Meanwhile, I Dance

I get up. I walk. I fall down. And, meanwhile, I dance. Rabbi Hillel

One weekend in the life of a woman with a disability...

Thursday night: I was overwhelmed by all there is to do to get ready for Christmas and all that I cannot do. I can't bring the Christmas boxes from the basement. I can't put up a tree. I can't clean this pit without help. Smack dab in the middle of my pity party and crying jag, my phone rang. It was an elderly woman who suffers from depression due to an incapacitating illness. Somebody urged her to call me because I might offer her hope. I called her and said, "I'm not in a good place to talk tonight, but let's connect this weekend." Then I sat there feeling very blessed that I DO have a hope inside me to offer others. My whole attitude changed for the opportunity to help somebody else. It was good to feel needed.

Friday: I decided to believe that asking for help to clean my house and prepare for the holiday might bless somebody, I called a young woman who had previously offered. She was thrilled and told me what a blessing it would be to give back to me for all the help I had given her in working through her issues. She said I was like a mom to her. wow. Encouraged, I reached out to a relative I have neglected for years and from whom I feared a (much deserved) blaming/shaming response. He was a love and said he would love to hear from me! Such grace.

Friday night: Celebrate Recovery was awesome. The women from Magdalene, recovering from drug addictions and prostitution, graced us with their lives and stories. My daughter has described nights like this as "feeling like the room is full of soft feathers."

Saturday: The Alternative Gift Market at our church, which I helped lead, was a beautiful event. Buying Christmas gifts that bring hope and better lives to people in difficult circumstances throughout the world...so close to the heart of God. The spirit in the room was lovely. I connected with a beautiful friend who has been battling cancer. I hadn't seen her in months. She said, "I've been praying for you. I've been worried about you." Such selfless grace.

Sunday: M. came over and tore through my house with gusto. In short order she transformed the main living areas into sparkling loveliness. She offered to come back on Tuesday. My next door neighbor told me she wants to come and help this week. Her sister, grieving from the loss of her husband, wants to help, too. I'm beginning to see a pattern emerging... wholeness through serving others, and wholeness through receiving from others.

I have a serious plumbing issue with water spilling out onto the floor when the washing machine spins. Shower drain overflowing. ugh.

Sunday Night Late: Getting ready to go to bed. Late. Can't find my crutches which I need to get into bed. OH NO! They are outside on the carport where I left them when I returned from church! It's 2 am and COLD outside. It takes me about ten minutes to get them and not easy to juggle them and roll the wheelchair up the ramp. Meanwhile, the dog escapes from the house and I'm calling, "Rio, COME!" while trying not to disturb the neighbors. He finally comes home.

Finally, exhausted, I prepare to "slip" into bed. And slip I did, right onto the floor. At this point, I had a choice... to crawl into the bathroom, push up onto the toilet and then use my crutches to stand up... which is probably more difficult than an able bodied reader might realize...Or to pull a pillow and blanket from the bed and curl up on the wood floor. I was SO tired, I chose option 2. While laying there, I was so grateful for my life. It is not an easy life. And not one I would have chosen. But, it is a life that gives and receives blessings. It is a life that can alternate between desperation and delight within a short time span. My hips, aching against the hard floor and my head nestled on the blissfully soft pillow perfectly depict the tension of my life. I fell asleep and slept hard. And woke up and crawled to the bathroom to begin another day. (Note: $500 later my plumbing problem was solved. Drainage. Don't take it for granted!)

I fall down. And, meanwhile, I dance.

Does My Dream Still Wait?

Hello blog,
I've neglected you, haven't I. One observation I've made about wellness bloggers: the frequency of posts is directly proportional to discipline. The more discipline, the more success, the more desire to write.

Let's see now. Hmm. Three months... three stinkin' months without a post. Based on my hypothesis that discipline results in frequent posts, an astute reader could reasonably ascertain that a three month hiatus does not bode well. Indeed.

WHAT HAPPENED? I honestly ask that question. I was doing SO well. Better than anytime in my life. Emotionally, spiritually, physically... improvement on every level.

Using my previous metaphor about the mountain climber, at some point in September, I climbed semi-conscious from my sleeping bag, sleepwalked down the trail, drove zombie-like out of the forest to the nearest town where I proceeded to troll the four-lane highway (every town has one just outside the city limits, complete with a Wal-mart and two dozen or so fast food joints). Here I am three months later waking up from the stupor with an empty ketchup packet dried to my cheek and a car full of McTaco King boxes littering the floorboard. Worst of all, I'm craving a Chocolate dipped Dunkin-Blizzard.

Three months ago I was dreaming of increased health and wellness and was realizing that dream. Then, I became comatose and left the dream back at the campsite. I wonder if it still waits for my return. As the days have shortened and the leaves have fallen and the blue skies given way to winter's gray, does that dream huddle under a thread-bare blanket with her arms wrapped around her cold legs and wonder why I left her forlorn beside the gray ashes in the campfire ring?

How do I dare approach her and ask for a second chance? Second chance? Who am I fooling? She's heard it all a thousand times, and yet, she keeps taking me back. She listens to my apologies, my "I'll do betters", and with a painful and sweet smile always opens her arms to fresh beginnings. How do I have the audacity to ask once again, especially after we had so bonded, the dream and I, only to be amputated, both left with tatters where whole flesh once grew?

And, yet, what choice do I have. The dream was created for me and me for her.

So, I sit underneath a black sky and golden arches and prepare to prepare to prepare to drive back to the trail head and start the climb again, knowing it will be even harder with a body that's been fuel-injected with trans-fats and high fructose corn syrup.

Wellness for All

I love that Obama's health care proposal is bringing to light the desperation many experience in the midst of a system geared to protecting the most powerful members of society with seemingly little regard for the weak: the poor, the sick, the underemployed. If we can't pay attention to this problem and make serious attempts to heal what ails it, we have no standing to call ourselves a "Christian nation", or even a just and compassionate people. Is this issue the plumb line by which we measure ourselves in the 21st century, much as racial issues and slavery were the lines in the sand in previous centuries?

Obviously, I support health care reform. Oh, it would be nice if people had risen up and had chosen altruism, but that hasn't happened as I see it. There have been ample opportunities for the players to change the rules of the game. They have not so chosen. The church has not provided significant relief. The insurance companies are not willing to adjust. People with Cadillac insurance policies are not willing to forgo some bells and whistles so that all might have a baseline of care.

The complexity of the health care reform bill (900 pages!) is staggering, and I want to throw up my hands and say, "Somebody smarter than me, FIX THIS!"

While I'm not smart enough to know the specific changes that are needed to make health care more accessible to the masses, I know firsthand something we can all do to impact wellness that would SIGNIFICANTLY improve the overall state of our nation's health and well-being....Rediscover Community. Reach out to each other. Know and Care about our neighbors. Turn off the video games and Facebook and call a friend. Reach out to somebody lonely.

It's not so hard. It doesn't require a ream of paper to describe the plan drafted by hundreds(thousands?) of policy makers nor does it cost billions of dollars. It IS costly, however... it costs time, energy, and perhaps relinquishing our comfort zone to build relationships with the poor.

I have written how I had just about given up hope back in January regarding the state of my health. (And I have insurance! Imagine the desperation of those who contend with health problems and no financial means to access health care! It's staggering.) I'm on a new track since then, one of hope and of increasing wellness. And the magic ingredient that changed the course of my life was love. Love from people who came alongside of me to cheer me on, to be community with me in the battle.

I have a dream for a "Wellness Center". A place where people can go to be in loving community. Where health, life and well-being are fostered. Art classes. A gym full of exercise equipment (making exercise accessible to the disabled and the poor). Books, coffee, comfortable couches and conversation. Fun and healthy cooking classes where you experience friendship as you cook healthy meals to put in your freezer. Haircuts and Makeovers for people who can't afford them. A clothing closet to trade clothing for a smaller size as you lose weight. Counseling services. Literacy classes/GED classes. A community-garden. Dance classes geared to people of all levels of athleticism. A facility that is simple, yet beautiful. Humble yet holy. Set apart. Light, airy, full of nature. Prayer soaked. Bible studies. Concerts. Wellness Check-ups. An ambitious vision to be sure. But. Can. You. See. It?

Evolution of Wellness

Slave to Beauty:
Teenage and College Years through early thirties
Mindset: I'm only beautiful if...I am a size 8 or less and I can hide my physical flaws (missing toenail, curved right foot, surgery-scarred left foot and back, slight limp.) I'm only worthy if I can appear physically perfect (by hiding the "shameful" flaws) and by being thin.
Outward Manifestations: Attractive, normal, good weight
Attitude towards Makeup, Clothes: I need these to mask my shameful secret... the genetic disease. I need cute clothes and makeup to compensate. I need to be thin to be loved... maybe that will override the disability factor.
Attitude towards Food and Exercise: Gotta exercise to beat back the neurological disease. Can't let it win. Gotta diet. If I don't stay slim, I won't be loved.
Attitude towards Beauty in others: YOU are only worthy and lovable if you are thinner than me, more attractive than me. But I won't really be able to love you, because I'll hate you for being better than me. And if you are uglier than me, I don't really want to associate with you because I might be tarred by the same "ugly" brush.
Attitude towards God: Who needs God? I've got myself.

Rebel against Beauty:
Early thirties to Mid-Forties
Mindset: I'm only beautiful if ... Forget about it! There is no freakin' way I can be beautiful. I've lost the battle. My disability is growing increasingly visible and everybody can now see how really hideous I am.
Outward Manifestations: Less and less attention to appearance. Stopped wearing makeup and jewelry. Stopped ironing clothes. Stopped shopping unless absolutely necessary. Progressive weight gain. Just put on something to cover the body.
Attitude towards Makeup, Clothes: What's the use.
Attitude towards Food and Exercise: Eat at will to medicate the emotional pain. Exercise? Are you crazy? I can't exercise. I'm a crip. And besides that, all the things I used to be able to do, like hiking, are growing impossible, and when I try and fail, I slide so deep into depression than I just eat more. so why try to move my body?
Attitude towards Beauty in Others: You are all more beautiful than me because you are normal and I am not. And I hate you all. Oh, except for you really freaky people with REAL disabilities who are just unspeakably ugly. Attitude towards God: Heal me. I can't stand being so ugly. Make me beautiful again.

Freedom to Be Beautiful!!!
Mid forties
Mindset: I'm only beautiful if... I listen to God telling me it is so and if I choose to believe God.
Outward Manifestations: Losing weight. Smiling more.
Attitude towards Makeup, Clothes, Jewelry: LOVE THEM! Love accessorizing outfits. Love wearing cute clothes. FUN!!! "Look at me" earrings. Fun chunky pink pearls. Bold pink over sized shoulder bag. All day long shopping expeditions.
Attitude towards Food and Exercise: It's a blast to lose weight and to grow increasingly healthier and more attractive. I'm already beautiful, but let's just see how beautiful I can become. Veggies are a gift of self-love to myself. "Bad foods" become gifts from God when used in moderation and balance. Exercise is necessary to be healthy. I'm gonna do it even if it's not always fun, because it is good.
Attitude towards Beauty in Others: See beauty in grace, courage, smiles, generosity, service, patience, kindness. A severely disabled woman in a wheelchair is potentially as beautiful as a beauty queen, and a beauty queen is potentially as beautiful as a severely disabled women in a wheelchair.
Attitude towards God: God, you are so beautiful it blows my mind.

Love Hunger

I am discovering that deep, meaningful time with people I love... the kind wherein we bare our souls, laugh heartily, cry readily, probe spiritual depths, break bread, resolve conflicts, and conspire to love and serve others... is one of my best practice of self-care. The sense of well-being that comes from loving and being loved, knowing and being known, fosters life. When love feeds the hungers, counting calories becomes unnecessary. Food is restored to its rightful place as a gift from God to be enjoyed and is no longer needed to fill the voids.

I suspect that our trend of increasing obesity in the United States could easily be correlated with our culture's increasing isolation and loss of connection/community. We eat because we're starved for love.

I wonder if we spent less time at the gym and used that time meaningfully with others, and if we focused on increasing our uptake of hugs instead of obsessing about decreasing our consumption of calories, if we wouldn't find our bodies returning to a natural state of health.

This past week has been a difficult one. I'm involved in a situation of being a change-agent and there is considerable push back. It has been stressful dealing with unhappy people, but interestingly, I observe that I haven't decompressed through eating. I have better medication now. No, not Lexapro or Zoloft. It's love...from people who rearranged their schedules to sit with me while I cried, who prayed for me while they jogged,who gave me home-smoked bar-b-q, fixed my scooter, and bought me cute clothes at the thrift-store. It's love... that I gave to people through listening, speaking truth, and meeting needs. It's love from God... who reminded me that Love Wins. With love like that in my life, who needs chocolate cake?

Self-care is not something I can do alone. Self-care requires community... community that I can love and that can love me. Maybe I'm getting healthier because my connections with other people continue to grow in frequency and in depth. The Love Diet. Love Liberally. Love Lavishly. Feast. And be Satisfied.

Razzle Dazzle

I ordered a stunning fashion accessory today to go with the new and improved me. It's shiny purple... razzleberry, to be exact. I had my choice of colors: candy apple red, toxic green (which I considered for shock value), UT orange (which I did NOT consider), and sedate black opal. So what is this new fashion accessory? A sweater? nah. Earrings? nope. I know, a purse? Good guess, but no.



It's a new set of wheels... as in wheelchair. Now, a razzleberry wheelchair might not sound like an exciting new accoutrement, but I assure you it is thrilling. I HAD NO IDEA HOW MUCH FUN IT COULD BE TO DRIVE A GOOD SET OF WHEELS! For the test drive, I took off soaring down the hallway, and the PT yelled after me, "You have to come back! We have your purse!" Reluctantly, I returned to her office and switched back to my second-hand, beat-up chair. I'm counting the days until my tailor-made chair arrives (about 90).



I just want to say that anybody who uses the terminology "wheelchair bound" has never experienced the thrill of a streamlined, ergonomic, light-weight, spoke-wheeled, purple wheelchair. Seriously.



The PT has a photo of a smiling Guatamalan teen in a wheelchair on her bulletin board. This young woman with Cerebral Palsy received her first wheelchair at the age of 19 through the Joni and Friends Wheels to the World ministry. Prior to this, she had to be carried on somebody's back or had to crawl on the dirt floor in her home. I defy anybody to look at her radiant smile and use "wheelchair bound". Absolutely, amazingly wheelchair freed!



I may know a little of what she experienced. And it's pretty darn cool. For those of you who know me in person, consider this fair warning: I get my wheelchair in about 3 months, and it's so fast and so much fun, you had better be prepared to move out of my way if you don't want to be knocked skyward like toppling bowling pins. Just kidding. I won't run you over... I want you to be able to tell me how dazzling you find my razzleberry chair. And I need to get your advice: Do you think toxic green crutches might go with razzleberry purple?

Falling and Soaring

Having traveled to my hometown for a birthday weekend with my family, I got up early Saturday morning in anticipation of attending a women's event at my sister's church. This event, iBloom, sounded so cutting edge, hip, and life-affirming. I was scurrying around trying to hasten my departure, and being in an unfamiliar routine at my mom's house, I leaned forward and fell out of my wheelchair. Well, anybody who knows me and knows my difficulty getting back to my feet knows this is no simple matter.



Faced with the possibility of missing the event and even spending the morning in the company of the Lexington Fire Department, I began praying earnestly. (There is nothing more prayer-motivating than trying to find an alternative to calling a squadron of men to come and lift your semi-nude body off the floor!) "Oh! I can crawl to the bathroom. Push up onto the toilet and then stand up." Yep, it worked. I had to ask my son to help me up from the very low toilet, but with only a 5-10 minute delay, I was "back on my feet" and on my way. A little while later, I rolled to the doorway and began to stand up to walk to my car. Dang it all if my wheelchair didn't roll out from under me and I sprawled on the porch. TWICE WITHIN 15 MINUTES! And once again, with my son and God assisting, I crawled to the edge of the porch, pushed into a chair, stood up and was once again back on my two feet and headed to the conference.



I have been wrestling with God about this "standing on my own two feet" thing. I've been very dependent on a relationship with somebody who has been an enormous source of support and encouragement to me on my journey and I've been sensing the need to let go of the relationship and move forward. "God, if you want me to stand on my own two feet, then why in the heck did you allow me to have feet that are affected by a physically destructive neuromuscular disease!" During the drive to Lexington, God reminded me that I have been transformed, like a caterpillar to a butterfly, and He's given me wings that are strong and whole and ready to catch the updrafts of the Spirit's breeze to soar where the Spirit takes me. Who needs legs when they have wings?





The iBloom conference, as I experienced it, was about affirming our worth as women based on God's truth of who we are and about recognizing that God has plans for each woman to live abundantly and to dream God-sized dreams. When the conference leader asked how many women knew their dreams...the dreams that God had given them...only a couple of us raised our hands.



I have many dreams. Taking better care of myself... body, mind, and spirit. Honoring my body after years of dishonoring it. Doing well on that front. On my birthday, I left a big glop of icing on my plate! Never before in the history of Lynna has icing been thrown away. Matter of fact, I've been known to scrape all the icing off an entire cake and leave the dry, naked cake behind for all the other poor schmucks. My tastes are changing. The fresh green beans and corn were as much a treat as the chocolate cake! I enjoyed food while on vacation, but made good choices about what I ate. Interestingly, the leftovers in the fridge did NOT sing their siren song to me as they have done in the past. I ate what I needed to be full, enjoyed it thoroughly, but did not feel the same compulsive need to satisfy the emotional hungers, even when stressed. (Like getting stuck in the bathtub, too weak to get out. But that's another story for another day!)



Another dream has been to go to seminary. Every time I'd hear about somebody pursuing that goal, I'd be pea-green with envy. I was pretty sure I was called in that direction, but the timing, the finances, the relationships, the stars were not in alignment. However, it seems doors are opening, and I applied this week to Asbury Theological Seminary. (They have a distance learning path that seems very do-able.) I'm thirsty for more of God and thirsty to offer more of myself to God for His purposes. We'll see what happens...



What a beautiful, relaxing, momentous birthday week I just had thanks to so much grace and love from so many friends and my wonderful family.

Leaving the Campground

I've always been hyper-critical of Christians who have decided that they've arrived at their destination and stop moving/growing on their spiritual journeys. Rather than breaking camp, hoisting their backpack and taking off down the trail each morning, it seems as though they step onto their posh RV patio for a cup of coffee and the Morning Show. Life is good. They've paid their dues, done their share of work, grown enough, thank-you very much, and now it's time to settle back and relax.

In many ways, I've been treating my spiritual journey like that. After years of grueling hikes up the mountain, and I mean rough, rough terrain, I've been comfortable settling down with my RV hooked up at a nice campground and decorated with Japanese lanterns, whirligigs and this kitchy sign:

Where I once was critical, I'm beginning to understand. People get tired. Resting and ease is... well... restful and easy. For me, it has taken a little (or a lot) of pain to budge me from my camping chair. First, the painful fear of becoming incapacitated got me moving towards better eating and exercise habits. Now, the pain of not being able to latch onto an elusive relationship for emotional feeding has me hoisting my backpack and venturing back into the wilderness to seek God more fervently. I'm not happy. After sipping wine and grilling steaks at the RV park, the rigors of the wilderness are dreadfully unappealing. And yet, despite the wine and steaks (and cucumbers and melons), there was no freedom. Freedom and God are found down this path. I hope I don't get lost and spend something like forty years wandering around.

Wounded Hiker

I am going through an emotional identity-crisis. After realizing that I had become hopelessly enmeshed with a wonderful person who has helped me accept and love myself, I decided that I needed to stop relying on that person for my emotional sustenance. So, I tossed on my backpack and set off down the trail on my own. I'm terrified. After years of my companion being there to help me find my way in the world as a woman with a disability, I am afraid I won't have the psychological/spiritual resources to keep triumphing as I forge ahead.

In the midst of the shaky terrain, I am finding firm footing in an unexpected place: the self-discipline that I've been cultivating with my eating and exercising. I may not be able to control my feelings, and even as the fear and the self-doubts assail me, I know that I do have the choice to continue eating well and riding my Nustep.

In former times, eating... binge eating... would have been my means of self-soothing during times of emotional pain. Today, the choice to take care of my body is providing nurture to my bruised and battered soul.

This blog isn't just about physical health. It's about wholeness... wanting to be more whole spiritually, emotionally, physically, relationally. Sometimes I take great strides in one area while faltering in another. Before, I was failing miserably at physical wholeness and kicking butt spiritually and emotionally. Today, the tables have turned... My body is striding confidently forward while dragging along my wounded soul and spirit on a makeshift litter. Will I ever be strong and healthy in all areas at the same time?

One thing I know: I need your prayers right now to help carry me along.

Loving my Body as Christ Loves My Body

I may blog more than usual for awhile... just because... well, because I feel happy when I write and also because I'm really thinking about alot about food, emotional eating, body image, our culture, diet mentality, etc.

People have begun to notice that I am losing weight. I am hearing how I look years younger and have a glow. To me, that signifies that the internal happiness and health is apparent externally. I love that. And yet, when people ask how much weight I've lost or what "plan" I'm following, I'm at a loss for words. "Ummm, I'm not weighing myself so I don't have a clue. Ummm, I'm just eating what my body wants and eating in ways to show love to my body. " No calorie or fat-gram counting, no forbidden foods, no shaming messages about my eating, no roller-coaster emotions from the tyrannical scales (you know what I mean... the exhilaration with a 2 lb loss and the absolute devastation that can lead to an out-of-control binge with a 2 lb gain.)

A couple of weeks ago, I remarked to a friend that the chocolate cake at the church-dinner was evil. At that point, I realized that I was falling into the same "diet mentality" trap that has held me hostage most of my life. Good foods. Bad foods. Good eating. Bad eating. Good body. Bad body. Very rigid, rules-oriented and legalistic.

No matter one's religious orientation, there is much truth to be found in the Bible, and one thing is very clear from reading thousands of years of history of peoples' attempts to live according to rules: they ain't gonna succeed. Show me any diet based on should/should nots and I will bet money it won't work. Oh, maybe for a spell, and maybe even longer than that for the determined few who can "white-knuckle" a maintained loss. But for the remaining 99% of us, the answer is not to be found in the four-letter word "diet", but in the four-letter word "love".

In my own experiences based on a lifetime of roller-coaster dieting, I never had the self-discipline to consistently stick to a diet. "You shouldn't eat that Lynna. Oh, but go ahead, you deserve it and besides you had a hard day and it will make you feel better." Followed by, "I can't believe you ate that! What a fat slob. There is NO WAY you'll see a weight loss this week."

So, what is different this time? My motivation. It is to shower love and honor on my body... and to do that by choosing wonderful food to eat and to move it more. To love my body by not having any foods off-limits. Chocolate cake is just as "legal" (as in legalism, people!) as spinach. (Incidentally, WAY more of the latter than the former because my body doesn't really want alot of chocolate cake. Who knew? And also because I know that spinach is more nutritious and I have the freedom to choose wisely, as well. Freedom doesn't mean my brain died!)

Any Christians reading this post may recognize that "diet" corresponds with the Old Testament and the law, and the way I'm choosing to eat corresponds with the New Testament and the freedom that we find through Christ and through grace. I've been previously transformed in my spirit and emotions by the Good News; and now, it seems, that same power of love, freedom, and grace is allowing my body to undergo a metamorphosis. Good News? Nah! It's Stunningly, Amazingly Wonderful News!

Lynna's Feet Speak

We interrupt this blog to bring you a message from us, Lynna's feet. (We've hacked into her blog because, frankly, we're a little hacked off.)

Will you please tell her that we love her and we're doing the best we can. Man, after all the garbage she has put in her body and the years of sedentary lifestyle, we are trying really hard to work with her. Why, 5 months ago we were so swollen she couldn't wear ANY shoes. Once she started treating us better, we made remarkable progress and now she CAN wear shoes. Somebody, remind her of that, okay.

And tell her that we are the weaker part of her body, and that we need her to love us as we are. We don't get much respect and when we do, it changes us. We're really just like her. We need to be honored. Oh, and we forgive her. She's trying really hard.

Love,
the feet

Weather Report

When I first began this journey towards increasing physical wellness back in April, I knew that it wouldn't always be blue skys, gentle slopes, and birdsong. I expected times when the path would be overgrown, the weather would turn cloudy, and my legs would turn rubbery from exhaustion.



It's easy to climb and to forge ahead when the wind is at your back and delights await you around every bend of the trail. That's been my hike so far. Finding a way to exercise after thinking I couldn't do it. Seeing the wounds heal on my legs. Enjoying the delights of fresh fruits and vegetables in contrast to my former fat-laden, nutrient-deficient diet.



Dewy-eyed and with a heart full of hope for the "what ifs", I took up my hiking staff and set out... (What if I could start wearing cute shoes again? What if the limitations of my disability could be significantly minimized by losing weight and working out?)



And at first, it seemed as though all my dreams might be possible. As the swelling in my legs and feet decreased, it seemed as though normal shoes might again be possible. When I first started riding my Nustep, it seemed as though my muscles were getting stronger and day-to-day tasks were getting easier. Unlimited vistas seemed to appear on the horizon.

Ahh, but how quickly conditions can change on a hike. One minute you can be walking along and twist your ankle after stumbling on a root. Or the formerly sunny weather can turn on a dime and become life-threatening, especially at higher elevations. Or a misstep can land you in icy water while rock-hopping across a stream. At best these occurrences are uncomfortable. At worst, they are life-threatening.

My hike up the mountain has hit some rough spots. Some of my hiking buddies have disappeared. I ordered some "normal" shoes and found that they don't even come close to fitting. (My hopes for wearing cute, strappy shoes are dashed and I'm stuck with heavy, "orthotic-friendly" shoes.) And most troubling of all, my legs seem to be growing weaker, instead of stronger. (The literature is ambiguous about how a person with a neuromuscular disease should exercise. Some sources indicate that exercise that is too vigorous may be damaging to muscles.) It would be accurate to say that I'm kinda bummed.

BUT, I'm not giving up. Maybe dreams won't be realized exactly the way I hoped. Maybe I'll have to trudge along for awhile with a rain poncho over my backpack in sodden, dreary, cold, gray rain.

I have to give myself time to re-adjust my dreams and to find better dreams... the dreams that God has for me. And as I wait for those dreams to be birthed in my heart, I will continue to do what I know is good... to eat well, to exercise (cautiously and intelligently), to love myself, and to love others. And be grateful that at the end of the day's journey when I go to pitch my tent in the drizzle and eat cold goop because the firewood is too wet to light, that I have people sharing the journey whose love turns the dreariness and disappointments into an adventure of grace.

Do Eating Disorders Run in Families?

A day in the life...

I made a delicious stir-fry of zucchini, yellow squash, peppers, onion, and pine nuts.

Jeff comes staggering out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. He mumbles, "Something smells good."

Me: Vegetables.
Jeff: Weird.

(Same weird kid who wouldn't eat a vegetable as a child. Oh wait. He DID eat green beans one time, when we made him. Although, he did bargain with us to eat them on his dessert, sandwiched between the layers of his icecream sandwich.)

Our family has issues.

A Counter-Cultural Revolution

While talking with a friend about the ways our bodies are genetically programmed to slow down metabolically during times of famine (bodies don't differentiate between starvation caused by crop failure or by self-imposed diets), she said," You need to eat some fattening food to trick your body in order to increase your metabolism."

I'm so pleased that my immediate gut response to that was, "NO! I don't want to trick my body. That makes it sound like my body is something I have to overcome, outwit, beat into submission!" I want to honor my body not trick it.

What a wonderful body it is to be programmed with thousands of years of ancient survival wisdom to know to slow down metabolically during lean caloric-times in order to preserve life. What a wonderfully wise body it is to know that during times of abundance to create potentially life-saving stockpiles of fat stores. (And man-oh-man, have we ever had a 10-year streak of bumper crops! ) I want to honor my body's wisdom and learn from it, instead of trying to man-handle it into conforming to my expectations. (Which incidentally is what I have done every time I've ever dieted, controlled calories, counted fat-grams etc.)

During those times when I'm not losing weight, perhaps a better approach would be to listen to what my body is saying. Perhaps it's saying, "I'm not getting enough calories to survive. I'm deficient in vital substances, vitamins, chemicals, necessary for life. I'm not getting enough fat... or protein... or carbohydrates." Maybe it is saying that it needs a piece of chocolate cake. Or maybe a steak. Or spinach. Or maybe brussell sprouts. (Nah. Ancient wisdom says to banish brussell sprouts.)

Speaking of losing weight... I am approaching this journey towards wellness very differently this time. I haven't been near a scale since I started. I don't know if I've lost 10 pounds or 30. I do know that my clothes are looser and I'm wearing clothes that I formerly couldn't button. I do find that I am still in "diet mentality" however. I feel good about myself when I fit into a smaller size (or, conversely, bad about myself when I don't change sizes as quickly as I think I should) and that has become the replacement measure for success/failure.

This mentality, whether it uses scales or clothing sizes, to gauge "success" is what I hope to change. It is still the mentality that my body is defective and will only be good when it's a size 8. I want to gauge "success" differently. Did I honor my body today? Did I fill it with nutritious, life-giving foods? Did I listen to what it needed? Did I take pleasure in moving it? Did I thank it for all that it does for me? Did I tell my feet and legs how amazing they are? Was I compassionate and loving towards it, or was I judgemental and shaming? How did I talk to my body today, and were my words kind or were they abusive?

I want to take care of my body and treat it kindly and, in so doing, help it grow stronger and healthier.

I'm becoming a counter-cultural revolutionary. The culture says only Cindy Crawford is good enough, worthy enough. (And even she is getting older!) I'm beginning to proclaim (not without a few feelings of discomfort! it takes faith to say this) that my body is worthy of the same honor. And even if I'm the only person to say that, and even if the rest of the world thinks that's foolishness, it's my gift to myself and my stand against the lies and the tyranny that enslave so many.

A Tale of Two Meals

Meal One
Saturday at a restaurant chain:
Spinach/Artichoke Dip
Sirloin Steak, Baked Potato, Salad, Steamed Veggies


Why do we go out to eat and think it is a treat when the food is laden with fat, salt, sugar, and preservatives? The dip had no discernible artichoke and only a tiny bit of spinach. The salad was iceberg lettuce, hard grape tomatoes and croutons. The steak was so tough I chewed one bite for 2 minutes and sent the rest back to the kitchen. The steamed veggies were cold and mushy. And for all this, I received a big bill... at least 4 times what I would have spent preparing the same meal in my kitchen. No doubt, it was also orders of magnitude less nourishing than what I could prepare in my own kitchen as I will describe in Meal 2.


Meal Two
Sunday in my kitchen:
A Salad


I had been to the grocery earlier in the day and started pulling wonderful goodies from the cabinet and fridge. First, I added the following to a large bowl: baby spinach, red leaf lettuce, turnip greens, and some fresh herbs. (I don't know what they were! Maybe basil.) I delighted in smelling the aroma of the fresh herbs, and enjoyed contemplating the colors and textures of the greens. I chopped up green pepper, yellow squash, red tomato and green onion. So far so good. Here's where it gets really fun: I added some slices of perfectly ripe, creamy avocado, a few tablespoons each of crunchy pine nuts and tangy Gorgonzola cheese, and a tablespoon of my favorite balsamic vinaigrette drizzled over the masterpiece. It was scrumptious. Healthy. More than Satisfying. Delightful.

All Things are Possible

As a Christian, I believe a lot of preposterous things are possible. Walking on water. Turning water into wine. Restoring sight to blind eyes using a paste made of dirt and spit. Loving and forgiving enemies. Little things like that.

It is only through my faith that such things are possible that I'm confident I will one day be physically fit. I'm not saying I expect to be a marathon runner, or even walk without crutches. But I expect I will one day give people pause that a wheelchair-using woman could radiate such health, fitness and well-being. Especially that a formerly obese and very physically unfit woman could have undergone such a transformation. Maybe my journey will inspire others in similar circumstances to follow the trail that I'm blazing.

(Yikes. At the same time I love making such a declaration, I am stunned by my audacity.)

In the distant past when I would diet and exercise, the motivation was primarily for cosmetic reasons. To look better in a bathing suit. To be found attractive to the opposite sex. To be able to wear cute fashions. I've also been motivated in the past to exercise to beat my progressive disability into submission. Guilt and fear were strong motivators. (" I have to stay slim and exercise or I will let everybody down by not keeping CMT from progressing." or "If I don't shed some pounds and get my circulatory system pumping, I'm headed for a very rocky future health wise.")

Rarely was my motivation based on love. Love for myself. Love for my children. Love for others. And I honestly can't remember ever being motivated to take care of my body out of love for God. And yet, this time around, I am finding that love is the primary component of the fuel that is driving this journey. I finally love myself enough that I would rather eat a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries than a fat-laden sausage biscuit. I love my kids and the desire to have a future with them helps me pass by the dessert cart for a bowl of fruit. My love for others and desire to be in service helps me to spend time exercising instead of sitting at the computer. And as I do all these things, I sense God smiling. I am finally, at long last, doing what I have sensed God asking of me for years. I am learning that discipline and obedience (in taking care of my body) is a spiritual act of worship and an act of devotion to God.

Curiosity is also part of the fuel propelling this journey. I want to see what is possible. How strong can I grow? How intensely can I exercise? What calorie level can a disabled woman consume and lose weight? How will losing weight and strengthening abdominal muscles impact my bladder? Can I reach a level where blood pressure medication is unnecessary? Will people respond differently to me and will I have more influence?

And the final component that I've identified in the rocket fuel: playful delight. Exercise if FUN! (No doubt, this is one of the paradoxical and wonderful benefits of having a disability that has limited my ability to move. Now that I CAN exercise, I see it in an entirely different light. It's a privilege and a gift.) It's intoxicating to see muscle definition emerging. It's fun to be able to move more freely, even if that is something as simple as entering a vehicle with more ease. It's fun to engage is gentle flirtation. (Yes, it is beginning to happen!) It's fun to wear dangly earrings. It's fun to try funky new vegetables. It's fun to try new shades of eyeshadow. It's fun to celebrate beauty.

And, wow! I'm only getting started. There are cookbooks out there with all kinds of fun dishes to cook with my daughter, new exfoliates to try; strength training to explore, books to write, and...

I hope I will never return to my former life of deprivation and will continue pursuing this path of abundance. (Like most things, we humans get it backwards. We approach fitness through dieting with drudgery and deprivation, instead of seeing it as the natural outgrowth of true abundance.)

When the Grace Escalator Breaks Down

It's been a tough week. The "Grace Escalator" on which I've been riding for the past several months came to a lurching, abrupt, bone-jarring halt as friend after friend after friend was slammed with life-altering blows. (Some of you are reading this blog and I don't want to betray your privacy, but I want you to know that it sucks when people I love are hurting.)

At the same time I was hearing painful news, we were heavy into Vacation Bible School and I was responsible for planning the neighborhood outreach/service bash that capped off the week's teaching lessons on serving like Christ. I had alot of anxiety about how this would be received by the church and by the community. (Last year's water party was a huge success. In comparison, I worried: what if the free car wash and free garage sale bombed; what if nobody came from the neighborhood; what if nobody brought items for the garage sale; what if people only brought their junk instead of "good stuff" to give away; and... well, you get the idea how my mind was working.)

And what does a food addict do when they are stressed?


If you answered, "EAT, OF COURSE, DUMMY.", you would be absolutely correct, generally speaking. And that would have once been my primary means of solace for heartache and for anxiety. Instead I did three things:

1) I said the Serenity Prayer ALOT. (I let go of my codependent need to "fix" things for my friends, but also recognized ways I can serve them better.)
2) I went to my Happy Place with Jesus. (In my mind's eye, we go to a lovely mountain stream and play in the water. Then, after a delicious picnic lunch, I stretch out on a large, flat, soft, moss-covered rock and take a refreshing nap.) It's amazing how five minutes with Jesus like this in my imagination revives my emotions, spirit and body.
3) I exercised like a fiend. A total of about 9 1/2 hours in the past week. (2 1/2 hours in one sitting.) My Nustep machine is a superb device for sucking the stress from my body.

And I'm happy to say that the in the midst of difficult circumstances, I prevailed against using food for emotional soothing. (Had I ever resisted that in my entire life before this week?!) I stayed healthy and focused.

And today, I can see clearly that the "Grace Escalator" wasn't broken. Rather, I think God pushed the stop button so I would have the experience of climbing some steps using my faith muscles. They got stretched this week, but, boy oh boy, do they ever feel good and limber and strong. And ready for opportunities to grow stronger.

My Standing Stone

I have long had a fascination with and a love for rocks. [One of my prized possessions was my Grandma's humble rock collection. It wasn't anything fancy... just rocks that she would pick up while out on a walk or during travels (to pretty mundane places... nowhere terribly exotic.) Alas, those rocks were inadvertently left behind when I had a spur-of-the-moment move a few years ago.]

Ancient people had a similar fascination with rocks as memorials. (Who isn't moved by the mystery of Stonehenge?) Pagan cultures erected monolithic stones for unknown purposes, but we do know that Middle Eastern cultures, the Hebrew people in particular, erected stones to memorialize God's acts of deliverance and self-revelation as he accomplished his work of restoring a lost world to himself.


Today, I find myself in need of erecting a Standing Stone to commemorate what God has done in my life over the past few months and to serve as a reminder during those times when I become impatient and forget.

Lately, I have begun sliding into old ways of thinking... thinking about how far I have to go towards having a slim body. Getting impatient. Restless. A little bit frustrated. Last night, I read through old email and was shocked to realize that just four short months ago I had written to a friend about not being able to wear shoes, the weeping ulcers on my legs, incontinence, and the looming probability of quitting my job and applying for disability. It was surreal reading that letter and remembering how I felt at that time... lost, alone, hopeless, afraid, and in despair.

In four months (dizzying speed), my life has turned around so much that there is no other explanation than something supernatural has occurred. Or better said, someONE supernatural has intervened.

February: KFC and fast food
Today: Fruit and Veggies

February: Exercise was nonexistent. Didn't see a way to do it, either.
Today: Exercise almost every day. Love it. See all kinds of possibilities for strengthening healthy muscles.

February: Skin on my legs was a mess. Feet were so swollen that I couldn't wear shoes.
Today: Ulcers are completely healed. Shoes back on feet that are within the range of "normal".

February: Ready to apply for disability.
Today: Finished co-leading a Bible Study, planned and implemented a major community outreach event, brimming with ministry ideas and confident to move forward with them. Blessed to be in a place where I am being used to positively impact lives for Christ.

February: Hadn't had a physical in years.
Today: Up-to-date on doctor's visits.

February: Hopeless Despair
Today: Laughter, fun, delightful hope, confident, alive, even Bold!

February: No makeup or jewelry. Little attention to grooming.
Today: Having a ball "primping" and shopping.

February: Sick of being me
Today: Love being me

February: Believed that relationship with opposite sex was improbable
Today: Expecting single guys to be interested and thinking ahead to letting them down gently when I don't return the interest

February: My house was a mess.
Today: My house is tidy and I have numerous,fun little decorating projects in the works.

February: Isolating
Today: Socializing

And I could go on...

God, I just want to say "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving me. You didn't have to do all this for me to return your love, but I am so grateful for the way you have showered me with blessings over the past months. I offer my life back to you for you to use as you wish. You are one amazing and wonderful God." Love, Me

And to my friends and family, I want to say, "Thank you for being used by God to turn my life around." Love, Me

Miniature Cabbage on Life Support

??????????????????????

So, I'm unloading this week's box of nature's bounty when I get to the bottom of the box and discover this... this alien space vegetable. I mean, have YOU ever seen a veggie like this?

I'm having a contest this week. The first person to correctly identify this mystery delicacy will win... what? I don't know... something like the title "Best Mystery Vegetable Guesser". (Out of 8 people who came to my house for dinner this week, only one correctly identified this freaky, anemic-looking, bulbous plant.) Despite its weird appearance, it really is edible, even tasty. Crunchy. Tangy. WHO KNEW THINGS LIKE THIS EXISTED? It is the Plant Kingdom equivalent of those albino, eyeless, creepy fish that swim thousands of feet below the ocean's surface. Is it just me or does anybody else wonder who in the world was the first person to eat this and more importantly, how hungry were they to give it a try?

I look at this plant and laugh. It delights me that God is so darn creative. That God has such a delicious sense of humor. What kind of wonderful mind would dream up such an outrageous creation!

Okay, so every post isn't going to be profound. Next time I might write an ode to this plant. In the meantime, remember the contest. Enter early. Enter often. (Julie, Marcia, and Pan... no fair. You don't count. Err, of course YOU count. Just that you can't guess since I already told you what it is.)

(On a slightly more serious note, I am continuing to eat well and to exercise almost daily. Last night, I did eat a burger and potato salad at a cookout, but balanced that with fresh snow peas, Bing cherries, blueberries, and k... oops, almost gave it away!)

Dazzling, Ironic Spa Day

Of all the paradoxes I have experienced on my spiritual journey (and, believe me, they are numerous and profound... such is the nature of the Christian faith), NOTHING approaches the paradox of Spa Day.

Here I am a wheelchair-using woman with about 80-100 extra pounds on my frame planning a Spa Day event. I don't know about you, but the idea of going to a spa has always made me extremely squeamish. Good night!... to have somebody actually "see" all those body parts that I take such care to keep covered... well, that sounded worse than what I've been reading about torture through water boarding. Spas were for women who ate cucumber sandwiches on a regular basis and who had bodies that were "honor worthy".

Fast forward to this past Saturday's Spa Day at our church. Over 70 women, many from rehab halfway houses, came to the event. It was a day like nothing I have ever experienced at church. It was as though we had soaked up grace with a sponge the size of a football field and squeezed it out over the Family Life Center. It was fun, laughter-filled and lavender-scented. Women of all ages and walks of life shared in the joy of honoring our bodies. (I love to think that the middle school- aged girls had a transformative experience that will carry them forward armed with a different perspective about their bodies than the one with which they are assaulted by the culture.)

God pulled back the veil and we experienced a foretaste of the Kingdom. In the Kingdom we can say, "My body is valuable beyond imagining because it is a temple of the Holy Spirit." We can rub peppermint scented lotion on our feet (even our disabled feet) and call them beautiful. We can ask our bodies to forgive us for mistreating them, especially the parts that we have so long dishonored. In the Kingdom, we can look at each other with God's eyes and see that we are all exquisite. In the Kingdom, the fairy tale becomes true and "Cinderellas" are transformed into beautiful princesses by the King. ( We learn what the King knew all along : we were always princesses. We just got blindsided into thinking we were scullery maids.)

And now, I need to stop writing about Spa Day and go clean my bathroom. (But only after I eat a cucumber sandwich and give myself a facial.) Ahh... the life of a princess in the Kingdom!

Good Food - Evil Food

Most people would probably agree that food can be good (as in natural, healthy). Some might question my use of "evil" as a modifier for food. Read on and see if I don't make believers of you...

After a morning of working feverishly to complete last-minute, under-the-gun details for Spa Day (ahhh, wonderful grace-filled Spa Day), I threw on some clothes and rushed out the door for a meeting with my pastor. Along the way, I dashed through the McDonald's drive-through to get my " need it in a pinch" moderately healthy stand-by: a grilled chicken sandwich and a fruit and yogurt parfait. By the time I pull into the church parking lot, I was famished and I almost tore into the bag to devour the meal right there in my car. But then it occurred to me that it would be much more enjoyable to savor this inside at my desk. Almost panting from hunger, after I got into my office I opened the bag and saw, to my horror, A BIG MAC and LARGE FRENCH FRIES. Maybe this isn't on the order of serial-killer evil, but I challenge anybody to argue that sandwich wasn't malevolent and sinister. (OK, maybe a bit exaggerated, but then again you didn't hear it whispering sweet love murmurings as it tenderly, craftily wooed you with its seduction.)

Even in small matters such as this, grace is so prevalent. Just as I decide to trash the bag of vile food, my neighbor's son walked in with my weekly delivery of locally grown produce. (I had to google some of the green leafy mystery plants. I mean, really now, does anybody know what Swiss Chard looks like? And mother, if you are reading this, dad was right, turnips are delicious. He was right that all your veggie soup needed was the addition of a few root vegetables!) It was surreal looking at that basket brimming with nature's goodness juxtaposed against a grease-soaked bag of "food". I popped a juicy strawberry in my mouth and slam-dunked that soggy bag of goop into my wastebasket.

And that's my tale of good triumphing over evil. Small victories, people, small victories.

PS I am soaked in grace when it comes to overcoming temptation. Last Sunday, I was headed to the Family Life Center for the Senior Banquet when I got locked out of the church in the interior courtyard far away from the festivities. I sat there for one hour and forty minutes! dreaming of the hot dogs and hamburgers that everybody else was happily devouring while I sat desolate, alone, and barely alive in that dreary courtyard. While I wasted away, they were feasting on sheet cake and God only knows what matter of delicacies. By the time somebody happened along and found me (Jim, you are an angel!), not a scrap of food remained. I went home and ate salmon and a salad, and called myself "blessed".

Intoxicating Grace

Some very good things that are happening in my life right now related to my journey towards better health and well-being:

1) Tomorrow I finish with therapy for the lymphedema! My lower legs are smaller than they have been in ten years. I have shin bones! Really. It's true. They are beautiful! AND if that isn't good enough, I wore shoes today for the first time in about 8 months! Glorious, glorious, glorious shoes off-the-rack from the store.

2) I'm getting a 1/2 bushel of organically-grown produce once a week from a nearby farmers co-op. Every week, we pick up the produce at a drop-site in a nearby neighborhood. There is something primal about this and I feel this odd connection with ancient ancestors who foraged for herbs and berries. It is so cool to eat what nature is producing during any given week. Straight from the ground without preservatives,waxing and trucking across the country. In the past few days I have eaten fresh spinach, baby lettuce, breakfast radishes, green onions, strawberries, lemon balm, basil, oregano, and some other delicious green things that I couldn't identify! From the grocery, I've also had sweet potatoes, white potatoes, honeydew, apples, oranges, bananas, cabbage, avocado, peppers, cucumber, blackberries, raspberries, and carrots. I'm rounding out my diet with yogurt, peanut butter, 9 grain bread, oatmeal, salmon, and chicken. (Oh, and not to forget fairly frequent grilled chicken salads or sandwiches from fast-food joints.)

3) I am exercising for 60 minutes a day, 9 days out of 10! I've exercised more in the past 2 months than I did in the previous 5 years combined.

4) Spa Day. Ahhhh. Spa Day. There aren't enough words to describe the JOY I've experienced in planning this ministry event. As I'm beginning to recognize (finally) that my body is the glorious temple that it is, I'm so excited to share this perspective with other women. The synergy of taking care of myself while planning this event has been intoxicatingly wonderful.

These first few months of 2009 have been some of the most special of my life. Made all the more special because this comes on the heels of a very low valley. Grace so concentrated that my spirit is dazzled. Did I mention I wore shoes today!!!! Grace, I'm telling you, pure, pure grace.

Come on, Ol' Grandma

Back when I was a child, my body always seemed to betray me. The other kids could easily skate down the neighbor's steep driveway while I was lucky if I landed on my bottom instead of my knees. Other kids would sail up the hills on their bikes while I'd get off and walk. Oh, and the worst betrayal of my body by far was its performance in gym class. Gymnastics... torture. President's Physical Fitness testing... worst torture of all.

I always threw up on days when we were tested on the 600 yard dash. Not from the physical exertion, but from knowing that I was about to fail miserably. In the 6th grade, most of my classmates had already finished the run when one other girl and I still had 200 yards to go. As we entered the last lap, she looked at me as if to say, "I am SO not running this lap with a loser like you!", and she took off leaving me gasping for air, and struggling to walk/jog the remaining 100 yards. My gym teacher, Mr. Mac, a burly former football player/military type, had little use for the weak kids, least of all for me. He started loudly chanting, "Come on, Old Grandma". One by one, my classmates joined in until I staggered across the finish line to about 50 voices jeering me in unison. (Lest you think he was a total monster, he didn't know I had an underlying, then-undiagnosed, neuromuscular disease, and who knows? maybe his taunts were motivated from a desire to spur me to become more physically fit. Mr. Mac, wherever you are, I forgave you a long time ago.)

In many ways forgiving Mr. Mac has been a much easier journey than forgiving this traitorous body of mine which never allowed me to just be average... normal. Never allowed me to be the athlete that I secretly desired to be.

Never, that is, until a few weeks ago! Climbing onto my Nustep exerciser has opened a new world to me. How utterly ironic that the lowest physically fit level of my entire life would open doors to being the athlete I always have wanted to be. Relatively speaking, from where I started to where I see it may be possible to go, a minor (?) miracle is at work. (Tennessee is ranked 47th of all the states based on percentage of the population who exercise at least once a month. Here I am a seriously disabled, overweight Tennessean who is overcoming the odds by finding a means and the discipline to exercise, and combining that with very healthy eating!)

Tomorrow marks 8 weeks since I started using my Nustep exerciser. I'm continuing to increase the resistance level, length of the workout, and speed at which I cycle.

8 weeks ago: 20 minutes, level 4-5, about 70 steps/minute.
This week: 60 minutes, level 7, about 140 steps/minute!

My personal best this week was on Wednesday: 100 minutes, level 7, 13,300 steps, 520 calories burned.

I'm acquiring some serious muscles in my upper arms and legs. I'm perspiring! Tightening abdominal muscles. And I'm having a ball! I close my eyes and it feels l like I'm soaring around that elementary school running track, and instead of jeering classmates, I have all of you cheering and high-fiving me as I smile a face-splitting grin while crossing the finish line.

There's just one thing left to say in this post: "My dear wonderful body, I forgive you and I ask you to forgive me for not recognizing before now what a treasure you are."

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!