When Is It Time To Let Me Die?

My doctor is very clear, if I get CVD-19, it will not go well for me. My stupid lung-sucking disease puts me in the small minority of the population for whom the rest of you are being quarantined.

Perhaps you’re experiencing some of the same vacillating opinions as me where one day (maybe even one moment) you’d like to poke the eyeballs of someone who says, “Well, you know this isn’t even as bad as the flu” and then, on another day, you flip viewpoints when you hear of the woman down the street who, due to quarantining with her abusive boyfriend, landed in the shelter for battered women –  at which point you scream into the abyss: “This BS has to end, God! LET MY PEOPLE GO!”

We’re not only confused from the polarity of the narratives we’re given, but also because our favorite people sometimes view the exact same reality completely opposite than us. Because this pandemic has been usurped and exploited by the political extremes it is fracturing our country into two camps at a dizzying pace. Some are desperately trying to minimize this crisis so their man looks good and responsible hoping he can restore the economy in time for the next election. On the far opposite side are those who are actually wishing for a significant death toll and accompanying pandemonium to portray Trump as an incompetent madman. Either way  (and every way in between) – we must never forget that this whole mess is NOT about politics, IT IS ABOUT PEOPLE.

These are people made in God’s image.

And people matter.

All people.

Initially, when this thing first reared its ugly head and many people said (and continue to say), “This isn’t so serious. It’s only the elderly and those with underlying conditions who are at high risk,” I truly felt as if my life did NOT matter. Those comments have repeatedly made me feel dismissed, disregarded, unimportant and not worth inconveniencing the rest of the people that DO matter in America – the HEALTHY ones.

Oh, don’t mind me. Just little ‘ole me with an underlying condition over here…  I get it that you think I’m already half dead and therefore not worth your suffering. So you just go right ahead and get your haircut, purchase that lawn fertilizer and run to Costco without a mask. I see how you value things in life. The sick and the elderly apparently rank fairly low. But you know – we’re not all that different, you and me. I, too, strongly believe in fighting for the unborn, our religious liberties, and our American freedoms; but it grieves me that now that I need someone to fight for me (and by fight, I mean “stay home”), you won’t.

TIDES DO TURN

We have three California kids and Paul and I have sat and watched the Pacific ocean for countless hours – mesmerized by God in creation. Anyone who has seen the ocean knows the tide comes in, and then goes out. Surfers, boogie boarders and swimmers all know the tide sometimes pulls you north, and some days it pulls you south. One thing that will always be certain in this life: the tides are always turning.

And I’m wondering if the tide has turned for me. I don’t know if the guilt of watching an entire nation on lockdown on behalf of people like me has just become too much or if I’m just sick and tired of the fighting. It just feels like my mindset is shifting and the winds of change are blowing…

  • Is it time for us to say we did the best we could and gave social distancing a good run, but now it’s just too much and it’s time to move on regardless of the consequences?
  • Is it time for those with underlying diseases and the elderly to acquiesce and say “I give” – concluding the devastation resulting from this quarantine is worse than us losing our lives?

Which all begs the question:

WHAT IS MY LIFE WORTH?

I don’t doubt my life is worth more than your hair, your lawns, or your beers. Most of us (Christians, anyway) would, at the very least, SAY that people are more important than money or things. So when I hear everyone talking about the failing economy as the primary reason to open things up, I feel as expendable as a Jew in Auschwitz (who were, btw, blamed for any economic woes in Germany).

HOWEVER…

Because of all the cultural pressure, the noise and opinions coming from the far right, and the collective anger mounting in our country as a result of the quarantine, I’m beginning to feel my life really isn’t worth all this suffering. I’m wondering where we draw the line at what my life (and those in similar situations) is worth.

  • I’m wondering if my life really isn’t worth the collective livelihoods of thousands, maybe even millions, who are now unable to maintain food, shelter and clothing for themselves or their families.
  • I’m now wondering if my life really isn’t worth someone losing their family business they poured their entire life into for the past 32 years only to head into retirement penniless and too old for a plan B.
  • I really don’t believe my life is worth children going to bed hungry tonight.
  • I don’t believe my life is worth soaring suicide rates or increases in domestic abuse. This makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
  • I’m wondering if my life isn’t worth the broken relationships, the constant fighting, or an insurmountable division in our nation.
  • I’m wondering if my life isn’t worth the words “civil war,” “holocaust,” or “tyranny,” entering our daily vernacular (which, if you haven’t noticed, they have).

I have not seen actual numbers or even predictions of how many people would actually LOSE their lives should the quarantine linger on vs. how many of us will LOSE our lives if the corona boogey man be set loose to come and get us. These numbers are probably impossible to know definitively and impossible to compare. I mean, is it even possible to measure pain and suffering? And then, at what point does intensive and widespread pain and suffering equal the cost of a life? This is my conundrum. Is it unfair of me to suggest my right to a life safe from a deadly virus and with a healthcare system able to accomodate me is worth MORE than the price you are all paying to achieve it?

I have seen some terrible things in this life and I truly believe there are things of this earth worse than death. I’m concerned that as a result of this national shutdown and rapidly declining economy, many people are being forced to face some of those things. Dying while still living is worse than death. That’s been my experience, anyway.

I am 53 years old and maybe that’s why I even dare contemplate if my life has less value than others. Our kids have grown – two are happily married and the other two are soaring. So, even if I were to be robbed of 30 years, I’ve still lived fairly long and I’ve lived well. I certainly can’t speak for anyone younger than me. No one should die with children still at home. The truth is, I don’t want anyone to die. I don’t believe in euthanasia, abortion, genocide, or capital punishment and I didn’t think my abhorrence for gun violence could get any worse until I heard how Ahmoud Arbury was shot in cold blood this week.

I truly do believe Every. Life. Matters.

But…. What if …. What if we are FORCED into a corner and were FORCED to decide whose life matters MOST? Are we there and is it time to have this conversation?

IF SO, WHAT’S NEXT?

If this is a war of sorts, then there WILL be casualties. People will die either as a result of the battle with coronavirus or people will die (or, more likely, their dreams, ambitions, and futures will die) as a result of a too-long quarantine. Either way, both are casualties.

I realize simply opening up America is not an automatic death sentence for me. I realize I can CHOOSE to stay quarantined (and I will) and I can CHOOSE to stay away from people who might be potential spreaders (which is everyone, but still I’ll do it) and I can CHOOSE to live isolated like this for a year or two if necessary. I’m not opposed to quarantining the sick and elderly instead of the healthy. But do not tell me this is like “leprosy” or “TB” – because I do NOT actually HAVE the coronavirus and I basically live as a healthy person, yet I’ll still have to quarantine indefinitely so YOU can get your life back and I can hopefully save mine.

I’m just truly wondering if the time has come for me to “head to the front lines” in this battle against coronavirus in the sense that if America opens back up, my vulnerability and risk of infection and death suddenly skyrockets.

I’m seriously just wondering, is it time to let me die?

I AM OUT OF CONTROL

When we lived in Morocco, every single day felt like a monumental challenge. It certainly wasn’t because of the people (they were incredibly kind, generous and welcoming). The challenge primarily came from being so out of place – so keenly aware we were foreigners and didn’t have much sense on how to navigate an alien nation. Simple things like retrieving cash from an ATM, adding minutes to our cell phones (no iphones there), getting groceries, visiting the orthodontist, buying underwear, paying bills, etc., etc. were all accomplished so differently from what we were used to they’d suck us dry of time, energy, and brain space. The language barrier also played a part (we often complained of headaches in the evening from speaking French all day long).

For example, we had to pay our utility bills in person in the nearby village. Payments had to be in cash, in an envelope, in the exact amount. If you forgot the envelope or needed even 10 dirhams back, they’d refuse the payment. If you couldn’t say your address clearly in either Arabic or French, they couldn’t process your payment. Some days the office was closed (for no apparent reason) so it was a crap shoot if you’d be able to make your payment or not. It was an enormous headache (quite different than having your bills electronically paid each month…)

Because life was so hard in Morocco, I was immediately stripped of cockiness and confidence. I quickly learned how incredibly incapable, insufficient, and dependent I was. I had NO CONTROL.

We had only been their a few weeks when I woke up one morning paralyzed by fear. I couldn’t imagine getting out of bed and facing the day – there was just so much unfamiliarity and overwhelming newness bombarding me each day, I was beyond exhausted and discouraged. I remember thinking, “I don’t even want to swing my legs over the side of this bed because when my feet hit the ground, there’s no turning back.” So I cried out to God and said, “I can’t do this without you, God. I can’t even let my feet hit the floor until I know you’ve got me completely covered. Help me, God. Help me.”

And every morning, for four years, before arising each morning, I said that little prayer. It’s the only way I dared to start the day. I could have never survived Morocco without that prayer.

Sadly, we had only been living back in Michigan for a few weeks when I realized I had ceased that morning practice. In America, it was just so easy to accomplish everything and I could do it all on my own. In America, I’m confident, self-sufficient, capable and energized. Simply getting money from the ATM is a no-brainer and I use NO brain space whatsoever. The same is true for the doctor’s office, grocery shopping, talking to the neighbors, and parent/teacher conferences. Life’s so simple, uncomplicated and easy back in America, it’s almost as if I don’t need a God anymore.

So it’s no wonder I stopped inviting God into my day before swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

Then came COVID-19.

I have a nasty debilitating, progressive and degenerative lung disease. I am in that “high-risk” group that those in the media treat as disposable by constantly reminding the public that the old and weak are going to make up the bulk of the dead, so the rest of the population need not worry so much.

But because of my lung disease, COVID-19 has given me a new wake-up call and once again reminded me how OUT OF CONTROL I really am. My life is not my own and I am at the mercy of a virus that not even the brightest minds in this entire world can explain or predict.

Every day I wonder if this is the day.

So I’ve returned to that morning practice that I should have never stopped. Before I even swing my legs over the side of the bed, I pray: “Okay, God, this day is yours. You alone know the pathway of an unseen virus. This is all in your hands and I MUST trust your sovereignty. Whether I live or die or am asked to simply sit here for another 12 weeks, give me peace. Whatever your will, Lord, I don’t want my feet to even hit the ground until I know you have me covered.”

And then I get out of bed. My feet hit the floor and I say, “Here we go, Cindy.” It’s weird, but I truly feel like no harm can befall me. Even if the COVID-19 finds me, I know that virus can never steal my joy. Am I afraid? You bet. But I KNOW that I am covered – and that covering makes all the difference.

Tell me, my friends, how are you covering yourselves in this unprecedented crisis? I’d love to hear all your innovative ways!

Derailed

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)

Fat Legs (The Ripple Effect)

A sunny but cool 60 degree day finally arrived in Michigan and I couldn’t wait to slide into my favorite fall skinny jeans. After digging them out from under the shorts and tees, I slid both legs in and easily zipped them up. But they felt weird. The waist fit the same as I remembered from last year, but the legs… OH MY FREAKIN’ GOSH…. What’s up with the legs of these jeans? Did someone shrink the legs of these jeans over the summer? Who’s washing my jeans on the HOT/HOT cycle and drying them a thousand times in the HOT/HOT dryer? Wait, are these even my jeans???

Truth: the skinny legs on the skinny jeans were strangling my legs – and NOT because the jeans had changed. My legs were fatter.

WHO’S TO BLAME?

At first I was mad at God. He’s an easy target because you can’t see Him and see how sad you’re making him with your anger. I told God I’ve been praying about my weight and He doesn’t seem to hear me. I’m sick of you not listening to me God…

Then I got mad at Weight Watchers. Come on, you silly WW people! What good are you if you don’t help actual people lose actual weight??? But then I remembered I hadn’t been to a meeting all year. Apparently, just paying the monthly dues does nothing to get the weight off.

Also got angry at Planet Fitness (see above paragraph for same irrational logic).

But as soon as I descended the stairs, nearly popping open the side-seams of my now skinnier-than-ever skinny jeans, I realized an important concept:

OUR BAD CHOICES HAVE A RIPPLE (NO PUN INTENDED) EFFECT. THEY CANNOT BE CONTAINED TO ONE SMALL AREA OF OUR LIFE. THEY IMPACT THE ENTIRETY OF OUR BEING.

It would be nice if when I overeat, I only experience a little weight gain in say, my armpits, toes, or behind my ears where no one would notice. But in reality, weight gain affects our ENTIRE being. The effects are not only experienced externally, it also leaves a grievous impact on internal things like stress on major organs, hardened and narrowed blood vessels, as well as our ability to fight infection and regulate our hormones.

Similarly, whenever we make bad choices about how we think, live, or treat others, those choices are like cancer and they will affect the WHOLE of us. And the WHOLE of us will look and feel a little bit sicker.

AND FAT LEGS CAN LOOK LIKE A LOT OF THINGS:

When we get drunk and act gross or disgusting and then brush it off as “just having a little fun” – IT’S FAT LEGS, for sure!

We canNOT think our little “issue” with gossiping is harmless – IT’S FAT LEGS, PEOPLE!

If we tell little white lies to make ourselves look better – remember, IT’S ACTUALLY FAT LEGS!

We may be so caught up in a culture of materialism that we don’t even consider there is a relational price to pay for our choices. But what is it really? FAT LEGS!

We may believe no one is hurt by our pornography addiction. This one is FAT LEGS AND THIGHS!!!

It’s fun to go shopping for retail therapy and think it’s harmless. But is it? FAT LEGS!

Even if treating our spouses with disrespect is so habitual we contend it’s no big deal, remember… FAT LEGS!

It’s so prevalent in this society to spend hours on social media thinking it has no ramifications in our life. FAT LEGS, PEOPLE!!!

WE MUST OWN OUR ILLNESS

The hard truth is, all these things, and thousands of other bad choices we make daily, really do affect ALL of our being. We cannot contain our poor choices to only one aspect of our being and simultaneously applaud ourselves for being (mostly) healthy. It doesn’t work like that!

The ripple affect of sin in our lives – in any form, in any area – is an overall sick person.

Whenever we let bad choices, bad habits, bad thoughts creep into our everyday, the result will always be ALL AROUND less-healthy individuals. And it shouldn’t surprise us if someday we wake up with fat legs.

Don’t Listen To Me – Go With Steve!

Today, I planned to share how shitty I feel.

I planned to rant about my lung disease and how unfair it is that as a non-smoker I’m suffering from something totally similar to COPD.

I planned to curse a lot and tell you what it’s like to have a disease no one can outwardly see.

I planned to expose some vulnerability and tell you that all my days are not positive and sometimes I just want to cry and feel sorry for myself.

I planned to share what a “BAD LAM DAY” looks like (this is what my LAM sisters and I call them) – where simple things like taking a shower, walking through a parking lot, or taking a flight of stairs leaves me so exhausted I want to take a nap.

I planned to write a post that doesn’t end with smiley faces, exclamation points, and “Isn’t Jesus wonderful?” like I typically do.

I planned a bunch of things in my head for today’s post.

But then today unfolded…

I lead a group of 6th and 7th grade girls in a Discipleship Program at the Potters House School where I volunteer. Their Bible verse for today was this: “When Jesus spoke to the people he said, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness.’” John 8:12

I decided hearing the true life story of a blind man would fit with the verse perfectly, keep the girls attention, and hopefully aid them in memorizing the verse.

So I asked Steve to come speak to our group.

About 30 years ago, as a married man with two children and one on the way, Steve began losing his eyesight from a devastating disease called: Retinitis Pigmentosa. He fought through diminishing eyesight for several years and managed to continue driving and keep his job. But, eventually, with three young children and the weight of providing for his family on his shoulders, he could no longer deny it – he was legally blind. Today, Steve can see absolutely nothing.

Steve shared how he initially bargained and became angry with God after his diagnosis. He shared how debilitating his anxiety became as he faced a future of KNOWN blindness. But the GLORY of his story comes as he realized he had only been looking at the negative side of being blind. Until one day when he imagined Jesus hanging on the cross (the most negative experience known to man: crucifixion) and he realized the cross makes a “PLUS” sign! The cross, by it’s very nature of construction, forms a POSITIVE symbol!!!

This realization turned Steve’s world around and he began writing all the things he was thankful for. He wrote POSITIVE statements about his situation, instead of negative. At one point he told our group, “In a way, I have found freedom in my blindness. You are all DEPENDENT on your eyesight. I am INDEPENDENT of that sense, so I am not bound by it. When I look at it that way, I experience a new kind of freedom.”

Steve may be the most POSITIVE and OPTIMISTIC person I know. And he’s totally blind.

First one, than two, than three tears were streaming down my face. Steve had touched me in the depths of my pain.

All I could see about LAM today was that it was disabling me, making me feel “less than” and “less able.” In a swift moment, Steve helped me to see that I’ve been made free from having to be as productive as most people. As healthy people so often DEPEND on their ability to accomplish much, I am INDEPENDENT of that pressure. My body tells me what I can and cannot do, and there’s not a darn thing that can be done to change it. So, in a sense, I am free from that pressure.

Oh friends! The JOY of the LORD is our STRENGTH! And He alone will give us the insight and power to take the hardest, most painful parts of our lives and turn them around into something that can be used for HIS GLORY!

God alone can show us the POSITIVE when all we can see is the NEGATIVE!

So everything I had planned for this blog was trashed.

Steve showed me a better blog.

Go with Steve!