Dengue Remembered

At this time last year, I was recovering from a tropical, mosquito-borne disease on the opposite side of the world. It was not a pretty or fun couple weeks of being sick, but God's grace was all over it. I've never wanted to complain about this experience, and I am not starting now. I was, however, compelled to document it as I recalled the experience in recent days. I was inspired to write a bit of unconventional poetry...well, I think it explains itself.
 

 

Dengue Remembered

              Nausea
              get sick
                rest
              get sick
           head imploding                
                                                          eyes stab like a shish-ka-bob
    joints aching             
                  bones breaking     
                                              heat rises
                   sweat falls
                                      delirium
                     “HAVE FAITH IN GOD” sticks                             
                                                                              like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth.
                                                           arrozcaldo
                                       in the cauldron
             liquids in, liquids out                         
         pills popping
                                            friends stopping
                                                  faces like a whack-a-mole
                                                                         cool rag to the skin
                      and muscle-kneading
(needed more than they know)
           a rocky road to become the specimen.                                                   

Sit.
Up.
short, small breaths
heart racing in my chest
room spins
head hangs, light
try to force a little bite
Open.Wide.
Swallow.
Hard.
‘nother ride, to the ward.
                                                  needles pricking, sticking
                                           into my veins
                  chair glides
    I slide
 in and out of sleep                               
pills popping                                                                 
friends stopping                                                                                       
faces like a whack-a-mole                                         
joints aching                         
bones breaking   
thirst-slaking all day long.
Night has come.
Rear is numb
from bed-inhabiting.
strange sounds from the tube invade my ears;
Attempt to prevent my brain to hear.
awake once again--                                                                     
what hour on the clock?
                                                                                      a pump, a prick, bandage applied.
     always waking,
waking to a nurse by my side.                                                           

--a surge of angst whirls—PEOPLE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD.
daylight comes; type out an email.
sleep
stir
turn
gaze
out my window, a beautiful day.
Forced nutrition:
crackers,
soup;
Sip and nibble
just to please...
liquids in, liquids out.
Rising is slow; steady now, steady.
for all I’m not eating, my body is heavy.
friends become family--measuring liquid gold.
measure, discard.
measure, discard.
days and nights
meld together;
stream of people,
ebb and flow.


moment of calm--
Jesus speaks through a father’s placid voice
He walks on the water, He calms the sea.
tears escape, push their way through
the veil that’s been closed too tight to undo.


Pills still popping
friends still stopping in to say hi,
raise a prayer.
Joints release aching
fever breaking
spots appear
claw at the surface
for what’s deep within;
looks like the circus
is under my skin.

Platelets dropped; need some extra.
people talk
come and go;
faces like a whack-a-mole
here’s the bag
white liquid first.
feels cold;
--my wrist could burst!
long smooth strokes
repeat and knead.
drifting off--
what slurred speech??

Another sun
cold food on a tray.
Red meat I can’t eat
nor do I want.
doc says good, it’s going up.
I’m ready to bathe
it’s been ten days.
I’m flaky
shaky
as we ride,                 
I’ll close my eyes.                                                
sun burns bright                                                                                     
steps falter, I grasp any arm I can find.                                                                                     

Weeks pass and hours are filled with words on pages,
shows on TV I haven’t seen for ages.
coffee-smoothies, mango, ice cream.
second family was formed, thankful prayers are said.
Savory dishes, dogs, bed.
Rest and repeat.


but please,
don’t repeat.

What do you want me to do for you?

"We are not the initiators of our experience of God, we are the responders."

It's a Wednesday morning at our women's study on prayer. We're looking at stories of how God had answered specific people's prayers in the past, when it hits me--

1 Kings 3:5 "At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night, and God said, 'Ask what I shall give you.'"

--Boom. the Lord appeared to Solomon. I just have to stop right there. Don't we go to God because there's something we already want or feel we need? I thought that's what prayer was--us approaching God, asking for the things we think we need. Is this telling me that God comes to us and asks us what we want?? Could this really be the case? If so, why?

Wrecked: Part II

Thank you for your overwhelming support and kindness to me after my last post, my dear cyber supporters (and those of you I actually get to see face-to-face, too!) ;)

I have been affirmed time and time again for posting that. It's a conscious decision of letting yourself be seen by anyone and everyone by posting something like that and NO, I am not sorry I did, nor ashamed that people know that about me now. It's actually quite freeing.

Look, I know that to some it may have been a shock, and to others, a sigh of relief: she IS real. Yes. I am human. I do struggle with doubts, fears, insecurities, just like everyone else. And sometimes I need to remind myself of the last part of that sentence, "just like everyone else." My friend Amber said it really well yesterday:

Wrecked

**This post is long, yes, and it's raw. I didn't go back and take out the ugly things, the not-so-put-together things. I am not looking for pity. Prayers, yes. But mostly, I feel like I need to just get real with the world. No more hiding. Read if you dare. if you care to.**

Nowadays, the term wrecked is used to denote many types of situations--a sweater that has a large stain in the center, a car smashed into a pole, a person that sees traumatic, emotionally damaging scenes and is left emotionally distraught (with empathy.)

I'm sure at some point I've seen the first two, whether in person or on the news. And I've definitely been in the position of the latter description. I've been to developing countries, seen a lack of hope, and my heart has cried for those people.

But today, I find myself in a different "wrecked" situation. In my case, "wrecked" is a person emotionally distraught with self-pity.

Rachel loves Ruth

For 4 1/2 years, I've been sponsoring a beautiful girl in Rwanda named Ruth.

I've not been the ideal, perfect sponsor, but I am learning a lot about what it means to sponsor someone in another part of the world, whom I've never met. It is one of the most challenging things in my life. I feel restrained. I want to do more for her. But what? I want to just hug her and love on her and give her lots of smiles. But I'm so far away.

I love looking up at Ruth's picture on my wall and trying to imagine what she's doing right now. I think, "is she in school, or helping carry water, gather wood, or playing jump rope with her siblings? What is she wearing today? her pretty pink skirt, like the one in her picture?"

I pray that God keeps Ruth and her family healthy. I pray that he blesses their crops. I pray most of all that she comes to know Jesus personally and love him dearly. I pray that my sponsorship of Ruth can help make that possible. I also pray that God would change me through this process of sponsorship. I want my heart to be more and more like Jesus'. I want to love people without hesitation.

Do you want to help make it possible for a child somewhere in this world to be provided for and to be taught about the living hope possible through Jesus? Maybe you have some money, and have been asking God where He wants you to give it. Maybe you have just a little time, but would love to write to a child, send him stickers and cards, just to make his day.

Don't just think the nice thoughts, cry a couple tears, and never move.

 

You can change a child's life.

 

Do something.

 

Sponsor a child.

 

You can do this a couple ways:

 

1. There's a child on my Compassion blog page that you can sponsor right now.

 

2. You can always go to compassion.com

 

The day I chose to sponsor Ruth, her life changed. You'll never know the joy that brings me unless you sponsor a child. Knowing that I am impacting another person whom I've never met--that's amazing. my heart is being transformed because of it.




follow the link. click your mouse, and change a life. (maybe two).