Chronic Fatigue

Do you remember the tick bite?

The one you got 33 years ago?

The one that forever changed your life?

Were you hiking in Connecticut?

Or at home in North Carolina?

Were you camping in British Columbia?

Or did it happen much earlier –

When you worked in New Hampshire?

Do you remember the tick bite?

The one that forever changed your life?

 

I don’t remember the tick bite.

But I do remember sleeping for 48 hours straight.

And I remember that first diagnosis:

Strep throat.

Except it wasn’t. The culture was wrong.

So we tried a different antibiotic.

And the throat improved.

But the fatigue did not.

 

Christmas and New Year’s were a blur.

As were most of January, February, and March.

 

In April I took the dog for my first walk.

Three houses down and back!

And the next day, a little further.

Walking every day helped.

 

In May I flew to Canada to be with mom and dad.

I remember the terrible headaches and earaches.

Nothing got rid of the pain.

(Codeine took the edge off.)

I remember walking the dog every day.

And I slowly improved.

 

In November I returned to North Carolina.

And tried to go back to school.

It lasted less than a week.

And I was back in bed.

 

Another Christmas. Another New Year’s.

 

In January I started working –

Ten hours each week.

By April I had switched jobs –

Twenty hours, and then thirty.

Some semblance of normalcy.

 

In October I had a tonsillectomy.

I woke up from surgery and

For the first time in more than a year

I didn’t have a sore throat!

 

Life became “normal”.

Walk every day.

Get 8 or 9 hours of sleep.

Avoid stress.

Mess this up and you’ll land in bed

For a day – or a week.

 

Normal enough to go to graduate school

And start teaching.

 

Of course there were cycles.

Seasons of severe painful arthritis:

I struggled to walk up a flight of stairs.

Seasons of headaches – always headaches.

And months with a droopy eyelid.

And fatigue – the never-ending cycle of fatigue.

 

Years passed.

I could manage these symptoms.

Bedtime at 9:30.

Walk every day.

Summers off to recover.

 

Sixteen years ago things fell apart.

Climbing stairs became daunting –

Painful joints and no energy.

Horrible stomach cramps.

I struggled to teach –

Missing so many days!

 

The gastroenterologist sent me to

The hematologist sent me to

The oncologist sent me to

The rheumatologist sent me to

The _______ologist sent me to

Nowhere.

“Let’s send you back to the gastroenterologist.”

 

I finally saw a pediatrician in Chapel Hill;

He practiced holistic medicine.

He looked at all the test results:

“Let’s try a gluten-free diet.”

Within a week I felt better than I had

In twenty years!

 

My joints only flared up when I ate gluten.

My stomach quit hurting.

The headaches became manageable.

 

Life became “normal” again.

Walk every day.

Get 8 or 9 hours of sleep.

Avoid stress.

Eat well.

Mess this up and you’ll land in bed

For a day – or a week.

 

Normal enough to go to graduate school

And become a pastor.

 

Still the symptoms popped up:

Seasons of extreme fatigue.

Driving on Mebane Oaks

And blacking out.

Seasons of headaches.

The heart attack that wasn’t

A heart attack –

But there are heart issues.

The vertigo – the months of vertigo –

Nothing normal about my vertigo!

 

The stress of the past four years

Has had a cumulative effect:

Craig died suddenly

And Dad had a stroke

Changing everything.

The Methodist Church is divided –

Talk about breaking my heart!

The country is in disarray –

And the persistent anxiety is real.

 

And then Ruth died.

And then the Pandemic hit.

And then George Floyd was suffocated.

And then the final straw –

Jim had sepsis.

 

My primary care doctor would have

Checked thyroid and B12 again.

The Integrative Medical Clinic

Ran batteries of tests:

Positive for Lyme disease.

Positive for Babesia – whatever that is!

Low Vitamin D – how is that?

Ridiculously high Epstein Barr titer.

 

And so a new journey begins:

But why didn’t anyone catch this

33 years ago?

 

You Call Me Deeper Still

 

 

You call me deep into creation

You call me deeply into love

This is my Sabbath celebration

The earth below, the sky above

My feet follow the well-worn trail

Along the Haw – I am so blest!

My mind recounts the old, old tale:

The weekly work of creating followed by rest

 

Common Buckeye

Sweet Autumn Clematis

 

 

Yellow Tickseed

 

Look at what creation has done!

Sweet scents of Clematis fill the air

The green canopy filters the warm sun

And yellow tickseed is found everywhere

 

“You call me deeper still”

The lyrics of this song fill my ear

“You call me deeper still”

Open up! There is so much more here

 

I pause to breathe, to listen more intently

Cicadas buzz and click, bees gently hum

The Haw splashes along quite contently

Tree frogs trill, and woodpeckers drum

 

And under the burst of yellow flowers

A zipper spider awaits his daily catch

I could sit there and watch for hours

And let creative new ideas hatch

 

And hatch they will, but maybe not today

For jewelweed and spider wart catch my eye

And there’s wild Rose of Sharon on display

And look! There’s a bald eagle in the sky!

 

At trail’s end I pause, then turn around

Giving thanks for the abundance of this day

It’s time for me to be homeward bound

So I can stop at the church to sing and pray

 

I hear a new sound as I pass the mill

And then the Praise Team comes into plain view

Of course they’re singing, “You call me deeper still

Into love, love, love... and I’m loved by You.”[1]

 

Yes, I’m loved by You. That’s who I am

A love that is evident in all creation

Embracing the fullness of the great I AM

I give thanks for this Sabbath celebration

 

---

[1] Anthony Brown & Pat Barrett, Good Good Father (CCLI Song # 7036612).

Knots

April 25, 2020

This is my brain. Actually, the knot feels a lot tighter and a lot bigger. A little bit like a charley horse in my brain. Clearly I’ve either been exercising my brain too much or I’m dehydrated. Or both.

I’ve never drawn a brain before. I seriously thought about drawing a side view so it would be more recognizable, but the knot is smack dab in the center of my forehead – the prefrontal cortex – and the image had to have that knot.

The prefrontal cortex is the problem-solving, decision-making, goal-setting part of the brain. It makes perfect sense that this part of my brain is tied in knots. I’m on overload. Trying to take in all the changes in my life – our lives! Trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. Trying to stay healthy. Trying to make sense of the world today.

But two plus two doesn’t seem to be adding up to four and my rational mind can’t figure out why. And no amount of puzzling seems to lead to a solution. It’s a bit like non-Euclidian geometry where triangles can have three right angles. “Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas any more.”

This week I started meditating again. I knew I had to change something or that knot would get so tight I’d never be able to loosen it. I’m discovering that meditation is a bit like massage. I’m learning to relax my brain little by little. I’m learning to let God be the center of my world. I’m learning to let go of those things I cannot control. I’m learning to listen to my body.

Two plus two still doesn’t seem to equal four. My brain still feels foggy. I’m having trouble concentrating. And my brain is exhausted. But there is hope. That knot is loosening a little bit.  And for right now this is enough.

Peonies

April 24, 2020

Over the past few weeks I’ve been watching my peonies. While I certainly love the large pink tissue thin blooms, I am fascinated by this season of preparation. When the first buds appeared I started watching for the ants. They always come, drawn by the scent – something I can’t even smell! And as the buds get bigger and bigger more and more ants come, doing the important work of helping the blooms open – and certainly being nourished by the sweetness of these buds.

It’s an odd symbiotic relationship. Our initial response is to shoo away the ants. But if there are no ants then there are no blooms.

I’ve been thinking about the ants. I’ve been wondering about the mechanisms that are busily at work helping us to bloom once again. I’ve been thinking about all of the people who are doing everything they can to empower us to (re)open with as much grace and beauty as possible.

I’ve also been thinking about the blooms. There are always a few buds that never open. And occasionally a bud partially opens and then dies. Not all of the buds open into glorious blooms. This suggests to me that the ants choose some buds over others. Some get nurtured into full bloom and others don’t.

Maybe peonies are a poor metaphor for our current situation. On the other hand, as I watch the ants I can’t help but be thankful for the many processes that are in place to help us – however imperfect they may be. I am truly thankful for the many people who are working diligently to help us bloom once again. And as I watch the ants, I also pay close attention to the buds and grieve for those that will never bloom – for the inequities of our system – for all those who repeatedly fall through the cracks.

By mid-May my peonies will be in full bloom, reminding me of our resilience as a community. As we inevitably focus on the beautiful blossoms, I hope we won’t forget about the buds that didn’t open. Or the ants.

Resilience

April 14, 2020

There go the trees

   Swaying back and forth

      Bending from side to side

         Bowing to the ground

Graceful

   Flexible

      Beautiful

Like dancers

   Arms uplifted in praise

      Moving in joyful rhythm

Then sweeping the ground

   In awe and reverence

The high winds

   reveal

Resilience

Standing strong after the storm on April 13, 2020

Overwhelmed

Good Friday, April 10, 2020

The other day I was out walking on the trails and called out “Hello!” to a neighbor. My neighbor completely ignored me and I immediately wondered what I had done to offend her. I was glad to see her! Why did she snub me? The truth is, I was hurt.

It is human nature to think of ourselves first. We inevitably wonder, “What did I do wrong?” It takes emotional maturity to step back and look at the big picture. In this particular case, it is highly likely that my neighbor was being very careful about social distancing and reacted to my perceived movement toward her by moving away. I didn’t do anything wrong; she was just exercising an abundance of caution.

I recognize that I had such a strong response because of the unprecedented times in which we are living. My cognitive and emotional processes are overloaded right now, and my initial reactions are often irrational. It is as if I have reverted to my insecure teenage self who sees every pimple and imperfection in the mirror and wonders if anyone will ever love me. Right now it takes a great deal of energy to be fully present in the current moment.

When we are under times of great stress, experiencing dramatic changes in our daily routines and having to process new information every day, we simply don’t have the bandwidth to assess our emotions and reflect deeply on what we are experiencing. Our brains literally do not have the capacity. Often we feel foggy brained and unproductive. We go through the motions, but struggle to find meaning.

This stay-at-home order has given many of us an incredible gift – the gift of time. Time to sit quietly, or go for a walk, or work in the garden, and forgive ourselves for not being able to process everything that is going on right now. Time to grieve – to acknowledge our confusion and denial, to wrestle with our anger and loneliness, to accept our depression and anxiety. (These responses are normal!) We have been given time to step back, maybe sleep more, and carve out space to let the Holy Spirit do her healing work in us.

Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world...

Of course, I’m struggling to forgive myself for not making the most of this time. I haven’t figured out how to carve out that space to let the Holy Spirit work. So for today, on this Good Friday, I will look to the cross. There is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! May that truth sink deeply into my soul this day – for certainly it is enough.

Maundy

April 9, 2020

On that night so long ago Jesus gave us a new mandate: to love one another. This year, as we practice social distancing and staying at home, this mandate feels more important than ever. Love one another.

In all the oddness of gathering at our own tables instead of coming to the Lord’s Table, and sharing a Love Feast instead of Holy Communion, we intuitively got it. Love will sustain us through this pandemic.

There were so many powerful moments at this year’s online gathering.

The wind came up as we started – a fluke windstorm that blew the tin roof off my neighbors’ barn and sent us all scrambling to batten down the hatches. It set the stage for the evening, reminding me of how little control we have. We can control our own actions and responses, but we can’t control the wind or the waves. We can reach out in love to our neighbors, but we can’t control their actions and responses.

As we prepared for the Love Feast we named aloud those whom we wished were at the table with us this night – the ones we love most. Parents and grandparents who may or may not be alive. Congregation and community members who were not able to join us. Children – grown children – who are scattered across the country. Family. And in that moment the grief was palpable. Oh, how we miss those we love.

This is the night of love.

We shared the ways we’ve seen love at work. The pink super moon. New growth shooting up through the soil. Visibly less air pollution. Bird songs. Connecting with our school kids. Getting help from our neighbors. Hearing from old friends. Grieving with those who have lost loved ones to COVID-19. Listening to scripture.

Jesus washed Judas’ feet? Really? What are we supposed to do with that?

Love is patient. Love is kind.

Love works in our lives in so many different ways.

Over pancakes and crackers and clementines we shared memories of other meals – and we laughed until the tears ran down our faces. Dad’s Saturday morning breakfasts. Mom’s predictable Jiffy corn muffins. Spaghetti and meatballs without hands (or utensils!). Totally unpredictable left over casseroles on Friday night. Meals made in love. Meals shared with those we love. Love feasts.

On the night Jesus was betrayed we laughed. And it was wonderfully healing.

Time

April 6, 2020

For everything there is a season...
a time to break down, and a time to build up;

 a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.

– From Ecclesiastes 3

I couldn’t find my planner this morning. My laptop, my phone, and my planner are the primary tools of my ministry. I typically take all three with me to meetings and to my office (wherever I choose to work that day). But it wasn’t with my computer or my phone. When I found my planner, it was laying open to the week of March 16. I had not looked at it in three weeks. 

Time has taken on a strange meaning. I feel like we are waking up to a new reality almost every day. It started with no public worship. Then no school. Then reminders everywhere to keep your distance. Then a stay at home order. And now, wear a mask.

And the virus still spreads. More people get sick every day. More people die. And it hits closer and closer to home. It is truly a time to mourn. A time to weep. So much seems to be breaking down.

And yet. I went looking for my planner this morning because yesterday I reached out to the mom of my reading buddy at B. Everett Jordan Elementary School and asked if we could resume reading together this week. And the answer was yes! We will read together as always this Wednesday – just using a different format. I wanted to write that good news down in my planner.

New growth from seeds planted last week.

While there is a deep heaviness in my heart in these uncertain times, we have been given an extraordinary gift. The gift of time. Time to plant new seeds and watch them grow. Time to strengthen relationships through this shared experience. Time to be creative about how we choose to be together as a community. It is a time to build up. It is even a time to laugh. Yes, and to dance.

It seems to me that the fullness of time comes when we hold laughter and weeping together. My body doesn’t quite know how to live that truth today – the grief is so heavy. Still, I can see the promise of something new – the possibility of this time. So for today, for this time I have been given, I will weep and plant seeds. I will rest in the silence and sing out loud. I will let my dance intertwine both lament and joy.