Accepting No
My last post was about saying, "Yes." But not everything is a yes right now. In fact, there are quite a few nos I've been grappling with:
No, I will never have children. I have known this in my head for a while now. You know I've written about it before. But now I am taking action to walk in that reality. All of the things I had treasured away for future little ones are now just collecting dust. Even my nieces and nephews are too big for most of them now. How time flies! Seeing how quickly time passes and realizing that these things may miss getting used altogether (and nothing is sadder than an unloved doll), I have recently gifted a few of the things to sweet friends whose children can enjoy them. I have taken great delight in seeing these things appreciated and enjoyed, but it is a joy mixed with wistfulness and sadness at what might have been.
My sister's kids now go to school in Charlottesville. I've loved having them close enough that I can go to every school performance and sports game. But I always imagined that one day I would be doing those things with my own children and sometimes it's hard to see so many people who got the life you thought you wanted.
No, I can't do everything I want to do. I have always been a "can-do" person. Don't tell me it can't be done; I will find a way or exhaust all the possibilities. I will be there helping when no one else is and you can count on me to pull my weight. We don't need to hire someone to do that; I can figure it out. If I want to travel to the other side of the world and hit the ground running, with a packed schedule, I can do it. If I want to handle my own luggage or walk to save money, it's no big deal. I can do it. Except that now I can't.
We bought a fixer upper before I was diagnosed and now, even though I'm the one with free time, I can't even work on it. Trying to paint our tiny master bathroom resulted in massive back pain. A quick trip to the Smithsonian confirmed that being on my feet for more than three hours is going to end in a meltdown due to pain and exhaustion. We didn't make it to a Broadway show in NYC because just doing the 9/11 museum was beyond what I could handle in one day. My trips to Prince Edward Island and Cozumel brought recognition that even sitting for several hours at a time will end the same way. I've had to hire and accept help to do simple chores and projects at home. I can't even stand at the stove to make a side dish for a potluck or a meal for my husband without ending up in enough pain that I no longer want to attend the potluck or eat the meal.
I recently discovered the why behind the pain*, which has been so helpful for my understanding and will hopefully be helpful in planning future activities, but it's still hard to accept new limitations. And for someone to whom appearances matter (I'm a type three in the Enneagram), it's even harder to look able-bodied and yet not be able to function like you "should." It's hard to tell people you can't help with their need or make firm plans with them, to be the one who takes the most comfortable chair in the room or who lets someone else do the heavy lifting; it feels indulgent and selfish, even though it's done out of necessity.
No, I don't remember that. I said I would do that? Oops. You told me about that already? No recollection whatsoever. I double-booked appointments? Wow, I totally lost track of the date. What was I saying, again? I lost my thought mid-sentence.
I used to trust my memory 100%. I used to be one sharp cookie, an overachiever. Now I feel like a stumbling fool, a flake. Chemo brain is real, y'all. There is that saying, "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." I think that's all I need to say on that topic.
And yet, I read this verse the other day, "Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup, and have made my lot secure" (Psalm 16:5). All these things, all these nos, are my portion and my cup, assigned by God. Who am I to say I don't want this assignment? Romans 9:20-21a says, "But who are you, a mere man, to talk back to God? Will what is formed say to the one who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Or has the potter no right over the clay?"
Don't get me wrong - God does not delight in "assigning" to us difficulties and trials. The world He created wasn't like this. But sin broke it and very many things are not as they should be. I have learned that it's okay to mourn that, to grieve over what could have, should have, been. I absolutely do. That's kind of the point of this whole post! And you know what? God grieves, too. He even collects our tears in a bottle (Ps. 56:8).
But we must not lose hope. The verse following Psalm 16:5 is this: "The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance." One day, all will be made right. Suffering will end, tears will dry up, evil and hatred will be destroyed. We will have a new heaven and a new earth, as it should have been and even more glorious than before the fateful fruit was eaten. Everyone who becomes a child of God inherits a place in this beautiful new world, where God and man will walk together.
Until I receive that beautiful inheritance, from these trials I'll learn humility and endurance (James 1:3), character and hope (Rom. 5:3-4), and see Christ's power in my weakness (1 Cor. 12:9). Do I love my current assignment, the cup I've been given? As I've just told you - not so much. A lot of the time it just stinks. Is there still much that is grace in my life? Yes. As the author of Lamentations said after a litany of complaints: "But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, therefore I will hope in him'" (Lam. 3:21-24).
I've had this song on repeat lately. Check it out here and the lyrics here. So appropriate for this post. <3
*I have a compression fracture in the T3 vertebrae of my spine. Apparently, the force of gravity from sitting or standing, even for just a few hours, further compresses the fracture, resulting in increased pain. If I don't lie down flat on my back (sitting doesn't help), it will eventually end up pinching a nerve and causing burning pain in my shoulders.
No, I will never have children. I have known this in my head for a while now. You know I've written about it before. But now I am taking action to walk in that reality. All of the things I had treasured away for future little ones are now just collecting dust. Even my nieces and nephews are too big for most of them now. How time flies! Seeing how quickly time passes and realizing that these things may miss getting used altogether (and nothing is sadder than an unloved doll), I have recently gifted a few of the things to sweet friends whose children can enjoy them. I have taken great delight in seeing these things appreciated and enjoyed, but it is a joy mixed with wistfulness and sadness at what might have been.
My sister's kids now go to school in Charlottesville. I've loved having them close enough that I can go to every school performance and sports game. But I always imagined that one day I would be doing those things with my own children and sometimes it's hard to see so many people who got the life you thought you wanted.
No, I can't do everything I want to do. I have always been a "can-do" person. Don't tell me it can't be done; I will find a way or exhaust all the possibilities. I will be there helping when no one else is and you can count on me to pull my weight. We don't need to hire someone to do that; I can figure it out. If I want to travel to the other side of the world and hit the ground running, with a packed schedule, I can do it. If I want to handle my own luggage or walk to save money, it's no big deal. I can do it. Except that now I can't.
We bought a fixer upper before I was diagnosed and now, even though I'm the one with free time, I can't even work on it. Trying to paint our tiny master bathroom resulted in massive back pain. A quick trip to the Smithsonian confirmed that being on my feet for more than three hours is going to end in a meltdown due to pain and exhaustion. We didn't make it to a Broadway show in NYC because just doing the 9/11 museum was beyond what I could handle in one day. My trips to Prince Edward Island and Cozumel brought recognition that even sitting for several hours at a time will end the same way. I've had to hire and accept help to do simple chores and projects at home. I can't even stand at the stove to make a side dish for a potluck or a meal for my husband without ending up in enough pain that I no longer want to attend the potluck or eat the meal.
I recently discovered the why behind the pain*, which has been so helpful for my understanding and will hopefully be helpful in planning future activities, but it's still hard to accept new limitations. And for someone to whom appearances matter (I'm a type three in the Enneagram), it's even harder to look able-bodied and yet not be able to function like you "should." It's hard to tell people you can't help with their need or make firm plans with them, to be the one who takes the most comfortable chair in the room or who lets someone else do the heavy lifting; it feels indulgent and selfish, even though it's done out of necessity.
No, I don't remember that. I said I would do that? Oops. You told me about that already? No recollection whatsoever. I double-booked appointments? Wow, I totally lost track of the date. What was I saying, again? I lost my thought mid-sentence.
I used to trust my memory 100%. I used to be one sharp cookie, an overachiever. Now I feel like a stumbling fool, a flake. Chemo brain is real, y'all. There is that saying, "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." I think that's all I need to say on that topic.
And yet, I read this verse the other day, "Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup, and have made my lot secure" (Psalm 16:5). All these things, all these nos, are my portion and my cup, assigned by God. Who am I to say I don't want this assignment? Romans 9:20-21a says, "But who are you, a mere man, to talk back to God? Will what is formed say to the one who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?' Or has the potter no right over the clay?"
Don't get me wrong - God does not delight in "assigning" to us difficulties and trials. The world He created wasn't like this. But sin broke it and very many things are not as they should be. I have learned that it's okay to mourn that, to grieve over what could have, should have, been. I absolutely do. That's kind of the point of this whole post! And you know what? God grieves, too. He even collects our tears in a bottle (Ps. 56:8).
But we must not lose hope. The verse following Psalm 16:5 is this: "The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance." One day, all will be made right. Suffering will end, tears will dry up, evil and hatred will be destroyed. We will have a new heaven and a new earth, as it should have been and even more glorious than before the fateful fruit was eaten. Everyone who becomes a child of God inherits a place in this beautiful new world, where God and man will walk together.
Until I receive that beautiful inheritance, from these trials I'll learn humility and endurance (James 1:3), character and hope (Rom. 5:3-4), and see Christ's power in my weakness (1 Cor. 12:9). Do I love my current assignment, the cup I've been given? As I've just told you - not so much. A lot of the time it just stinks. Is there still much that is grace in my life? Yes. As the author of Lamentations said after a litany of complaints: "But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, therefore I will hope in him'" (Lam. 3:21-24).
I've had this song on repeat lately. Check it out here and the lyrics here. So appropriate for this post. <3
*I have a compression fracture in the T3 vertebrae of my spine. Apparently, the force of gravity from sitting or standing, even for just a few hours, further compresses the fracture, resulting in increased pain. If I don't lie down flat on my back (sitting doesn't help), it will eventually end up pinching a nerve and causing burning pain in my shoulders.
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