Happy Father's Day, Daddy-o

A letter to my dad, to honor him this Father's Day:

Dear Dad,

I vividly remember my first 400-meter hurdle race at the collegiate level. I remember the bright stadium lights, the spongy red track, and the surge of adrenaline and nausea I'd come to expect before every race. But most of all, I remember that you weren't there, because, for the first time in my life, I was racing 1,000 miles away from home.

I'd never raced without you in the crowd.

Somehow, in the midst of pastoring a growing church, teaching at the seminary, and pursuing a doctorate, you were at every single one of my pre-college track meets, starting with the all-city meet when I was in 5th grade.

Dad calling someone with the results from one of my high school meets

You made sure I had gatorade and snacks before the meet and then watched me warm-up from the sidelines. When it came time for my race you positioned yourself on the home stretch where you knew I would hurt the most. I'd round that final curve with vomit rising, breathing labored, muscles screaming in pain, and ears utterly deaf to the shouting stadium-crowd.  All I heard was you, cheering:

"COME ON, SARAH JACKSON!!!!"

There was never a college race when I didn't remember those words urging me through pain and drowning out hundreds of other voices.

Now that my track days are over and I'm learning what it is to battle loss and discouragement in this life-race toward an eternal prize, I find myself remembering your voice shouting my name.

You've helped me understand the fierce and tender love of God the Father as I run toward my heaven-home, Dad.

Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that the God who sculpted the mountains and breathed the stars in the sky even knows my name, much less calls it. Sometimes it's hard to believe he's the God-who-sticks close—that he will provide for my needs and wants to be intimately involved with my life.

But when I remember the way you bought me the expensive sets of track shoes I needed each year; or the way you'd make me a big lunch before track meets and give me a timely pep talk; or the way you'd take time off work, drive hours and hours, and book hotels for my out-of-town meets, my little heart gulps big from the glimpses you've given me of Father God's heart.  If he is infinitely more good than you, how much more must he love me?

Dad hugging me after a race

My senior year of high school I had lofty ambitions for the state track meet. Month after month you watched me pour myself into training for my senior season. You watched me work and worry, and work some more.

And then one day a reporter called the house to interview you about my season and you told him something I'll never forget:

"We delight in Sarah, whether she runs fast or not."

If there is one thing about God that my heart often struggles to believe it's that he delights in me, just the way I am.

But for 31 years you have delighted in me, Dad, slowly teaching me that when God calls himself Father he means he takes joy and pleasure in me, and in being my Papa.

You taught me this when you'd scoop my little girl self into your arms and spin and bounce me back to my bedroom at bedtime; when you laughed deep and pleased at my girlish attempts to crack jokes; and when, after a long day at work, you'd wrestle with us kids on the living room floor and tickle us till we were breathless from laughter.

Dad and I in SoCal, checking out colleges my senior year of high school

As I grew older I saw the way your delight in me impelled you to protect and care for me.

You showed me my value when you warned my first boyfriend that if he ever did anything disrespectful to me he'd have you to face.  My heart still surges with gratitude when I remember that.

You showed me I can rest in your care when you outfitted my kitchen with new appliances four years ago because I was too sick to do it myself, and then bought me flowers for my beloved patio when you visited last year.  I smile with satisfaction every time I water them.

At the beach

I could tap-tap away at these keys for hours and hours, remembering the ways you've taught me the love of the Father, Dad.

 One of my favorite pictures: after college graduation

I know, though, that the greatest gratitude I can express for you is not strings of symbols on a blank page: what you yearn for most is that I would live a life devoted to God, the greatest and truest Father.

When I left home for college nine years ago you gave me a necklace with a delicate gold heart pendant.  You also wrote an accompanying letter expressing your love for me and your hope that I would always say yes to Jesus.  You closed the letter with a postscript:

"I hope you always entrust the human version of the enclosed gift to our Father in heaven.  'Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life' (Proverbs 4:23)."

I wear that heart necklace often, and when I do I try to center my heart on the Father in heaven whose love, amazingly, eclipses yours.

And when this life-race wearies and daunts me, I imagine Him cheering me on through doubt and despair toward victory over pain: his voice the only one I can hear amidst the din of other voices.

Thank you for teaching me to listen for His voice and trust His heart, Dad.

I love you.

Happy Father's Day,

Your Sarah Christine



© by scj

Traveling

My friends,

I'm preparing to fly to my folks' house for the summer, where I will rest, explore some new treatments, and try to get on a trajectory of healing.

I've been looking forward to this trip, but unfortunately, after making a little bit of healing progress last month, my health regressed considerably, and I find myself, once again, preparing for a flight I'm not sure my body will be able to handle.

Would you pray for my flights? When I was feeling a bit better a few weeks ago, I got wild and crazy and decided to fly to Texas to visit my brother, sister-in-law, and furry nephew, Copper, before going to the PNW. I leave for Texas this Thursday (and oh my goodness, I am so excited!) and will fly to Portland the following Monday. I'm asking God for a few things as I prepare to leave:

1) Enough health that I can navigate the airports and fly without misery. I'd love to even ENJOY the traveling experience!

2) Health enough that I'm not cooped up in bed when I'm with my brother and sister-in-law. In the past, God has given me pockets of enough relief to participate in life at pivotal moments, so I'm praying he'll do the same with this trip.

3) Safety, no missed connecting flights, and no turbulence on my flights. Because of my neurological disorder, normal sights and sounds send my body into fight or flight mode — the buzzing of my phone, the rattling of the washing machine, the sight of the neighbor lady outside my window. A few days ago I was outside and saw a bush from which a few odd-looking, unfamiliar berries were hanging, and my body went into fight or flight mode because walking past weird-looking berries is THE NUMBER ONE CAUSE OF DEATH HERE IN LOS ANGELES. That's what my body thought, anyway. There ain't nothin' that won't make me go into fight or flight, pals. Except hugs from friends. And sunshine. And gentle breezes. And the smell of jasmine.

Naturally, turbulence sends my nervous system into such a tizzy, I feel like my circuitry is going to blow. The last time I was on a turbulent flight, I felt electrical shocks bouncing all over my body for hours after the flight.

The problem with all this crazy nervous system stuff, is it worsens my vertigo, neurological nausea, and nerve pain. It also affects all my other ailing systems and puts a damper on this whole healing thing. I wish I could somehow will the fight or flight away, or think enough positive thoughts (or practice enough mindfulness) to wrangle my nervous system into control; but this is a physiological issue over which I have little control, so I'm relying on God to care for my nervous system in ways I cannot.

4) Protection from more sickness. Planes are so germy, and my immune system's a-needin' some help these days.


Thank you for your continued prayers, friends.

I so hope I heal enough this summer that I can see some of you PNW friends when I'm there.

Much love,

Sarah




© by scj

Thank you

My dear, wonderful praying friends,

Spring 2015 was the most horrific health season I'd experienced in my six years of illness. I didn't blog much about what was going on in my body that semester, but I often felt like I was dying. When I finally found doctors who helped me get on a trajectory of healing in the late summer and fall, I told God I could never, ever endure that kind of physical suffering again and begged him to protect me from it.

But then, this last January, after some consecutive treatments-gone-awry, my health spiraled back into that nightmarish place, and now I find myself wrapping up a semester of physical and psychological suffering comparable to last spring.

I could never, ever have made it through this semester without you.

Your presence, prayers, and encouragement were a word-defying gift to me.

There were so many things I was afraid would happen this semester that didn't because God is good and you were praying.

Every morning, when I walked down the stairs to grab a water bottle before heading to work for the morning, I felt my legs buckling beneath my weight, and I wondered if I would fall down the stairs and injure myself. I only fell once, but I didn't injure myself.

There were lots of mornings when, in the middle of teaching, the world grew dark and I knew I was seconds away from passing out, but I never did.

As the list of foods my body could tolerate dwindled, I wondered if my already-slender frame would become emaciated from a lack of calories and nutrition, but it didn't.

I spent at least 21 hours of every day in bed almost everyday this semester, and I could have been plagued by panic attacks from the horror of it all and the havoc the viruses wreaked in my nervous system, but I wasn't.

A number of times my eyesight dimmed and I momentarily lost my hearing, and although the viruses infecting me can cause blindness and deafness, I can still see and hear.

Many times, while I was resting in bed, I felt like I was on the brink of a seizure. It was a strange sensation, sort of like when a sneeze builds up, but I never seized.

In December, one of my doctors told me that if I ever have to get chemo, one of the viruses infecting me could very easily blind me. Last month, one of my doctors had me screened for breast cancer because of a few new, alarming symptoms, but we didn't find breast cancer, and I didn't have to get chemo.

There were a handful of times when I knew how vulnerable I was to more infections — how very near to death I could be in a body too weak for antibiotics, but you guys, I didn't die. I am tempted to couch this in humor somehow, because it feels uncomfortable and easily misunderstood, but those of you who are sick like I am know: we are fighting for our lives here.

So many other things could have gone wrong, but didn't; and I am alive, and now, more than ever, life is so fiercely beautiful.

Because my health problems have been so serious, I seriously considered quitting school and taking a break from work, but every time I decided I should quit, God made it clear that I shouldn't. I'm not sure why, exactly, but he was clear, so I decided to stay the course, and all of you prayed.

All of you prayed and prayed and prayed, and you read prayer update after prayer update, and you ran my errands, and you made me food, and you sent me gifts and notes of encouragement, and you took me to doctors appointments, and I made it through another unspeakably difficult season.

A few days ago I turned in my grades, and now, it is officially summer, and I can rest and explore new treatments that will, hopefully, pull me out of this pit.

And so my dear, wonderful, praying friends, cheers to you for praying me to the finish line:

I finished my last batch of grading on Monday

I am unspeakably grateful for you, and I love you.


-Sarah