Fear.

My parents recently adopted two Springer Spaniels last fall.  They are beautiful dogs, and after our Beagle died three years ago, my whole family was itching for new members.  I think it was an attempt to ease the pain of a move that my sisters would have to endure, and it worked a little.  Plus, my parents have something to keep them busy once the twins move out of the house in a couple of years.  That's my thought anyway.  But they seriously are like my parents new children.

The sad part is that they were abused as puppies, and our guess is that they were puppy mill dogs.  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puppy_mill)  They are originally from Missouri (found frollicking around in the wild), and a friend of mine was fostering them when my mom ran into her at the grocery store.  One thing led to another, and I came home from school to find these two adopted puppies in our house.  My sisters named them Avery and Louise - one is black, and one is brown. 

Because they weren't trained (or taken care of for that matter) at a young age, they have a lot of...well, issues.  Specifically with submission - Louise's response to fear & submission is just to pee.  If you go up to her without her coming to you first, she'll pee immediately.  Avery on the other hand, she bites.  She's so afraid of people that she will (try to) bite them in complete and utter fear.  This is a huge issue in our household right now because we love her, we don't want them to be separated, we thought we could train her not to bite, but we can't have a biting dog in our house.  I'm so sad because I've just fallen in love with her - she's such a cool dog once she's relaxed, and she feels safe.

Tonight, she lunged at someone that was dropping off dinner, and that was the "last straw" for my mom.  She loves having people over, and she has a huge heart for serving others - it's too much of a burden for her to carry all of the time.  My dad immediately corrected her behavior, and she laid down in her bed.  If dogs could cry, she would have been crying.  You could tell in her posture that she was ashamed; the way that she was hiding under a footrest showed that she knew she had done something wrong.  My parents have no idea what to do because training is really, really expensive - about the same as my bedside toilet that I need to survive, but the insurance company disagrees.  Pray for us because we don't know what to do next.

I think that sometimes I respond the same way as Avery.  For example, I am really fearful of what my legs look like underneath my casts.  I haven't seen my legs since before I fell off of the rock climbing wall - I wouldn't look at them the entire night or morning.  When people told me I should, I just geeked out, and was like, "No! I'm not looking at them.  Are you serious!?"  Now I'm afraid to look at them because they're all cut up.  Pretty soon they will atrophy and I won't even have any leggies left.  Now, I'm not discouraged by any of this; I think it's funny.  I'm going to have legs the size of baseball bats!  Come on, that's funny. But I will NOT look at them until I absolutely have to, and I get snappy when pushed.

Seriously though, I am especially afraid of what the future holds, especially concerning my career.  I've been struggling for quite some time with what I'm "supposed to be doing", and I still am afraid of what I should do next. 

Like my beautiful dog, I sometimes get defensive when people ask me what I'm doing these days.  I have no reason to, but I just put up this distant front, and answer very minimally, sort of sharking around the question.  I think I've hurt quite a few people's feelings in the last year - people who have been praying for me, and wishing the best for me...they honestly want to know how I'm doing.  I just feel like I've failed in so many ways.  Because I have.  Failure is a part of life, but failure makes me deeply, deeply afraid.  It is one of the great fears in my life.  I don't like admitting that to people.

Fear of failure is also very stupid because it's a fact of life.  I need to just learn from my failure, and not run and hide under the footrest and cry.  But that's what I do.  When I fail, I beat myself up and I talk myself down, and I run in circles which perpetuates more failure and negative thinking. 

Philippians 4:12-13 says, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

This is a verse that is quoted quite often, right?  "I can do everything through him who gives me strength."  When I first started going to church, and heard this verse, I thought, "Whoa.  I could do anything."  In 11-year-old terms, I think I went immediately to flying or jumping from a cliff or eating more candy that any human ever has...stuff that is selfishly based, and would "test" whether or not God was real.  (And I think I'm still tempted to do that.  Just to clarify though, I did not fall off of a rock climbing wall to test God... : )

I think what Paul is really talking about is the verse right before that - "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want..."  When we make choices, life happens.  Our choice is ours alone - we should aim to please God & serve him, worship him, love him, and strive to live like him.  

It's not about the end result though; it's about the process.  We should be content with what we have in any situation - with the ability to walk or not, subbing in schools or working my dream job, with our worn-out couches or our new ones, whether you know where you next meal is coming from or not, with our laptops that work slow or a brand-new computer that you found online, with our snow boots from last year or ones that God blesses us with because we have compassionate Grandmas who don't want us to slip on ice from Antartica that magically appears in front of our apartments.  You know what I mean, right?  Content in everything.  My prayer is that we are not afraid of what other people think of us, but that we can be ourselves, be in the moment, be who God is shaping us to be, and not fear the refining process. 

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

Time.

Sitting in bed all day means that you have a lot of time.  Time to think. Pray. Laugh. Think some more. Go on Facebook. There are an endless number of opportunities.  When a dozen of my beautiful friends came to visit me in the hospital came to visit me last week, I asked them, "What would you do if you had 3 months to do whatever you wanted, and couldn't walk?"  The list that we came up with was super fun (but I can't find it!)

This week, I've been in think mode.  I tried to paint, but my water cup seems to go missing because I fall asleep while I'm in the middle of a stroke.  I tried reading, but I don't want to hear other people's stories of suffering just yet.  God has fixed my eyes upon Jesus, and I want to soak it up.  I don't want to be distracted.  So I've tried reading, but I can't get into the stories.  I've tried a Rubik's Cube, but I got frustrated.  So then I end up going on Facebook.  I'm trying not to be on there for more than an hour each day...so far...meh.  I'm there maybe 2.  All that to say that I need time to think & process what has happened to me.  This process of reflection is why I'm writing in my blog so much I think. 

This leads me to the art of stalking.  I could be a professional Facebook stalker.  I spent 30 minutes today just indulging myself in a good ol' trip around the book of Face.  You know what I found?

We are not long here.

Babies magically growing into toddlers, toddlers to big kids, big kids to teens, teens to adults...I've felt like an adult for a long time.  Ever since my friend Jenni C. from Faith Church said, "You are an adult!  I didn't recognize you with that purse on!" when I was like 17.  That was the moment that I grew up.  But to see so many babies holding their younger siblings that are babies because they themselves are no longer babies.  It was so surreal. 

My baby sisters turn 16 today.  Sixteen.  I can remember when they were born, and when my mom & dad brought them home from the hospital.  It was a hard season for my parents because they were premature, and my mom spent countless nights crying at the hospital because she wasn't sure Nat was going to live.  Jen & I weren't allowed to touch them until we took a shower, and man, that was the fastest shower of my life.  The babies were so warm and small.  Nat was "my" baby, and Mal was "Jen's" baby for a while.  And I just remember holding them.  I remember when we moved to Illinois and we had this baby cage blocking in our huge living room - it's where they learned to walk and run.  All four of us would all run around in the huge space.  Their hair smelled so good.  Jen and I would push them around in a laundry basket and they thought it was the coolest thing.  We'd play kitchen & house & build towers with legos.  With all the time in the world.

One of the things I'm most thankful for is the time that I get to spend with them in the next few months.  I know them, but I want to get to know them.  I'm so thankful for the time I've been given to spend with them & with my parents.

I BibleGatewayed the word "time" today, and do you know how many times the word "time" or "times" is said in the Bible?  888.  It's weird that it's that number, I don't know why, but it is.  888 times!  Time is important to God: how we see it, how we value it, how we share it, how we use it, and how we use it for him.  Time.

Hebrews 12:11
No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.  (Be STILL!  And know that he is God!)

Time is a gift.  Everyone always says that, but how often do we act in response to that reality?  Time.  Is a gift.  From the Creator of the Universe; a limitless, undefinable, never-ending, never-beginning God.

Happy birthday Nat & Mal!  The gift of time is one that I hope that you remember to be thankful for every day!  Love you.

Suffer.

Jesus.  Jesus.  Holy and exalted one. Jesus.  Your name is like honey on my lips.  Your Spirit like water to my soul.  Your word is a lamp unto my feet; Jesus I love you.  I love you.

This was one of the very first songs I learned when I became a Christian at the age of 13.  I did not grow up in the church - I always thought that you should try to be as good of a person as you can, and that God rewarded you accordingly.  When I was 12, my dad committed his entire life - everything he had, everything he did or thought, all of it to Jesus Christ.  I soon followed because I wanted this same change of heart.  Little did I realize that my story was going to look so much different than his

At the age of 5, I developed asthma (my theory is that because I lived in California for two years, the smog destroyed my immune system).  Little did I know that I would take an inhaler for the rest of my life, just so that I could have life.

At 6, I fractured my right arm while roller blading, and my collar bone by farting around on my jungle gym.  Little kid stuff. The usual.

When I was 7, I started developing chronic ear infections in both ears.  Doctors recommended tubes be put in my ears, but my parents thought I would grow out of it, or that I would magically heal.  I don't know.  I was the first pancake, but it wasn't very common back then to have tubes.

When I was 8, we moved from Texas to Illinois, and I developed allergies to pretty much everything around me.  Dry, warm air to wet, moderate air; I survived.  We had to get rid of my bird before the move because he made me sneeze.  He was my buddy.  His name was Poppy, in case you want to know.  : )

At 9, I had reconstructive ear surgery because I had developed a cholestiatoma in my right ear, causing my hearing to be severely impaired.  My ear surgeon is now really famous because she does this procedure all the time now (it's more and more common in kids - my prediction?  Allergies to milk & wheat.)  I also had a tube put into my left ear so it would drain properly.

Years 10 & 11 were peaceful years, I believe.  These were the years where all of this stuff just continued to develop - nothing new arose.  My mom might say something different...those were the years where emotional termoil began to develop.

Year 12 I had head lice shaped dandruff that my mom thought was real lice, and treated it as such for 3 months.

Year 13 I developed Impantigo, a skin disease.  It was pussy & gross, and I'm still embarassed about it.

Now.  This is where I broke down.  This is where Jesus enters.  Honey on my lips.  His Spirit like water to my soul.  I saw this glimmering light.  This is where I spend and hour crying into my dad's arms because I had committed my life to Jesus!  And all of this bad stuff was still happening to me.  Both dad's listened, and both dad's cried with me.  But both knew my pain.

Year 14 was the year that I fell off of my bike on my way home from work.  Doesn't sound like much, but it was a moment of evidence for me because my helmet broke into four pieces.  I didn't go to work with a helmet.  My dad just happened to drop it off for me right as I was leaving work that night.

Year 15 was the year that I entered a deep, dark depression after my family made a move - one that forever altered my life.  God called my family into ministry this year, and he led us to Spring Grove, IL.  I knew that he was leading, but I didn't want to go.  And I suffered in self-pity.

Year 16 was the year that I started to heal from everything listed above.  I started to understand more and more of God's character.  I began to heal emotionally from the pain that I had deep inside my heart.

The rest of the years were years of growth, even in the midst of conflict - I started to realize that God does not want us to come to him complete & whole.  He wants us to come to him in whatever state we're in: whether we are frustrated, confused, excited, have a lot going for us, depressed, hurt, or suffering.

Suffering.

"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you."  1 Peter 4:12.

I did something today that I've never done in my life.  I skipped church in a building to go to church by myself with my computer.  It was so weird.  A lot of people that I know do it, but it was very foreign to me, and I am often judgemental of people who are not willing to get invovled in a church community, but instead watch podcasts or videos.  That's what church is for - for you & the body that needs you.  But this morning, I was thankful for Francis Chan.  I've been to (well, what was) his church once before while visiting cousins in Simi Valley.  I stumbled upon a sermon on suffering.  1 Peter 4:12.  It's kind of intense isn't it?  To be quite honest, I don't like verses that talk about fiery ordeals, or strange happenings, but Peter is alllllll for them.  Why?  So that he can be like Christ.  He was so impacted by this man, Jesus, that he saw suffering as gain.  Not only that, we should not be suprised when bad things happen to us; we live in an extremely broken world.

Have you ever tasted suffering?  In the city that I (used to) live near, Milwaukee, there are 20,000 homeless children at any given time. Twenty thousand.  That's more people than lived in my high school community, let alone my town.

My sufferings are and were nothing compared to theirs: I'm not hungry, I'm not cold, I'm not lost or without a home.  I was never taunted in school for smelling different because of a lack of access to a shower or bathroom.  I was never raped or beaten or hurt because no one was watching out for me.  I never lagged behind in school because of my lack of sleep that night.  (I did lag behind in school because of drugs that I had to take, but that is completely different.)  And you know?  Maybe not all homeless people feel that way.  Maybe they do find a shelter for the night, or plug into a church.  I don't want to perpetuate stereotypes about homeless people because all of them are smart & some are just in a season.  But so so many suffer.

Suffering.

I have prayed for the last few years that God would make my heart like his.  Do you know the song "Hosanna"?   There's a bridge that goes like this:

Heal my heart and make it clean.  Open up my eyes to the things unseen.  Show me how to love like you have loved me.  Break my heart from what breaks yours.  Everything I am for your kingdom's cause, as I walk from nothing to eternity. 

It's a scary thing to pray, right?  It's a HUGE prayer.  I always say, be careful what you sing because God listens.  When God breaks our hearts, it hurts.  When we suffer, it hurts.  When God leads, it sometimes hurts.  But, it. is. so. worth. it.  Why?  Because we grow closer to God, and we become more like Jesus.  He paid the ultimate price, he suffered as no one else has.

Before this turns into a book, I just want to say one more thing tonight.  My church went out today into the community that we live in, and into the city of Milwaukee.  It's a big deal for the members of this church, and I am proud of them.  I was praying all day that they would see glimpses of God's broken heart, and feel some sort of pain & suffering.  It's a really weird thing to pray for someone, but I think that it's a form of love.  : )  There may be some of you who are personally suffering right now because it's where God has you in life.  Advice that someone gave to me a few months ago?  Suffer well.  Suffer well, my dear, dear friends.

Humble.

This morning, my baby sister helped my mom wash my hair.  Then she helped me style it.  It looks so stinkin' cute...I'm not even going to lie.  But you know what?  She did not do it the way I wanted.

This sister is on the quieter side, unlike me.  I'm always telling people how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking, whether or not I've pooped that day (which I haven't - pray for me.  The meds are killing me.)  I'm like a walking billboard for TMI, but I don't care.  My sister is much more reserved than I am - she watches everything that's going on around her before she states her opinion.  It usually gives her an informed one, at that.  Anyway, I had asked her if she would blow-dry my hair, and she always plays off like she doesn't want to do things (even if she really does).  I asked her to hold up the mirror instead, but I couldn't reach the back very well in my wheelchair, so she took over for me.  She started to comb it in the wrong direction, and I kept getting frustrated.  I kept wanting to say "M, do it this way, not that way", but I just let go of it. When she was done, it looked so cute!

One of the things I think that God is going to teach me over the next several months is what it means to wait. You'd think I'd have this down by now, right?  I have made so many important decisions in my life & I have been given time to listen and pray about what to do next.  But nope.  Not so great at waiting.  ESPECIALLY when I'm driving.  Oh man.  It's bad.  I need to be humbled.

In the mornings, I have to wait for others to get up so I can pee.  I have to wait for my poop to be ready to come out.  I have to explain how I like my butt to be wiped, and be paitient when the wiper doesn't get it (.  The universe does not revolve around me just because I fell and broke some bones.  And, the process is incredibly humbling.  Life is carrying on for the people around me (which is so exciting!), and I am going to have to wait until my body heals.  I am going to have to take a lot of time to learn how to walk again.  I am going to have to wait to hear what God says I'm supposed to do next after I'm done healing from this accident, and this freaks me out.

But you know what Psalm 39:7 says?  "Lord...my hope is in You."

There is so much hope, right!?  One of my closest friends gave me a little wall decoration that says "Hope" on it.  It has been such an encouragement to me because I keep beating myself up when I don't do things right.  I get so frustrated when I'm not as patient as I could be, or when I immediately think of myself.

Sometimes I want something, but I wait a few extra minutes because I know my mom is still eating her dinner.  Eventually, the bottom-wiper got it, and we're in business.  I haven't peed my bed yet, and I don't think I will.  I mean, think about all of the blessings that come in my day: I can get into a wheelchair, and move around my house; I have the use of my mouth, hands, eyes, nose, ears, arms, and butt; I have nothing hanging over my head (my job wants me back!); I have a warm bed to sleep in & pillows to make it comfy; I have food & clean drinking water; I can breathe well...wow!  Most importantly, I serve & love a God that knows my every need, and wants to meet them.  He deserves all the credit for these things - he is so good to me.  To us.

Being humbled helps us to focus on the things that matter.  Falling from a 20-foot wall?  Humbling.  Very much so.  But, from the moment I hit the ground, God has used it to make me even MORE thankful for the ways that he has so richly blessed my life.  Please pray for me; that I don't lose sight of these things in the midst of the hard times.  How can I pray for you?

The beginning.

I'm afraid of blogging.  I have never blogged before - 1) Because I was unsure of whether or not I would actually keep up with it everyday, 2) Because I'm afraid of egocentricity, and 3) Because I have been on a difficult journey this year; a deeply inward and personal one at that.

I say that I guess, as a disclaimer.  I'm not a particularly talented writer, and I sometimes make up my own words, and I use way too many commas, run-ons, and fragments.  But.  I believe that God is leading me to start writing out what has happened to me in the past week so that it may be a testament, (proof & evidence) of his faithfulness, love, and plan for not just my life, but yours.

You see, one week ago today, at the time I am writing this, I was on my way to Froedtert Hospital - a transfer patient from Community Hospital in Menomonee Falls, WI.  (I have slowly morphed into a cheese-head, so all flatlanders out there - you don't need to know where that is. There may be a lot of foreign words in my writing. Sorry. They sucked me in.) The reason that I was being transferred to Froedtert was because Community was unable to operate on legs as severely broken as mine.  Three hours prior to this exchage of goods (via AMBULANCE! : ), I was at an indoor rock climbing gym.  I've been wanting to work on my guns, and P90X is not appealing to me.  So I met a friend at the gym & off we went.  I had been there a few times before, and she is a seasoned climber, so we grabbed our gear, paid for our 5-time visit, and went to put on our harnesses.

I went first, and I picked a route that was fairly easy because it's been a while.  She climbed a couple of routes, and then on my second or third (I can't remember), I jumped up onto a route, and headed on up.  What I didn't realize is that I had not clipped my carabiner onto my harness.  I got about thirty feet up into the air when my friend noticed that I wasn't clipped in.  I was able to come down about ten feet*, and then I fell.

My feet were elevated right away, the paramedics arrived about fifteen minutes later, and off I went.  My friend & another Christian climber came with*.  I had no idea what would unfold in the night, but I had this sense of peace throughout the entire experience*.  I was so proud of my little body (something I never would have thought I would say, with allergies, asthma, chronic ear problems, and ear surgeries) - the adrenal glands worked*!  I hadn't cried at all!  The shock of everything kept the pain level down, and the deep-breathing excercises I've learned in yoga kicked in.  I was so suprised!

The pain was the worst about an hour later at Community (like a 12 on the 1-10 scale) because I didn't really understand that you have to request drugs after the initial doses, and I waited and waited like an idiot. My parents had arrived*, but I had asked them to wait outside for a little while because I didn't want them to see me writhing in pain.  Little did I know that they could hear me yelling.  Having my bones set soon afterward (some anesthesia, but still felt), I felt like I could face anything.  One lady said to me later, "I'm so sorry that this is happening to you.  You are so nice."  I was able to say back, "You know, bad things happen to good people (not that I'm a good person), but I believe that God has a plan for me, and I trust Him."  Isn't that cool!?  To think!  God can use people even when they are in so much pain*!

I was transferred to Froedtert after X-Rays and CT scans (I almost got a babysitting gig...hee hee), and it was an intense arrival.  They are all business.  They cut shirts there.  No messing around, you know?  So I think they were a little freaked out when I cracked jokes & said thank you every ten seconds.  I found out that my orthopedic surgeon was one of the best in the U.S.  Like, he's put ballerinas back on their toes, and people come to watch him operate from around the world.  RIGHT THERE*!  Operating the next morning*.  Which is good because, come to find out, my ankle wasn't just swollen, my talus bone had been broken.  It's dangerous & can affect blood flow.  It's also connected to arthritis.  But it had only slightly shifted, making it possible to operate the next day*.

Dr. M walked in, looking fresh as a daisy.  Later I found out that he had not felt overly hopeful about my feet, but then he went on and on about how great of a job he and his team had done*.  I will have to learn how to walk again, I have a high risk of arthritis, and I can't bear weight on my feet for 3-6 months, but it was an amazing start.

My nurses were amazing, my friends came from all over the midwest, and my parents were by my side the entire time.  I'm home now, with a pain level between 1-2, and I cannot be more thankful for the way that my story has unfolded.  I'm able to move to a commode (and nice term for "the pot), and into a wheelchair.  I still get tired pretty fast, so no basketball just yet.  People have brought us dinner every night, someone went and got my car from the gym, and drove it to IL.  And filled the tank.  I have dozens of books, beautiful flowers, and a journal with my name on it.  I have parents who have not made me feel like an intrusion, and are amazing servants of Jesus.

The hardest part of the entire journey?  Giving myself grace.  I'm not good at that.  You know, I'm the first-born-people-pleaser-ENFP-I hate making mistakes-perfectionist.  Grace isn't my thing.  But God has given it so freely.  I need to allow it for myself.  Not clipping in: big mistake.  Learn from it?  Yes.  Excited for the journey?  Yes.  Deeply embarassed?  Yes.

2 Timothy 1:9 says, "By the power of God who has saved us and called us to a holy life- not because of anything we've done but because of his own purpose and grace. This grace was given us in Christ Jesus before the beginning of time."   God knew you and I before we were even born and He knows every move you're about to make.  Every move.  You choose it, but he knows it.  My dad said to me, "God's not suprised by what happened, Catie."  He's right.  God didn't look down and say, "Wow! Did you see that?  Catie just fell off of a wall!  Whoops!  Catie, Catie, Catie..."    Every. Single. Move. is for the glory of God.  Even a fall.