The Body of Christ

We had a fascinating discussion in our Bible study last week... Did Jesus have a perfect body?

I don't know and since scripture is relatively silent (except for passages like Isaiah 53... but does that refer to his scourged, bloody, skin-in-tatters, nailed body? ), it's conjecture. But is seems to me that our belief in this regard is vitally important for forming and shaping our faith journey.

Do we believe he was perfect of form, well-muscled, with 6-pack abs and long, silky, golden-brown hair?

Or do we believe he could have been as physically unappealing as the passage in Isaiah 53 so vividly describes? Perhaps even with a disability or deformity.

I don't know. What I do know is that I have seen the risen Lord in the Body of Christ and this is what I've observed: The Body is made up of many parts, all interdependent on the other. One person alone is incapable of existing as Christ's Body. Separately, even the strongest, most athletic, most physically beautiful among us, is just a piece of protoplasm. It's only in community that we become the Body of Christ .

For that reason, I rejoice that I have a disability. I know interdependence is not something I naturally seek. Quite the contrary. Left to my own choices, I would be ruggedly independent, a self-made woman. Needing nobody. And giving to nobody.

Because I have a disability, however, I am well-aware that I can't make it on my own. I need people. Sometimes to the point of needing them to survive. When I first realized my need of others, it hurt dreadfully. Receiving from other people felt like emotional surgery without anesthetic. I'm finally learning that sometimes I have to receive from others and sometimes I can give something somebody else needs. It doesn't have to be reciprocal with the same person. It just has to be balanced within the entire organism.

I don't have to speculate on what Jesus' body looked like. I see it everyday. And it looks a lot like all of you. (and me.) Together. Glorious.

It looks like you... my Circle of Friends. People who serve more times than I can count as my legs and strength (tossing my wheelchair into the trunk of a car so we can go to lunch together, helping me in to doctor's appointments, cleaning my house, rearranging my office, taking my ministry dreams and visions and giving them legs). People who hold me when I cry. People who listen to my sorrows and joys. People who build wheelchair ramps, and pick me up off the ground. People who encourage and support my journey to better physical health. People who show me honor and respect and kindness and love. People who believe and encourage my gifts and willingly receive from those gifts.

In community with all of you, I experience what it means to be Christ-Bodied, and that is way better than able-bodied ever was.

You transform disability.

The Handsome Fireman and the Subway Stalker

Today, I met some ladies for lunch at Subway. While stepping onto the 3" curb (something I can handle fairly readily... it just looks kinda shaky), my friend P, attempting to be helpful, gave my arm a gentle tug. While I had been precariously and perfectly balanced before the "help", when I saw her treacherous hand reach out to assist, I knew that I was going down. Before I could gasp, "DON'T TOUCH ME, EVIL PERSON WHO LOVES TO SEE CRIPPLED PEOPLE FLOUNDERING ON THE GROUND!", there I was on the sidewalk.



In a millisecond an afternoon can change from innocently unaware and going to lunch with three friends, to sitting on the sidewalk wondering what in the crap you are going to do now. People rushed to assist. One woman offered to bring me a sandwich. (Unlike my evil friend, they seemed to have a little compassion for crippled people.) Alas, they didn't know how difficult it can be to return me to a standing position, and that I once had to call the fire department when I was in a similar situation.



Before I even had time to think about what to do, an off-duty fireman came along and offered his aid. Reluctantly, I agreed to let him and another man stand on either side of me, where I wrapped my arms around their necks, and they lifted me to my feet. And... it was a piece of cake. (For me. The fireman screamed, "Oh, no, another herniated disk!")


When we sat down at the restaurant table, I asked my friends what the experience had been like for them... wondering if i had been anxiety-inducing, or what? (Evil P couldn't respond... she was still shivering from sadistic delight.) L's response was classic: "I was jealous. That fireman was SOOO cute."

She was right. Big blue eyes and brawny biceps. Hmm. Maybe falling down could be one of those pesky blessings in disguise.

Do you think they'll catch on if I start lurking outside the Subway, waiting for opportune times to fall on that curb? I'm going to go now. I need to practice falling gracefully, with a startled little feminine gasp while flirtatiously flipping my hair back from my face. (I have some time to perfect my technique... how long does it take a herniated disk to heal?)

The Glorious Climb after Hitting Rock Bottom

About 13 years ago I took a misstep on the edge of a steep trail and I've been careening, bumping, tumbling, bouncing, crashing, sliding down the rocky edge of the mountain ever since, in free fall, occasionally clinging to a ledge or a lone straggly tree until strength gives out and beginning again the crazy slide down the seemingly endless decline of physical health and strength.



About 2 months ago, I hit a particularly steep decline and I began a rapid, bone-jarring tumble, bouncing off of sharp rocks, head over heels descent until I landed with a painful thud. All I could do was try to breathe through the pain, the fear, and the helplessness. Afraid to move else I would begin careening down the abyss yet again. How many more falls like that could I endure?



At first, I was unable to see that I hadn't landed on the edge of the mountainside on a rocky ledge, but that I had landed at the bottom. Bruised, battered, very much worse for the wear, but alive. Nowhere near the trail head, somewhere in uncharted territory, but alive. As I gingerly took stock of my wounds and started assessing how to begin finding my way out of the wilderness, a trail guide appeared in the form of my friend, M who graciously, lovingly offered to help me. And we began walking. And along the way, others came alongside turning what was once a lonely, isolated fall down the mountain into a joyous climb surrounded by loving friends.



Thirteen years ago, the insurance industry declared me "uninsurable" and I threw up my hands, "What's the use in trying anymore. I'm damaged, defective, unwhole, cast-off. It's hopeless. Let the fates do with me what they will. I am powerless to do anything about my disability and I have no control over the physical decline inherent in a slowly progressive, inherited neuromuscular disease." I began gaining weight. I stopped moving. What's the use of eating well and exercising if there is no hope of ever being whole, no hope of ever being attractive, no hope of ever being vital?



Over the years, I would occasionally land on a rocky outcropping, where I reassess, muster a tiny measure of hope and try to climb up the mountain face, only to stumble and begin falling again.



Today, the climb is very, very different. It is no longer like trying to climb the side of the mountain hanging on with bloody fingernails. It is a verdant path, lovely with God's creation, and filled with laughter and friendship. The journey itself is the prize and not just the destination at the end.



It is a journey filled with surprises and epiphanies. The most shocking epiphany is that I have a body that is amazing. As I have begun filling my body with healthful foods and have begun moving it, it has responded in unexpectedly delightful ways. Why did I not see before that my lower leg nerves and muscles might be affected by a neuromuscular disease, but that every other muscle in my body has the potential to be amazingly strong and healthy? My legs might be disabled, but I don't have to be overweight, unhealthy, and weak. I can be strong, healthy, athletic, and beautiful. I can have a life! I can finally marry physical well being with spiritual and emotional health and scale brand new exhilarating unimaginable heights.



When I began riding my nustep, I only hoped to improve my circulation... the hope of growing stronger was non-existent. And, yet, I am stunned and amazed to realize that I have all these lovely muscles in my body that are healthy (just under-utilized) and are coming alive as I am using them. I am re-gaining function! After decades of grieving loss after loss after loss, I am celebrating gains!!!! I can't quite comprehend the enormity of this, and haven't really begun processing the emotions and the implications. I'm just reveling in the moment-by-moment enjoyment of moving forward. Being able to easily move my foot from the gas pedal to the brakes, finding it easier to get into my car, rolling over in bed with more ease, seeing my arm muscles gaining new definition, seeing the promise of a waist reappearing, dreaming of one day being able to purchase cute, size 10 fashions, enjoying the process of exploring new ways to strengthen my body. Yesterday, I happily turned down the offer of chocolate cheesecake. I don't want to do anything to hamper this wonderful forward motion.



I am beginning to experience the abundance that Christ intends for my life... a synergy of physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. And I can't wait to see what God intends to do with all of this as I offer it back to him for his purposes and his glory.

My New Best Friend

I bought this machine about a year ago, just before moving into my new house. For 6 months, it sat unused, taking up space, useless, and unloved. (I guess I thought spending $3000 would somehow help my fitness level.)

After seeing a man with a disability on a hand-powered bike at the river trail, I was inspired to become acquainted with the dust collector in my living room. With enormous hope, I sat down and tried to place my feet and discovered that without assistance from one of my kids, I couldn't get positioned on the pedals. Even so, I enlisted their aid, and began to enjoy the satisfaction of aerobic activity after a decade (at least) of sluggish circulatory oxygenation. My sister dubbed it "White Lightnin' ". (One night, I mentioned to my friend, a recovering alcoholic, that White Lightnin' was waiting for me at home. She asked if that was a kind of vodka!)

WL and I were just getting to know one another when my kids became unavailable on a regular basis to help me get my feet in the "stirrups". I tried a couple of times, on my own, but it was discouraging and I quickly gave up. WL was put out to pasture.

About a month ago, with newly inspired hope, I climbed back into the saddle. With determination born of desperation and fueled by hope, I attempted dozens of different ways to get my feet positioned and attached so they wouldn't flop off the pedals. Finally, after a lot of trial and error, I hit upon a solution using a guitar strap with a slip-knot to lift my feet. With my feet firmly in the stirrups, I have been unstoppable ever since. WL and I started out at a lope, moved into a canter, and sped up to an exhilarating gallop within a few weeks. For about 30-60 minutes each day, I ride with the wind blowing my hair and pulse racing as WL's hooves thunder across the prairie, with me pushing her to extremes of endurance and speed! When our ride is over, I sit there doing nothing but feeling my heart pumping blood, and enjoying a slightly light-headed sensation of extreme well-being. (Way better than vodka!)

I hope to never grow tired of WL, but even if I do, I am committed to getting exercise at least 5-6 days a week. Hold me to it! When you come to my house, stroll out to the corral, and make sure WL is free of dust and isn't being used as a clothes hanger!

Assessing the Journey

Any hiker knows they need to assess and prepare before setting foot on the trail: pouring over maps, conditioning their body, packing food and essential items, deciding where they want to go and the route they will take to get there, etc.

Similarly, with this journey, I need to assess where I am, where I want to go, and how I'm going to get from point A to point B.

Where I'm Going
The desired destination is easier to write about, and since I prefer easy to hard, I'll begin here. I want to be a reasonable weight (140-150 pounds seems reasonable. I'm not seeking the body of a super-model.). I want to have normal blood pressure, cholesterol, blood glucose levels... you know, the standard indicators of physical health. I want the lymphodema (swelling) in my legs to be controlled, if not all together healed. I want strong muscles, bones, and circulatory system. I want to be able to walk with more ease and to be a physically fit woman who uses a wheelchair. I want my kids to be proud of me and for them to see me persevering, honoring my body, and living with discipline. I want people to be startled by the disconnect between the wheelchair and the picture of health and well being they see sitting in it. I want this to be used to glorify God and be a testament to God's healing power.

Dear Lord! This trail is not a day hike!!! It's more like preparing to hike the whole Appalachian trail from Georgia to Maine, which usually takes an experienced hiker about 5 months to complete. (Not that I'm saying this will be a journey of 5 months. It will require a lifetime commitment.)

Where I Am
Deep breath... here's where the journey begins. I am 100 pounds overweight. I have sleep apnea, high blood pressure (controlled with medication), mild depression, significant incontinence (some people will say anything in a blog, won't they?), and swelling from lymphodema in both legs that is so severe I can't find shoes wide enough to fit. As a result of the lymphodema, the skin on my lower legs is breaking down and I have developed decubetous ulcers, one that looked like somebody gouged my leg with a melon baller.

Is it any wonder I have been paralyzed with fear and dread at the seemingly insurmountable journey toward physical health? It felt like tossing a woman on crutches at the base of Mt. Everest and saying, "Get going."

Getting from Here to There
Yet, what I didn't know was that God had some plans in the works. When I was at rock bottom about 6 weeks ago, ready to throw in the towel, sign up for disability, and hunker down and lick my wounds, a friend who is a nurse came alongside of me and said she wanted to help me prioritize and help me assess one step at a time. (Problem solving and creativity are drastically hampered by fear and depression.) She has been taking me to my appointments at the Wound Center as healing the ulcers is the first step. (In four weeks, they have healed enormously, and are almost gone. The last one is the size of a dime with barely any depth!) Once they are healed, I'll begin therapy to assist further in decreasing the swelling and learning to better maintain it. Who knows? I might be back in shoes before too long!

Grace has abounded. My friend called around to find a doctor who had an accessible exam table that didn't require climbing. My OB/gyn was days away from getting rid of their accessible exam chair, but kept it for my purposes. First female exam in six years for me! Not only did I learn that my parts are ok, but that there is an out-patient surgical procedure that is about 90% effective at eliminating/reducing incontinence. It's on the list of things to do.

This forward motion has created enormous hope where once I had only despair. In response to the hope, I have been shopping for new clothes and jewelry, wearing makeup and perfume, eating nourishing foods (while eliminating junk foods), and, best of all, I'm exercising again!!! 22 of the past 25 days! Last night, I rode my NuStep for 65 minutes and burned 350 calories.

Exercise used to feel like punishment at worst, and drudgery at best back in the day when I was basically able bodied. Now, it feels like a gift from God to be able to move my body aerobically. I'm already seeing a noticeable improvement in my leg strength, something I didn't expect, and certainly not after just a month!

So far, this journey has felt like gliding up the mountain on a grace escalator. God's grace and wonderful friends have carried me forward to where I believe health is possible, even probable.

My plan for this week is to eat a healthy diet between 1500-1800 calories and to exercise 6 days for at least 30 minutes. And I think buy some cute earrings!

If you are part of my support/accountability team, I need prayers for the lymphodema. For the treatment to be effective and for a manageable means to keep it at bay.

God is good all the time, but isn't it nice when God shows off! I feel so blessed.

Journey to Wellness Bald

Many years ago, long before I needed forearm crutches, and even before I needed a cane, and even before I used a hiking staff to help me get around, I delighted in hiking. Even now, as I sit here at my computer screen, I can smell the litter on the forest floor, feel the burn in my thighs, and see the tantalizing vista of ridges and valleys which was the sweet reward at the end of a difficult, sometimes torturous, climb to the summit of a mountain.

By far, my favorite hike was to Stratton Bald in the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest… a remote trail in the Appalachian Mountains bordering Tennessee and North Carolina. It’s difficult to imagine more rugged wilderness. (Nearby “Jeffrey’s Hell”, an area known to be the most rugged in the mountains is named for old man Jeffrey who entered the tangle of dense laurel, briers and thorns following the braying of his hunting dogs tracking wild Russian Boar. The story goes that his hunting companion, refused to follow. Jeffrey told him, “If I don’t return, I will be in HELL!” He never returned and was never found.)

The hike up the mountain was always arduous for me. I couldn’t count the number of times I tripped across the entangled laurel roots that criss-crossed the trail, or the number of times I fell and bruised my knees. Laurel thickets grew so dense on either side of the trail, that one’s heart would beat a little faster hoping a wild boar wouldn’t emerge from the dark impenetrable foliage. Signs of their rooting were around every bend. Yet, wild boar weren’t the only threats on the trail. Brown bear are numerous in the Appalachian Mountains, and it was quite certain they were just as enamored of the wild blueberries and blackberries populating the trail as were the humans who feasted as they climbed. I can’t tell you the distance from the trailhead to the summit. It could have been two miles. It felt like twenty. The trail should have been named “Lynna’s Hell”!

The reward, though, oh the reward! Just when I thought the dark, dank laurel thickets would continue endlessly, the steep trail opened up to a breathtaking sight… a sunny mountain meadow chock- full of daisies and every manner of wildflowers and bushes abundant with delicious wild berries. (These mountain meadows are known as balds.)

What exquisite joy to collapse on the ground, and alternate between drinking in the mountain air, delicious water from the canteen, and vistas of distant hazy blue mountains. Nothing is as pleasant as leaning back with a backpack for a pillow and warm sunshine for a blanket to doze on a mountain bald. Utterly delicious.

The last time I hiked this trail, my dad was with me. I can recall leaning heavily on him on the steeper parts. I know he caught me dozens of times when I stumbled. He helped me when I fell and removed countless fallen limbs from my path. All along, he would marvel, “Lynna, you are such a fighter. There are so many people who don’t have your difficulties who wouldn’t even attempt this hike. I am so proud of you.” His words of encouragement were as helpful as his steadying arms. As exhaustion overtook me about halfway, his strength supplied what my depleted muscles lacked and his pride increased my determination to make it to the top.

That hike years ago is not that dissimilar to the journey upon which I am now embarking… only this time the climb is one towards increasing wellness. Like that hike to Stratton Bald, this trail too is full of obstacles to trip me and dangers possibly hidden along the path. At the same time, this trail also has refreshing sustenance and companions who heartily have agreed to let me lean on them during the steeper parts and who will cheer me on when my energy and enthusiasm wanes. That meadow full of wildflowers is my goal, and I’m overjoyed that you have agreed to share this climb with me.

I know I can’t do it without you. I know because I’ve tried and know I don’t get very far before I get discouraged by the difficulty and turn back to the parking lot at the trailhead. When the climb gets steep, I remember that there is a cooler in the trunk of the car full of all manner of delicacies. I forget the reward at the end -that magnificent meadow - and turn back for the easy comforts. Problem is, those easy comforts are slowly robbing me of life and I must stay on the trail if I want to live.

I’ve strapped on my hiking boots, picked up a stout limb for a staff, chosen delightful hiking buddies and have started the ascent. I look forward to lots of laughter and good conversation along the way. Let’s get going!