It is raining and I have no umbrella: The tough stuff chronically written
By Melissa Marie
The doctor slams my file down. “My dear, I don’t know what to tell you, I don’t know of any answers.”
I sigh, getting up out of the recliners that she so nicely understands to put in each room for the hurting bones of her patients.
“You can’t work either, you are too ill.” She says with emotion, not sure which emotion, something sad, I guess.
I suck in a breath as tears threaten to escape the sides of my eyes.
I respond,” I don’t know what I am capable of until I try”. I grab my cane…wishing to run out of there. But I hold my head up high, throw the reminder card for a “check up” (sarcastic finger quotations) in my purse and hobble out.
My lungs are not feeling full of air. I am freezing cold from the blasting air conditioning.
I need a new voice, a new path but it seems all is closing in.
I cry to the Lord, ” If you saved me then what for?? What good am I to the world when all I have are words?
I need a new voice because I have miscarried and buried all of the dreams that I have dreamt.
I have grieved and re-grieved.
I have gone through the pyscho babble( both Christian and secular ways of “grieving”) on how to grieve.
Yet I am thrown back again and again. It seems cruel to live, it seems cruel not to.
The inside of me is crying, I feel wetness on my face and lift my hand to find unchecked tears falling down my face.
You say we are never alone, but sometimes that is the way it feels.
I hit the wall of illness hard, being positive for 16 years my resolve is breaking as I am picking up the shattered pieces of the beautiful stained glass that I have built into everything that I call my life.
It is as though I am reeling from a constant war, the insanity is that I am that lone lady picking up the good rubble pieces and placing them neatly in a pile in order to rebuild after the war.
The insanity is that the war is never going to end. So I keep sweeping the dust, day after day.
Never remission Lord?
Yet I still believe, because no matter what, you send the rain to wash away the salty tears that crystallize as it falling unto the ground, I will believe.
I never belonged in this body, my dreams are too big.
I never belonged trapped in this storyline or am I on the wrong page?
All I have are words that pour from my bleeding fingers and my heart literally aches but no one can see it.
I am a literally a modern age woman with issues of blood yet I can’t seem to touch your hem and be healed.
My faith is solid, I will not let disease destroy that but some days are harder than others.
But then you let me know that You are here inside of me by pouring the rain and stopping it just so I can take the steps with my cane and enjoy the cold river on the lawn.
Remission, the only one I may ever experience is when I was baptized for the remission of all my sins, in Jesus name.
Lord, but if it keeps raining and I have no umbrella, then turn it into a drenching of your love for all I have are words to offer.
Here is my sacrifice. Here is all that I have even when I have fallen short every single time.
I have stepped and have fallen.
I have tried so hard to go on as normal and not only write about chronic illness but now I am seeing that I cannot separate the two.
I have been sick longer than my healthy years and sickness and I are woven together.
I humble myself before thee, let me utter the words even though the icy winds threaten and the cold rain causes me to stutter, in your courts and in my home, no matter the future or what the day will bring, yet I will praise you.
So my future is uncertain in these uncertain times but let it always be well with my soul.
May my words be a sweet savor to you Lord and may they bless whoever needs the blood of my heart on the pages that I bring forth.
Until then, I will dream up new plans for the new dreams that I will rebuild with the war’s messy rubble. Your servant Lord, in sickness and in health.