On Understanding Indigo.

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I’ve been in excruciating pain this past week – way more than usual. My hips have been giving me fits for the past few months, but this pain has now intensified to such a degree that my mid and upper back have been thrown totally out of whack in an over-compensating scream of protest.

I spent most of last week absolutely miserable with terrible spasms radiating from my mid thoracic spine around to the front of my ribs, causing all my inspiratory muscles to seize up. Try taking a normal breath like this. You can’t.

You can’t do anything like this. Believe me.

This kind of pain does not make me a nice person. In fact, it makes me nauseous, insanely angry, and it absolutely blinds me to anything other than the need for it to just stop. Now. Please. Darnit.

But it wouldn’t. It just would not stop. For days.

Ice. Heat. Bracing. Stretching. Pain meds. I tried everything. Nothing worked. Lying down was a nightmare. Standing up was even worse. Sitting would help for a little while, if I held myself ridiculously stiff and cockeyed. But then I would have to pee. Or breathe. Or both.

So I spent most of last week just wandering aimlessly around the house, feeling incredibly sorry for myself. Not only was I hurting like this, but I was also feeling like I was a prisoner of this pain. No, not just this pain. ALL the pain of the last few years, the weariness that persists, the randomness that prowls around, waiting to scream “Boo”.

It all just infuriates me. Lupus infuriates me. And makes me darn weary at times. I could feel its chains tightening around me, holding me back from my moments, tainting every, single one of them with its caustic form of ugly.

Life interrupted again.

Disappoint everyone again.

Disappoint ME again.

So, now, sitting here a week later … one incredibly long, lost week that I’ll never get back later … the spasms have finally eased into just a small nag located just to the right of my spine. My hips have returned to just their regular stiffened achiness of the last few months, and I am now functional again. I think.

The best thing, though, is I can now breathe. Thank you for that, God.

And thankfully my mom came late last week to help me through all of this because my husband has been in China for a few weeks now. I wrote last week about how we pretty much grew up together. We’ve been doing everything together for 36 years now. But not last week. That’s okay, though, it was definitely a week for him to miss.

Also thankfully, the worst of the pain was over before Mom arrived, so she didn’t see me at my absolute most pathetic, but it was still pretty bad that first day she was here. She let me cry some, then spent the rest of the weekend distracting me from everything, reminding me that the world is still spinning, and there is life without this pain. And there is life with this pain. And life in spite of this pain.

I wish I could stay focused on Jesus when the pain gets like this. I wish I could open my Bible and simply relax into His promises. Sometimes I can, but this time I couldn’t. All I could feel was pain. And anger. And disappointment. Why is God allowing the pain of Lupus into my life?

Late last night I was going through my phone and found this picture I took during a flight home last summer. Look at all those blues. Aren’t they stunning? I remember being captivated by them as we flew through the evening sky.

I stared at this picture last night noticing how the hues ranged from bright blue, all the way down to indigo. The blue is not just growing darker, the color actually becomes deeper. More saturated. Burnished. Peaceful. Quiet. Lovely.

I was thinking as I turned out the light last night – I understand now. This is what He’s doing with me – with ALL of us who experience stress and trials in this life. He’s adding his beautiful brushstrokes of undertones – even when we turn our backs on Him. He’s still there quietly deepening us, quietly teaching us, quietly revealing His most stunning hues of lovely to us, and through us. Especially through our pain.

Thanks for growing with me. ❤

“But we all, with unveiled faces, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.” (2 Corinthians 3:18)

 

 

2 thoughts on “On Understanding Indigo.

  1. Thank you for your beautiful raw honesty. I am sometimes ashamed at my lack of gratitude and my seemingly inability to focus on all the blessings I have rather than focusing on my struggles. Thanks for putting things in perspective. Love you my friend. Praying always.

    Liked by 1 person

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