Month: July 2018

I started to read in earnest when I was in fourth grade. Up until then, I was pretty much an average student. I did what I had to do in class but nothing really clicked for me. School was what you did and reading was an assignment.

The other notable thing about fourth grade, for me, was that I also learned to played the clarinet. Looking back, I think that somehow the process of learning to read music opened a pathway for me to really learn to read. Words and sentences suddenly made sense and stories hung together.

I also had a wonderful teacher that year, Mr. Oldham. He was quite scary the first day of school. He was over six feet tall, rather husky in build and was completely bald. I remember coming home from school and asking my mother to get me switched out of his class. She looked at me as if I were out of my mind and said no. That was unsurprising as she had never stepped in to intervene in school and I had never asked her to do so before. I must admit, I am forever grateful that she did not do as I asked.

Mr. Oldham was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He loved teaching children and was forever challenging each of us with new and different ways to learn. One of the things he instituted, for our class, was a weekly field trip to our local branch of the public library (which was all of one and a half blocks from the school.

He also read to us each afternoon. That was something I had never experienced before. My oldest sister would read to me on occasion (she loved playing teacher and I loved playing student) but that was when I was younger and she had less work to do for her own schoolwork. I recall Mr. Oldham read us Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and then followed it up with James and the Giant Peach. I was amazed at the idea of such exotic lands and stories.

The first book I read through, at age 8, was Little Women. I quickly ran through all of Louisa May Alcott’s books and was hungry for more. I would backtrack to the library every afternoon after school to pick up a new treasure and then head home to finish it that evening. By the end of the year, the librarians had given me permission to check out books from the adult section and I was off and running.

Unsurprisingly, my schoolwork began to improve dramatically. I was tested extensively and based on those scores and that of another boy in my class, a new curriculum was developed for a test class for the following year.

I remember finishing my work early in class and being given permission to go to the school library to wait for others to finish their work and was generally joined by the other boy I mentioned. What I didn’t realize was that others didn’t like that I had so much “play” time, which for me, was spent reading.

One afternoon, walking home from school with my best friend, she told me that when I was in the library that day, Mr. Oldham had talked to the class about me. Apparently, I was so “smart” that he couldn’t let me be bored in class and invited the kids to discuss why that might be. I was humiliated at being singled out and told my friend I wasn’t smart, just a little faster at writing and answering questions. She was happy with that answer but I was unhappy to be different from the rest of the boys and girls that I wanted so much to be a part of.

From that point on, I was always embarrassed by any sort of attention being paid to me. I became a very quiet and private individual and started my withdrawal from life. I would do my schoolwork to the best of my abilities but I would keep to myself. I stopped making friends and reading became my life. My friends were found in books, my teachers in the imaginations of some wonderful authors and my safe haven was found in the public library.

Perhaps, if I had been able to complete the test class year, things might have changed. However, true to our vagabond ways, we moved once again about eight weeks into the school year. We generally moved every year to year and a half. The constant moving made making friends difficult. That year, to add to the indignity of being singled out for my schoolwork, I was skipped a grade when we moved.

I was suddenly the youngest in the class, not to mention having none of the background of the prior ten weeks as the test class was built on its own subject matter and had nothing to do with what was ordinarily taught in fifth grade – for instance, I recall having to create my own language (written and spoken) along with designing a culture and history for the “people” who were part of it. What I was missing was knowing my multiplication tables and my US history.

So, solitude and my books became my reality. In the midst of a large and chaotic family, I was generally still on my own. I don’t think my family members noted my withdrawal from real life and I think my parents were probably happy to have a little more measure of quiet in the turmoil of our house.

When my parents marriage began to disintegrate, I withdrew even further. I didn’t want to go to school, I wanted to go to the library and spent my days teaching myself and so I did. I’ve wondered why the librarians let me spend day in and day out there without question but perhaps they knew I was safe with them and perhaps where I would be otherwise would not be so.

This began a pattern that would continue for several years. We would move, I would start school and at the first sign of nonacceptance by my peers, I would escape back to my safe zone. I still passed all of my classes with A’s based on getting my books and working through the assignments on my own. I would attend school for a few weeks at the beginning and end of a semester and it was enough.

My behavior drove my mother a little crazy. She told me she could understand if I “ditched school” to party like my siblings had done but to go to the library was insane. It was rather telling that no one thought to have me go into therapy to see what the problem was but instead they wanted to simply force me into going into class. Which I would do and then stop again.

There were two times I made an enormous effort to change. Once when I lived with my father for less than year (when he also got my glasses that I had needed for three years but were too expensive for my mother to consider buying for me. I was, by that time, so near sighted, I could not read any blackboard in class at all.) The second time was when I, along with my little brother, lived with my eldest sister and her family.

My mother had decided to commit herself to a mental institution as she thought she was insane. She probably was but not nearly as troubled as the rest of the patients around her. The few months I lived with my sister were wonderful. Anything I learned about good parenting came from that time. I also was able to get the dental care that I needed desperately (as I had cavities in most of my visible front teeth that would have caused me to loss them fairly quickly.) I went to school and was a model student.

When my mother was released and we went back to the projects where she lived, I continued to go to school at the school in Santa Monica I was at while living with my sister. Mid-way through the second semester of tenth grade, I was told I had to go to Venice High School, which was a Los Angeles city school. There was nothing wrong with Venice except that they did not teach a single class that I was taking.

Rather than allow me the ten weeks at Santa Monica to finish the year, their decision was to give me five drop fails, have me take five classes that I would not pass (due to the time left in the semester), not count my first semester as they did not teach those glasses, and add two years to my schooling as they would not accept the classes I took the previous year either as they did not teach those classes.

My decision was that I would stop going to school and get my GED as soon as I was able to do so which would take almost two years of waiting. The drop fails had taken away my only chances of a college scholarship and no one thought to tell me about grants and student loans. I figured that college was impossible for me and no one ever thought to tell me otherwise.

And so, I stopped going to school again. Finally, during the next school year, a counselor made a suggestion that I agreed to. I could go to their continuation high school (a school for troubled kids) and take as many classes during what remained then of my eleventh grade year. If I could pass enough classes, it could put me back on track to finish school on time. The only caveat was that I was only allowed to go in on Monday to receive my assignments and then to return them on Friday and take whatever tests were necessary. They didn’t want me talking or interacting with the troubled kids and making friends with them. This worked well with my withdrawal from society and so I agreed and was back where I started from.

I finished many classes during that time period and was able to attend my full senior year of high school at Venice (though I still had to take seven classes per semester instead of the standard five.) The classes were not challenging but it was enough to be done with it and I did make one good friend during that time period. For me, it was a wealth of good times to have someone to talk to.

Because of my experiences, I decided that when I had children, I would make sure I lived in the same house in the same town while they were in school and I did accomplish that. I hope it helped them and I think it did. None of the three of them had a hard time coping with life the way that I did.

It wasn’t until I became a Christian and found my true family that I felt like I fit in. There are still times when the old feelings of being too different and not quite normal creep back, especially when I am in a group of people I haven’t met before. The difference is that I now know how to deal with it properly as I am able to take my troubles to God. I’ve learned that we humans may think we are smart but really, we know nothing as everything we study is based on a fallen world. That puts me on a even keel with everyone else.

If, for some reason, you feel like you don’t fit in and that there isn’t a real spot for you to be yourself, take heart. God knows who you are. He created you for a special reason. No matter what others think about you, good or bad, you were made to be exactly who you are. Rather than working at fitting in or, as I did, escaping, you should look for the one who created you just as you are. He will give you love and acceptance and will guide your path so that your special gifts are made clear and their purpose is put to use.

God loves you and he has a plan for you. Don’t let the rest of the world turn you away from that plan. If you are a Christian, ask God to give you guidance. If you haven’t made that commitment, ask God to show you clearly that he is God and that he sent his son, Jesus, to give you a way to salvation and a full life.

He will answer that sincere prayer. Jesus says he stands at the door and is waiting for you. All you have to do is ask him to enter your heart and life and he will. He died to pay for your sins and rose again to provide those who follow him with eternal life. When you become a Christian, the Holy Spirit enters your heart and becomes a part of you from that point on. You, like me, will never be alone again no matter what the rest of the world says, does or doesn’t do.

I pray that you will ask God to show you how real he is and that you accept his gift of salvation. If you do so, you are now my brother or sister in Christ and part of my family in God.

1 Corinthians 26-30

Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things — and the things that are not — to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God — that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption.

Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly keep up with how fast life is going on around me. It is moving so fast that that catching up let alone keeping up seems impossible.

Maybe it is a sign of my age but somehow I don’t think so. When I was young, time moved so slowly that I wanted to nudge it forward. As I have gotten older, time certainly seems to have sped up. I have seen the days go by quickly but in a satisfying way that shows a life that has been lived and well spent.

The speed of life and the world that appears out of control is different. It doesn’t leave a good feeling, rather, it can leave anxiety and even for some, fear, of what the next day is going to bring.

The daily news is so unrelentingly bad that many people are opting to just close their eyes and ears and ignore what is taking over our lives. I know that I no longer watch the news and, if I read something, I make sure that it is through a source that I can trust and still I generally don’t trust it.

With so many of us playing blind, deaf and dumb, there is little to stop whatever it is that is coming. For Christians, we have an inkling of what will be as our Lord has provided us a long term plan. Non-Christians are taking this as it comes, without an understanding of the powers that are really being put in play.

From the moment that Jesus ascended into heaven, the world has been in the end-times. He had just defeated Satan once and for all and returned to the God the Father until the Father had determined that it was time to pass some judgements upon the earth and its inhabitants.

Until that happens, Satan has still maintained his control of the powers which effect us. It is he and his force of other fallen angels who are trying to crush us and keep people from finding the saving grace of Jesus Christ.

The Bible speaks much of individuals who were possessed by these demons. I don’t believe that demonic possession has somehow stopped in the time since then. The good news for Christians is that while we can be effected by these demons, we cannot be possessed by them. With the Holy Spirit living within our hearts, that room is taken. For those who are not Christians, there is an empty spot that can be filled by good or by evil.

While Satan, himself, is busy condemning us to God (while he still has access to heaven), it is the rest of the demonic angels who are causing havoc within our world. Their delight is in our ruin and they glory in our pain.

And it is painful to see what we people are capable of doing to one another. Sometimes in the name of religion, sometimes in the name of hate itself, sometimes as a way to instill a value system and sometimes, in a way that speaks of a very twisted type of love.

It is generally the last type of abuse that brings me to my knees in prayer. When I see parents abuse their children or individuals twist love into molestation, abuse and rape that I cry out.

There are people who would kill their children rather than pay child support. There are so many men who have used the power of their position to force women into degradation (shown in the recent me, too movement.) There are young girls and boys who have been enslaved into drugs and who are selling their bodies for their next fix. There are those who beat and abuse those closest to them, including children, as a way of controlling the rage they feel for someone or something else.

It is easier and more comfortable to just pretend it isn’t happening. As Christians, we can even find some justification as we are told not to be of the world. However, I don’t think that Jesus meant for us to ignore what is going on as his last command to us was to go into the world and preach the good news that Jesus has given us freedom from sin.

If we do as we are commanded, then we are right in the midst of the battle. We are the troops of God in this time. It is for us, through prayer and through proclaiming the salvation message, to bring the light of Jesus to the rest of the world. Without us doing our part, there is no hope for the rest of mankind.

I heard recently that Christianity is always one generation away from falling by the wayside of history. I’m sure that has been true since the church first began. That it has remained in place for almost two thousand years is the sign that God has his hand on us and we are doing his will. Each generation since the first has answered the call and command of our Savior.

It’s time for us, in this tumultuous generation, to step up and ask God what he would have us do rather than simply ask him to make it all stop and go back to slower and easier times. The tempo of life around us is increasing and becoming more and more disjointed as it works its way to destruction. Unless God provides a time of haven, it will increase exponentially.

When we read about the latter days, the type of judgements that will be poured out make today’s news seem tame. Still, God has a plan and he especially has a plan for his children. As Christians, we should have no fear of the future but, as Christians, we should also be stepping in and stepping up and doing our part.

Each of us is a part of the body of Christ. We all have our special and unique spot and job to fill. If we don’t do our task, then the whole body is diminished and our work is left undone. There is also the frightening possibility that someone, somewhere will not hear the good news of Jesus because we were not obedient in doing what God asked of us.

I know that, for years, I ignored the call of God in my life. It’s taken my recent illness to wake me up to start fulfilling the role and path that God has for me. God’s plan would still have gone forward but I would have lost my part in making it happen.

That’s not to say that salvation is contingent upon our doing our work as no one can earn the grace of God. Instead, our works are a way of thanking God for the salvation that Jesus gave us freely. If I had continued to ignore the pull of God, I would still enter heaven when my life is over but I would have missed the opportunity to do something pleasing to God and also the blessings that God would pour out on me for having been obedient and answering his call.

If you are a Christian and, like me, having been putting your head in the sand, it is time to stop and take a good, hard look at the world. Then get down on your knees and ask God what he would have you do. When you get your answer, and you will, then do the job that he has given you. Do it whole-heartedly knowing that your efforts are pleasing to God.

Each day has been a gift to me. When I was told months ago to get my affairs in order, they meant that I would most likely die that very day. I was thankful for the warning as it gave me time to fix the one relationship in my life that was not in a good spot. With it fixed, I was ready for death without fears or regrets.

But I didn’t die. The only reason I could conceive of was that God still had work for me to do. In the first months after I came home instead of dying in the hospital, he put it on my heart to look for the reason I was still alive. It became clear to me early this year that writing this blog was a big part of what he wanted me to do.

I have always been a very private person about life events that matter most to me. It hasn’t been easy to talk about things in my life that have caused me pain and grief but I am doing so in hopes that someone can find some help and comfort in hearing about my experiences and that God is glorified in all that he has done for me. Some of the most challenging parts of my life are still waiting to be written about and, while my own mind doesn’t want to speak of them, I know that if and when God asks me to do so, I will.

This is the attitude that God wants from us. When he calls, our answer should be, Here I am, God, show me, send me, use me for whatever your purpose is. We need to stop hiding from the rest of the world and, instead, show the light of and proclaim the love of Jesus to those who are dying without him in their lives.

It is our great commission and it is time, right now, for us all to step up and fulfill the individual mission that God has for each of us.

Matthew 5:13-16

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.

You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

When I was a little girl, I was the baby of the family for five years before my little brother was born. I had (in descending order), my big sister, my big brother and my next to oldest sister. My eldest sister was pretty much our mother hen. She took care of us and helped us so much. My next eldest sister was a little upset that I had come along and upset her applecart of being baby. While I didn’t understand it at the time, I do now!

In between, there was my big brother, George. I thought the sun raised and set with him. In good part because my parents definitely thought higher of their sons than daughters. Again, a sign of the times and of their cultures.

To me, it seemed there wasn’t anything that he couldn’t do. He probably hated the idea of his five year younger sister trailing after him but he took it in good stead. He watched out for me, kept my sister from terrorizing me too much, and let me watch while he performed miracles of magic. He was Superman in my eyes.

He was able to draw Snoopy and the rest of the Peanuts characters for me to color. He played baseball and could run fast as the wind – or so it seemed to me. I remember watching him and think how wonderful life was when he was around.

He was a good brother. He was so good looking and smart and kind. He was all of those things until he fell into the abyss of drugs.

Back in the 1960’s and 1970’s, the drug culture was just revving up. It was cool to break the law and smoke weed and worse.

I never got involved in it because I saw what it did to my siblings who, sadly, each in turn got involved. While my eldest sister was only more slightly into drugs (just a short time in high school then she became a very serious and involved mother to three darling boys), it was her then-husband who ramped my brother’s already out of control drug use to much worse drugs, including heroin. My sister had to live for years with the calamity of what drugs and alcoholism can do to someone you love and the destruction it brings to the whole family.

My next eldest sister got involved with pills though she used marijuana, too. She took uppers to lose weight and downers to be able to sleep. The thing was, she was a tiny thing to begin with and didn’t need to lose weight. She had sweet round apple cheeks on her cute face and she could not see beyond them. I’m sure there were those in her life who made her feel bad about herself back then. I know that it was true in the future and that it would have an effect on her that would last her whole lifetime.

While she quit taking the illegal drugs once she became a Christian in the early 1970s, she took multiple prescriptions for a wide variety of medical issues including depression for many years. Those medicines took a toll on her and her body and she died way too young.

Still, it was my big brother who fell into the darkness that drugs create. He went from a loving and caring person to someone who would use and abuse anyone at anytime. My mother never saw it in him though perhaps because he was excellent at manipulating her. She had her own set of troubling issues and was not above using him when it suited her as well. I know now that it was the drugs that obscured his thinking and controlled his actions but for me, at the time, he went from a loving brother to a monster – someone who scared me and threatened me in ways I had not experienced before.

It was a blessing from God that I never not get involved with drugs. It would have been so easy. In fact, staying clean was really difficult and unpopular. Everyone was turning on and tuning in and I walked to a different drummers beat.

Oh, boy, was I ever proud of myself. All I know is that I could see the loss of control and the darkness that emerged when others took drugs. I read about what drugs did to your mind and I was convinced that I would never want to cloud or damage my intellect with chemicals. I thought way too highly of myself but it did keep me clean. For that, I am grateful though I’ve learned that whatever I thought I knew, I didn’t really know much at all.

But the illegal drugs… Because of the experience of my siblings, I was like a hawk when it came to my children. I convinced myself that if I could monitor them constantly, I could keep them falling down the rabbit hole. I would point out the risks of drugs and what it meant for the future for those involved but I wish I had stressed this more and had a slightly lighter rein in policy.

I had four nephews and four nieces and while I’m not sure about the others, definitely two of my nephews got involved with illegal drugs as well. One was able to pull himself out of it (with the help of Jesus); the other was not able to do so.

Turns out that I did a pretty good job of it with my children until my son became ill with leukemia at age 17. I ended up spending much of the next 18 months with him in the hospital before he passed away – not from the leukemia but from a yeast infection in his brain. But, perhaps, that is a different tale for a different time.

My youngest daughter was only 13 at that time. Without the constant monitoring and because I was mostly monitoring and not teaching the dangers, she started to get involved with others who took drugs. Her friends who were not involved backed off from her company and she was left with only the known bad kids to hang around with.

Once I was home after my son passed away, I could see that she was in emotional trouble. She told us what had happened and that she didn’t want to be associated with the bad kids any more. We were able to get her into a private Christian school (but perhaps from the frying pan into the fryer there for other reasons) and she was able to recoup and get her life back on track without the stigma of being one of the group that took drugs.

I worry about kids today. The gateway drug for years as been marijuana. As more and more states are legalizing its use, the gateway drug(s) get ever more dangerous. I won’t debate whether marijuana should be legalized, that’s not my decision. I know that kids push the envelope and if that envelope is further down the road at the beginning, they will meet it and push it ever further.

It makes me sad to think of the dangers our children face today. I know that it was bad when I was young. That my daughters had it even worse than I. I can’t fathom what my grandchildren will look at and consider acceptable as far as risks and dangers are concerned.

I do know that the only answer that will solve the problems of today is to be found in the sacrificial offering that Jesus made on the cross for us. He took all of our sins and placed them on his own head. God the Father is holy and true and cannot have sin in his presence. So God himself had to come up with an answer to what would have been unsolvable for mankind alone.

The problem is that we humans are mired in sin. We are born into it and each of us embrace a sinful life at one point or other. We are all guilty and deserve to be eternally separated from God with the spirit within us dead. God loved us so much, he was unwilling to let that happen. So, he sent his Son. Jesus was born among us and was raised and tempted just as we are. He was able to turn away from sin and live the life that God asks us to live.

He became the perfect sacrifice. If you ever study Judaism, you will find that the religion has many types of sacrificial offerings detailed. They were forerunners of an ultimate sacrifice. When Jesus came to this earth, his sacrifice, the ultimate one, forever took the place of all of those other offerings.

His perfection was traded for our imperfection. His whole spirit and communion with God was traded for our dead one. His life given in exchange for our eternal life.

What kind of man would trade so much for such a group of sinners? Only one and he is God.

If you are living with drugs in your life, whether you take them yourself or those who are close to you do so, God loves you. He sees beyond the trappings of our lives and sees you as you are and where you are. He knows what you are going through. He saw you when he sent his Son. Jesus was looking at you when he offered up his life to give you eternal life.

You can be set free. Accept the gift of life that Jesus is offering to you. That’s all you have to do. Then ask him to help you. Ask him to get you away from the culture and the life that is dragging you down to the pit.

I can’t promise rainbows and lollipops but I know that Jesus will step in and help. But it all starts with you. Today is the day. Yesterday is past and tomorrow is not promised. Choose hope instead of sorrow. Choose an unclouded mind instead of a life of slavery to a drug. Choose life instead of death.

It’s your decision and yours alone.

1 John 4:9-10 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

It seems that each time I visit a new doctor or have a new procedure done, more of the puzzle of what caused my illness emerges. The most recent development threw me for a loop, though, I must admit.

Apparently, my illness is not a recent thing. According to the specialist in the field of advanced lung disease and transplants, I have been exposed to something, in his words, day in and day out for a long, long time. Kind of like miner’s with coal dust or a more recent phenomena, dentists and dental hygienists and particles of tooth.

What caused my severe allergic reaction issue, I don’t know and we may never know. It could have been the smog in LA that I lived in for many decades, the dust that kicked up there constantly, the mold from the house next door, the dander from my former cats or even something as simple as the down pillows I have slept on most of my adult life.

The doctor I am seeing now is very interested in my case. He asked permission to present it at a conference that is coming up. I figure that having many specialists look at the issues may be of benefit to me, so why not?

We’ve determined that I am at 57% lung capacity, which seems to be both not so great and good at the same time. I am apparently way too healthy to consider as a candidate for a lung transplant. We are about conserving and maintaining my lungs rather than trying to replace them.

My allergies still continue to be an issue and, with that in mind, I had 13 vials of blood taken to do sophisticated allergy tests. I don’t think I set a record or anything but it was certainly an impressive amount of blood.

I’m currently on a steroid (thanks to pneumonia from cottonwood pollen) and will hopefully move to a more cutting edge medication in the next month or so. While I like the reading I get in at night, I would actually like to get more than an hour or two of sleep. After seven weeks with the prospect of that much more, a good night’s sleep is awfully appealing. But on the plus side, I am reading through more of my books than I ordinarily do.

I’ll let the doctors do more investigation (though, of course, I felt like I needed to provide them a list of things that may have been exposure issues.)

Interestingly enough, the craft items that they thought initially were to blame were not. However, as part of preserving my lungs, I will be looking for new hobbies that don’t throw micro-dust in the air about me. My husband has suggested that I consider rock climbing or log throwing but I think I am busy all of those weeks. Perhaps writing, playing the piano, jewelry making, watercolors, drawing, and still designing cross stitch but not stitching it all the time. A whole myriad of choices stretch before me to explore.

I can still do bits and pieces of the crafts that I enjoy but will have to wear masks while doing so. That will get old quick so I will figure out what my new hobbies will be sooner rather than later.

One thing is for sure, my primary hobby/job/vocation are the exercises that I have worked out with my physical rehabilitation therapist. He will probably only be working with me for a few more weeks as I will graduate to doing the workouts completely on my own.

Right now, I am being challenged by core exercises for the first time in many years. That I am doing them on a memory foam bed makes it even more difficult. When I complain, my therpaist says, great, it’s good for you. Which of course makes me laugh and try all the harder to get done what needs to be done.

We’ve come a long way in the last few months. To get an idea of what I am doing daily, I’ll give you my schedule of events on optimal days:

7am – get up and get dressed (harder than it sounds but I sure enjoy taking care of myself)

8am – walk a quarter mile with supplemental oxygen while carrying ten pounds. (weights to increase over time)

9am – walk a quarter mile with supplemental oxygen as fast as I can while staying above 90 oxygen

10am – walk a quarter mile (slowly) without supplemental oxygen staying above 90 oxygen

11am – walk a quarter mile with supplemental oxygen while trying to find my pace (slower walk but one where I maintain a good oxygen rate)

Noon – walk staircase, do free weight arm exercises (currently using two three pound weights but weights to increase over time) and leg exercises (freestanding and partially supported)

2pm – walk one half a mile (slowly) without supplemental oxygen staying above 90 oxygen

4pm – walk one half a mile with supplemental oxygen as fast as I can while staying above 90 oxygen

6pm – walk one half mile with supplemental oxygen while carrying ten pounds (weights to increase over time.)

8pm – walk the staircase while carrying weights (currently at 2lbs but will increase to ten over time)

10pm – bath and ready for bed – again a pretty taxing task for me these days. It is pretty much the only time of day that I bump my oxygen levels up from one to two. At level one, I am pretty much in a state of challenging exercise at all times so it is nice to have an hour where I don’t have to monitor my breathing too much.

* alternate for times when walking is too difficult – do a movement based task going through items to give to other – clears them out of my house and gets them in the hands of people of enjoy them)

* second alternate for times when walking is too difficult – do a movement based task of my choice. I use this time for something I enjoy doing.

That’s a schedule that keeps me out of trouble! We’ve moved to harder tasks but every other hour in the afternoon to give me some me time for reading, napping or whatever feels right that day (though I usually choose an activity that is a harder exercise than I would have scheduled anyway.) I’m learning how to dial back when I don’t feel well and to slowly move back up.

This weekend was challenging as, of all things, sand from the Sahara desert was blowing into North Texas and playing havoc with my ability to breathe. I learned techniques to help and will be able to apply them in the future. I’ve always had a problem with stopping abruptly when confronted with issues and then being unable to restart. That can’t happen again, so learning the new skills and self control is important for me.

Through this and my husband taking over cooking duties (I can’t use the gas range while on oxygen), I’ve managed to lose 34 pounds in the last six months. I can’t really recommend almost dying as a good weight loss method but I’ll take it in the plus column for me. Also, who knew my husband would be such a great cook? He’s also lost about 50 pounds with his lower fat style cooking, so all is going well for the two of us.

Through all of this, I say Praise the Lord! He has been so very, very good to me. He has held me up and kept me safe when the enemy has tried to tear me down and destroy me. At the time the damage was actually being done, I was in a bad place.

It was probably around the time that my son passed away. I had stopped living the life that God planned for me and, instead, starting waiting to die. I wasn’t depressed but I could not see my way into the future. It took years and the birth of my first grandchild to make me see a future where I could be of use and thrive.

In the nearly five years since my grandson was born, my health started to decrease and culminated with the hospitalization and lung issues I have. While my health has suffered, my spirit has grown and blossomed. I’m doing what I’ve been called to do and life is very good.

God made sure that I was equipped for the battle as it has raged and he is still holding me up and keeping me safe. I trust him for my healing and spiritual growth. I must admit I am so pleased that so many doctors get to hear the story of my faith in Jesus Christ and get to witness what he has done and will continue to do with my life to glorify his name.

Romans 8:28-30

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.

And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.