South. What he learned is this: If you travel North round the world, at some point you will begin traveling South. The poles make it so, as does our equator. However, if you begin traveling East, no matter where you stop, you will still be traveling East. So, East will never, ever meet West. Is that not a marvelous description of His absolute forgiveness of our sins?

Lest I not have fully understood that particular message, God gave me another one just a short while later when I was talking to his wife on a separate matter. She told me how she taught the young children at VBS this week about forgiveness. After drawing a large heart on a dry erase board, she told them to mark it up. The children filled it with many, many black marks. She then erased it to show how God washes us clean. The forgiveness part is that while she knew that the marks were there, she no longer could say where each one was, what each one looked like. They had been forgiven.

I am forgiven despite my many, many, many black marks!

I admit that I missed bits of the sermon in part because JW gave me her daughter to hold and in part because I sat in the back with all the noisy children so that I could be on hand to hold her should she wish me to do so. [I even got to change a diaper today!]

I am very thankful Pastor is such a technology-embracing undershepherd. He emails both the text and the audio each week, as well as posts them on the church's website. This Living Word today is most particularly apt for me....

Should you wish a copy, let me know!


Jesu Juva

“Powerful Weakness”
Text: Mark 6:1-13; 2 Corinthians 12:1-10; Ezekiel 2:1-5

Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

St. Paul tells us today: “Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this.” But he never tells us what the “this” is. He calls it “a thorn in the flesh;” a “messenger of satan.” It is clearly something quite difficult in his life; something that he struggled with and which tormented him. But he never identifies it, which I think is a good thing. For although there has been much speculation about what it might be that Paul was talking about here, if we knew what it was I think we’d immediately begin to analyze it, try to calculate it and its impact, and then compare it with what we ourselves are going through in life and try to measure whose affliction is greater. In short, we’d put the focus on Paul and on ourselves, which is not where the focus belongs. That’s not why Paul wrote that here. He did so to put the focus on Christ.

And so that we might keep that focus on Christ and not put it on ourselves, Paul not only does not tell us what the “this” is - what he struggles with, what torments him - he then says this astonishing thing: God’s power is made perfect in weakness.

Now that’s a phrase that’s tossed around quite a lot - perhaps sometimes a bit too carelessly and thoughtlessly. It is what we call an oxymoron - two words, side-by-side (or nearly so), that are opposites. Which is the case with power and weakness. In our world, they don’t go together. You are either one or the other. You can’t be both. So when Paul here puts power and weakness together, he is doing so to draw our eyes away from the things of this world, away from the realm of what we know, away from what we think is possible or impossible, and fixing our eyes on Jesus. On Jesus, the one in whom power and weakness do, in fact, go together. The one who was both. For He is in one person both God and man.

This oxymoron is why Jesus was rejected in His hometown, as Mark told us today. It wasn’t the first time. When He had gone home before, His family thought He was out of His mind (Mark 3:21). Because they knew Him! (Or so they thought.) They knew Him when He was young, and growing up, going to the synagogue and working with His father. And so they could not believe what they were seeing and hearing.

For, they thought, the hands of Jesus were carpenter’s hands, not God’s hands - and carpenter’s hands shape wood, they don’t heal people. And, they thought, the mouth of Jesus was a carpenter’s mouth, not God’s mouth - and carpenter’s mouths don’t utter the wisdom that He did. And, they thought, Jesus was an ordinary man from an ordinary family - and their weakness of faith and strength of unbelief would not let them even believe that a prophet was among them, let alone that God was standing before them. The God who was so strong that He became weak. That He became a man.

This weakness is also why you are sometimes rejected - rejected by the world, and perhaps even by yourself. For what you and others see and feel may belie the reality of God and His Word. And so maybe you have been told and maybe you feel that if you were really a Christian then you would not be the kind of person you are - you’d be better. Or, that if you really believed you would not despair and have doubts - your faith would be stronger. Or, that if you really belonged to Christ, the problems and difficulties you now face would not be so.

But is that not putting the focus on us and not on Christ? Turning us in on ourselves, and thinking that the evidence says that God is not working . . . or will not work . . . or cannot work. This is reading ourselves and determining truth based upon our own thoughts and feelings and experiences, instead of upon God what God has told us is true in His Word. That’s why the folks in Jesus’ hometown would not believe and took offense. It is why we sometimes doubt and disbelieve and take offense. And of that they needed to repent. And so do you and I.

Because while power and weakness do not go together for the children of men, they do for the Son of God. The Son of God who is rich, yet for your sake became poor. The Son of God who is strong, yet for your sake became weak. The Son of God who is the Lord of life, yet for your sake died your death, that You might have a share in His resurrection. That your sins be forgiven, your death overcome, and your enemy, the devil, be vanquished. That as in Christ, so in you - that God’s power be perfect in weakness.

For the truth is that when Jesus was the weakest, He was also the strongest. For while on the cross, weak and dying, He was bearing all the sin of the world, battling the forces of evil, and feeling the crushing weight of death. He was enduring all the wrath of God against sin and making atonement for sin as THE Lamb of God. He was both priest and sacrifice as He offered Himself as a sin offering for us. And on the cross He was loving, caring, and forgiving, showing the power of His mercy and compassion for you and me and all people. No mightier work was done by His hands than this, even while they were attached to the cross by nails made by His own creatures, and hammered home by fallen hearts. Like Paul, Jesus prayed three times in Gethsemane that His Father take this cup from Him. And like with Paul, the answer was no. The cup and the thorn would remain, that in that weakness, God might unleash His power against sin and death and devil, that you and me and all people might be saved.

And as God sent His Son, so also (we heard) did He send His prophets and apostles - in weakness. Taking with them nothing but the Word of God. Yet see how powerful they are in that weakness. The apostles proclaimed repentance, and that Word cut through hardened, sinful hearts, producing repentance and giving forgiveness. They healed many who were sick and cast out many demons with the authority Jesus had given them. Because with God, weakness and power DO go together.

And so it is also with you. For you too are sent out into this world - not as prophets and apostles - but in all of your vocations. And you are sent out weak - armed with only the Word and forgiveness of our Lord. To forgive, to love, to care, to be weak and humble in service to others. Which is often times very hard, isn’t it? Cross hard. And maybe when it is so hard, we think of these words that we’re considering today, and think: But yes, when I am weak, then God will make me strong! Because we want to be strong, not weak.

But be careful! That’s not what the Word says.

St. Paul tells us today that God’s power is made perfect IN weakness. That exactly WHEN I am weak, then I am strong. And so you will not stop being weak in order to be strong. Rather, remember - that with God, power and weakness are not opposites. Your weakness will BE His strength.

Your weakness which drives you to pray prayers that have a power you cannot even begin to image.

Your weakness which drives you to repent and receive a forgiveness that takes away all your sin.

Your weakness which drives you to the Word of God to read and hear not an empty word, but a Word filled with power for it is filled with the Spirit. The same Spirit that created all things in the beginning, and who re-created you in Holy Baptism.

Your weakness which drives you to the altar, to open your weak and dying mouth to eat the Bread of Life and to drink the blood that was poured out for you for the forgiveness of your sins.

Your weakness which drives you to cling to His life - the life of Jesus, which He has come to give to you and me. Life to the dead; life to the sinful; life to the despairing; life to the hopeless; life to the outcast; life to the struggling and doubting; life to all.

When face-to-face with this life, the people in Jesus’ hometown that day were amazed! How could Jesus do such great things? Many today ask the same question - even us, when our weaknesses seem to keep getting the better of us. Yet Jesus has shown us - once and for all - that in weakness He does His greatest work, His saving work, in helpless and weak babies, in children, and in men and women of all ages. For in Jesus, power and weakness do go together. That living we die, and dying we live. This - not riches, fame, health, or ease - this is our Saviour’s glorious work. His work, for you, for ever.

In the Name of the Father and of the (+) Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Now the peace of God which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Amen.

In the individual confession/absolution service, the last thing the pastor says is the following:

Go in the strength, the peace, and the joy of the Lord, and come soon to receive Christ's body and blood and, being joined to him, live toward the work and the beauty he will fulfill in your for himself and for others. Go, you are free.

The past three days have been rather wretched, full of misery for me. In fact, since early this afternoon, I have been throwing-up because I tried to drink some milk. I believe going without food for as long as I have is beginning to take its toll. So, since milk is my second favorite drink (behind my beloved Dr. Pepper, which I have not had in more than a month now), I thought it might be good to try. Pastor, who had been visiting me, went to get me some. A half-hour later, I started throwing-up. The milk is gone, but the heaves have not stopped. Nor the nausea. Nor the cramps. Nor that awful clammy feeling.

I was sitting here feeling rather desperate when I thought about those words again. I have long understood that what God sees is good is not always what we think of as good. Yet it is, and He is at work in our lives and will perfect that good work until the day of Christ (Philippians 1:6). That has been one of my greatest consolations.

However, tonight, when I think about the ugliness of the past three days, beginning with a rather disastrous time in recovery, that God might actually be seeing that time as one of beauty. It was a time for Him to save me, to protect me, to teach me. It was a time for me to cling to Him, even as I am doing now with my weariness over my rather uncooperative stomach.

Are those not beautiful things?

And then J from the nooner bible study (I shall now call her JW) emailed to tell me that if I were to make it to church, she would let me hold her baby and that, if I wanted, we could sneak into the baby room and she would change my bandage. I wept over such thoughtfulness.

During the 12 days between the stitches ripping open and Thursday's surgery, the open wound on my back did not heal a bit. So, I am on 1,000 mg of a rather strong antibiotic and am supposed to be changing the bandage three times a day for the first week and applying bacitracin each time. Doing so on your own back, especially with constant nausea, is quite difficult. Try as I might not to, I am greatly worried this second incision will not heal as well.

I didn't even have to ask. She just offered!

Despite the darkness, He is caring for me still. Again, is that not beauty?

I received communion today! Granted, it was under special dispensation since I have not finished instruction, but I received it nonetheless!

Under the aegis of pastoral care, Pastor D. offered to come and query me just on the Sacrament so that I could have it before the surgery tomorrow, before being put to sleep again after that disastrous experience with my last surgery.

While I had asked him beforehand if he would also teach about confession/absolution, I did not tell him that I wanted to do that as well.

In John 20:19-23, Christ told his disciples that whoever they forgave, their sins would be forgiven, and those they do not, the sins have been retained. In the Lutheran Church, since pastors serve as undershepherds, they can stand in the office and hear confessions and offer forgiveness, just as the disciplines did in the name of Christ, because it is His Name which forgives.

After we talked about the sins with which I am struggling and that which I battle that is not sin, per se, I asked if he would forgive me. So, we went through that particular portion of the Lutheran Service Book. During one part, both the pastor and the penitent say:

In the name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Hear my prayer, O Lord; let my cry for help come to you.
Do not hide your face from me when I am in distress.
Turn your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly. (Ps. 102:1-2)
Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.
Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.
For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight (Ps. 51:1-4a)

Then just the penitent continues:

I have lived as if God did not matter and as if I mattered most.
My Lord's name I have not honored as I should; my worship and prayers have faltered.
I have not let his love have its way with me, and so my love for others has failed.
There are those whom I have hurt, and those whom I failed to help.
My thoughts and desires have been soiled with sin.
What troubles me particularly is that....

I admit that I have not been one to confess my sins and ask forgiveness of God. I talk to Him and pray to Him and ask for help in living as He would have me to, but I do confess and I do not ask for forgiveness. I believe I have been missing something critical in my walk with Christ: a fuller understanding that not only were my sins forgiven on the cross, but they are forgiven now. Today. Just as J said so blithely when I bemoaned how much I struggle with honoring my parents...you are forgiven even if you do!

As I have been plowing through Luther's teaching on the ten commandments, I have been increasingly convicted about my poor understanding of the fullness of what God desires of us. For example, take the eighth commandment: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

According to Luther, this means that we are not to harm our neighbor. Not just with lies. Nay, not only are we also supposed to not harm him with our tongue, we are also to:

Let no one do any harm to his neighbor with the tongue, whether friend or foe. Do not speak evil of him, no matter whether it is true or false, unless it is done by commandment [meaning something such as testimony] or for his reformation. Let everyone use his tongue and make it serve for the best of everyone else, to cover up his neighbor's sins and infirmities (1 Peter 4:8), excuse them, conceal and garnish them with his own reputation. The chief reason for this should be the one that Christ declares in the Gospel, where He includes all commandments about our neighbor, "whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them" (Matthew 7:12). (LC, Part 1, 285-286).

In short, don't gossip! Don't share another's weaknesses and failings. Instead preserve his reputation. While I would not go so far as to say I gossiped, I have complained about my boss in great frustration. I have not covered her as best I can.

Lutherans believe the chief purpose of the commandments is to accuse, to show us the magnitude of our sins so that we might understand the magnitude of the cross and Christ's gift of forgiveness.

It might sound strange, but I still can feel Pastor's hands on my head as he spoke the words of forgiveness.

Among other things, we then turned to instruction and then the Lord's Supper. When he asked me what table I wanted to use, I was a bit confused. Rightly surmising that I wanted to stay sitting on the couch, Pastor started pushing aside all my bibles and study books. Then he laid down a cloth and pulled out this portable cup and plate. I couldn't help but laugh! I like to tease him about the "things" his church uses, candles and such. Strange Pastor that he is, he did not mind my laughter.

So, here in my home, I received communion, the blessing of the presence of the true body and the true blood and the forgiveness we have in Christ's sacrifice. I had to ask him to pause during the service because I needed a few moments. Pastor simply waited.

During communion, we actually followed some of the Divine Service. A part of me wished that we could have read slower, so that I could savor and reflect on the words. I cannot do so in church, but it was already at least two hours past his bedtime. Instead, I paused and let him read a bit before I caught up with him. After listening to that presentation on the liturgy, I certainly understood more this time.

I found it interesting that he shared in communion. I did not know he would. And then we finished with singing! He said he normally has the recipient sing a hymn, but I substituted singing Psalm 121. Of course, I forgot how to sing the last line and was a bit frustrated with my cheese hole brain at that point. Pastor sang one of his favorite hymns: "The Infant Priest Was Holy Born."

I have been nauseated for weeks now and have been gradually eating less and less. As a result, I am now 36 pounds less. I have no appetite, I cannot keep much food down, and now the sight of it turns my stomach. I had hoped with all my heart that this would not be the case with the bread and the wine. Oh, how I had hoped. Such a small bite. Such a small sip.

During his leave taking, I struggled with nausea. I thought that going ahead and taking a shower might make me feel better. But when I bent over to scrub my feet, my stomach heaved and I threw up that small meal. With tears streaming down my face, I sank to my knees and tried to focus on the words I remembered from the service, hoping that the fact that I did not keep down the Lord's Supper would not matter. I cried far too long beneath water that was far too hot for me. [I know that I am supposed to take tepid showers, but I cannot help myself at times; I love a good blanching in the shower!] When I tried to stand up, I ended up fainting, falling out of the tub and pulling down the shower curtain and rod. Kashi was frantic. Instead of waking up to him licking my face, I awoke to his whimpers...and water all over the floor.

The floor is cleaned. Kashi is calmed. And I am sitting here thinking about this evening. [I had asked for one thing else, but I think he forgot.] I wonder about not being able to keep the communion meal down. That weighs heavily on my mind. So, I reviewed both of the services we read together and found myself returning to the confession/absolution one.

After the penitent confesses his/her sins, the pastor offers admonition and comfort, before the two of them read the following:

Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away form your presence,
and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with your free Spirit. (Ps. 51:10-12)

In the way he is oft wont to do, Pastor offered a precious tidbit on this passage. He asked me how God creates things. Of course, I had no answer, though in my mind I thought, He speaks things into existence. Pastor's teaching: He creates them from nothing! So, although we are wretched sinners, God can still create a clean heart within us (from nothing), by the power of His Word, Word made flesh in Christ.

What comfort that is!

~~~~
Note: Posted well after midnight, but I changed the time so as to have the day's date.

I had Fancy put to sleep this morning.

This is has been a most strange evening for me: It has been filled with the study of Lutheran Liturgy and tears for Fancy.

To begin with the latter, she has gained no ground. Her morning weight is between 60-74 grams. Her evening weight is between 80-84 grams. Whatever she gains by eating during the day (really once I get home and start holding her), she loses overnight. This evening, she started having spasms in her left leg and her breathing has become rather labored. If she exerts herself, such as moving about, her entire body heaves with every breath. She no longer wants to perch, but prefers this spot on the corner of the couch cushion, pressed against the arm. If she is alive in the morning, I shall be stunned. If she is, I am wondering if the time might have come for me to give up my vigil, to let go of this battle....

As I mentioned before, I had planned on, counted on, her being my solace when Kashi dies. I have had him since just after I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. He has been with me in all my moves, in walking away from my educational career. I know. I know that this year or the next will be his last. Fancy was supposed to have many, many more years. Being such a nuzzler, she was to help me focus on what I still have, rather than what I will have lost. Miracles do happen. This evening, however, my hope in that has all but disappeared.

In the midst of this sorrow, I have also experienced pure joy; I have spent the past four hours studying liturgy, with many a light bulb turning on!

As I mentioned yesterday, Pastor D is kind enough to answer my emails, even when he is busy and even when, perhaps, there are too many of them. Being the consummate teacher, Pastor also goes a step beyond this technology-aided teaching and sometimes sends a helpful one of his own. Today's gift was a link to this presentation on The Benefits of Liturgy.

I have Googled the topic. I have studied (rather confusedly) the Lutheran Service Book. I have read about it in the Book of Concord. I have sat in services trying to follow where to read and when, honestly not really understanding what was happening. And now I have watched the presentation three times with much thankfulness for the link. [My only negative comment is that the pastor speaks too quickly to take quality notes without rewinding repeatedly. For a conference presentation, I believe he should have taken more time in his teaching. However, truly, such a topic cannot really fit in a mere hour!]

I think what I have reveled in most from yesterday's study was Luther's comment that the Living Word is the sanctuary of all sanctuaries. The bible is that perfect refuge, that place of absolute safety and lasting salvation from our enemies. The ultimate message of that Word is the Gospel. Tonight, I heard that the point of Lutheran Liturgy is to preserve the Gospel in the Church so that we might receive its benefits again and again and again.

In one of his emails, Pastor wrote: I read your blog about the Third Commandment - it's not about the day, its about us! It's about God's Word. It's about giving us forgiveness and making us holy. That's what God desires. The Lord's Supper does that.

Obviously, he was talking about communion, but the point in both is that both the Lord's Day and the Lord's Supper is about what God desires for us: to receive His gift of salvation. So, too, is the Lutheran Liturgy.

In the presentation, one part I found particularly interesting what that one goal of Liturgy was to maintain the right relationship between God and man: Between Creator and created. Between Saviour and saved. Between Giver and receiver.

When I first wrote about liturgy, oh so long ago, it was that I had never met anyone who worshiped through liturgy the way Pastor does. It was something strange and wonderful to behold, to witness. And this was just in bible study!

Now, I understand the breadth and depth of each piece of the Liturgy and honestly wonder why such a tradition would be abandoned by so much of the Church in America today. Just a couple of weeks ago, one of the women in the evening bible study commented that she couldn't understand how anyone could get along without [Lutheran] liturgy. My mental thought was that I had done so for 31 years; it wasn't all that hard...not like my struggles to follow the service for the past couple of months. Boy, am I glad I kept my mouth shut! Even so, I also know that there are things that are not present in a Lutheran Confessional church that I miss. I need more time to reflect on that, but I also know that it is good and right to have ceremonies that, as the presenter quoted another pastor as saying, give all Glory to Christ and all comfort to poor sinners.

This is such a different approach to Sunday services than I have encountered. So often I have heard that you go to church to give, not to receive. That if all you desire is to be fed, then you should re-examine your motives for being there.

Yes, God is a giver, but what are you giving back? seems to be the common thread that has been woven so closely with the justification-by-faith-but-judgment-by-works position that is so prevalent. That leads to such a desperate, futile life, when God desires so much more for us!

I want to write more, such as about the ordinaries, but I am not sure I am spelling that right, nor could I begin to spell all 5 of them. Perhaps it would be best if you were to invest a mere hour of your time to listen for yourself. Even if attending a Lutheran church is the furthest thing from your mind, the message on how services should be--preserving the Gospel--is one that fits in all Christian denominations.

And while you are at it, you might want to read Pastor's blog entry "A Plea to Pastors." A soapbox of mine for years has been to bemoan the insanity of how often pastors/preachers/ministers/priests end up apologizing for reading aloud Scripture..."I know it's a bit long, but bear with me." My goodness, I want to stand up and shout. You are apologizing for reading the Word of God in His own house! Pastor's entry mirrors the hollowness that I feel in those moments.

~~~~
As long as I am quoting Pastor's emails (and hoping fervently that he does not mind), I would like to add a snippet from another one, also on communion. While the topic is the Lord's Supper, what he is saying really points to the that which I keep repeating to myself over and over and over again. Grace is objective. It is a gift I am given rather than something I have to earn by "good enough" works!

And so to receive the Lord’s Supper worthily is to believe: I am a sinner, I need forgiveness, and my Lord has promised that in His body and blood, given to me here, I receive that forgiveness. Worthiness has nothing to do with being good, being holy, having a strong enough faith, etc. True worthiness is the recognition that I am UNworthy, and the my Lord is coming to me here in His grace and mercy to give me what I am not.

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.
~Exodus 20:8 NASB

Today, while I did not attend church, I have worked to keep this Lord's Day holy. For such a night owl, I awoke at 8:00 and was unable to go back to sleep. So, from 8:30 until now, save for two other things, I have done nothing but study the Bible and the Book of Concord.

In the latter, Luther writes:

This commandment, therefore, in its literal sense, does not apply to us Christians. It is entirely an outward matter, like other ordinances of the Old Testament. The ordinances were attached to particular customs, persons, times, and places, but now they have been made matters of freedom through Christ (Colossians 2:16-17). (LC, Part 1, 82).

He goes on to explain, however, that God created a day of rest for a very good reason: that we not work ourselves to death! And what better rest have we than in Him? So, our days of rest are good days to gather together to worship and to be taught.

He goes on to write:

So when someone asks you, "What is meant by the commandment: you shall sanctify the holy day?" Answer like this: To sanctify the holy day is the same as to keep it holy." "But what is meant by keeping it holy?" "Nothing else than to be occupied with holy words, works, and life." For the day needs no sanctification for itself. (LC, Part 1, 87)

[It is not the day that needs to be holy, but ourselves!]

Then, a bit later,

God's Word is the sanctuary above all sanctuaries....God's Word is the treasure that sanctifies everything (1 Timothy 4:5)....Whenever God's Word is taught, preached, heard, read, or meditated upon, then the person, day, and work are sanctified. This is not because of the outward work, but because of the Word, which makes saints of us all. (LC, Part 1, 91-92)

So, after thinking about his earlier observation: "And what, indeed, is the entire Book of Psalms but thoughts and exercises upon the First Commandment?" (LC, Longer Preface, 18), I decided to read aloud the Psalms while thinking about the fact that I should not have any other gods but God.

Needless to say, I am a bit horse, but what a magnificent perspective!

~~~~
Kashi paced back and forth at first, hearing me read, but then decided to go back to sleep. Fancy spent the day tucked beneath my chin. She is no better, but thankfully still alive.

Because my puppydog has been unbelievably patience with his arch enemy in her time of illness, I gathered my energy to walk him to the park and back, once I hit half-way through the Psalms. This is day three without my cane, so I shuffled more than walked and was huffing and puffing the last two blocks.

I also spent some time emailing Pastor D. I have been struggling with how our last meeting went and how I feel about a few things.

Now, for a long while, I have heard people disparage email, claiming it is the absolute worst way to communicate. But I, a lover of the written word, disagree. The craft of letter writing has been all but lost. Yet some of the greatest writing ever produced has been letters. Granted, there is a pervasive problem with employees tossing off angry emails with things that never should be written, much less said. People also use personal email in the same way: a mechanism by which to lash out when upset. However, I believe it is more an attitude against email or against the author that condemns the mode as a failure in communication.

Pastor has a tendency to say that his greatest skill is listening. This is true; he is a most patience and kind listener. But he is also a great writer. [Remember those apt metaphors in his sermons!] I think, perhaps, part of that greatness is actually his willingness to write, willingness to answer long emails with long responses, and willingness to keep trying to communicate, even when doing so is not easy or is laced with obstacles.

With letters/emails, it is possible, should you dare, to bare your heart and speak honestly, without having to worry about how the other person might look or respond before your message is finished. I know I am explaining this rather clumsily, but the point is that there is a certain freedom that can come in letter writing, that can actually push communication farther, deeper than can a verbal conversation.

Then, too, with letters you have something to savor after the conversation is done as well. You can refer back to what is said, studying it from different angles, see where you were wrong or right or agree or disagree. You have an opportunity for clarity. You have an opportunity for encouragement. You have an opportunity to teach, to learn. You have an opportunity to truly communicate.

So, I am thankful this day for technology and for a Pastor willing to use it in order to teach.

~~~~
Most of all, I am thankful for the greatest letter on earth, the Living Word of God, through which He sustains, chastises, instructs, loves, encourages, upholds, loves, and saves us!

J (from the nooner bible study) had her baby yesterday; after three boys, she had a baby girl!

I was touched that she called me with the news. When she told me that she would be spending Saturday alone in the hospital, I offered to come visit. I knew she would have visitors, but after her husband and sons came in the morning, she would be on her own for the rest of the day/night. She replied that she would like for me to come if I truly wanted to do so, given the long drive I would face.

Today, I got to hold a newborn for hours on end!

Most generously, J let me hold her when I am sure she wanted to just revel in having a daughter to hold. She had so wanted a girl, even though she would be most satisfied with any baby God chose to bless her with this time. Even though pink is NOT her favorite color, she was willing to suffer the burden with alacrity!

I had come prepared for the duration, laden with a packed bag of many options for passing the afternoon. However, I should admit that the contents were more for me than for her. I brought the two versions of the bible, in case she wanted to read it together. I brought the Lutheran Service Book, in case she was willing to explain some things to me. I even brought my heavy copy of the Book of Concord, in case I could finally get some questions answered. I brought a deck of cards, in case she wanted to play a game or two. And I brought Mary Kay's Satin Hands, in case she wanted to be pampered.

J admitted to me that she had just started getting back into reading the Book of Concord because of our long phone call last Sunday, so I abandoned the idea of plying her with questions. She did try to go over the Lutheran Service Book with me, but I think that the failure of that act stemmed in part because she had just given birth yesterday and in part that she approached it as if she was having to explain the dictionary to someone. It is what it is and has what it has because of what it is. No help there!

The end result was that before I left, I spent about 45 minutes giving her the Satin Hands treatment.

What is that you ask? Well, it is a three-step process of rejuvenating the skin of your hands: a cleanser, a scrubbing mask, and a lotion.

When she was in the bathroom, I stepped out to ask a nurse if she could bring me a basin and some washcloths and towels. I am so utterly stupid that I didn't even think about the fact that I was leaving her little baby alone in the room. The look on her face when I returned was enough to make me want to go hide in a cave for the rest of my life. However, I shoved that rather strong inclination down inside and had her settle herself in a chair. Filling the basin with warm water, I sat down before her and began to work.

She had not gotten much sleep the night before, understandably because she was on such a high from giving birth and having her first daughter. While washing and scrubbing and massaging her hands, I saw her eyes begin to glaze a bit. I think, I hope, I helped her to relax.

Even though I was enjoying not being alone myself, when her next set of visitors arrived, I left. While she was open to me continuing to keep her company, she had admitted that she might just take a nap after they left.

Save for the time when I stepped out of the room because Pastor was there and the time I spent working on her hands, J was generous enough to let me hold her daughter. Even another visitor, who had her own new baby at home, did not ask me to give her up.

Holding a baby, especially a newborn, is a completely peaceful act. I am genuinely grateful for the sacrifice J made on my behalf, giving up those precious hours with her new daughter so that I could have that comfort.

I do not even really know her, but this she did for me!

~~~~
NOTE: I had thought to bring a bandage to the hospital to ask J to change the one on my back for me. I know, how terribly selfish of me, eh? In the end, I talked myself out of it, even though I would give most anything to have someone change it, just once, for me.

Because the wound is still weeping, I have to change the bandage at least twice a day. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, skilled at doing so. Craning my neck to look in the mirror actually hurts and makes me a bit dizzy. Trying to line the bandage up with the wound is near impossible. Four times now I have actually put the sticky part on the open wound and not realized it until some time later. I am hoping that the fact that it is itching so much I want to claw my nails across it is a good sign; however, I fear the fact that it also burns and stings and feels as if it is tearing more at times is not so much a good sign.

Now, I could pay $20 per visit and have a nurse at the doctor's office change it for me, but that makes me feel even more lonely. Plus, I have spent quite a bit on unbudgeted office visit co-pays, that, coupled with the rather unexpected two gargantuan tax bills and my heretofore discussed less-than-altruistic spending, has left me worried about the rest of the year.

Oh, how I want this wound to be healed enough for the surgery on Thursday!

~~~~
Since J said that she was not a fan of pink last night, I chose my favorite newborn gift of onesies and matching caps with her preference in mind--only three of the onesies had some pink and only one of the caps was completely pink. However, when she saw me cooing over her daughter and lamenting that she was in plain ivory, J hauled herself out of bed, picked up the gift bag I had brought, chose the pink cap out of the bunch of five, and tossed it to me to place upon her daughter's head. Is that not an act of lovingkindess!

I had a friend for 22 years, until she got engaged and then married. I was not at her wedding. I had been unemployed for a long while before it came up and travel is difficult for me. I am not sure if my absence was unforgivable, or if it was because she finally found a husband that ended our friendship. She was the only person in my life, aside from my family, who I had known as a youth.

I miss her.

After reading the The Spirituality of the Cross, I got the bright idea of sending the book to her as a way of reaching out to her. I called first, just to see if it was okay to send the book. She said, "Yes." She even emailed me her new address (I have not known how to reach her since she was married).

Today, I received an email from Amazon.com. The package was never received. She never signed for it. The email was to let me know that my account had been credited back for the book.

Am I such an awful person?

Alas, the brochure was not done.
Fancy is still alive, but gaining no ground.
The surgery has to wait until next Thursday so the gaping wound can heal more, a day and a time when I have no hope of help save for taxi-cabs.

Trying to sleep on a gaping wound in your back does not make for a peaceful night's rest. Neither does having nightmares about the even larger wound that will come after the surgery. All night long, I kept trying to pick up the stitches that kept popping off of the new incision and trying to stick them back in place. In the end, my entire back was a raw, oozing wound.

Would you say that I am worried about this? SIGH.

However, waking up to a living bird is worth a night of tossing and turning and all the burning, stinging, itching, oozing holes you could possibly have on your back. Fancy is still alive! Dr. M is plumb astonished!

Now, I am trying to be so utterly realistic and remember in just a few short hours, when I awake once more, that could no longer be the case. She is still dangerously underweight and her poop tells the tale of a distressed liver and intestinal system if nothing else. Yet, I hardly think of those things because I have had three more days with her and at least have more time to cherish her company and process having to say goodbye. I know, I have already set that goodbye another 5-10 years in the future. I know, I am foolish.

This evening, I hope, I have finished the brochure for Pastor's church. I started it two years ago, at my suggestion, I think. If you have not already figured this out, Pastor is quite busy. Nothing ever came of my draft. But now they are out of supplies and need to do a new print run. Shake off the dust and start again, eh?

Well, weeks have passed and it has not been completed. [Note: Pastor schlepping me to my doctor appointments might have something to do with that.] Yet, it is now due at the printer in order to have more copies in time for the church's next outreach endeavor. Cousin D kindly ripped my draft to shreds so that I could start catching the 1,001 errors I had. [Note: Wednesday has two letter "d's" in it.] B took another look-through for me. Many eyes are way better than one when it comes to writing and design work.

Cousin D rightly pointed out the brief bio on Athanasius was sorely lacking in cohesion and coherence. Being the lazy person I am, I had let that slide since it was used in their prior brochure. However, his comments smote my conscience, so I buzzed Pastor on his phone enough times to get him to take time out of his conference/family vacation to talk over the other changes and that small matter. He pointed me to source material on Athanasius, and I re-worked the bio. The final draft is in his hands (email account) now!

The design work was simple, partly because they are not a snazzy congregation, but primarily because I am a hack at the craft. That which I have done, thus far, at several jobs as a communications manager has come about because I worked for nonprofits that could not afford to hire a true designer. Some of my work has actually been really good. Other has been merely passable. I have absolutely no hubris about the matter. Still, I truly enjoy when I can help someone out with my skills, be they as they are.

It makes me feel much less useless, from my perennial perch on the corner of the couch.

When I weighed Fancy this morning, she was 69 grams.

I had crept down the stairs, fearful of what I might find. That she was still alive gave me hope, until I weighed her. She was also not interested in eating anything I put near her.

Me, the consummate night owl, got up at seven o'clock just so I could have some time with her, if she were still alive, before I had to go to work. We sat on the couch together, her tucked beneath my chin as I whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

I was allowed to leave work early and finish my tasks at home. I claimed that I wanted to sit without clothing touching my back, which was true. I also wanted to keep Fancy company. Standing on the porch, I ended up vomiting before opening the door. When I finally gathered my courage to do so, I found that Fancy had flown down from the playpen and was standing right before me. After I put her back in place, she ate and drank. Not as much as I would like, but she did try. The rest of the night she has spent napping on my foot or tucked beneath my chin.

Right now, I am struggling to read the Philip Melanchthon's Apology to the emperor's reply to the Augsburg Confession. It is the most dense piece in the Book of Concord, in my humble opinion, and the one that makes me feel the dullest oaf, certainly not worthy of claiming my Ph.D. anymore.

This is my third evening of study, and I have barely begun the piece. I am reading and reading and reading again. I am also building a list of questions for Pastor should he venture to help with this section of the Book of Concord. The present Article before me is V, "Love and Fulfilling the Law," comprised of many sections that are as confusing as the one fore and the one aft to them. While I have some interesting pieces highlighted, it is the whole, the sum of the matter that eludes me. I cannot follow his point and feel stupid for this failing.

However, those highlighted pieces have been quite illuminating (pardon the pun). The one from this evening that has given me pause is the following:

"In order to retain the Gospel among people, He openly sets the confession of saints against the kingdom of the devil and, in our weakness, declares His power." (68)

Either last week or the one before, Pastor asked a question in bible study to which I actually knew the answer. Mine was long-winded, his re-phrasal was more apt. In the Old Testament, how did God train His people for battle? He trains them by showing them that it is He who is the one fighting.

One of my favorite images that proves this point is how God used Gideon to free the people of Israel. Oh, there were all these men, surely brave warriors ready to fight. God winnowed the thousands down to 300. Wouldn't you, being one of the chosen few, feel pride that you were going out to fight for your freedom, for the freedom of all whom you loved? I imagine they armored themselves as best as they could and swaggered off to war, confident in their own strength. But, oh, were they in for a surprise! What mighty strength did God need of man? Well, He needed them to sound trumpets and smash the jars of clay hiding their torches. Blow hard and thrust your arm up high. What might is that? The might of the Lord. What might has man? The faith He gives us.

He needs us not. Yet, He desires to be with us. The God who can pit our weakness against the entire kingdom of the devil and win wants us as His children. What a beautiful thought to give us pause!

Another entry on this day...

Well, in many ways, I think I would say that my day, my weekend got worse. This afternoon, the biopsy incision ripped open.

Now, I mentioned to the surgeon I saw on Monday that I felt as if it was tearing beneath the surface each time I bent over. She offered to take the stitches out this week while my doctor was out of town should she agree to leave them in for a while longer. I tried to explain how I felt to the doctor on Thursday. Perhaps the news I received about the results hindered my attempt to explain. Still, I tried to trust that she knew more than I did. I believe, that in this case, I knew better.

When I pulled off the bandage to try and see what was there, it was a mess. Taking a deep breath, I stuck my camera behind my back and took a snapshot. Looking at the gaping hole there, I actually threw up and then fainted, hitting my head rather sharply on the table on the way down. I would never have thought I would be so squeamish!

When I came to, with Kashi licking my face, I picked myself up and crawled up the stairs for a shower. Since the doctor had put steri strips over the wound when she pulled out the stitches, I had not showered in hopes of helping the thing remained closed. Having hot, soapy water running over an open wound is not pleasant.

When I finished, I sat on the edge of the tub trying to decide what to do. Do I go to the ER, spend $100, only to learn that since someone soon will be cutting out more of my back that stitching it up is not necessary? Or will I not be able to have those remaining awful cells removed until this heals?

I decided to stuff the thing with gauze, tape it down, and wait until tomorrow, to see if I could reach that surgeon by phone. I had left a message on Thursday to see if she could do the additional tissue removal, but did not hear back. If she cannot, I thought perhaps she could tell me what to do.

Casting about for something to do, I went ahead and called J (the pregnant lady from the Wednesday nooner bible study) to ask what she would prefer I do about missing the fill-the-freezer today (bring something later or send a gift certificate so they could have pizza or something). I had asked Pastor his thoughts in an email, but I think he had already gone to his conference.

I am glad I called for she received many, many pizzas today and would be grateful for more variety. Since my writing student K is actually going to be cooking by proxy for me, I suggested K's AMAZING chicken cordon bleu. Let me tell you, J's interest in that particular option was nearly palpable over the phone!

I am glad I called for I learned that Pastor is at least partly correct about his flock: he believes that should I ask anyone of them for help, he/she would if it were at all possible.

J and I ended up talking for over 3 hours. Yes, I know, I am the woman of long phone calls. However, I only know her from bible study! It was strange and wonderful and sobering and joyful. I know that sounds confusing, but I know no other way to describe it.

We talked of babies, mothers, teaching, and, of course, Lutheranism. What took me by surprise, is that during the conversation, when I mentioned the incision and trying to figure out what to do and having something else looming and wondering how it will be trying to recover in my house with my bedroom and the bathroom on one floor and Kashi needing to go out from another floor, she promptly, very, very promptly, suggested that I just pack up the birds and Kashi and come stay in this room that has a bathroom attached. I about near fell off the couch. I don't even know her!

I stumbled and bumbled my way through the conversation that followed for a while, struggling not to cry.

One of the things we discussed was one of the same topics of that disastrous meeting with Pastor yesterday: honoring your father and mother. J had one thing to say that I thought was so obvious I am even more colossally stupid than I think. I also thought that Christ was standing in the room with me as she spoke.

What was it? Well..."You know, Patricia, you are forgiven for struggling to honor your parents." Oh, my, was that a balm after yesterday! I needed to hear that. It was interesting to hear her struggles with that same commandment. They are different from mine. Yet the struggle is the same. It is that Lutheran absolute of standing under objective grace that shone through the moment. Yes, I am forgiven! It didn't change the struggle, didn't change my desire to somehow fulfill this commandment as best I can. It did remove the great burden my failings at doing so had become to me. Grace.

She also said something else I particularly savored.

We were talking about the difference I see between saying you are justified by faith and saying that God's grace and faith are objective. The former, while seemingly the same, opens the door to how great your faith is or how much you are doing with it, bring in the subjective. The latter leaves absolutely no room for subjectivity.

I had told her that I wondered if the reason why there were so many churches, so many Christians out there preaching justification by faith, but judging on justification by works was because so many people struggled with the notion that their own works were not great enough, i.e., there faith was not great enough, and tore others down so as to lessen their own unworthiness, to lessen the desperation they felt in their faith but could not voice for what that failings would represent to them. Supposition, I know.

J's response was couched in several repeats of the caveat that I might have heard what she was going to say and that she was sorry for repeating. I stopped her then to tell her that since I have such a cheese-hole brain, we could have discussed what she said just last Wednesday at the nooner and it could still be "new" to me.

Here is basically what she said: People often get trapped into believing that their good works is what makes them sanctified; they are essentially working harder and harder to be better. We cannot be better. Period. Else why did Christ need to die such a horrible death if it were within our capacity to mitigate our sin? When in reality, the more we understand our wretchedness and our absolute need for a Saviour, the more we are sanctified.

So, here I sit, on my third bandage and wondering at that earlier decision, yet thinking more about the Word and Grace I received this day than how I feel holding Fancy and my worries about the next steps for dealing with all that is on my plate.

After a disastrous meeting with Pastor yesterday in which I said and did all the wrong things and there was lots of talking sideways, I sobbed for over an hour. Then, with Kashi licking my leg in comfort, I thought I would fetch Fancy because I had not had some sweet-nothing-talks with her lately. Shuffling to and from work, letting Kashi out, and feeding all three birds is about all I have done. When I picked her up, I was horrified to see that she was skinny. After putting her on the scale and seeing that she had lost 1/3 of her weight, I burst into tears again and called the vet. I told her it would take me a while to get there because the electricity had been off since 5:00 in the morning and I was getting weaker and weaker from the heat. She said she would have her two male vet techs meet me at the car. I brought in all three birds so Fancy wouldn't be alone and so they all could have their nails clipped. Walking to the exam room from the parking lot took 20 minutes. I think Dr. M would have given me a fierce lecture for driving except for Fancy.

In short, Fancy is dying.

Hearing that news, I just sad huddled in the exam room, wailing for quite a while, Fancy tucked beneath my chin where she seems to prefer to be. Dr. M gave her an antibiotic shot and gave me some some more antibiotics and some high caloric food to force down her, but stressed that she was just too thin, that something was going on and we most likely would not be able to stop it. At 10, she is not old, but neither is she young.

This morning I weighed her and she has lost another 12% of her weight from where she was yesterday. I cannot believe she is still alive.

Dr. M said leaving her there would not be in Fancy's best interest because I am her flock. If there was any hope it would be in trying to get her to eat as much as possible and hope the antibiotics worked. Her poop is this yellow foam now (it should be a tight green coil).

Dr. M also said that birds' metabolisms are so very fast that she could have been going down for just a day or so...that I did not do this to her...that something could have been in her system a long time that has now come to the forefront, that it could be intestinal cancer, that Fancy has been a very much well loved bird for 10 years and I should remember that.

She has not been to visit me for a couple of days, but she does that from time to time. She is still preening herself and never showed the signs of a distressed bird (fluffed up and shaking). Yet I wonder if I had noticed her weight drop on Thursday if I could have saved her.

Seeing her so painfully thin hurts so much. Knowing that most likely tomorrow morning, when I awake (last night I slept on the couch with her because I could not make it up the stairs--it was after 10:00 PM before the electricity came back on), I will find her gone is overwhelming to me. And, right now, I will not even be able to bury her in the back yard next to Madison because I am too weak to use a shovel. Who can I ask to come do that for me? I cannot just throw her out in the trash.

I know she is just a bird. I know that. It is just that I have had bad news again and again and again of late, this week being the worst one yet. And for 10 years she has been such a great companion, preening my eyebrows for me and taking naps with me and putting up with me each time I startled her by leaping up off the couch and cheering wildly when the Cowboys were doing well in a game.

As strange as it sounds, I think Kashi knows she is gravely ill, too. He has not protested once her continued presense with me and spent much of yesterday curled up beside the couch instead of on his bed, just as he is now.

Oh, my heart hurts so very much right now. I know that God is bigger than all the bad news, than being trapped in a wet-noodle body, than Fancy's illness. I just wish my heart would listen to my head....

While a part of me wanted to tell my writing student K last night that we needed to rain check--not because I didn't want to spend the evening with her but because I was such bad company--I nevertheless insisted she still come despite the news I had to swallow earlier in the day. Gracious young woman that she is, K brought dinner from Whole Foods (and prepared it), changed out the light bulbs in my front porch light (I've been in the dark for 5 days), and hauled the laundry that has been sitting in the basement since last Tuesday up to my bedroom.

I asked K to give me a writing assignment, turning the tables so to speak. Her response was to instruct me to take a familiar story and write it from a different perspective. I didn't have to write much...just try. Below is the bit I did:


Ella, In Truth

Ella! That very name causes my blood to boil! Ah, but not with anger. Not anger.

Watching her twine her arms around her father’s neck, tugging on his beard, leaning her head into his shoulder…. How does he not see she is wrapping him around her little finger? Why does he scoop her up in his arms even when she has done wrong?

Wrong! She can do no wrong! She dances in the rain, ruining her dress and all he can say is that her feet were as light as air. She sets fire to the bed hangings in her chambers after falling asleep with her book and candle and his response is how much he appreciates her find mind. Why does he love her so?

She is not beautiful. At least, she is no more comely than I. Yes, her hair is fair and her skin porcelain, but am I not as pale? Do not peaches bloom on my creamy cheeks? My hair is dark, but it is a shining river of curls that cascades to my knees, whereas her straight locks barely fall below her shoulders. What glory is there in that?

Am I not equally intelligent? Can I not pronounce the Latin names of each and every plant in this forsaken keep? Have I not worked diligently in the still room since the time I could walk? My herbs and poultices heal far more effectively and much more quickly than those of any healer known for leagues. I have read every book in her father’s library and the seasons have not yet made a full turn since Mother brought us to live here.

“Blodwen, you must make this work for us. Your father’s pension is all but gone. Befriend his daughter so that he will befriend us all!” Mother had implored to me shortly after she met him at the Duke’s manor.

My sister Halyna cares more for the trim on her skirts than she does for anything else. She is perfectly willing to dance attendance on the Marquis’s daughter, praising her every move. As for me, I cannot see as to why Ella is the enchanted one and I mere dust.

The biopsy was positive. The edges were not clean.

Today was another up and down one, but certainly one filled with the Grace of God.

The Wednesday nooner bible study is so very different from the Wednesday evening one that I have been attending off and on for a few years. Yes, there is a marked age difference, but the feeling around the nooner table is just plain different.

Today, poor Pastor D was trying to make a particular point, while we were busy making our own observations. For a man who has no problem teaching, he was hard pressed to get a word in edgewise for a bit. So, just as he was ready to launch into some great instructive comment, J pipped up with her own insight. Oh, my goodness! The look he shot her was enough to stop an elephant in its tracks! I thought she was going to go into labor then and there from the shock. Of course, we all had a great guffaw over the matter, twitting Pastor a bit mercilessly. You see, his wife had arrived late, but happily just as I had arrived so I missed nary a moment. She was noted as late by him. I was not. Truly, at that moment, he had no defense; he couldn't have been right if his life depended on it. Much commentary was had on his looks and his observations of tardiness or lack thereof. I sat there, reveling in the moment, thinking that it was strange to have laughter during bible study. But does not God laugh with us in our joy as He does weep in our sorrows? It was strange to me. When Pastor commented in the evening study that he had never seen me laugh so hard, I proffered my concern for J was the source of why I protested his glare. He rightly observed that she would have been most grateful to him had he triggered the arrival of her fourth child. It seems quite content to remain where it is.

I, then, noticed this little book Pastor had on the table and picked it up. I think the title was something like Pastoral Companion Book, maybe Pastoral Care. After setting it down, I asked what it was. Ever the teacher, Pastor flipped it open and showed me that it had different prayers and such for people in different circumstances. Running his fingertip down the table of contents, he pointed out a few examples. Thinking about the past couple of months, I asked him where I would be. His quick retort: Where are you not! Sad. But still I had to laugh again!

The strange part of the day was that I began and ended it with the same bit of Scripture, the same topic, but that will have to wait a bit.

In 2001, when my friend gave me this blog as a present, she told me that I should use it to write about having Multiple Sclerosis, that I was such a good writer that perhaps someone might take heart. I found the idea compelling and yet off putting. Who would want to read about my life? Yet, I loved the name she helped me choose for the blog and the domain was purchased, so away I wrote.

I personally believe that some of my worst writing has been that about MS. Take the 1,001 times I have written about pain, none of them touch the heart of my experience. To me, they all sound like mighty complaints instead true insights to the disease.

SIGH.

The days of the last week have been long and frightening for me. Granted, I would be the first one to point out that stress affects MS and so the heat of that night could not be the only factor, not since I am still wobbling so much now. I take slow and careful and tiny steps because my legs feel as if they are made of Jello. Were I to stand in one place, I wobble and sway. Shuffling from place to place makes me winded. And all I want to do is crawl back into bed.

In the past, I have written about my struggle with blurred vision and the abortive attempt to see a neurological ophthalmologist. Well, this morning I had a new first for me when it comes to my eyes. I am used to aching pain when I move them. I am used to stabbing pain when the light is too bright. I am used to having to wait for my eyes to adjust when I look from one place to another that is a different depth of field. I am used to the blurriness that waxes and wanes. I am used to the constant headaches from my eyes trying to focus and never quite being able to do so. And I am almost getting used to the need for reading glasses (old age, not MS). What I am NOT used to is that my left eye was completely blurry. I thought, perhaps, when I first put on my glasses that I somehow left my contact in that eye the night before. After rubbing it with my fingertips and then checking my contacts case, I realized that my left eye was just not going to be working today. At least not this morning.

Now, having a blurry eye is not painful. Nor is it terribly difficult since the right one was working as well as ever. But it is quite frightening. Not something I wish to reflect upon for very long. [Pardon the pun.]

So, my day did not begin in the manner in which I would have wished.

However, I spent the early morning (yes, you read that right) talking with Bettina about 1 Corinthians 11 and (yes, you guessed it) some of what I have been learning about Lutheran doctrine. The main topic was head covering, but to me it was another chance to turn over this idea of Grace being objective.

While I have enjoyed the fellowship of the Augsburg Confession, there are a few bits that strike such a chord within me that I feel as if I am a harp vibrating with music. Strong words, I know.

With reference to the crucifixion (Article III): "He did this to reconcile the Father to us and to be a sacrifice, not only for original guilt, but also for all actual sins by mankind (John 1:29)." Sometimes it is easy to think about how Christ died on the cross for us that one moment in time, but in Truth that crucifixion is still happening this moment, a sacrifice for my sins of this day. Just as with baptism, we can say I am washed with the blood of Christ. Granted, I am probably the worst person to hold as an example of that blessing, but that does not make it any less true!

With reference to the Sacraments and Scripture (Article VII): "Both the Sacraments and Word are effective because of Christ's institution and command, even if they are administered by evil men." I personally believe this to be a very bold, yet quite simple example of the pervasive stance we are justified by faith and not by works that is woven throughout Lutheranism. The Lord's Supper, Baptism, and Scripture are all of Christ, His actions, His words. They are not created by man, nor are they affected by our great triumphs or severe defeats. Our purest altruism cannot enhance them. Our basest nature cannot defile them. They are independent of us and their power and blessing depend not on the strength of man, but on Christ. What an absolute relief it is that God's Grace depends not on my own works! Article XIII further explores this understanding: "Our churches teach that the Sacraments were ordained not only to be marks of confession among men, but even more to be sings and testimonies of God's will toward us." That will? To save us!

With reference to that which should be taught in church (Article XXVI): "The Gospel should stand out as the most prominent teaching in the Church, in order that Christ's merit may be well known and faith, which believes that sins are forgiven for Christ's sake, be exalted far about works." Couple that with (Article VI): "The faith given by the Holy Spirit is a living and active power in our lives, bearing the fruit of good works." Add in (Article XXVII): "Paul teaches everywhere that righteousness is not to be sought in the self-chosen practices and acts of worship, devised by people. Righteousness comes by faith to those who believe that they are received by God into grace for Christ's sake." Luther oft talks of being misunderstood about works, as if he taught they were not necessary. Instead, he most often discusses the fruits that will come, should come, from faith. The key is that that faith is from God. Frankly, were the Gospel, the message of mercy and grace, more prevalent in church's, I would surmise that there would be more Christians walking around with the peace that is the wonder of that which was given for us, shed for us on the cross. Instead, I have experienced and seen so much emphasis on all the things we should do/can do to make ourselves worthy by living holier lives. How futile! What can possibly be more holy that the Son of God dying on a cross?

Which comes back to the texts that began and ended the day. I Corinthians 11 and I Timothy 2.

After a very long mid-day with more discouraging news that my heart could bear, I found myself outside the house where we meet for evening bible study, struggling to work up the resolve to shuffle inside.

So, now I am back at the table, still smiling over Pastor D's quip about my fitting most of those circumstances needing special care listed in his little book, when someone began reading the opening passage, a passage next up in cue in the study. It was essentially on just was Bettina and I were discussing that morning! Tears sprang to my eyes because I felt as if God was guarding me fore and aft in that moment. I had wanted more teaching on that very topic. God's timing is perfect.

In short, the issue Bettina brought up with head covering is a perfect example of what I am studying. If a woman wishes to cover her head as a symbol of the right relationship between her and Christ, as an acknowledgment of headship, then I am fully behind that act. Should she do so because it is a part of a list of dos and don'ts plucked out of Scripture and she believes she will make herself more worthy of Christ's mercy and salvation, then I am saddened and wish that she could know the freedom that is in the Work of God, not man.

From time to time I have used my soapbox to point out the egregious treatment of Native Americans. Every time I hear America called the "Land of the Free," my heart contracts and I stop and pray for those who have never really reaped the benefits of that freedom.

This article covers the sad state of medical care on reservations, beginning of a story of a little girl with a stomach ache. Though she was only 5 years old, her parents were told she was depressed. Again and again, they were advised nothing was really wrong. She died of cancer within the year.

Now, I know that many Americans do not have health care, but the Federal Government entered into an agreement to pay medical care for those whom it displaced again again in the name of progress. Like most of our agreements with the original inhabitants of our Land of the Free, it was only partially fulfilled. I have written about the payments due from land rights several times. Those are caught up in "accounting." Over 30 years now, edging toward 40.

Yes, a few Native American nations have taken advantage of the rights that allow them to reap revenue from gambling. Good for them. For shame that it is more lucrative for them to encourage gambling and drinking than anything else. We have come full circle in this country. How much land was gambled away, was traded for a few trinkets because taking advantage of other people is our heritage?

Warning: This entry is under the influence of a powerful, and in my opinion, most wonderful drug. I have been given a dose twice as high as I have had before, and I will say that I wouldn't mind it doubled again. But with my sensitivities to drugs, even the doctor who has stepped while mine is out of the country wanted to be conservative (I have learned a common dose is eight times greater than my sliver of tablet). It is a drug that is best described as providing distance. So, I am rather drugged right now and care not a whit that I am.

First, I will say I feel as if I have stepped back to Wednesday. I know that stress can cause MS symptoms to rear their ugly heads and today was most certainly stressful, but I was discouraged that it seemed to take me an hour to walk into and then out of Target, even with Pastor bearing more of my weight than he should. But I have jumped ahead.

I went into work early so that I could be extra productive before I left for my appointment with the surgeon. My boss was less than pleased I caused myself to become ill last week and I was trying to show that while I am under the weather, I can still produce. I was able to get the final grant question drafted. My goal was a complete draft by the 19th, so I am ahead of schedule. They are these really complex, deep questions that you only have 2,000 characters, including spaces and punctuation, in which to answer. The grant is $200,000, and I genuinely believe that we can win it in the next few years (generally with grants you have to go through a few cycles before you get accepted), since last year we were short-listed and vetted before falling out of contention. That was the first year we had applied.

So, I drafted the final question, drafted talking points for a letter of support from one of our County Supervisors, made revisions to the cover letter for another grant application we have pending, created a Google Analytics account for another one of our websites, and started adding code to it. That was a good day's work if you ask me.

But as the appointment drew near, I was trembling and nauseous and quite nervous. I also did not sleep much last night and have not eaten much in more days that I care to admit. Sometimes, my heart does not follow my head very well.

Pastor helped me to get through my appointment, where I did not get the answer I wanted, but I did have a bit more hope held out to me. Essentially, I have to start over with a new specialist and the thought of doing so weighs on me. I cannot really explain why I accepted Pastor's offer to accompanying me on this journey. Really, in my world, it makes no sense. But I will say that without his support, I should not have found the courage to continue. I do wonder, though, if I am starting all over how much longer he cares to hang out in waiting rooms.

I had some complicated questions for him to answer for a much needed distraction, but ended up trying to talk about something else that I thought might affect his answers. He missed dinner with his family again. That bothers me.

So, on the way home, we stopped to pick up the miracle drug. Originally, the primary doctor had thought it would help me with the appointment, but I was uncomfortable being out of control during that time. I was not opposed, however, to drugging myself into oblivion so that I might forget this day.

This day, I have been more teetering and tottering than really walking. I had to keep fighting dizziness and my hands and feet were tingling much of the day. I could check with Pastor, but I am fairly sure that it took longer to walk in and out of Target than it did for them to actually prepare the prescription. And, though I am sure he would not be surprised to know this, I had to work very, very hard to keep from just collapsing to the floor a few times. Not falling. Collapsing. Wet noodle time. Frankly, by the time I was settled in to the car with the air-conditioning on blast (Target was warm for me and I was working to hard to walk), I was wondering if, yet again, I had been consummately selfish in asking to stop for the prescription. Then, as we pulled up to the house, I faced a wave of pain as my muscles began contracting again. Truly, that was discouraging. After all, I have to return to work tomorrow with smile on my face and exuding productivity. How do you do that when you are in pain and feeling the wet noodle?

Getting into the house was a chore. Getting from the couch to the kitchen for water took a near Herculean effort. However, I am currently sending warmest thoughts to the makers of Zanax and hoping that Pastor's mighty big heart extends to the sacrifice he made in making that extra stop.

I snoozed and then actually ate a small meal, all the while not really thinking about anything. Not work. Not MS. Not my lingering guilt over last Wednesday. Not doctor's appointments. Not the future. Not the past. Nothing, really. I was still.

In that stillness, I was able to return to the Augsburg Confession, Article XIII, that I was reading on Saturday.

"Our churches teach that the Sacraments were ordained, not only to be marks of profession among men, but even more, to be signs and testimonies of God's will toward us. They were instituted to awaken and confirm faith in those who use them. Therefore, we must use the Sacraments in such a way that faith, which believes the promise offered and set forth through the Sacraments in increased (2 Thessalonians 1:3)."

One of the things that I have been confronted with of late are the realities of the Sacraments, specifically Baptism and the Lord's Supper. The former, for now, is what I want to mention.

I have always been taught from the camp who views Baptism as something you do for God, a public confession of belief. Lutherans, being of the objective camp, believe the polar opposite: Baptism is something that God does for you.

Water. Word. His Name. These three wend together in the act, be it sprinkling, dipping, or dunking. It is an act that happens one moment in time, when we are washed anew and given the gifts of faith and salvation. It is an act that happens each and every moment hence. The Lutheran says not I was baptized, but that I am baptized. I am, so I am saved. I am, so I am forgiven. I am, so I am loved. I am these things because God did this work for me, not I. With the work dependent on God, it is sure. It is perfect. It is complete. It is enduring.

What a blessed Truth! To be washed anew for the rest of your life! What a blessing to have, from that first moment in time, assurance of faith in Christ through out all that life brings. Our doubts, our trials, our darkness does not matter. An unwavering assurance because baptism is not an act of man, but of God.