Honest.

So many people have been saying to me, "Make sure you take time to be honest with yourself.  Don't hold all of those feelings inside.  They will resurface later."  I so appreciate people reminding me of this; I'm not quite sure how to check myself on this, but I don't think I'm holding anything inside.  I'm pretty sure that this post will demonstrate that in about...45 seconds.  I had a good cry yesterday afternoon - I have felt incredibly humbled by several things that have happened in my life that I will never forget & I pray that in time they will teach me to be more compassionate and patient with others.  Yesterday was an all-around rough day.  Even though it was my sisters' birthday, I just felt different.  I view this accident as a blessing to my life; I was so thankful to be home with the twins & watch them open their gifts!  But, yesterday was the first day that I was genuinely sad.  Here's why:

I went off of one dose of Morphine in the morning (which wasn't noticable at all, thank the Lord), but took all three of my stool softeners.  I pooped, which is the job of the S.S. (sorry for you who don't like bodily functions), and it was the biggest poop of my entire life.  Hands down.  Thee.  Biggest.  My mom, dad, and I laughed about it for like five minutes.  Mom wouldn't let me take a picture.  (Sorry for you who really do like bodily functions.)

Then, an hour later, they had to leave to go run some errands.  It was totally fine when they left - I felt so good about life.  I had my computer, my books, and my water.  I was set.

Then it happened.  They had been gone a while, when I had to poop again.  The S.S. had done their job, and my body was no longer in control.  (I've been praying for this for days, right?!)  I fumbled with my phone, trying to text my dad & tell them to come home.  It seriously took me a minute because I couldn't figure out how to spell diarreah (freakin' double r's).  He texted me right back saying that my mom was in the store; she was checking out, and they would soon be home.  I felt just a glimmer of hope, like, "Okay.  False alarm.  I'm still going to be comfortable.  He called every four minutes to give me their stats.  I have an amazing dad.

But then, it hit me again, harder than before.  I just laid there screaming this time at God, "NO!  NO!  GOD!  You know I can't handle this right now!  Please do not humble me in this way!  God, please!  No!"  I don't even remember how many times I said no to him.  Just sobbing and screaming at him.  I spent who knows how long this way, and then realized that I wasn't going to be able to wait until my parents got home.  Luckily there was a gift bag filled with art supplies, and I quickly dumped it out & used it as you would a mattress for a baby's changing table.

I won't describe anything else to you because it's really graphic, but I haven't cried that hard in a long time.  I just sat there in agony and shame.  The only two times I've broken down in this whole ordeal were yesterday, and in the hospital when I had to have an Enema.  I didn't even know what an Enema was.

I can't believe I'm telling you this story.  I told the girls & Alaina not to tell anyone, and here I am, BLOGGING about pooping in my bed.  But, as I've often said, this is God's story, and he uses even the grossest of things.  I know that some things are personal, and there are things I haven't talked about & won't, but there is a spiritual connection, so stick with me, okay?

I got to thinking in between sobs that I don't get that upset over things in life that really, truly matter.  Like, when was the last time that I truly weeped and cried out to God about the poverty that I've seen in my city, or the fact that every 11 seconds someone dies of AIDS, or that up to 3 million people in the world (mostly children) are going to die of Malaria* this year alone?  Why can't I sob over things like that?  So then I started sobbing some more about things like that.  It turned into, "I'm sorry God!  I'm so so sorry!  I'm sorry that I don't get upset over things that matter!"

Psalm 77:1 says, "I cried out to God for help. I cried out to God to hear me."  David, the author of this verse, is going through an incredibly personal, intense, agonizing journey, (and it's out for everyone to read).  I have often resonated with David throughout my life, but yesterday, I knew exactly what he meant.

I've already blogged about humility & suffering, and this was definitely both, but tonight I want to be honest. The tears of shame that spilled onto my shirt turned to tears of repentance for not being more expressive about my sadness about the injustices in the world.  The things that make God want to puke - the things that make him sob uncontrollably.  I have prayed in the last months that God would allow me to feel the way he feels, and yesterday, he was honest with me.  He allowed me to taste a tiny, tiny bit of the sorrow that he feels everyday towards his people; the people who wander aimlessly, desperately searching for something more.  The Bible talks about this as blindness sometimes, and as blind people might search, scraping their knees & bumping into poles & enduring taunting from others around them, feeling their way in the dark; God feels such compassion towards them.  He feels compassion towards me.  And I'm so glad that I have found him, and He has found me.  I can run into his arms, with the freedom of Christ, with sheer abandonment & with shameless, honest love. 

Cited:
http://www.wrongdiagnosis.com/artic/malaria_niaid_fact_sheet_niaid.htm