Mourning Into Dancing

I read Luke 5 this morning as part of my YouVersion Bible reading plan. YouVersion is awesome – most especially because you can reset your plan if you get behind. Like me. It’s almost May and I have only read 1.9 percent of the Bible, according to YouVersion.

Sigh.

But – at least I’m reading the Word, right?

Anyway. Luke 5 describes several different miracles. The man lowered into the house by his friends. A man with a withered hand. A leper.

Every single time that Jesus healed these people, he first forgave their sins.

And I’ve read these passages a lot in the eighteen years I’ve been a Christian, but this never really occurred to me. I guess I’m reading through a different lens now…The lens of “sick, not healed.”

Jon-David, my ten year-old son, said this to me yesterday:

“Mommy, I wish Jesus would come back today.”

“Oh, Bud. That would be great, huh?”

“Well, if Jesus came back, then He would heal you.”

I teared up (Of course. Constant crying lately). Then I said, “Son, that would be awesome. I want to be healed. But I know that Jesus WILL heal me. It may not be until I get to heaven…or maybe it will be when He returns. But He will eventually heal me, Jon-David.”

I am so glad that my child is so tuned in to the reality of Christ’s return and His ability to heal. He does heal – Luke 5 is a perfect illustration of this truth.

But I’m learning that His priorities are not my priorities. And He FIRST forgave sins. Then healed His children.

If the forgiveness of sins was Jesus’ first priority, then I want to make it my first priority.

God, cleanse my heart today. Come and forgive my sins – I confess them to you. Only you can heal me, Lord, but – more importantly – only You can forgive me. Thank you for your forgiveness, Jesus. Amen.

Today one of my students sent me this email:

Mrs. Hopper!!!! I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!! I really hate English class without you…we all miss you SOOOOO much, Mrs. Hopper!!! You were and still are our favorite teacher! And we all feel so protective over you because none of us want any of the other classes to have u as a teacher. Cause we want you all to ourselves No other class deserves the Hot Seat, Word of the Day, the Reading Zone, and those AMAZING poems every day!!!! I hope you can be our teacher again one day. We all miss you soooo much. But I think I miss you most…

I started crying, crying, crying.

This is my loss. My heartbreak. My “this makes no sense, God, and I’m angry with you for allowing this” attitude.

If He loves me, then why can’t I work right now? (When did my relationship with Christ become contingent on circumstances?)

Teaching is the one area of my life where I have complete confidence. I am a good – sometimes great – teacher. I walk in the classroom and fall completely in love with my students. Every. Single. Time.

I become their favorite teacher. I’m the one that they tell “I’m cutting and can’t stop” or “I cheated…again.” I walk them through things and encourage them and I can see the difference I am making.

When I teach, I feel God’s complete pleasure and anointing. Every. Single. Time.

A few months ago, my RA started to flare. I ignored the flare and kept pushing my body to get up, create lessons, and pour myself out for my students.

My husband and children saw me less and less because as soon as I walked in the door from school, I crashed. My body would scream “STOP” to me and I’d lie on the bed. Sometimes I’d take my sleep medicine too early in hopes that the pain would end and I’d drift away into slumber, ready to wake up and teach again the next day.

Fool.

I should have stopped sooner. Or cut back my hours. Or paid attention to the warning signs that someone with a chronic illness can recognize.

But I was so afraid to stop because I didn’t want to leave the classroom.

Last month, I almost collapsed at school. I started a medical leave and haven’t been back.

Now I sit at home, trying to slowly rebuild my health and my relationships with my family.

Mostly I need to rebuild my relationship with Jesus.

Somewhere along this chronic illness/teacher/mom/wife road, I began to choose my job first.

Every. Single. Time.

To be honest (and, um, honesty in writing comes pretty easily right now…the words may be jumbled and I don’t even know if I am worth reading, but I still am sitting and writing, writing, writing….)….I’m beginning to realize that Jesus wants me to love Him more than teaching.

He wants me to love Him more than I want to be healthy, healed, or pain-free.

He wants me. Jess. His girl.

Every single time.

I don’t go to church very much anymore. In the past I’ve used my chronic illness as an excuse – even when I could have gotten up, dressed, and attended a brief service with my family.

But now I don’t use my illness as an excuse…it really is true! I can’t go to church most weeks because I am dealing with some aspect of being sick.

Today, however, I was determined to go. He is Risen, right? Plus, I knew in my gut that Hugh wanted me to go. Every so often he will mention how sad it makes him to attend church without me. So I woke up, showered, dried my hair, and put on non-pj clothes.

It was good to go to church. I am clinging to Christ in a deeper way right now and being at church really filled my spirit. There were a few times that I wanted to leave because I was hurting…but, I stuck it out. Woo hoo!

When we got home, Hugh ran to the store and bought things for a super-simple Easter meal. My MIL bought us a coconut cake, my grandmother gave us a Honeybaked ham, and I made up green beans, fruit salad, and green salad while Hugh browned Sister Schubert rolls.

My little family sat down around our table and everyone shared one thing they learned this year about Easter. It was deeply encouraging to hear the things my children shared. My MIL and Hugh each shared really profound things, too.

When it was my turn, I started to cry. “God is teaching me so much right now in this pretty dark time. And, even though I am suffering, I am starting to learn that He is enough. The Cross of Christ….it’s enough. And today I am just grateful for all these gifts….Going to church with you, our ham from Gram, Mom’s coconut cake, and being able to eat with you.”

Then I read a couple of passages from the Bible. We ate, we laughed, and…it turned out to really be Easter.

I think about how controlling I used to be – uber-planning every detail of each Holiday…spending way too much money on food for a holiday meal and gifts for my children…But now…in my weakness…I can’t do any of those things. My perspective has totally shifted. Instead of being controlling, I am dependent on Him.

The ER. Pain. Another new low. The best part about a “you seem really depressed and your counselor is deeply concerned” watch is the nice young aide that they assign you.

I had two aides last night. Tonya was first – she sweetly told me I couldn’t lock the door when I used the bathroom.

Ashliegh came on for the 11pm shift. I liked Ashleigh, too. She covered me up with heated blankets and brought me a three day old turkey sandwich from the fridge. The sandwich was the only thing I ate in almost two days. This kind of “not eating because I’m in too much pain” thing happens a lot for me now. But I still steadily gain weight from my medications and my occasional love of food.

I wonder why I’m blogging today.

I haven’t blogged in so long because I’ve been afraid of the implications my writings could have at my job. But now, on medical leave for over a month, and with no real possibility of returning to work anytime remotely soon…well, I’ve decided to write again.

I’m writing for two reasons. First, I need something to do. My life has become so very empty…so very fast…. and I am hungry for even a small amount of purpose.

Second, I have this teeny tiny hope that God might use this story…this pain…this addiction…loss…depression…this nothingness….for His glory. Then maybe it would be worth it – right?

If it’s used by Him, then maybe it somehow will become something.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

Really?

I want to crawl in a dark, dusty cave and curl up in a ball. What should I do?

Do I pray first? Go confess to my husband? Talk to a counselor or call a friend who tries to listen, but doesn’t understand the details of this particular sin.

I spent most of last year walking away from God. Too much pain, too much loss. He wasn’t good, after all. So, after two decades of following God, I just…stopped.

Stopped praying. Stopped reading the Word. Stopped surrounding myself with women that held me accountable for the sins that were slowly consuming my life.

My sin exploded in early September. “You have to do this,” Hugh said on that Indian Summer morning. So I did. I confessed my sin in a public and painful way. I repented of the darkness. And in the confession, I found His freedom. Once again I started to trust God and hope in His goodness.

My sin – now confessed – lost it’s power over me. I started to rebuild my life, my marriage, and my relationship with God.

But.

After living for months with this sin, I often find myself yearning for it. It is familiar. I miss it.

Every once in a while, I fall again.

Like last night.

The next morning I am overwhelmed again with the weight of my decisions. I am painfully aware of the loss that occurs each time I choose my sin over Jesus.

Here is the problem I face: Now what?

Isn’t He tired of forgiving? Shouldn’t I be doing better? How do I pick up the pieces – again – and try to pray?

I feel dirty. Unworthy.

But still. I will come.

I will grab my Bible and my notebook.

I will try – even though I don’t want to – to read a few verses from Psalms.

Then a few verses from Hebrews.

I will haltingly write out my prayers. I will ask Him to forgive me. Again.

Then I will pray for His strength – just for today – to choose life instead of death.

Then I will slowly relax in His Presence. I will remember that He is good today. His love endures forever.

His mercies new every morning.

Hugh is home from the hospital with a plan in place to wear a heart monitor for the next two weeks.

“You’re not high-risk right now,” his cardiologist told Hugh.  “You didn’t have a heart attack, you don’t have a blood clot…But something isn’t right.  The monitor should help us figure it out.”

Now Hugh is curled up in our bed and snoring loudly.  I keep wandering in and looking at his face,  thinking about life without him.

What if I hadn’t been home?  What if he died? I don’t think I could actually handle it.  I think I understand why Indian women committed Suttee years ago – they threw themselves onto the fire as their husbands bodies burned.  The grief was too much.

But my children need me – regardless of grief or tiredness.  Today and every day.  They compel me this morning to wake up! Make cereal!  Watch Camp Rock 2 again, please, Mommy! Play Junior Monopoly!

So this morning I woke up early and I am walking numbly around my house, feeling grateful that Hugh is home and doesn’t seem to be dying anytime soon.

I want to stay in this gratitude.  It is so easy for me to move from “grateful” to “completely angry” when I think about the mountain of work I have to do for school.  I am so deeply behind right now -  I had three days off this week (because my students were gone on a retreat) and I was full of plans to spend hours on my lesson planning.

But my precious husband is home.  My children are here with me.  I have three more days of Labor Day weekend.

My cups overflows.