Perception is a mighty thing

What does water taste like?

You'd assume there was only one correct answer. All other water had a funny taste.

But what I've come to realize is that identifying "normal" water is purely subjective.

I didn't learn that lesson until my husband and I vacationing and eating at a Cracker Barrel early in our marriage.

"This water is horrible," I complained.

"No, it's not," he replied while looking at me quizzically. "It tastes fine."

"It tastes like it came out of a ditch," I persisted.

"That's because you prefer your water with a lot of chlorination in it."

He'd said that before, drinking tap rather than my preferred Dasani bottles, but I always thought he didn't know what he was talking about. Dasani wasn't chlorinated; it was just normal water.

Like I grew up with.

But sitting in that Cracker Barrel, I realized for the first time that the normal taste of water for people is usually based on what the water tasted like where they grew up. All other water tastes different.

For some reason, this was profound to me.

Something as simple as water couldn't even have an absolute truth. No man can say, "THIS is the true taste of water."

It is all in our perception.

It took me a couple of years ministering on the streets before I realized that what I considered normal wasn't necessarily what others saw as normal. I knew I leaned toward the feminine romanticism a little more than most. For me, aprons and white picket fences and refrigerator drawings and roses for no reason were indicative of a life well lived. But if experiences were a Venn diagram, the things in the middle would be loving families, guidance, education, goals...

I didn't realize my perception was skewed by an upbringing that was only normal in my rose-colored world. Many people have led lives that we could never diagram because the shared experiences portion would remain blank.

But for them it was normal.

Going to jail wasn't an eye-opening experience. It was following in the family footsteps.

Drinking and drugging weren't done with the hopes you wouldn't be caught and grounded, they were done openly at home. Some were even forced to participate as young children, an amusing sight for wasted grown-ups.

Their normal was different from mine and their dreams were altered because of it.

I think this is the part that surprised me the most.

I knew that not everyone grew up the same way I did. I know some people had it rough. I just didn't consider that this changed what they wanted out of life. I thought that regardless of where everyone came from, they wanted to get to the same place.

And that's simply not true.

Some people just want to ride out their lives without any goals, dreams, or joy. They want lust, not love, and peace attained by a 6-pack is just as good as the peace God gives.

It is a different tasting water.

I've gained enough wisdom in this ministry to no longer try to get someone to accept my version of normal water as the only way. A job, a home, restored families...that's not necessarily the way for everyone.

But Jesus?

Well, that's one absolute truth in which there is no variance. James 1:17

When STANDING just isn't enough....

I’ve said before that if you can’t keep going, dig in your heels and just STAND.

I think I was wrong.

When you stop, the weight and the force of the world are coming against you. (After all, if you are walking with Christ, you ARE walking against the current of the world.)

And no matter how hard you fight it, that current can be mighty strong.

In the middle of a trial, you can be battle-drawn and weary. You may long to stop and rest. You may even want to surrender completely to the enemy, as it seems you are on the losing side.

But you aren’t.

That’s where faith comes in.

You have to KNOW that if you are in God’s army, you are on the winning team.

The war has already been won and the battle you are in is so very minute in comparison.

It may not feel so inconsequential though, especially when you are in the midst of it.

It may feel as if the whole universe has come against you.

That’s why you have to keep your eyes on Him and KEEP MOVING.

It’s the only way to keep from falling down.

I’ll admit I’m in the midst of a trial I do not understand at all. I don’t know if I’m lacking patience, faith, or obedience. Maybe I’m being tested. I don’t even know how I’m doing on this test.

I’m probably at about a C+ right now.

I honestly don’t know.

A week ago I completely lost the hearing in my right ear.

Thinking it was a simple fix, I tried a couple of tried-and-true ear opening methods. When those failed, I reached out on social media. I tried a few more things. I even went to a walk-in clinic and was given a clean bill of ear health.

Over the next few days later other seemingly unrelated symptoms popped up and I thought maybe I was coming down with the flu on top of a sinus infection.

On Sunday morning, I laid it all out for the Lord as we partook in the Lord’s Supper. I felt His presence and I knew I would be healed.

Only I wasn’t. Or maybe I was but the healing hadn’t manifested itself.

In any case, I broke down in tears afterward. I was so sure I’d be jumping up and down praising the Lord for restoring my hearing in that service that I never considered otherwise.

I was heartbroken.

I napped Sunday afternoon and returned to the evening service a little less enthusiastic. It was hard to hear, hard to concentrate. But I still believed.

So at the end of the service I called upon the elders of the church to pray over me. I was going to do  EVERYTHING by the (Good) Book.

Once again, I expected to share my delight at being able to hear again.

It still didn’t happen.

I went to bed frustrated, though not angry. I can’t let anger in; it is too hard to let go.

Was I doing something wrong?

I didn’t believe the Lord was punishing me nor did I believe he wanted this for me.

But what WAS He thinking?

I needed more time? More faith? More patience?

If I went back to the doctor, would that be wrong? A lack of faith? Impatience?

Or was it foolish NOT to go? To possibly treat something before it got worse…

I didn’t know.

I did know, however, that I couldn’t just STAND. Because I kept getting knocked flat on my rear and was ready to give everything up, ministry included. How could I help people when I couldn’t hear?

Even the dogs were aggravating me as their barks reverberated in my head, sounding louder in the one good ear and causing a headache. Their kisses, which I normally adore, were as irritating as nails on a chalkboard.

I couldn’t live like this.

I made the decision to see an ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor). I searched online since I didn’t know one here and found a doctor with great reviews in Mobile.

They were able to see me that afternoon.

What I didn’t realize was that this doctor specialized in auditory issues so I was given a comprehensive hearing screening upon arrival.

The news was not surprising.

Sudden hearing loss in my right ear.

I had that part figured out.

However, I expected him to discover a raging sinus infection the general practitioner had missed, give me some antibiotics, and, WORST CASE SCENARIO, have to surgically clear out my tube.

That wasn’t the case.

He diagnosed me with a non-rash form of shingles which had attacked the right side of my body.

That made sense.

The right toenails I’d ripped off because they felt like they were attacking my feet. The chest pains that I dismissed because they were on the right side only. The increased back pain I attributed to my increased consumption of Christmas candy.

It was all related.

But then came the scary part.

He could prescribe steroids and an antiviral for the symptoms of shingles but the hearing loss might be permanent.

Even worse, he suspected an acoustic neuroma. This is a small, noncancerous tumor on the nerve between the brain and the inner ear. It is confirmed with an MRI, way out of my price range without insurance. Then another hearing test back in his office, extensive enough that I must have a driver.

In the meantime I am praying for healing to avoid all of this. But in the event that it doesn’t come?

I decided I would just accept it.

Which is a little tricky.

Because I don’t accept illness as something God wants.

But if I don’t accept this, at least for now, I will put my life on hold. I will use it as an excuse to stop ministering, to crawl in a hole and have a pity party, and I will destroy everything.

I know.

I’ve done it before.

A few years ago, following back surgery, I quit living. Alienating my family and friends, I lived in a world of television and four walls, angry, depressed, and wishing I was dead.

I will not go back there.

So while I believe in a complete and total healing, I will not sit idly by waiting for it to happen. I am going to keep walking, even if it’s at a snail’s pace, until that day.

It’s a trial I don’t understand, one I may never understand this side of glory, but one I will willingly go through because it’s only a battle, not the war.

The war for my soul has already been won and the price He paid for that was more than I will ever have to endure.

 

 

Standing in the gap...or standing in the way?

I don't give up easily.

Actually, if someone tells me not to do something, I usually dig my heels in and do it anyway out of spite.

That's probably one of my less godly traits.

I can be stubborn...and rebellious.

I also have a soft spot for the underdog, be it a sports team or a person.

I figure they need all the extra help they can get.

So it isn't surprising that I can be found on the streets giving all I have, and often getting nothing in return.

Because it isn't about me anyway.

I've pleaded with the Lord to heal people near death, to deliver from addiction, and to show mercy when it wasn't deserved or even desired.

I've begged to stand in the gap and intercede for those I've grown to care deeply for.

But yesterday something new happened.

He told me to walk away.

It isn't the first time I've backed off from someone on the streets. Sometimes they need a little more time in the hole before they hit rock bottom and reach up. Some never do.

But I'm never more than an arm's length away from anyone who reaches out.

Until now.

Scooter, who I've written about several times, has a very special place in my heart. I care deeply for him and I would consider him a friend. Even when he is not doing well (which has been the case for the last three months) he still stays in touch by text and I occasionally visit.

Last week he had his third opportunity to get true help. He had the equivalent of a winning lottery ticket, a free apartment and furnishings, and the opportunity to get off the streets for the first time in ten years. He fell apart (fear?) the first two times this came to pass and got so drunk he was unable to even carry on a decent conversation.

On Thursday we talked about this. He wasn't going to let it happen this time. He knew he had self-sabotaged. He knew he may never get another chance like this. He was ready.

Friday morning he was in that exact same place again, unable to even come out of his tent.

That door closed with the housing organization.

I was aggravated, but it didn't stop me from caring or wanting to help him some other way.

But then Sunday morning came.

I stopped at Tent City to pick up for church, as usual, and even though I knew Scooter wouldn't come (he hasn't been in a few months) I wanted to step in and say hello.

My feet were like lead.

I literally couldn't move.

What's going on, I wondered.  Lord?

That's it, He told me. You are done here. When he texts (and I knew he would) you are to tell him that you don't walk away unless the Lord tells you to and this seems to be between him and God.

I tried to explain, to expound, in my head what else I would say.

No. I've told you what to say. Not a word more or a word less.

I got it.

I hate it because I will be just another person who he feels has abandoned him. But I'm not going to interfere with what the Lord is doing.

After all, He is the reason I'm out there.

I thought I was standing in the gap...

Turns out I was just standing in the way.