Cindy DeBoer

City Life

Thanksgiving Eve Sucks

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Sometimes holidays conjure up more pain and despair than joy and celebration. That’s true for me, anyway, on the day before Thanksgiving. It was 2013 and with the table set, the turkey stuffed, and pies complete, my husband and I spent the day before Thanksgiving driving to Ann Arbor to meet with a pulmonology specialist. She confirmed what we had already feared: I have Lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM) – a very rare, progressive, degenerative, and debilitating lung disease.

I despise the day before Thanksgiving.

And, in true fashion, this year hasn’t let me down. Although our refrigerator is packed with a 16 lb. turkey, every vegetable known to man, multiple pies, and drinks of every color, I cancelled the festivities for tomorrow because I (of all people who should know better) have had a significant exposure to COVID. While for the last two years I’ve done everything in my power to stay COVID free (which my doctor warned me would “not go well” for me), that little corona boogie man found me anyway.

I want to moan, whine, and throw apples at squirrels. I’d like to take about 10 Melatonin, crawl in bed and wake up on New Year’s Day. I feel like eating all the pies and using the gravy as a chaser. I don’t feel like being thankful for anything or anyone. And I sit here quarantined for 10 days just wondering if every little sniffle is the onset of the illness that will take me out, the very LAST last thing I feel like doing is creating a “Thankful” list.

Which is exactly why I must.

Before Ann Voskamp bestowed on us the beautiful posture of thanksgiving, our very own Jesus Christ had made it quite clear this wasn’t to be an optional thing (Psalm 100: 4,5; Ephesians 5: 18-20; Colossians 2: 6,7; I Thessalonians 5: 16-18  – just to name a few). To be honest, I don’t always like to do all the things Jesus told us to do and sometimes I get grumpy about it. But in this moment, in this debacle, in this wretched season of COVID, I don’t know what else to do or where else I’d go. I will choose thankfulness simply because He told us to be thankful not FOR all things, but IN all things. I will be thankful because he is God and I am not.

I am thankful that:

  • I’m still alive. Cliché, I know. But when I was diagnosed 8 years ago today, all the literature said that women with LAM would live, on average, 10 years. Since that time, a chemo-like medication has been approved to treat LAM and while it’s not a cure, it does slow down the progression. Additionally, most recent research reveals that while some women do succumb to LAM after just a few years, others can live as many as 20 to 25 years with the disease. Still, every year, on this day, I am reminded that I am one of the fortunate ones. I am still alive.
  • Mom jeans came back in style this year. I mean, seriously, who wouldn’t prefer “A” over “B”???   
“A”

“B”
  • My grocery store is diverse. There’s a new grocery store in our neighborhood that has found the magical blend where all people from both ends of the socioeconomic spectrum feel “at home” and catered to. I often shop alongside destitute and homeless people because the store offers the cheapest bread, eggs, and staples anywhere around. The atmosphere is welcoming and quaint, not stuffy like high-end grocery stores can be. Plus, it is within walking distance from most of the poorest sections in town. But at the SAME TIME, whenever I’m there, I will also see high-ranking business folks who work just up the street. These people, who likely have 7-figure incomes, come to this store for the local flare and pricier items: the fresh homemade Italian bread, the sushi prepared on site, the signature blend coffees, and the huge selection of organic produce. I truly believe all of us feel known and accepted there. For the first time in my life, I love to get groceries. It’s a grocery-store miracle.
  • I live in a neighborhood where I encounter the homeless every day. That may seem like a weird thing to be thankful for – because DANG how I wish homelessness wasn’t even a thing!  But Jesus did say: “The poor you will always have with you.” (Matthew 26:11), and while I’d like to argue that point with him (“But WHY, Jesus??? Why can’t we fix poverty and eliminate homelessness and hunger??? Wouldn’t that be better???), what I have come to believe is that the poor are maybe in our lives because WE need THEM. I think maybe the plan behind the homeless in our face every day is so that the comfortable ones (me) get uncomfortable. And if that IS God’s plan, I think it is a good one.
  • I don’t own a gun. Several weeks back, on an extremely hot and muggy evening, I left our upstairs bedroom to go sleep on the couch on the main floor. The air-conditioning just doesn’t reach the second floor in our century old home, and no one wants to see a cranky menopausal woman after a long, sweaty night without sleep. Instead, I fell fast asleep on the couch. Somewhere around 3:00 in the morning, I awoke to the sound of someone fidgeting with our door locks. We don’t live in the best neighborhood. I’d been warned that nighttime burglars in our neighborhood often look for purses set out on kitchen tables that they can just grab and go. In a milli-second I glanced at our dining table and saw my purse sitting out in the open. The burglar would have to walk right past me to get it. In the second milli-second I scanned my reach for something to use as a weapon. My choices were a book, a remote control, and an empty Diet Coke. This was not looking good. With my third milli-second I said a prayer: “Lord, see you soon!” because I was certain I was going to die. The door burst open, my heart stopped beating even before I saw the burglar. A short black shadow entered the room and I steeled myself for the bullet. The person was so short, in fact, I thought, “My God! Is this a child about to murder me?” – but my eyes wouldn’t focus in the dark. In a very NEXT milli-second I remembered my youngest daughter was short. Very short. She had moved out several months prior, but still had a key. She had fumbled at the door because it was so dark out and she was hysterical. About a half hour earlier she had learned that a dear friend of hers had been killed in a tragic car accident only an hour after he had left her apartment. She was one of the last people to see him alive. She fell apart with the news and needed support, so she drove directly to her mom. If I had had a gun, I totally would have taken it with me to sleep on the couch – that’s logical in our neighborhood. If I had had a gun, I have no doubt in my mind I would have killed my daughter.
  • We’ve had sunny days in November!!!
  • Some friends don’t give up on the chronically ill. I’ve not been a good friend to my friends, I know that full well. I don’t have the energy to go out for coffee/lunch like I once did, or hang out at the beach together, and I’m certainly not baking anyone cinnamon rolls anymore. I sometimes even look at my phone, consider a text or call, but don’t – because the phone looks like it weighs about 300 pounds. Somehow, some way, a few of my friends have stuck with me in all of this. I’ve heard it said that those who suffer from chronic illness are the loneliest people anywhere. I believe it. But God has given me the gift of a few good friends and they have made all the difference.
  • God made Olipop. If you’ve never heard of this heavenly healthy beverage, let it suffice to say that the Diet Coke in my fridge is afraid. Very afraid.
  • Some people never give up on a neighborhood. Our lovely, fragile, diverse, and economically challenged neighborhood is breaking, bursting and, as always, crying out for help. Paul and I were utterly blown away when we moved to the city by the amount of people relentlessly doing the hard, thankless, and tiring work of community care through neighborhood ministries. These brave and devoted few are bringing the shalom of Jesus to a worn-out world and we are so privileged to journey with them.
  • I’ve been given a baby to love. I’m so thankful that a neighborhood couple who needed a little help with childcare thought of me. It’s no secret that COVID has forced me to quit my job as an RN, has kept Paul and I from many of the things we enjoy, and has even wreaked havoc on my mental stability. I didn’t even realize how much a baby brings HOPE and JOY and LIFE into a bleak existence, but it’s true: a baby changes everything! (Even my shitty attitude)
She loves me.
Really she does…

Please, share with me some of the things you’re most thankful for this year. I’d love to hear them and God gets the glory!!!

Leave It Broken

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When we bought our hundred-year-old crack house we discovered that somewhere in its history a previous owner made an egregious err in personal assessment and believed themselves to be “handy.” They tackled a variety of home improvement projects such as brick laying, replacing windows, updating trim and doors, installing sinks and faucets, and building closets. However, I’m almost certain my 6-year-old nephew could have done a better job.

We’ve had snow leak in through the ill-fitting windows, faucet levers that scrape the wall, crumbling brick and leaking roofs – all due to this “handypersons” handywork. We have gaping holes in our baseboards, incomplete and mismatched trim boards in every room and doors that were hacked down at the wrong angle in an attempt to accommodate unlevel floors.

Check it out:

Clockwise from top left: 1) Insulation peeking out because “handyperson” didn’t know how to cut the brick to reach the wall 2) Drywall where handyperson measured once and cut twice 3) How our “handyperson” paneled with wainscoting 4) Hard corner to tile – so “handyperson” filled it in with caulk.

I’ve seen young children make living room pillow forts and back-yard tree houses with better craftsmanship.

Initially, we figured we’d fix everything and be DONE with renovations once and for all. But as soon as the home was functional (as in, an operational kitchen, a door to the bathroom, and a place to flop a mattress) we were so exhausted from all the fixing-upping, that we simply halted the projects. We figured we’d wait a few months, restore our energy and excitement for a “completed” home, and then finish things.

That was 6 years ago.

It hasn’t been a matter of money, nor even enough time or energy. What’s held us up is this:

It’s extremely difficult to keep fixing-up your home when some neighbors are heating their home with their stove.

It’s hard to justify spending money on crown moulding and matching doorknobs (it’s not even arguable that these things are frivolous) when you pass multiple homeless people on your way to buy the materials.

It’s gut wrenching to spend about $800 on any project on our home when we’ve learned of multiple neighbors being evicted due to inability to make rent (typically around $800 in our neighborhood.)

We’ve repeatedly had the dilemma of choosing home improvements over “life improvements” of others.

So, six years later, our home is still not done.

Just because we can afford something doesn’t make it right.

**********

More importantly, in addition to the ethical battle of money stewardship, we noticed that waking up each day in a home marked by broken things, unfinished work, imperfections, and missing pieces, has helped to remind us that we live in an imperfect world, inhabited by imperfect people with imperfect lives.

The entire WORLD is broken and unfinished and only Jesus can fix this mess. So we began asking ourselves, why should our home reflect anything different?

In our former homes – both our country estate custom-built “dream home” and our downsized 70’s ranch in the burbs – everything was pretty, polished, working and stylish. We were very much in control in those homes and felt we had essentially achieved perfection. No brokenness, no problems, no worries.

In those dwellings and environments, it was much easier to forget about the pain and suffering in the world. It was easy to pretend (albeit subconsciously) that the world wasn’t broken. It was fun to live like that – without daily reminders of a suffering world. I often justified those “perfect” dwellings by asking – What’s wrong with making our homes a haven to rest from the weary world?

It seems to me that the only reason having a (near) “perfect” dwelling could be wrong is if it causes us to forget about those who are in desperate need of God’s love and care and/or if we ever forget that WE (those who believe in Jesus) are God’s plan to meet those needs (there is no plan B).

So if you, like me, love to watch HGTV and love to design, improve, and fix-up your home, maybe we should rethink things a bit.

Maybe we don’t need to fix everything to where it all looks “perfect.”

Maybe we should stop striving so much for beauty and completion.

Maybe we should let heaven be the only perfect home and accept some brokenness and imperfections in our earthly homes.

Maybe the broken things will actually help us stay tuned-in to the brokenness of our world and remind us to ask God for our role in its healing and restoration.

Maybe we should leave some things broken.

How to Launch Into Winter with COVID All Around Us

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My stupid COVID dog (not that she has it, but we bought her because of it) woke me up way too early one morning. I wouldn’t mind if our Governor mandated all humans shall not stir before 8:00 a.m.

Vie (my COVID dog’s name – which is French for “life”) needs a walk immediately upon waking or she’ll poop in the house. So at the crack of dawn I headed outdoors in my pajamas for a dog walk.

With sleepy-eyes and morning breath I bumped into my neighbor just two doors down. She was loading her last piece of luggage into her car before heading to the airport. She was meeting up with her parents so they could tearfully send her off to live in the Middle East. She’s young (25?), very blonde, very attractive, and traveling solo to teach at a high school in Afghanistan. Yes, you heard that right:

Af-freakin’-ghanistan.

God knew this one last impromptu meeting was needed by both of us. We had a precious exchange there on the sidewalk and I was able to send her off with a blessing. With mutual  tears, she departed. I wondered how in the world her parents were handling this. Afghanistan. Who even does that? (Okay…. So maybe I did that. But WE went as a family. I had a brave husband at my side along with two strapping, tall teenaged sons and two very confident daughters. I was not ALONE. And Morocco is no Afghanistan. Not even close. People actually take vacations to Morocco.)

Before I had much of a chance to process the bravery of this young woman, I turned the corner and ran into a homeless man. He was picking at garbage in the park across from our home and so I greeted him warmly, “Hello!”

He launched into a rambling apology, “I’m sorry. So sorry. We didn’t mean it. We’re leaving.” It was then I noticed his tent that was erected just beyond the children’s play area. A second man was exiting their “home” as we spoke.

“Sorry for what?” I asked.

Without making further eye contact, he shuffled away saying, “We slept too long. We’ll be gone soon. So sorry.”

Homelessness in Grand Rapids is a thing – as I imagine it is in every city. But I’ve heard we are known as a destination for the homeless because we have plenty of shelters and food distribution centers, clean parks, friendly police and a plethora of Christian organizations that will do anything to help. But COVID has definitely made the homeless issue worse here in GR.

One thing I know for sure: Homelessness is not of the kingdom of God. This is not the way things are supposed to be.

I quickly realized the reason my stupid COVID dog woke me up so early is because God knew I needed to run into my Afghanistan-bound neighbor and my neighbors with no home because I needed the reminder that life is rarely what we thought it’d be or even what it’s supposed to be.

Watching my neighbor leave for Afghanistan I thought, “I bet when she was born and her parents first saw her rosy little cheeks, blonde tufts of hair and blue eyes they never once thought: “I hope that someday this one will move to Afghanistan all alone – a place where young beautiful blondes really stand out and American’s are not particularly welcome.”

I bet her parents never once imagined this for her future. But…

“A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.” Proverbs 16:9

I bet when my two homeless neighbors were in high school, they never once thought to themselves, “I hope someday I will be without a home. I just know that I’ll end up jobless, with no prospects, and unable to secure safe shelter.”

 But…. “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.”

We were invited to 3 weddings this fall where the bride and groom watched many lifelong dreams shatter as they moved up their wedding date, changed the venue, and shrunk the guest list due to COVID.

But… “A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.”

Our college graduate daughter was supposed to be living abroad in France or Spain or Honduras right now developing her language skills but instead she is home here with us working as a barista.

Because a man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and establishes them.

Referencing changed plans and directions is not meant in any way to minimize those who have lost loved ones from COVID. Those losses are incalculable and we can’t even begin to make sense of that. But I think that, without exception, we ALL had plans, dreams, and hopes for 2020 that look nothing like the 2020 we’re living. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

THESE WERE NOT OUR PLANS, GOD!!! DO YOU REALLY KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING???

Never before have we all been so at the mercy of the Lord’s plans. We can barely plan next week, let alone next month or next year.

But one beautiful takeaway of this COVID reality is to realize I am not in charge of me and you are not in charge of you. We can plan all we want and hope and dream and whine when these things may have to be changed, cancelled, or never come to fruition – but the truth is that The Lord Our God alone is sovereign and we can never take his place on that throne no matter how much we think we belong there.

We can only surrender our plans and trust Him.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Whether in Afghanistan, a COVID-unit at the hospital, the Champs-Elysees in Paris, in a tent in the park, or stuck under the same roof between the same 4 walls for an entire year, the Lord has indeed directed those steps and he alone establishes those steps that lead us into our futures.

The Pond Scum Exchange (Why voting matters less than you think)

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When we bought our sucky crack-house we thought the fantastic view of the zoo/park across the street might possibly redeem the pitiful structure. However, the park struggles financially and some things have become a bit of an eyesore. All summer long our park pond has looked like this:

Our neighborhood Facebook group recently debated the park pond problem. The back and forth went something like this: (Oh, a little caveat, our neighborhood isn’t exactly BIG on polite and edited language – so I just **** the swears like a good Christian and you can just say them in your head because Jesus doesn’t read minds… {insert eye-rolling})

Neighbor 1: What the f*** is wrong with the pond in the park? It stinks, it’s ugly and looks like Shrek should live there.

Neighbor 2: I think the new zoo/park president f***ed the whole place. It’s his fault.

Neighbor 3: What do you know about the president? He’s a great guy and has done a lot of good for the zoo/park.

[And then an argument ensued with about 10 more posts from an additional 10 neighbors and easily 20 more swears]

Neighbor 4: I think it’s a tax issue. We’re being screwed. The pond in the park on the north side isn’t covered in scum. They need to use some of our f***ing tax dollars to improve this side of town! We’ve been effed by the city.

Neighbor 5: You’re a f***ing socialist. You want all the neighborhoods to look the same and be treated the same.

[And another argument ensued with more jabbing back and forth and more swears]

Neighbor 6: I heard it was because of climate change. Something about f***ing with ecosystems and sh**.

Neighbor 7: Are you f***ing serious??? Climate change is such a f***ing hoax from liars who just want to keep us scared and controlled.

[And yet ANOTHER argument ensued – multiple posts, more swears, more name-calling, more hurt]

Neighbor 8:  You know what? I have a kayak and an old swimming pool surface skimmer. I bet if 2 or 3 of us went over this afternoon with our kayaks and pool skimmers we could have that pond cleaned up in about an hour. Anyone with me?

[Crickets…]

**********

Why I Want To Be Neighbor 8

Despite our constant affinity for social media bickering, I think ONE thing we might all agree on right now is this: Our political climate is heated, toxic, and dangerous – perhaps the worst in America’s history. It’s certainly the worst of my lifetime.

And, unless for some sick reason you enjoy fear, peril, and instability, I think we all long to have the bickering, back-biting and fear-mongering stop. We long for peace and unity and a country we can be proud of. We long for a time when both Democrats and Republicans and everyone in between can share thoughts, ideas, hopes and dreams in a civil way with a glass of wine and lots of grace. We long to be a country where diversity is not only tolerated, but even celebrated. That I would not mind if your opinions are very different from mine – because you and your opinions help make me be a better me.

We long for November 3 to be done already so people will stop telling us how wrong we are.

The thing is, from all that I’ve seen and heard, the degree to which we attach importance of the presidential election seems to be inversely proportional to the degree of our involvement on the most pressing issues at stake. Another way to put it: those who are most likely to be vocal about the election to the point of demonizing “the other,” seem to be the least engaged in solutions.

Right now, I know many people who are: working to help the homeless, serving in underserved and underfunded schools, mentoring children and youth from troubled homes, praying for every person entering and leaving abortion clinics, serving at the local and state level of government where many of the decisions that directly affect us are made (like allocated abortion dollars – it’s FAR MORE of a state-by-state issue than a NATIONAL government issue – please read THIS if you believe the president has much say in abortion-related outcomes), serving those held in border control facilities by offering free medical care, working in Central America to decrease violence and expose and eliminate corruption so people won’t feel compelled to flee, coordinating racial reconciliation groups in their neighborhoods, bringing donuts and notes of encouragement to their local police precincts, volunteering at local food banks, building homes for Habitat for Humanity – and so, so many others…

And you know what all these people have in common? They are too busy DOING the things that America desperately needs that they have no time to spend on social media or elsewhere complaining about the problems and arguing over which person in some lofty seat of over-emphasized importance will best fix them.

They grabbed their kayaks and their pool skimmers and GOT BUSY!!!

In this unbelievably polarized political environment, our little neighborhood “pond-scum exchange” serves as a powerful reminder that the number one way we can bring change to the world is NOT by – as many falsely believe – making sure you vote for the “right” candidate, but to actually

BE THE CHANGE.

Derailed

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We became empty nesters last August. Because I feared boredom and purposelessness – as well as the fact my medications cost an astronomical amount and my employment offers better prescription coverage – I decided to go back to work full-time. Additionally, after shelving my career for 20 years to raise kids, I was excited to get back into nursing – especially psychiatric nursing.

At least that’s what I told people.  

Another truth is this: I had a big ‘ole chip on my shoulder. I was hell-bent on proving that I physically had what it takes to work a fulltime job like any other healthy 53 year old.

And I did it. I showed myself and the world I can work full-time. But I am definitely not healthy.

I also proved I was living in denial.

The truth is I have a lung-sucking disease and working full time has nearly been the death of me. I kept the job afloat, but nothing else. For seven months I’ve basically done two things: work and sleep. With zero energy left after a day of work, and every day home spent sleeping, I soon felt the sting of deteriorating relationships. I didn’t Skype my kids as much as I/they wanted to. I didn’t spend near enough time with my mom – our last living parent – and I missed her. I had no energy for lunch dates with friends or volunteering in our neighborhood.

Although my pulmonologist says exercise is essential for protecting the last bit of healthy lung tissue I have left, I’ve had no energy to do that either. On top of all THAT, I’m now probably damned to hell, too, because I only went to church ONCE that whole time of working so much.

And maybe, just maybe, the worst part was this:  I stopped writing.

SMELLY PEOPLE GOT ME BACK ON TRACK                                                      

I recently scooted in to my neighborhood Dollar Store that’s sandwiched between an Iraqi-owned liquor store and a Psychic Angel who takes walk-ins. I was running late (surprise!) and I sighed in frustration when I got to the counter and was fourth in line. (The Dollar Store is not typically known for it’s speedy checkout, if you didn’t know…) First in line was a toothless woman, smacking her gums, buying a full week’s worth of groceries. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? The next lady sported a good five-day bed-head, wore pink footed pajamas underneath her coat and boots, and was purchasing four 2-liters of Mountain Dew. AT 9:30 IN THE MORNING??? The guy just ahead of me was lugging his oxygen tank, breathing like Darth Vader, and buying cough syrup, cough drops and fever medicine. LORD, PLEASE LET THIS NOT BE CORONA!!!

My three compatriots smelled like cigarettes, booze, bacon, and body odor.

I rolled my eyes and checked my watch. These neighbors of mine who shop at the Dollar Store to meet all their needs were making me (more) late. I was angry and somewhat disgusted with them. Then the old man ahead of me turned around, and with twinkling eyes and a smile said: “Good thing no one’s in a hurry.” His breath was so hideous I nearly fainted. But God used all those smells to reorient me.

A few years ago, when we moved to the city, I chose my new grocery store in an unorthodox manner. There are two lovely stores close to our home – always clean, well-stocked, nice checkout clerks. But just to the north, through the roughest part of our neighborhood, is one of Michigan’s oldest Meijer stores – but it doesn’t smell quite right. There have been murders in the parking lot. With my first visit, I immediately knew this would be my new “home” store.

Paul was inquisitive about this decision and I explained, “We came here for diversity. I don’t want to smell perfume and flowers when I go shopping, I want to smell humanity.”

Standing in line at the Dollar Store I was struck by how derailed I’ve been. THESE three in line ahead of me are my people! These are the people we moved here for! These are the smells I love because it represents REAL people with REAL needs and REAL hurts. I don’t want to live in a fake utopia. I want to live in the real world and be constantly reminded of the reality of suffering. That is why we moved to Grand Rapids – to DO LIFE with these neighbors.

More than anything, we moved to the city so we could encounter people not like us and spend time with them and learn from them. The LAST thing I wanted to be was too busy, too important, or too good to love them! The LAST thing Paul and I ever wanted to be were typical rat-race-suburbanites simply transplanted to the city and subsequently disgusted with the people around us!

I had been derailed! I forgot who I was!

REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE, AND WHOSE YOU ARE

Feeling fairly healthy these last seven years, I’d forgotten a bargain I’d made with God. When I was first diagnosed with LAM, I had told God I’d live my life solely investing in the lives of others if he’d just give me 10 more years to live. But as time progresses and it appears maybe I’ve drawn the long stick with this LAM disease and might even live considerably longer than 10 years, I forgot about living my life with total intentionality. Sure, I can make good money working, but there’s not a damn thing I want in this life that money can buy.

And then – dang – if God didn’t use ZEPHANIAH of all books to speak to me this week: “I will bring such distress on all people that they will grope about like those who are blind, because they have sinned against the Lord. Their blood will be poured out like dust and their entrails like dung. Neither their silver nor their gold will be able to save them on the day of the Lord’s wrath.”

I had made plenty of “silver and gold” during my derailment, but I’m terrified of the thought of my entrails spread out like dung because I had chosen money over matter.

THE BEAUTY OF DERAILMENT

However, the good news is this: derailment does not have to mean train wreck. It doesn’t mean all is lost. It doesn’t mean throw in the towel or burn it all down. The beauty of derailment is that, if we’re willing, it can be corrected.

God never moves, but sometimes we do. His train tracks are eternally secure, we just sometimes veer off them. But he is always patient with us and will wait as long as it takes for us to get back on track.

“Let us examine and probe our ways, and let us return to the Lord.” Lamentations 3:40

“And I am confident of this very thing, that he who begun a good work in you will be faithful to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Phillipians 1:6

So I’m back to volunteering, spending time with friends and family, and taking long walks with Paul while we solve the world’s problems. And I’m back to writing again.

Here we go!

(p.s. If you want to stay informed of my book progress, please sign up with your e-mail address on my website so you can receive my newsletter updates and prayer requests)

How To Find Purpose For Your Pain

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This is what the road in front of my house looks like. It’s dirty, disgusting, loud and annoying. And it’s been going on all summer. But I couldn’t be more relieved to have the road crew here.

They are saving my life.

HOW FLINT SAVED GRAND RAPIDS

Before 2014, American’s never concerned themselves with clean water. That’s an African problem, we believed. It took the Flint crisis of 2014 to wake us up to the devastation caused by unclean water. It took the death of 12 people and another 84 people contracting a waterborne illness for us to realize the severity of this issue and finally speak up.

Because the brave people of Flint chose to speak up and fight this atrocity against a system stacked against them, cities across the nation had a wake-up call.

GRAND RAPIDS, TOO?

At the beginning of the summer we were notified our street would be ripped up and under construction for five months due to lead pipes that needed to be changed out. We had zero clue that our drinking water might have been compromised. But Grand Rapids chose to preemptively address a potentially hazardous situation so we wouldn’t become the next FLINT.

The good people of FLINT have suffered for 5 years as they’ve battled for the basic human right of clean water. But BECAUSE OF THEIR SUFFERING, I didn’t have to. Growing children in our neighborhood won’t suffer debilitating effects from lead exposure. Unborn babies on our street won’t have preventable birth defects due to lead their mommas unknowingly ingested. I can’t explain the gratitude I feel toward the whole city of FLINT.

Quite often, our pain and suffering, can be used to bring good to others.

Because maybe sometimes we have to suffer so others don’t have to.

AND HERE’S THE THING: IT’S TRUE FOR ALL OUR SUFFERING!

I was promiscuous in college. It was the darkest, most painful season of my life. But I made it even worse by keeping it a secret for 12 years. It wasn’t until I shared my past with my husband that we were able to work through the pain and suffering and find wholeness and redemption on the other side.

Now, I tell everyone who will listen about that worst season of my life.

WHY? Because it’s the ONLY WAY my pain gets redeemed! If I can help to prevent just one young person from taking the same dangerous path I took, it gives my pain purpose.

No one wants to suffer. And Christians are notorious for trying to convince us we don’t have to. (You know, “Just-follow-Jesus-and-you-will-never-suffer-again). But it’s a lie. Jesus was very clear on the subject: “In this world you will have trouble and suffering, but have courage, because I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

We will suffer. But the story does NOT have to end there.

LESSONS FROM A WOUND

As a nurse, I’ve learned the only way a deep wound can heal is with debridements – frequent and consistent cleanings with removal of infectious tissue. Deep wounds require light, air, and debridements. If you cover them up and leave an infectious deep wound alone, the infection will spread and kill you.

The same is true for the painful, dark parts of our lives.

We can always choose to cover those parts up – refusing to expose them to light and cleansing – but that’s how they’ll slowly kill us.

THANK-YOU FLINT PEOPLE!

Can you imagine if the crisis in FLINT was covered up and never exposed? As someone on immunosupressants, it wouldn’t be long before lead ingestion would have made me terribly sick. And probably all across America people would be unknowingly drinking dirty water.

Likewise, if I never shared with my kids the pain and suffering I caused in our marriage because of the terrible choices I made in college, my own kids might have suffered the same fate. How tragic!!! I refused to let that happen!!! So I put the fear of God in my kids regarding premarital sex – hoping and praying they could hold off until marriage. I may have carried it wee bit too far when my daughter recently confided, “Mom, You were so anti-boys and dating, I was honestly terrified of my first kiss!”

Anyway, my point is this: Do NOT hide your pain and suffering. Share it at the appropriate times, in the appropriate places, and with the appropriate people so that others may learn from your pain and, if possible, avoid it themselves.

It’s such a tangible way to spread LOVE to our brothers and sisters on this planet.

“Suffering ceases to be suffering when we find meaning for it” Viktor Frankl