Excuse the longevity. I don't blame you if you don't bother reading. This is just my way of working through everything that happened.
Continued from Beginning to process..
Corvallis ICU seemed safer. Dad laid there watching tv with some wires strapped to his chest that zapped him every time his heart rate dropped below 50 bpm. It was hard to see my dad with wires hooked to him; but those wires offered comfort.
I settled into what would become quite familiar surroundings. I spent more time in hospital waiting rooms this weekend than I have probably spent in the rest of my life combined.
Somewhere during the middle of the day they put in a temporary pacemaker. Seriously why does my dad need a pacemaker, he's 45 for crying out loud. I liked the word temporary. I also liked that my dad didn't have to feel it when he got shocked
Nothing much else happened the rest of the day. Some family came. It was a nice gesture; but I learned that unless you are really really close to someone it's more annoying than anything to have people there. They try to let you know they understand and explain what God is doing, you know with all the same responses you get about God making things into something good and using things to make us stronger. I know it's all true, I thought about it all at various times so it was more annoying than anything to hear people say it like it was this magic word that would bring a jubilant peace to the wavy seas. Ha. I'll talk about this more later in a happier tone. I'm learning alot about suffering and hope.
Somewhere during the day I decided to stay the night. I stretched out on the carpet of the waiting room. You'd think they would put cots in there for people. I didn't really expect to sleep; just pretend to, so people wouldn't talk to me. I read a bit of Ernest Hemingways A Farewell to Arms then turned off the lights.
Sometime in the night an elderly woman sat down in the other part of the room. Soon after a doctor came in. There's certain conversations you hear that seem sacred, like you don't deserve or shouldn't hear them. Such conversations would include engagement proposals, last words of the dying, etc. This was one of those. "Is my husband going to die?" It turns out the guy had pneumonia, the doctors response was uncertain.
I have never had to hear a conversation like that before. I wondered not if but when I would have to hear a conversation like that again, or be a part of one. Five minutes, five years, fifty years? I asked God alot of questions while I listened to them talk. He didn't give any answers. Sometime later I woke up to a janitor giving the room a morning clean. Lucky for him I had already cleaned the room like five times.
This morning the test results came back. All good to go. Dad would go under the knife to get a permenant pacemaker. I went and said good morning to Dad We talked about the Jamaican dude that broke the 100m world record and watched a news report on the cow pie throwing world championships.
9 AM. Dad is rolled into the OR. I walked up and down the hall thinking who knows what. A few of you got some text messages. I tried to distract myself with thoughts of other unresolved stress issues going on. How about that one, trying to think of stressful things in order to get the mind off of even more stressful things. In what seemed like a one instantaneous moment, Dad got rolled out of OR, taken to his room, we left for the house, and I took a nap.
Jess, Jordan, and I (along with my nephew Isaiah) went in this afternoon to visit dad. We all watched Isaiah jump around the room, trying to find and push every button possible. Not much to talk about, we left after an hour or so.
Things seem calm now. It's like when you have a migrane and you don't remember what it was like to ever not have a migrane. Once the migrane is gone you can't even imagine what it was like to ever have one.
Beginning to Processing What Shouldn't Happen
It started with a sound. Kind of like someone slipping and falling sort of thud... no that's not it. Maybe more like a sturdy shelf, with nothing on it, falling over. Another sound, mom yelling for dad. Not like an urgent yell. It was more like most the yells accross the house when we are to lazy to walk to the other side. Hmm maybe dad did slip in the shower, ah he's fine. No reply, another yell from mom followed by a knock... no reply. Some swimmer is finishing the 200m medly on tv, making what's happening in the back somewhat faint mumbles echoed through the bathroom. A seeming eternity of silence passes as I wait paralyzed for what I know is coming... I never want to hear mom yell for her sons like that again. Jordan heard that yell. Adrenaline took over my heart faded off to somewhere, I'm not sure it has come back yet. I didn't touch him I just saw him laying there in the bathtub motionless, unconcious. I'm not supposed to see my dad lying unconcious in the bathtub. I'm not supposed to wonder if my Father is dead.
About a million things went through my head, thankfully thoughts number two and three were "don't move him in case of a broken neck" "Call 911." Number one wasn't much of a though, more of a reaction that was one of those screams that comes out as a faltering panic voiced "dad wake up" I spit out information to dispatch. Somewhere inbetween the sprint to the kitchen phone and the confused conversation back to the bathroom dad woke up. Relief... sort of. I'm not supposed to see red and blue lights shooting through the windows of my childhood home.
The EMT's checked him out, there was nothing that they could find.... nothing that they could find. He went into the hospital. There was nothing that they could find, nothing that they could find. I'm not supposed to see my dad hooked up to monitors in the ER.
On the way home Dad passed out again. He's stubborn, he told mom to take him home.
I woke up the next morning to mom talking about Dad passing out again in the bed. I laid there begging myself to fall asleep. This isn't happening, my dad is fine. I gave myself a headache trying too hard. I took a shower and put on the clothes I shouldn't have had to wear for the next 24 hours.
Mom called from Dad's checkup. He passed out again, this time with ceasures. I told Jordan I was driving, I had to or else I would go crazy. He graciously greased my palm with the keys. I tried thinking of driving laws I could break and get away with due to the situation. I tried to think about what it might be that was causing Jordan's breaks to shudder; anything other than what shouldn't be happening and was.
Mom was in the emergency room halfway through a conversation, saying something about his heart. Somewhere in the same sentence as heart I heard the word stopped. So did mine. She didn't seem panicked so I assumed his heart started beating again. So did mine.
I got to see dad, he was concious but on some medication to keep his heart going that made him drowsy. My dad's heart shouldn't stop. It's supposed to work fine.
Albany doesn't have a cardiologist so they decided to take him to Corvallis. Someone said something about ICU. My dad shouldn't have to go to ICU.
I'm tired. I slept in the waiting room last night. Slept is a relative term. I shouldn't have to sleep in waiting rooms. I'm gonna take a nap. Hopefully I'll get the rest of this out in the next day or so. Thank you everyone who prayed. And thank you for everyone who let me update them and attempted to offer meaningful words. The words were meaningful, but the fact that you were there to give me a source of distraction was immensly more precious.
About a million things went through my head, thankfully thoughts number two and three were "don't move him in case of a broken neck" "Call 911." Number one wasn't much of a though, more of a reaction that was one of those screams that comes out as a faltering panic voiced "dad wake up" I spit out information to dispatch. Somewhere inbetween the sprint to the kitchen phone and the confused conversation back to the bathroom dad woke up. Relief... sort of. I'm not supposed to see red and blue lights shooting through the windows of my childhood home.
The EMT's checked him out, there was nothing that they could find.... nothing that they could find. He went into the hospital. There was nothing that they could find, nothing that they could find. I'm not supposed to see my dad hooked up to monitors in the ER.
On the way home Dad passed out again. He's stubborn, he told mom to take him home.
I woke up the next morning to mom talking about Dad passing out again in the bed. I laid there begging myself to fall asleep. This isn't happening, my dad is fine. I gave myself a headache trying too hard. I took a shower and put on the clothes I shouldn't have had to wear for the next 24 hours.
Mom called from Dad's checkup. He passed out again, this time with ceasures. I told Jordan I was driving, I had to or else I would go crazy. He graciously greased my palm with the keys. I tried thinking of driving laws I could break and get away with due to the situation. I tried to think about what it might be that was causing Jordan's breaks to shudder; anything other than what shouldn't be happening and was.
Mom was in the emergency room halfway through a conversation, saying something about his heart. Somewhere in the same sentence as heart I heard the word stopped. So did mine. She didn't seem panicked so I assumed his heart started beating again. So did mine.
I got to see dad, he was concious but on some medication to keep his heart going that made him drowsy. My dad's heart shouldn't stop. It's supposed to work fine.
Albany doesn't have a cardiologist so they decided to take him to Corvallis. Someone said something about ICU. My dad shouldn't have to go to ICU.
I'm tired. I slept in the waiting room last night. Slept is a relative term. I shouldn't have to sleep in waiting rooms. I'm gonna take a nap. Hopefully I'll get the rest of this out in the next day or so. Thank you everyone who prayed. And thank you for everyone who let me update them and attempted to offer meaningful words. The words were meaningful, but the fact that you were there to give me a source of distraction was immensly more precious.
Looking Into The Abyss
The spoiled brat can't decide to have a strawberry milkshake or an Oreo blizzard. If I were living in poverty I don't think I would be quite so concerned about making some of these decisions in life. My "What the heck do I do? God where are you? What do you want me to do?" would be quickly turned into "HOLY CRAP look at the amazing choices I have to choose from!"
It's easy for me to get all spiritual about where God wants me, that way I can ignore who he wants me to be where I'm at -a common occurrence in my life. Ok I rephrase that, it's easy for me to worry about where God wants me. Getting all spiritual about it would mean I would spending immense time in prayer trying to figure it out. whoops.
God is big, very big. Using a word to describe him makes him something small. He is what He is which is more than we could ever say. He also wins in the end, he does what He wants and gets his way -not in the spoiled child sense mind you. Even when I'm frustrated it's just frustration cause I'm not getting all my little whims fulfilled, not cause I'm scared that God isn't going to annihilate all that is wrong in this life. I may make some huge mistake in upcoming decisions, frankly I don't really care because there is no way I can know whether or not they are a huge mistake, I can just kind of guess at stuff. If God wants to give some specific marching orders, he knows how bad I am at listening to Him. God will have his way, I won't be able to mess that up.
Thanks Dad. Thanks for grace. I think it's probably the greatest cure for paranoia. You save me from sin, and you save me from myself.
It's easy for me to get all spiritual about where God wants me, that way I can ignore who he wants me to be where I'm at -a common occurrence in my life. Ok I rephrase that, it's easy for me to worry about where God wants me. Getting all spiritual about it would mean I would spending immense time in prayer trying to figure it out. whoops.
God is big, very big. Using a word to describe him makes him something small. He is what He is which is more than we could ever say. He also wins in the end, he does what He wants and gets his way -not in the spoiled child sense mind you. Even when I'm frustrated it's just frustration cause I'm not getting all my little whims fulfilled, not cause I'm scared that God isn't going to annihilate all that is wrong in this life. I may make some huge mistake in upcoming decisions, frankly I don't really care because there is no way I can know whether or not they are a huge mistake, I can just kind of guess at stuff. If God wants to give some specific marching orders, he knows how bad I am at listening to Him. God will have his way, I won't be able to mess that up.
Thanks Dad. Thanks for grace. I think it's probably the greatest cure for paranoia. You save me from sin, and you save me from myself.
Giving Up The Burden of Absence
This past weekend I laid down the burden of not feeling God's presence. Out at the Conservative Mennonite Conference in Berlin, Ohio I hit up the prayer room. There was a wooden cross that had place to hang burdens. My burden was the absence of God himself. Funny I never thought of laying that burden at the cross before. I picked up the Martin Guitar with fresh strings and played and sang. I think God was hiding behind the couch. I couldn't see him anywhere but I had that unnerving feeling that he was hearing me and that it made him smile.
Not Because I See it Work
One of the difficulties of love is that there aren't always those visible results of a changed life or an enriched heart, maybe a comforted soul. Sometimes it's just hard, or awkward. Not so fun. Sometimes love is like water. Water can eat entire ships as they set on the bottom of the ocean. After two days of setting in the rain, my motorcycle's chrome parts began to wear away. Sometimes love is a tsunami that annihilates entire cities of hurt and bitterness. More often it seems that love is a series of thunderstorms that wears out the car behind the barn over the course of a hundred years. In the end Jesus calls us to love, whether we see the results or not.
Understood.
I feel quite misunderstood... most of the time. Even if people get my point, they miss my heart. It's mostly my fault really. I'm not very good at letting my heart show. I'm not sure why. I'm just not; though I suppose I've gotten better over time. There have been certain proverbial leaps I've taken at times where my heart tears the leash out of my hands and sprints across the park of life, leaving it's droppings of love here and there; but those times usually last for a couple days and are followed by a huge downturn in which I crash like a fourth grader on a sugar high. I am a super social person, but I can be around people all day and still feel lonely.
Much of the time I have something that my heart wants to say; but for sake of not knowing how the heck to say it without making people question whether I should be on some sort of meds, I usually just keep those things quiet.
I don't have to keep anything quiet with God. I couldn't -even if I wanted to. He knows it. I was talking to God the other day and was asking him if it makes any difference (besides helping me concentrate) if I speak verbally or just think things. I tried jumping back and forth multiple times in a sentence stopping the talking but continuing the thought without pausing. It was both comforting and unnerving thinking that I couldn't get away from Him.
I remember wishing as a child that someone would understand me. I'm not sure if I knew God did at that point. Probably not. I wanted someone to know how I felt about pretty much everything without risking them tearing me apart or exposing me in some way. When I figured out the whole God understanding me thing it was scary at first, then relieving because I realized He had been keeping His eye on things for a number of years prior and never told my friends how strange I was. Quite a comforting conclusion.
Goshen is starting to scare me. People are getting closer to my heart. I'm wondering what they will do when they find the man behind the curtain controlling the talking head. I think I'm both anticipating and dreading the day it arrives. I'm not saying I'm fake, I'm just bad at being understood, that can look like fake sometimes. If I could just flip a switch and be understood I would; but I can't. If I ever decided to stay... ... ...it would probably be the undoing of my heart cage.
Psalm 139 Would be a fitting read at this point.
Much of the time I have something that my heart wants to say; but for sake of not knowing how the heck to say it without making people question whether I should be on some sort of meds, I usually just keep those things quiet.
I don't have to keep anything quiet with God. I couldn't -even if I wanted to. He knows it. I was talking to God the other day and was asking him if it makes any difference (besides helping me concentrate) if I speak verbally or just think things. I tried jumping back and forth multiple times in a sentence stopping the talking but continuing the thought without pausing. It was both comforting and unnerving thinking that I couldn't get away from Him.
I remember wishing as a child that someone would understand me. I'm not sure if I knew God did at that point. Probably not. I wanted someone to know how I felt about pretty much everything without risking them tearing me apart or exposing me in some way. When I figured out the whole God understanding me thing it was scary at first, then relieving because I realized He had been keeping His eye on things for a number of years prior and never told my friends how strange I was. Quite a comforting conclusion.
Goshen is starting to scare me. People are getting closer to my heart. I'm wondering what they will do when they find the man behind the curtain controlling the talking head. I think I'm both anticipating and dreading the day it arrives. I'm not saying I'm fake, I'm just bad at being understood, that can look like fake sometimes. If I could just flip a switch and be understood I would; but I can't. If I ever decided to stay... ... ...it would probably be the undoing of my heart cage.
Psalm 139 Would be a fitting read at this point.
Thanksgiving.
I am thankful for kindness. Not that sort of I have to, or I'm gonna be a nice person kindness. Fake. When someone says "I really appreciate you," or "I missed you," and you know they really mean it. It touches the heart.
I'm thankful for music. Music that speaks into a situation and has an awesome beat or tune to boot. It doesn't leave you empty like a superficial good guitar solo that moves through your system like sugar. Crash and burn. I like steak and eggs music.
I'm thankful for difficulty. Something about hardship makes life seem worthwhile. Playing a game where everyone is a winner no matter what happens sucks. I like that Jesus is a winner and I get to be on his team. Kind of like being in middle school and getting to be on Jason Sii's team at recess, only Jesus passes me the ball more. He must not realize I suck at basketball.
I'm thankful for learning, changing, growing. It reminds me that I'm not exactly all that and a bag of chips; far from it.
I'm thankful for grace. Not just God's grace for sin and all that (as if it's insignificant or something); but grace from other people. I guess that comes from God too. I'm thankful for people who know I'm a fraud and still love me.
I'm thankful that Jesus is alive. I'm not that spiritual and I tend to experience silence more often than his presence, that is until I look back and see his greasy handprints all over the place in the story of my life.
Yay for Blush Zinfindel and White Russians (the beverage not the people). Well hooray for white Russian people too. Why not I'm part Russian. My Chiropractor (a Russian named Maxim) told me that cause I have a square jaw.
Thank you God. In this crazy mess of life, all that is meaningless in itself finds meaning because you care about us for some reason.
I'm thankful for music. Music that speaks into a situation and has an awesome beat or tune to boot. It doesn't leave you empty like a superficial good guitar solo that moves through your system like sugar. Crash and burn. I like steak and eggs music.
I'm thankful for difficulty. Something about hardship makes life seem worthwhile. Playing a game where everyone is a winner no matter what happens sucks. I like that Jesus is a winner and I get to be on his team. Kind of like being in middle school and getting to be on Jason Sii's team at recess, only Jesus passes me the ball more. He must not realize I suck at basketball.
I'm thankful for learning, changing, growing. It reminds me that I'm not exactly all that and a bag of chips; far from it.
I'm thankful for grace. Not just God's grace for sin and all that (as if it's insignificant or something); but grace from other people. I guess that comes from God too. I'm thankful for people who know I'm a fraud and still love me.
I'm thankful that Jesus is alive. I'm not that spiritual and I tend to experience silence more often than his presence, that is until I look back and see his greasy handprints all over the place in the story of my life.
Yay for Blush Zinfindel and White Russians (the beverage not the people). Well hooray for white Russian people too. Why not I'm part Russian. My Chiropractor (a Russian named Maxim) told me that cause I have a square jaw.
Thank you God. In this crazy mess of life, all that is meaningless in itself finds meaning because you care about us for some reason.
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