Much has happened in the time since my last posting. Our pastor was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer. Our congregation is praying for God's will, whatever that may be. Another of those times that test our faith, and stir our soul.
The worship services have not turned sad and melancholy - in fact they have been more worshipful than ever. We are truly connected. When Pastor walked back in to the Sanctuary for the first time after getting out of the hospital - it was as if the Spirit of God blew a breath of comforting air through the room.
Hard time either make us or break us, they also show us quite distinctly, God's love. His love goes beyond our circumstances, and is constant - no matter what. If I did not have God's love then I would not want to continue with life, but because of His love, I not only want to continue, I have hope that it will get better.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
Tested Faith
It seems like all I do is complain. Guess that's part of the depression. Depression is a side-effect of my husband's Hep C treatment. What they don't tell you is that the spouse suffers all the same side-effects. Yes, even some of the physical ones. When you have a true marriage, then you do become one, as some put it, which means that you both share just about every experience. Oh, I realize that some of it is akin to sympathy pains, but trust me, they hurt every bit as much.
Right now it is the depression I am dealing with. It is so hard to continue what passes as normal life when you feel sorry for yourself, and you feel totally alone. I finally realized that much of my depression is from loneliness. Oh, John is physically present, but mentally and emotionally there is no one there. I had hoped that getting him off of so much sedative meds would help, but it was short lived.
An example: last night over dinner I mentioned that next week we were scheduled to see a movie - we've been trying to go every other week just to keep us from being "prisoners". His answer, "I'm shaky". Boom - my depression hit. His answer showed where his mind is - on his own condition. He really wasn't commenting on what I said; I doubt he even heard what I said, just that I made some noise.
I know that what John is going through is rough - I know he feels horrible much of the time, but by obsessing on every little thing, much of which is normal, he is making himself feel worse. And he is making me crazy. Yesterday he saw our regular doctor. She is an Internist. Dr. Adelman was so surprised that John looked so good - his eyes clear and bright, skin color normal. She was delighted with how well the treatment is going. His reaction? He "felt terrible" and could barely walk across the street to confirm his appointment next week with the cardiologist. (However, when we went to have his blood tested he sprang from his seat and practically sprinted to the lab.)
Amazing, isn't it? Our attitude really does go a long way in determining how we feel. If we decide that we feel like crud, then we feel like crud. If we say, "I feel good", then the aches and pains really don't hurt as much.
I can empathize with Jesus, the way he felt in the garden. The other night as I lay in bed, John two feet from me, yet quite distant, I suddenly had a vision of Jesus crying out to God in the garden, lonely, scared, worried, with his dearest friends just a few feet away. Sound asleep and oblivious to how He felt. I know that God is with me, just as Jesus knew that the Father was with Him. And yet . . . the human in all of us still feels sad and lonely.
This is not just a treatment that John and I are going through. Like with Job, this is a test of our faith. I pray we pass it.
Right now it is the depression I am dealing with. It is so hard to continue what passes as normal life when you feel sorry for yourself, and you feel totally alone. I finally realized that much of my depression is from loneliness. Oh, John is physically present, but mentally and emotionally there is no one there. I had hoped that getting him off of so much sedative meds would help, but it was short lived.
An example: last night over dinner I mentioned that next week we were scheduled to see a movie - we've been trying to go every other week just to keep us from being "prisoners". His answer, "I'm shaky". Boom - my depression hit. His answer showed where his mind is - on his own condition. He really wasn't commenting on what I said; I doubt he even heard what I said, just that I made some noise.
I know that what John is going through is rough - I know he feels horrible much of the time, but by obsessing on every little thing, much of which is normal, he is making himself feel worse. And he is making me crazy. Yesterday he saw our regular doctor. She is an Internist. Dr. Adelman was so surprised that John looked so good - his eyes clear and bright, skin color normal. She was delighted with how well the treatment is going. His reaction? He "felt terrible" and could barely walk across the street to confirm his appointment next week with the cardiologist. (However, when we went to have his blood tested he sprang from his seat and practically sprinted to the lab.)
Amazing, isn't it? Our attitude really does go a long way in determining how we feel. If we decide that we feel like crud, then we feel like crud. If we say, "I feel good", then the aches and pains really don't hurt as much.
I can empathize with Jesus, the way he felt in the garden. The other night as I lay in bed, John two feet from me, yet quite distant, I suddenly had a vision of Jesus crying out to God in the garden, lonely, scared, worried, with his dearest friends just a few feet away. Sound asleep and oblivious to how He felt. I know that God is with me, just as Jesus knew that the Father was with Him. And yet . . . the human in all of us still feels sad and lonely.
This is not just a treatment that John and I are going through. Like with Job, this is a test of our faith. I pray we pass it.
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