My Own Imaginarium

Is it mistrustful and false, Just waiting for you to stumble? Or a true and fierce guide, To lead you through the blunder?

What is a heart? Is it friend or foe? Does it lead to destruction, Or happiness to behold?

Unless you have experienced chronic pain of some sort, it’s a hard thing to explain. For example, my normal state of being hangs around an average person’s five, but I was previously living at about a seven. So if you ask if I’m in pain, well, everything is relative.

I think of my grandmother when she was going through chemo for breast cancer. A “good” day for her was one where she wasn’t tossing her cookies every five minutes. The term good all depends on the rating scale of the person using it.

There are two approaches you can take to the pain. The first is you can let it rule you and control your days. The second is you can fight. Somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting. It was so much easier to just let my pain level decide what I did; I had stopped even trying to live outside the pain.

I had my wakeup call this past summer when I was in a bad car accident. I was reminded of something; I no longer wanted to live in fear of the pain. I no longer wanted to be complacent. So I decided to fight back. The first step was altering my nutrition, cutting out the things I knew to be inflammation triggers and making sure I was feeding my body the nutrients it needed to properly function. The second step was to get my butt moving. Suddenly I was working daily walks and runs into my day. I was going to yoga class again to stretch the muscles and joints that were causing the unbearableness of my nights and days.

The simple answer for this change was vanity. That I wanted to look more attractive in my clothes, or more so, that I wanted to feel attractive in them. That’s the surface answer for my determination because guys, that size 8 dress in my closet, I am gunning for it. Yet, that only tells half the story.

This past Fall I got to watch my Dad compete in a CrossFit Festivus competition. It was amazing to watch what the human body is capable of…in him and everyone else that was competing. The rousing question from everyone at our local box was, “So are you going to come join us?” I would laugh and shake my head because what I was watching them do, there was no way my body could do that.

I mean, my range of motion was limited. I had been given stipulations on how much was safe for me to lift, and how high it was safe for my heartrate to get. There was no way I could do this. As I stood off to the side watching the athletes compete, I struck up a conversation the wife of the owner of our box. When she asked me the same question as everyone else I told her my truthful answer, I didn’t think my body was physically capable of this. Rather than giving the typical, “oh no you can,” she asked me why.

Now knowing she was a physical therapist, I expected her to agree with my opinion after I explained my spinal issues to her. She told me the opposite. She said that the WODs could be scaled so that I could do this. It might be rough at first, but physically, yes I could do this. She suggested I go to the discovery class that was starting in November and get a feel for what CrossFit was. So I did.

It’s been about six months now, and I’m still going. I won’t tell you it’s easy because then I would be lying. Some WODs leave me in pain in the floor and unable to finish the workout. Some leave me so exhausted that I’m unsure if ending up in the floor catching my breath at the end is defeat or accomplishment. But I am fighting.

I am fighting for my ability to walk in 30 years. I am fighting to be able to keep up with my four year old niece. I am fighting to not feel like crying when I go to get out of bed in the morning. I am fighting for my life back.

Everyone reacts to the idea of death differently. Whether it’s a tragedy on the news, the death of a loved one or acquaintance, even our own brush with the grim reaper; we all respond in different ways.

This past July, I was involved in a bad car accident. I was headed back from a friend’s home, a route I’ve driven so many times easily at night.  I was coming out of the city limits; I hadn’t even reached the road sign telling me I could increase my speed on the highway yet. There was another vehicle in front of me easing along as I was, and for a moment, the night was calm.

In what seemed like a second, the calm was shattered. It is a paralyzing feeling when you see what’s about to happen and there is nothing you can do to stop it. For about 15 seconds the world seemed to move in slow motion. I saw headlights coming down the other side of the road at us, just like when any vehicle is coming from the other direction. As they got closer to the vehicle in front of me, the angle suddenly shifted.

I think I heard the crunch of impact before my eyes registered what I was seeing. As I watched the cars in front of me collide, one thought was registering in my brain: the oncoming car, it wasn’t stopping. As if acting independent of my brain, my hands jerked at the steering wheel, trying to get my car off the road. I wasn’t fast enough. When I saw the headlights coming through my window, I had about a second to brace for impact. I remember the squeal of tires, apparently from where I slammed on my breaks, and the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal. I remember pain, then tan everywhere, then darkness.

When I came to, I heard people shouting, running across the road. Over the ringing in my ears I registered sirens and doors slamming. I couldn’t push my door open, but someone from the outside wrenched it open. I climbed under the side airbags, the tan I had seen, and attempted to stand. The world swam and nausea rolled through me. I remember someone holding me up and then sitting me against the edge of the driver’s seat. From where my vehicle ended up, I could see neither vehicle that had been involved in the accident with me.

Shock is an amazing thing. Between it and the concussion I received, the rest of the evening was a bit like blurred auto pilot. The firemen, police, EMTs, even the hospital. Somehow I walked away with only an extremely bruised collarbone and a concussion.

In the week that followed, the severity of what happened would slowly sink in. The first hit was the police report. I got to sit at my desk at work and read the events of the night laid out in black and white. The women in the car that hit me had been blinded by the headlights from the vehicle in front of me. In her confusion, she veered into him. Instead of hitting her brakes, she hit her accelerator, slamming her straight into me. The impact spun both vehicles she hit around. The man driving the first vehicle had to be cut out because the edge of his door had been too damaged to open.

The second hit was when I went to clean out my totaled car. It was the first time I had seen it since that night. One of my back tires was blown out and the rear door on the driver’s side was demolished, most of it no longer connected. The edge of my door was bent in. Seeing the damage in the daylight was shattering. The police officer’s words when I was in the emergency room rang back to me, “If you hadn’t tried to get your car off the road when you did, you probably wouldn’t be talking to me right now.” Five seconds. That was the difference between life and probable death for me.

The first time headlights came at me after I finally scrounged up the courage to drive after dark, I was terrified. Each time after, it became I bit easier. Some nights I still flinch when they flash at me.

Why am I sharing this? Well, some things in life make us sit back and think. In my case, it was like I had woken up again. Somewhere along the way I had become complacent and comfortable, I was moving through the motions of life instead of living it. I made a promise to myself to refuse to be complacent, to fight for what I wanted. If I wanted to wear a size 8 pair of jeans again, I was going to do it, no matter how much work it took.

In the months since my accident I’ve fought to keep that promise to myself. I started tracking my food and refocusing on nutrition. Going for a run or walk most days and going to yoga class again. In November I started CrossFit. Since August, I have gone from a size 18 to a size 12. It’s amazing what happens when you wake up.

Do you ever wish that life was being graded on a curve? Or that you had a do over button? Oh the things I could do with a do over button. Not because of regrets, but a chance to fine tune my reactions, words, actions.

As a writer I always get the chance to edit what I write before I share it with others (sometimes multiple drafts). In conversing, occasionally my mind doesn’t always edit as smoothly on the fly. Even the most straight-forward person is complex. Why this is always a surprise to me, I will never understand. It’s not like my mind doesn’t process a million thoughts a second, and take the world in through my own experience colored glasses.

I think that’s why I like to be a wallflower. I can take in the world around me without anyone noticing me. It makes it easier to be an objective observer. It isn’t as messy as “doing life” with others. It’s amazing what people reveal about themselves when they think no one is paying attention. Body language and eyes can sometimes tell me more about a person’s meaning than their words and tone of voice. Sadness for example, stays in the eyes, no matter how someone tries to cover the emotion up.

The most terrifying thing for me is when someone takes my wall away. No wall, nowhere to blend into. Now mind you, sometimes I’m the one that takes my wall away. I like to think of it as immersion therapy; I hear it’s the most effective way to overcome our fears, or learn new skills. An unnerving experience none the less, even if done by my own hands.  

Now I’m not completely anti-social… I’m just introverted.  I converse smoothly, mostly, with my people, the circle of friends and family I feel comfortable around. Now new people and personalities, those are a whole new ballgame. It’s like each new person is a new language to learn, and until I’m fluent, I don’t feel completely comfortable speaking it.

Lately I’ve been focused on identity. This morning I saw a post on Facebook from a man to his nephew. The lesson he outlined on identity was beautiful. “God is in your skin. God is in your lips. God is in your nose. God is in your hair.” There was more to this post, but this section stuck in my head. I stopped and thought, what am I teaching my niece about her identity? Do I complement her more when she looks adorable, or when the sweetness of her spirit shines through? Not only that, but what is my example showing her about identity?

We are each a walking lesson to those around us; especially those that look up to us. What a terrifying thought and a powerful reminder that our actions do not only affect ourselves. So what is my walk telling her? Is it teaching her about makeup and clothes, or is it teaching her that her identity is found in Jesus? Where is it showing her to seek affirmation? Where is it showing her to seek love? What is it showing her about priorities? How is it showing her to relate to boys? To her friends? Does it display obedience to her earthly and heavenly father? Does it show her to put others before herself? What am I teaching her without ever opening my mouth about the subject?

This may sound intense to you, and it should, it’s a hard hit. And we should all take it very seriously. What are our actions teaching the next generation coming up? How are we showing them to measure their worth? I do not know about the rest of you, but I’m falling short. I often struggle with how my own worth is measured; it’s often dictated by a little thing called self-esteem. It’s a lovely little tool that can tear down our spirt and decimate our witness. It is a direct adversary to our identity in Christ. It gives us a false list of attributes to measure ourselves against to discover our worth. They are so ingrained in us through culture and society that we take them as truth. Yet, if we hold these attributes next to scripture, they don’t hold water.

So what is my identity? I am saved by grace (Ephesians 2:5). I am no longer enslaved to sin (Romans 6:6). I am saved through faith, not works (Ephesians 2:8). I am a citizen of heaven (Philippians 3:20). I am a temple for the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). I am a coheir with Christ (Romans 8:17). I am a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). I have been called out of the darkness (1 Peter 2:9). I am a part of the body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:27). I find righteousness through Christ (2 Corinthians 5:21). I am redeemed (Ephesians 1:7). I am created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). I am an ambassador for Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20). I have been given the gift of grace (Romans 3:24). I am a beloved child of God (1 John 3:1-2).

For the last few years I’ve struggled on and off with singleness. As I watched all of my friends get married and as I watch the first one the road to children; I find myself swallowed in moments of loneliness. I even described to a friend last week that it makes me feel unwanted. Like something is totally wrong with me. Maybe, I’m just unlovable.

Feelings are a dangerous and deceptive part of us. See, what I feel, and what I know to be true, they don’t match. My feelings and the world tell me I’m not pretty enough, skinny enough, witty enough, sexy enough, smart enough, athletic enough, or enticing enough to be loved. To be wanted. If you aren’t properly armed, these thoughts can bring you to your knees. Make you feel completely worthless.

I have to start with the reminder that I’m not on earth for the world to love me (John 15:19). Jesus reminds us in verse 18 that, “If the world hates you, understand that it hated Me first.”  1 John 4:5 shows a bit of overlooked wisdom, “They are of the world. That is why they speak from the world's perspective, and the world listens to them.”  I have to remind myself that we are supposed to be different, set apart (Hebrews 7:25-27). Being different isn’t a bad thing.

As believers we are being transformed to reflect Christ (2 Corinthians 3:18). Sanctified if you will. As I am not to reflect the world, I have to stop measuring myself against it. As a believer, I will never measure up to the world standards. I will always be too modest, too prudish, and too conservative. They will see me and my beliefs about gender roles as not sexually open enough, narrow minded, and unprogressive. I’m seeking the love of the world, yet this world, it is not my home. Nor is it where I find my identity or my worth.

See, the world doesn’t have the capacity to unconditionally love me. On that note, no man or woman has the ability to unconditionally love me. There is a Greek word for this type of love, Agape. It’s a word describing God’s unconditional love for His children. It breaks my heart to realize that my longing for the conditional love of man, and that feeling of being unlovable… it’s throwing God’s wondrous love right back in His face, I’m basically telling Him his love isn’t good enough for me.

So I have to step up in those moments, and fight. John 16:33 reminds me that Jesus has already overcome the world; I’m already fighting from a point of victory. He has even graciously shown me how to prepare myself for battle each day (Ephesians 6:10-18). My weapon, He tells me, is His Word and the truth it contains. 1 Peter 5:10 tells me I don’t suffer in vain. Psalm 91:4 reminds me He is my refuge and shield. Song of Solomon 4:7 reminds me I am beautiful. Psalm 73:26 tells me that my flesh and heart will fail me, but “God is my strength and my portion forever.  2 Corinthians 12:9 lets me stand on the truth that God’s "grace is sufficient for [me], for power is perfected in weakness."