I was getting out of the shower tonight when I thought about a few mountains I have been facing. The imagery in my mind brought me back to these writings of marriage, working in poverty, losing a friend to suicide, infertility, health issues, parenting, and dieting. The blog I started to convey my excitement and desire to enjoy the moments transformed into a blog about enduring suffering and doing hard things. The blog about expressing joy and transformation in grad school became my sage that life threw me as each chapter unfolded.
And I had the pleasure this past year of hearing snip-its of stories from a Bible study group focused on sharing our stories and the core events who helped us to discover who God is but also what God created us for. And I realized that the mountains that we climb are so much based on our own perception. Many people come to my office and say, "I don't know why I am even here complaining, I bet you see a lot worse than this", and yet, I am also almost always finding a level of compassion even if the client before was climbing a mountain range in Nepal while the current one is merely climbing a rolling hill. Because the truth is that our mountain, our problems, our life events, and our troubles and joys are all important to varying degrees in shaping us. They create our life story.
As I dried off my hair and just stood in the silence, I realized, I am on a mountain that I had no idea I would ever climb. Maybe more like a series of mountains that keep rolling out each time I make it to the top of one and then seen the next.
I think when we are on unforeseen paths, those that we never pictured ourselves in, we often hit a place of emotional desperation. A place where we are plugging one foot in front of the other. A place where we want to turn back but know we are too far out to do that. A place where we desperately look for a guide, a map, some sense of direction of where to go next. "Surely, God will light a path." We find comfort if we are lucky enough to have a trusted friend who walked the road before us (even better if they climbed higher mountains and tell you that you'll survive). But often in the journey, a those stopping points where you breath and look back on how far you come, I think that I often think, "how did I even get here, this was not in my plan".
About four months ago, we bought our dream home. Well, the interior was our dream home. Fresh paint, new appliances, new counter-tops and carpet. I could see my furniture in it. I prayed over it. Put our house on the market and made a contingent offer within a few hours of listing it. I pined over this house. I saw a beautiful story and a beautiful solution to an unforeseen redistricting of schools and I thought, "I have really made such a good choice". Mind you, the weather was freezing, and it was not just freezing but the entire outside of our house for walk throughs and inspections were covered in inches of snow.
I never thought I would be climbing a mountain and finally finishing the journey of almost 8 weeks of skin infections. I never knew we had so much poison ivy/oak, and I definitely had no idea I would climb the mountain of "Sporotrichosis" (a fungal infection transmitted through rose bushes and small cuts in the skin). I looked at this beautiful house and I thought about my wonderful days mulching and planting flowers. I saw the potential, the vision but I never planned the pain, the three prescriptions, and the countless dollars of over the counter creams, anti-itch, pain reliever, and astringents. About a week ago, I finally got to sleep through the night for the first time in almost two months. It was like a rebirth. A suffering that was ending. It was a minor set back in the big scheme and now if I can find someone to remove the poison ivy that is taking over my yard, I will be able to laugh at this mountain that was thrown my way, but not all mountains are temporary. Not all mountains have a clear cut ending...
A midst the move and the busy-ness of the year, I started to wonder about the big one's performance at school. Papers coming home 90% undone. Random behavior logs needing to be signed. Increased sensory needs and then lots of emotion. School became harder, really hard, and then I think I saw her put her own emotional breaks on when the house was all packed up and we waited to move. We knew we had to react, to make a plan, to respond in some way. I felt like every turn was unforeseen, not how I had seen things in the past. I started to read article after article. I bought a stack of books. We got back to therapies, started to reach out and consult. There was a really big mountain in our way and for the first time, I really felt like I had no idea how to help, what to do, how to be the text book parent that she needed me to be.
I have written about sensory processing and still try to understand it, but this felt bigger. This felt like I couldn't just twirl her in her swing and correct it. The swim season ended, the sensory needs increased even more. Sitting in our new wonderful house, we were drowning. We were climbing a mountain that we did not expect. We had a plan and had worked that plan. No one expects a child who's gone to literally preschool since she was 12 months old would struggle with basic skills. The morning routine was a nightmare, the bedtime time was full of nightmares, too. The big man and I were scared, we still are scared, and we likely will remain that way.
Suddenly a new world and vocabulary was opened to us and we started having hard conversations with providers. And I realized that I handle unforeseen mountains in two phases... first, I get very sad and scared and overwhelmed so I cry a lot, shut down, and overthink. Then I realize that I do something that I am sort of proud of myself for doing, I bare down. I move forward. I have these cleat-like shoes that dig into that mountain I have to face and I just start climbing. I wake up with hope that God will help me and I will try to make every effort to help myself. I start to look for others feedback and guidance. I pray. I talk about it... maybe to a default. But I keep trying to climb.
I never realized in my youth that giving up was totally an option. Maybe that's a good thing in these moments where life brings you more than you can handle. I think my fear of failure and my grit to succeed is forcing me to weed my garden, not run from danger, and to keep climbing each day, one foot at a time.
I wish I had some profound hope that this journey we are on gets easier. I think in that first stage of emotionality and disbelief, I try to bargain with God. I think we all do this. "Why me?" "Why now?" "Why can't you just give us a break?" "I don't want this cup..." Oh wait...
In my trying to gain perspective I often end up humbled that the cup I bare is never as heavy as the one He held. The disappointments I face are hard, but they are never the ones He felt. This life is full of heavy, dark, gut-wrenching loss and heartache and pain. From suicides, to death, to poverty, and sexual perversion and assault, from cancer to drug addiction, from the death of a child who was supposed to make it, from sex trafficking, and hunger, famine, and injustice. And His cup was bigger... His mountain that He carried that cross was bigger. His pain in his steps were far more painful. His darkness around Him was far darker... His isolation, betrayal from those who "loved him" was far deeper. But nonetheless, He climbed and He willingly died...
Perhaps the unforeseen mountains are a glimpse of the suffering. Perhaps it's all just coincidence and science and bad genes and poor landscaping practices. Perhaps it's just bad Irish luck or bad juju. Perhaps it's a chance to learn so I can serve others. Perhaps it doesn't really matter why, but it matters how. How will I climb? With fear? With hope? With friends or alone? With openness or isolation? With joy or pessimism? How will my story be told when I am gone? Will I choose this mountain and seek Him, or will I stop climbing, angry and bitter and resentful that it was even made for me to climb?
I think that the intense skin stuff the past two months was a metaphor of what is to come. If I had not asked for help, I wouldn't be healed. If I had not stopped and rest, I could have gotten worse. If I had not talked and shared I would not have ruled out that the infection was not poison ivy. If I had continued to dive in without research and truth, I would have likely been covered head to toe in outdoor diseases and reactions. But I stopped, went to the doctor, rested, asked for help from friends and I asked a lot of questions along the way. I did not give up hope but my backyard is still a hot mess. I am still so weary and tired from the ordeal, but I have hope that one day, some how, this backyard will be the dream I dreamed of.... even if it only lasts for a week until the weeds grow back in... Oh foreshadowing... I see what you're doing there. Now I just have to remember, step by step by step....
Likely I will have more to process and glean from the journey we are on now. We won't know for awhile still so why are just taking things one day at a time. We are going to keep being hopeful, but we are also open to try new things and go new directions. We want help, hope, hugs (eh, unless I am crying then do not hug me), and hopefully, we will see some healing. I just felt like sharing because I have shared so much with many lately, but it still feels good to honor God in this process and to express my deep appreciation for those we are walking with along the way. It's been wonderful to not walk alone. <3
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