For the Joy

I was just reading the passage inn Hebrews 11 about Jesus, "Who for the joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame….."

I was thinking about what “Enduring the cross” entailed.  I thought about one “simple” part of the tortures Jesus endured.   It says they pulled the beard out of his face.   Just mediate on that for a moment.    I’ve never  had   a beard, but I’m plucked my eyebrows…..and while that in no way compares to having the beard yanked from your face….I mean you can probably multiply that tiny pain several thousand times  and you might approach an understanding.    

Next came the crown of thorns; not little thorns but huge spikes of horrible pain which they pounded into his bleeding wounded head.

And we’ve (most of us) heard the description of a Roman flogging: leather whips with jagged metal and glass at the ends of the whip.  A beating that had killed lesser men...but our Lord endured.

Then: the nails pounded into his wrists…probably opening arteries  and again , unfathomable pain.  And what comes next is what sends horror racing through my veins: after he was nailed to the cross bar, they hoisted him with roped and yanked him up into the air as the main pole slammed in to the ground, yanking his wounded body so fiercely that every bone and joint became dislocated.  We know this by reading Psalm 22

14  “My life is poured out like water,
    and all my bones are out of joint.
My heart is like wax,
    melting within me.
¹⁵ My strength has dried up like sunbaked clay.
    My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
    You have laid me in the dust and left me for dead.
¹⁶ My enemies surround me like a pack of dogs;
    an evil gang closes in on me.
    They have pierced my hands and feet.
¹⁷ I can count all my bones.
    My enemies stare at me and gloat.

I have six times endured the agony of a dislocated hip.  I am pretty tough when it comes to pain, but that pain leaves me sniveling, groaning, and when they moved me--screaming.  As I laid for hours in a cubicle in the Emergency Room waiting for the anesthesiologist and the ortho doctor to come, I waited in shuddering pain…sweating and calling aloud for Jesus to help me…and there came the clear thought of Ps. 22:14….And I realized that Jesus suffered even worse pain.  Every single bone was torn from its socket and I believe this happened when they swung that crossbeam up into  the air and slammed the main pole of the cross into a hole in the ground….Then came the agony of the nails in his feet.

As I read this too I understood one more agony.  Jesus was completely dehydrated.  He had lost sweat and blood and was thirsty in a manner that none of us can imagine.  Although, suffering Sjogrens as I do, there are times when my tongue is dry as paper and completely adhered to the roof of my mouth.  It is not a good feeling.  And breathing through that dryness is painful.

We will never fully understand the agonies of the cross.  And thank you Jesus that you took those blows that were intended for my back.  Thank you that I will never fathom that pain; the jeers; the thirst---and most chilling of all: the sense that God the Father turned his back on his suffering Son and left him there with literally the “weight of the world” on his shoulders…The weight?  Our sins.  And all the hours of anguish we spend after committing an abominable sin…the regret; the pain of having failed God.  He took my guilt times billions: the weight of the sins of the whole world: of Hitler, Idi Amin, of Sadam Hussen--and of his own children.  He paid for every sin…although it is true that some people commit the abomination of rejecting what Jesus did on their behalf.  And he prayed for them too.  “Father, Forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.”

Heb. 12: 2 Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne.

Because of the joy to come, he took on the cross…disregarding the agony ...because it was for those hours that he came.  His whole life was culminated in those hours of sheer horror.  He learned obedience by suffering..  Maybe I too can learn obedience from my suffering.  Maybe he is perfecting me by these hours and days of suffering.  My suffering doesn’t come close to his, but the joy before me is the same…So I fix my eyes on the prize ahead, casting off all that would hinder me, I run the race for the prize before me…

Thank you Jesus that every horrible sin for which I have wept is buried there on that cross, erased by the flooding of his blood . My sin is no longer visible to the eyes of God.  Thank you Jesus.

UPDATES

As for my book, I'm very excited to report that in roughly ten days I will hold the first ten of books. "And how is that good for me?" you may ask.  Well I am going to be offering two free books on the day after I receive my books, I will let you know that they are now available....and the first ten books are going to be signed by the author (moi!) and will be sold privately---the price of the book is $10.99...either to someone who can send money to my PayPal account or if I know you personally I will accept cash or a check.  For those of you who do not know me and who wish to purchase the book, you will find it on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Xulon's websites.  Keep checking here and I will post the links to my book on those sites right here.

I just also noticed that the blog has passed it's 80,400 visitor count....I'm very excited by that.
You will take this journey with me...the first few weeks as a new author...my hardships. My joys.  My prayers. My pain.  Yes, pain will be a factor as it always is.  And now, pain bids me to end here and get in bed.  So goodnight my friends.  Thank you for bringing me this far.

Treasures are on their Way!

I received word this morning that my corrections to the galleys that I submitted will be complete soon and at that point the book will be available on Amazon, Barnes and Nobel and Xulon Press's websites.  As soon as the book is available I will make sure you know as well.  Here is a tidbit to whet your taste buds.

The Beginnings

The ambulance lights undulated against the curtain's edge.  Two nonchalant uniformed figures unloaded the stretcher and began to loosen the restraints that held the appendages of the new patient.

She was back. Word spread like starling chatter among staff and patients. 

They led her to her room conveniently across from “The Quiet Room” and deposited her bag of belongings with a soft plop onto the bed.

High heeled black boots and large black sunglasses remained her uniform despite injunctions to remove them. She began to pace, staccato steps, the boots clapping the floor like applause accompanying her mounting panic.

 Maria-the-Heavy came in: heavy because she was the head nurse, heavy because of years of overfeeding and indolence, heavy because of the sinking pit she left in the stomach of the new arrival.

“Welcome back,” said Maria in a voice singularly devoid of welcome. “Give me your sunglasses and take off your boots—you know the drill.”

The pacer halted and considered the implication of those demands: soul-theft—right through her iris blue irises.  And the boots, she needed that rhythm to build the barrier around her.  Every clap was the slap of a brick being laid about her, keeping them at bay and her being intact because right now, she could guarantee that body parts were about to detach and then how could Humpty Dumpty have any hope of integrity at all?

Maria stuck her head out the door of the room and called to several staff who were waiting, anticipating this inevitable moment.

“Cynthia needs a little help with her shoes and sunglasses.”

They surrounded her slowly, warily, encroaching step by cautious step: like hyenas circling a lioness.  Caution, trepidation, and anticipation all dripped from their fangs.

With the suddenness of a tightly wound spring releasing, the lioness bolted for the door, quarter-backing her way through the wall of jackals. With the speed bred of a thousand encounters, the buzzer was rung, and the room filled with muscles flexed on squat men who lived for such moments...An injection appeared and, despite writhing screams, found its home on her thigh.

As she sank, deflating, the hands then removed her shoes, glasses and clothing.  Gowning her in a hospital robe they potato-sacked her into the room across the hall, where she would remain until the medicines had their way with her: reducing her, ironing out wrinkles in her gray matter, fattening her up for the kill and untwisting her words—although the word salad was truly spectacular.

Days later-- weeks maybe?--the door to the Quiet Room opened and spewed its protégé.  Subdued, dead-eyed, leaden bodied-- already thickening in the middle--- she wandered the halls apparition-like, acknowledging the cohabitants by a minute head nod and a split second glance at the eyes. It was a secret society of welcome: ranging from angry disinterest, to too friendly back-patting welcome-backing.

She remained silent, mouth taut at the corners.  Fear had already accomplished its incineration in her bowels.  This was the last stop.  The last platform before the Crazy Train dropped her at her final destination: Greystone.  That's where the doctor had told her husband she belonged; that she was, “hopelessly ill.” Even in her confused rage she knew that the word “hopeless” was a misnomer.  God doesn't make “hopeless” people and there is no situation so far wrong that he cannot right it.

Next Stage: PRINTING

I finally proofread the galleys and made some corrections. Now the next step is for Xulon Press to print that bad boy, so that readers like you can get your hands on my no-holds-barred story of the rocky road of my life ---the years of mental illness, multiple hospital stays in psychiatric wards, the break down of my physical health ....my years of rejecting God and where that led me....and the years back to my shepherd's shoulders as he carried this wayfaring lamb back to the pastures where he can keep me safe from predators and that roaring lion that seeks to kill and destroy the lambs of God.

I know that portions of this book are hard to get through.  I know for example that my dad has been unable to read it because of the incredible pain to our family that those years brought to us.  Another friend who has a bipolar son attempted to read the book and had to put it down....it was too close to home.  It also holds some graphic scenes involving self injury so if you find that disturbing you may have to just skip a page or two. None of the scene are very long.  But as the editors who reviewed the book at the printers say:

Manuscript’s Strengths

• Throughout the manuscript, the author uses excellent imagery. There are consistent, original descriptions used to “paint the picture” for the reader. This is unfortunately what a lot of authors do not know how to do, so it is truly a huge strength for the book as a whole.
• Structurally, the book is well organized. There are appropriate chapter designations, paragraphs, and the book flows in a chronological order.
• Though some parts of this book may be difficult for some readers to endure, it all is part of the whole, which is a powerful story that shows the sovereignty of God, even through the darkest times. 

That was such a critical point that I wanted to bring out in this book....that in our very worst nightmares; in times of absolute distress, God is HERE with us. He uses a variety of means: a police guard, a dog, a house keeper in a hospital.....He is not at a loss in any way for ways to cut through the ice of our exteriors and to thaw our frozen hearts with his love. 

The cost of the book will be $14.99 plus shipping.  Stay tuned and I will give you more details on how to get your copy once it is closer to  completion.

MY NEW BOOK IS ALMOST READY TO BE RELEASED

In the past weeks I have been working hard on completing the book that has taken me four years to write.   Soon the galleys will be ready for proofing and then the book will go to press.  It is exciting but at the same time it is nerve wracking.  I am planning on setting up a web page where you may purchase the book directly from me.  It will also be available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble as both a paperback and an eBook.  Keep checking here and I will keep you updated on the printing process and will let you know when and where you can purchase the book.  I will also be holding some giveaways here so stick close and I will keep you posted.

Out of a Bind

This morning I took a shower….and I brought a zip up the front robe to put on as I dried up.  Well I got the robe on but somehow on my wet body things got twisted and the robe was wrapped tightly around my neck and shoulders and I could NOT escape …it was a veritable straitjacket.  My husband was practicing his drums and I knew if I interrupted him, he would “not be happy.” (quotes indicative of a “mild” understatement).  So I prayed.  

“Lord please show me how to get out of this….It really hurts and I’m trapped”

And it was the strangest thing.  I often have hallucinations which I call “videos” …they are brief scenes and usually make no sense whatsoever.  But God told me “Watch” and there before my eyes was a video of me picking the robe up by its lower hem and pulling that up over my head and from there I would have “wiggle room” enough to pull the robe off.  It was something that never occurred to me to try….I did try it and it worked magically.

God is interested In your simplest  and most complicated binds….Ask him, he’s waiting to show you the way out.

Words and Pictures

Today I sit, unsure of what to write.  I looked at my blog, checked stats.  I average a hundred viewers a day. ...and I'm sitting on the brink of 80,000 visitors.  God has certainly blessed me.  He has given me items of thought, rants, hallelujahs, and I'm sure there were many times when  you, my readers wanted to tell me to keep my thoughts to myself...which I kind of have done, seeing as YOU come HERE and read what I have to say.  And that floors me.  It really does.  I mean I have so little going on in my life.  Sitting in my recliner, reading, writing, getting out of the house once or twice a week.  It's like painting a series of paintings with a limited palette.  When you .  look through my paintings, especially my earlier ones you would see a lot of Prussian blue and Thalo greenNo matter what I wanted to paint and how much I desired to be bright and full of light....I ended up with those two colors dominating my canvas.

Then I crossed a LONG period of years where I did not paint.  My  spirit was healing in those years and when again I touched brush to canvas, there was cadmium yellow, violet, burnt umber, and chromium green.  These were to me, colors of joy.  Joy in the rediscovery of my art.  Joy that the years of blackness of soul were passed.

Now I paint with words.  I have a painting program which I need to load into my computer and a tablet by which I can paint....and sometimes I get the urge to do that.  Last night I watched the movie, 'Words and Pictures' about an artist who had to turn teacher because of her increasing disability from RA.  It made me feel like painting.  And yet it also made me feel like writing.  I am blessed that God has granted me both gifts.  Right now however I have a book that needs to be worked on and brought to print...

I confess to you, now that it is all written, I am frightened to make it final.  Frightened that I've made a mistake.  Frightened that someone in my past life might find themselves in the chapters and not like how I've described them....even though I've changed names to protect people, those who read my book with MY name as author, they will know who they are.

My husband has told me I cannot write a book and have it mean anything true because I do not remember my past 6 years.  But that is not really true.  I've WORKED HARD at regaining memory.  And it is true that there are things I do not remember.  There are some people who I know I had hurt during that time and I do not recall what I did to hurt them, which makes it extremely hard to apologize and make right.  So these things....those "blanks" in my memories ---I leave them blank.  I do not discuss what I do not remember.  And the  people who were friends for many years, who have stopped talking to me after my long period of psychosis in the years between 2006-2010...I left them out of my book.  Even though they had big parts of my life invested in them, I left them out. I do not want to speak out of my hurt.  I do not wish to point blame at someone for their ignorance about my illness. So I will be silent.

That last paragraph was Prussian Blue.  And my heart is sinking in my chest. Old pain.  Old scars.

Labor Day --my wish for you

Labor Day 2014

For me, Labor Day simply means an end to the summer and a pause in the tourist traffic in my Pocono Mountain home. (It will pick up once more when the leaves turn their bright shades of farewell).  For my husband it is a day of respite.  It is another Saturday only without the trip to the grocery store.  For my daughter it is a normal Monday as she always has Mondays off.  For me it is a day of sadness.  I no longer “labor” –not even in my own house.  The laboring days for this body no longer mean work.  Now If I labor it means to struggle to breathe –or to make it up a flight of stairs.

I miss working. I most of all miss getting a paycheck.  Chronic illness has robbed me: robbed me of the camaraderie between my workmates and myself; robbed me of the satisfaction of a job well done; robbed me of the sense of purpose working gave me; robbed me of the dignity that my uniform gave me.  My uniform meant: “I’m here to help you.  If you need anything, just ask me.”

I miss that. I miss swinging my legs into my Saturn and heading toward home and bed.  Now I do not drive. Now I cannot help anyone, not even myself.  Now my uniform is sweat pants and a tee shirt.

So what can “Labor Day” mean to me?

I just sent a “Labor Day” card to my daughter and husband.  Thanking them for working and providing for our needs.

For those of you who labor to get through a day---perhaps your feet entangle in the bog of weariness or depression or perhaps in the slough of chronic illness and pain---own this holiday.  It is yours too.  We each have our own efforts for which we deserve respite or recognition.  I wish I could wave my magic wand and give you a break from the hardship of labor in your life. The labor of caring for a sick husband or child; the labor of trying to stretch a dollar as you attempt to buy enough food to feed your family; the labor of raising a son or daughter and watching them abuse drugs or alcohol or be sexually indiscreet;  the labor of always struggling to say “no” to your cravings as you strive to lose X number of pounds so that you can respect and like yourself again; the labor of a new mother—who doesn’t have a partner to share the load of sleepless nights for her baby---and thus for her as well.  Or my wand would certainly wave for the refugees chased from their homes by governments or religions that make no room for them to coincide with each other ...and for those villages who are pillaged and raped and set to flames; for the homeless who don’t have shelter.

There certainly is a lot of pain in the world.  And for those of us who merely toil under a boss who  dislikes us or even for those like myself who  are not hungry nor homeless ---but “merely” in pain, looking at the list of hardships people labor under it can make our labor seem easy. 

Hmmm.

Easy labor.  Reminds me of the words of Jesus.,

^… “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”

NLT Matt 11:28-30

Yes.  That is it exactly what I would do with my “magic wand”….I would send you to the feet of Jesus, to learn how to rest…really rest; the kind of rest that reaches down to your very soul and allows you to  bask in the knowledge of his provision and concern for you.

This Labor Day, take the “Yoke” of Jesus on you and allow HIM to pull the weight that was previously yours alone to bear.  Be blessed and bask in his love.