Still Waiting... The Long Road to a Loved One Passing Away

From my small sample of those whom I've talked to about this, it seems like a universal feeling. A brief amount of research seems to back this up. Most are like me and feel guilty, but it is apparently a common perspective...

I'm not only ready for my Mom to go ahead and pass away, I also want her to.

Let me explain before you start judging me.

My mom found out she had lung cancer last December. It's now the very end of July. That's eight months. When the PET scan showed that the mass she had for years, that had barely grown in that time, had gotten much bigger, we had hope that she might be one of the few who had a year (at least). 

She had beaten death so many times before. Once she even coded (and saw Jesus and my crying brother at her bedside, by the way). She has had pneumonia numerous times, and several were touch-and-go. She had four major surgeries at 87 years old, with one lasting about 10 hours. That's on top of so many other medical issues, surgeries, and procedures throughout the last few decades of her life.

She chose not to have any treatments... She didn't even care about a formal diagnosis because it was invasive and she would have to be under anesthesia for the fifth time in 6 months to get it (very, very hard on someone elderly with all of her medical conditions). 

When I became realistic about it was when I became brave enough to look up the prognosis for those with lung cancer. I found out there are two main types, and with one, a person could live years. For the other, eight months was a stretch. 

Still, I thought that she had more time. 

Two and a half weeks ago, everything was normal. My husband and I went on a very rare date purely because we had a coupon at a place where we also had a gift card from this past Christmas. We went for an even rarer walk around the neighborhood at 9pm that night because I was restless and knew I wouldn't be able to sleep.

I'll never forget something I realized when we almost got to the main road where we would turn around. I looked around and told my husband, "You know? One day soon this house, this neighborhood, this time in our lives will be just a memory." 

Then we went back to talking about other aspects of our life together.

The next morning Mom woke up unresponsive; her breathing was, um, different; I knew things had changed.

But she had been there before. Not exactly like this time, but similar - showing signs of being at the end of life.

And each time she came out of it.

However, each time she came out of it, I knew one day it would happen that she wouldn't.

This time there's no doubt that she's not coming out of it. She hasn't eaten in days. She hasn't drunk more than a few sips a day for a few days. She has gone back to being unresponsive the majority of the time. 

I knew we were close.

I guess 15 hours ago (give or take a couple of hours) she again looked like it was imminent. The biggest indicator was that her oxygen went down. I called my brothers and her pastor and asked them to come.

And then she perked up. 

It was very slight, but she definitely knew they were here. She even said a few words during that time. 

Eventually they all left, and my husband, daughter, and I were left to watch her and let them know when they needed to come again.

In fact, I was writing this and heard something different from her. (Yes, I wasn't at her bedside at the time. I've sat at her bedside for hours so far, and one can only do that for so long without going slightly bonkers - at least I can't.)

I jumped up in the middle of the word "mass" in the fourth paragraph when I realized she wasn't breathing. (I know because it was almost funny coming back after leaving during the middle of a word. I don't think I've ever done that before.)

Her oxygen level was lower than it had been before - her heart rate was higher (which is unusual because she has a pacemaker). 

But as I had been fooled before, I waited - and waited - and waited... until I felt sure that I needed to call my brothers.

(Funny how I titled this post "Still Waiting" even before this happened.)

Anyway, the final straw was when her O2 got to 19 before going back up to the mid-30s. She started breathing "like a fish," which I hadn't completely understood until I say it. I KNEW this was it. So, I asked my husband to call them.

I turned on some music I knew we both would enjoy...

And got prepared to wait even longer.

The music changed things. Her oxygen started going up. It finally leveled out in the 60s. I waited a little bit and then texted them again to tell them what happened. I told them to just wait to come (there's that "waiting" again!) until it dropped back down.

It's about 45 minutes later and it's still holding steady. Her breathing has gone back to what has become her normal. 

By the way, for those of you who are in the same boat, I've learned that there is a lot of variation in signs of the end of life.

Keep in mind I'm not a medical professional so do your own research or talk to someone who knows to confirm what I'm about to say. My point is that it's good to remember that everyone is different in the way and timeline in leaving this life.

One classic sign the end is near is low blood pressure. My mom's has been high - occasionally really high. These spikes in blood pressure were also when her oxygen was low. 

I didn't understand until my daughter and I were discussing theories on why she was hanging on so long. She mentioned that her brain just had to be deprived of oxygen, but her brain stem was still functioning - and that's where the autonomic functions of the body are located (blood pressure being one of the main ones).

My mom has POTS, a form of dysautonomia. In other words, her autonomic nervous system hasn't worked correctly in decades. Her blood pressure fluctuated each day from low to high. Instead of having blood pressure medications to lower it or raise it, she had both and took them depending on what it was at the moment.

I looked it up, and yes, that is a thing. With someone with dysautonomia, an indicator of it being the end isn't low blood pressure. In fact, it can shoot up. 

Another difference with Mom is that she has a pacemaker. That also changes the typical end-of-life signs. Until yesterday afternoon, when her pacemaker started flaking out, her pulse rate was a steady 75. She was on oxygen, so her blood flow kept going to her extremities. (Purplish extremities are another sign the time of passing is close. Mom's have stayed the same color.)

Yesterday afternoon it started varying from 75, but not by much. This morning it went up to 89, a big spike for her. That's where it was when her oxygen was 19. My theory on the physical reason she went from being so close to death to then having steady vitals is that her pacemaker kicked back in (even though I still think the music was part of it... somehow.)

One last thing for those who may be in the middle of similar experiences: having a pacemaker with a defibrillator adds an additional step at the end of life. The purpose of a defibrillator is to shock the heart when it goes out of rhythm. For someone dying, that means it will go off when the heart muscle starts to die due to lack of oxygen. It causes a minor shock to the person. 

It did that yesterday to Mom. It wasn't a bad shock, and it didn't hurt her. But both her hospice nurse and I saw it. She got a special magnet that deactivates the defibrillator. If you have that situation, make sure you check into how to do that for your loved one.

In other words, don't take what the Google and the booklets and even the nurses tell you. There are special circumstances that affect all this.

So, even more waiting........

The Roller Coaster One Week Later

The roller coaster has continued for a week now... This time a week ago, I had absolutely no idea what was coming.  

In fact, last Monday night my husband and I went out to eat (a very rare thing lately). Afterward,  we went for a late-night walk on our street (an even rarer thing). I don't know why I did it,  but I remember remarking that one day this would be just a memory - this street,  this house,  this period of such pain, struggle, but many good times. 

I'm in bed with Mom again right now. (It might be the last time she sleeps in her bed.) She had a big rally yesterday where she was really lucid,  wanted to eat, and actually stood up on her own. I'm thankful that I knew what to expect, but even knowing doesn't make it hard to keep in mind that she's not getting better, that it was just a blip on the road to heaven. 

It's a strange dichotomy at the moment.  I hear the pulsing noise of the oxygen concentrator while also listening to some beautiful hymns. (That I consider them beautiful still amazes me because for several decades I've hated them. But that's a story for another day.)

My husband came down a little bit ago to help Mom transfer to the bedside commode. I look around and see all of the equipment we rely on now. The bedside commode, the waterproof pads on the bed, the wheelchair, the hospital bed outside the bedroom... all reminders that she's in this stage of life. 

On one hand, I can't wait to get rid of all this stuff. On the other. I know what that means... and I'm very willing to put it off a little longer.

I'm recording and taking videos of just about everything. That's how I remember, and this is a time I desperately will want to remember. 

One thing I wasn't able to take a video of was her getting into bed. She has a high bed with side rails. The way she gets on the bed is to sit on the side, put her feet on the side rail, and push herself up. 

Every time she does it, I think of that scene in the movie "Titanic" where the elderly Rose steps up on the rail of the boat to throw the Heart of the Ocean (I think that's its name) into the sea. I've always thought she was so beautiful in that scene, with her wrinkled bare feet and wispy hair.

Mom is also that beautiful. She has an amazing smile that lights up a room. However, she absolutely hates her hands and feet because she has severe arthritis and they are crooked and swollen in the joints. 

I think they are beautiful. 

That reminds me of a song I'm planning to sign (while my daughter sings it) at Mom's Celebration of Life. It's called"Scars of Heaven" by Casting Crowns. It sums up Mom's life so well, especially due to the huge scar that runs all the way down her right arm.

This is the YouTube URL: 

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiJUE9Eii0Q&list=RDNiJUE9Eii0Q&start_radio=1

And here are the lyrics:

If I had only known the last time would be the last time,
I would've put off all the things I had to do.
I would've stayed a little longer, held on a little tighter,
Now what I'd give for one more day with you.

 

'Cause there's a wound here in my heart where something's missing,
And they tell me that it's gonna heal with time.
But I know you're in a place where all your wounds have been erased,
And knowing yours are healed is healing mine.

 

The only scars in heaven - they won't belong to me and you.
There'll be no such thing as broken, and all the old will be made new.
And the thought that makes me smile now, even as the tears fall down,
Is that the only scars in heaven are on the Hands that hold you now.

 

I know the road you walked was anything but easy.
You picked up your share of scars along the way.
Oh, but now you're standing in the sun, you've fought your fight and your race is run.
The pain is all a million miles away.

 

The only scars in heaven - they won't belong to me and you.
There'll be no such thing as broken, and all the old will be made new.
And the thought that makes me smile now, even as the tears fall down,
Is that the only scars in heaven, yeah, are on the Hands that hold you now.

 

Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! 

For the hands that hold you now.

 

There's not a day goes by that I don't see you.
You live on in all the better parts of me.
Until I'm standing with you in the sun, I'll fight this fight and this race I'll run,
Until I finally see what you can see. Oh-oh!

 

The only scars in heaven - they won't belong to me and you.
There'll be no such thing as broken, and all the old will be made new.
And the thought that makes me smile now, even as the tears fall down,
Is that the only scars in heaven are on the Hands that hold you now.
   Source: LyricFind
    Songwriters: John Mark Hall / Matthew Joseph West
    Scars in Heaven lyrics © Essential Music Publishing, ME Gusta Music, O/B/O DistroKid

It's a beautiful song. 

I need to try to get to sleep. Friends and family have been and are coming to visit over the next few days. It would help if I'm not exhausted. 

Good night. 

The Roller Coaster of the End of Life

My mom has been on hospice for about 8 months now. It's funny in a way. She was referred for hospice mostly for pain management, was admitted due to congestive heart failure, and then found out she has lung cancer - which is not even part of her official diagnosis (because she didn't want to have a biopsy, which is required for a formal diagnosis).

It took some convincing for her to talk to the hospice company. She told me that everyone she knew who was on hospice died not long after being admitted to the program. I explained that it was because they went on hospice too late - and that many lived years while on hospice. 

She agreed to discuss it with them and then agreed that it was a good idea. 

It's been a huge God-send... for many reasons. There are some practical reasons - free pull-ups, wipes, gloves and other items needed for the latest years. Some of her meds are free, too. 

No doctor appointments... at least for us. I don't know about all hospice companies, but ours has one doctor, so all of her care is managed by one doctor and very caring, knowledgeable nurses. After going to probably about ten different doctors for YEARS, this has been nice.

Relationships with the aforementioned nurses, plus aides, social workers and chaplains are a big bonus. All have been amazing. I can say they are truly becoming friends. I know I can rely on them to answer questions, provide support, and do many other aspects of care that go above and beyond what many in those fields are able to do.

So I have a great support team for this very rough time of life. What I didn't expect was just how much of a roller coaster it would be.

In the beginning, even though there was never a doubt that hospice was the right call, sometimes I wondered if she actually needed it. Other than no longer being able to drive due to the pain meds, she was still very independent. She was able to cook, go to church, play dominoes with her friends every week and host family functions (with a little help, of course).

When it came time for her first re-certification, I reminded her not to lie, but also not to gloss over how she was doing. She has always tended to downplay her symptoms and her pain. Because I live with her, when she went to a doctor's appointment and reported her pain as a 4 out of 10, I knew it was actually at least a 6 or 7. She wouldn't mention very relevant symptoms. I was a little nervous that she would do that but she re-certified without any issues.

However, it wasn't very long after that things started to change. She became less independent. It became very difficult for me because I wanted to keep her safe while she still wanted to go and do everything she used to. Things like cooking became "discussions" (fights) because after watching her come close to getting hurt or catching something on fire from the gas stove, I had to insist she stop cooking. 

Sometimes I wonder if that was the right thing. So many decisions were debated - both during the heat of the situation (no pun intended) or afterward. My reasons were valid for her not to do those things but I wish sometimes that I was better at trying to convince her that relying on someone else didn't mean she still wasn't strong or capable - it was simply the best thing for the time.

Her decline has been very up and down - with more swings than I had anticipated. Several times, she has been completely unresponsive. I would call and get a nurse to come over and check her out, ask the social worker and chaplain if they could come, and share what was going on with friends and family. We would start thinking about where we would put items like a hospital bed and we even ordered one once. 

Each time, she just popped out of it. The first time was especially remarkable. She went from completely unresponsive to a few hours later walking out of her bedroom after her nurse came to check on her. (That was the time I got to cancel the hospital bed.) Those who had worked in hospice for years said they had never seen anything like it. I attribute it to her strength, stubbornness/independent nature, and the prayers of many of her (and my) friends.

After each episode, everything went back to "normal" (whatever that is). There might be a few more things she had a difficult time doing by herself, but overall, she was back to being able to go and do all she had done before.

This latest time was different. Though I knew it was different, having watched her intently for hours during each time before, there was still the hope that she would bounce back. Her care team agreed with me. There were aspects of being closer to the end of her life than had happened before - more episodes of low oxygen, alarming blood pressure readings, and though she was still breathing at a normal rate, it was just... not... the same. 

I had a feeling this was the beginning of the end.

That happened this past Tuesday (it's now 1:35 AM on Thursday). We all tried to explain it away. It was easy to attribute it to doing too much the prior few days. On Saturday, she went with my brother and future sister-in-law to pick up her old sewing machine from a repairman whose shop took over an hour and a half to get there and back. 

On Sunday, she visited a new church. This was the first time she was reliant on oxygen beyond sleeping or sitting still; the first time she had to use it outside of the house. On Monday, she played dominoes with friends she has known for decades at the home of one of the group's members, who lived over an hour away round trip. 

It was a lot to do for someone in her condition and could have easily explained where she was physically.

But like I mentioned before, in my heart I knew it was different. The subsequent days have proved it.

We ordered a hospital bed, a Hoya lift, a bedside table from hospice.. The hospice nurse changed the frequency of her visits from twice a week to every day. Some meds were changed, more were taken away, and others were added. 

And for the first time, I was brave enough to ask what to expect. I knew it was time to know.

My nurse brought a wonderful little book that explained what typically happens with people who are naturally progressing through disease- or age-related decline called "Gone From My Sight: The Dying Experience," by Barbara Karnes. It's an easy read, only 14 pages, and is based on research as well as experience. 

In it, I found that there are parts of the end of someone's life that they wouldn't know about unless they've experienced it themselves with a loved one or learned about it from someone who has. One is seeing people who have gone before. 

Yesterday, my mom saw my dad, who passed away several years ago. Then last night in the wee hours of the morning, she saw a woman standing behind me. She told me that I "couldn't go where she was going." Then she saw a man in another part of the room and said the same thing about him.

If that had happened without having heard about it before, I would have freaked out. But I am taking it as just one sign that she's getting closer to heaven than she is here.

She also had a very vivid dream yesterday. I won't go into the whole thing, but it turned out that she went into a very long tunnel towards a light. On the other side of the light were the pearly gates. She remarked that they weren't like she had always imagined - that they weren't made of pearls like she thought. 

We chuckled about that. 

Knowing what is typical helps on many levels, but even knowing this is what most people in her stage of life experience still doesn't help emotionally. 

Like many mother/daughter relationships, we've gone through different times where we were best friends, where we were more distant, where we've fought like siblings, and where we've shared everything. 

Currently, she is one of my best friends. I can tell her almost everything going on in my life. I ask her advice and truly know how amazing she is and the wisdom she can offer (totally unlike my teenage and young adult years when I "knew everything"). I rely on her, and she relies on me. 

There has been a role reversal. I am her caregiver now. I help her get dressed, remind her to take her meds and brush her teeth, and schedule those who help take care of her. The transition was difficult for both of us for a long time, but eventually we accepted that this is just what happens with most people in this age bracket.

But one difference is that I live with her. She and my dad took me in when I had a major life event that wrecked my world. This allowed me the ability to pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a professional photographer and writer. Though it's not unusual for a mother and daughter like us to live together, usually it's the daughter's home they live in. That adds a layer that makes our practical relationship different than other mother/daughter relationships. It took a while for us both to adjust when my daughter and I moved in - but it's been well worth it for all of us.

I'm writing this while sitting in her bed with her. She felt good enough to sleep in her bed instead of the hospital bed that we finally got - and I wanted to sleep with her, stay with her, be right beside her in case she needed me.

And she has. She has woken up a lot through the night. She sees people I can't see. She has very vivid dreams that she needs to talk about. She needs encouragement to drink when I know her mouth is dry. Though she can still bear weight and even walk a few steps occasionally, it's definitely not safe for her to get out of bed by herself.

I'm incredibly thankful that I get to be here, with her, right now. The sleep I'm losing is more than worth it... The sodium deprivation from copious amounts of crying is more than worth it... The fact that I am committed to not going anywhere until she either gets much, much better or she goes to heaven is more than worth it...

...because that way I don't have to depend on simply hoping that the times I'm able to visit her she is lucid. 

I have recorded her telling stories about her past. I get to hear her quips, which is a huge part of her witty, hilarious personality. We got to play a game of Five Crowns with her last night - and somehow, even being extremely confused and literally cross-eyed with exhaustion, she still ended up not only winning, but having an unheard of zero score after the five hands we played.

Mostly, I have gotten to see her smile - and laugh. Even though at times we're both scared, even though we both have cried (sometimes even ugly cried), even though we have each expressed how much we'll miss the other, I'm just so thankful. 

She's an amazing, wonderful, strong woman. She's been through a lot in her life. She's had really, really low lows and many high highs. She's very, very confident that she's going to heaven and looks forward to seeing my Dad, many of her friends and family who have gone on before her, and Jesus. She is also looking forward to finally being healed and whole after decades of ongoing physical issues, some severe. Her right arm, the one that has bothered her since she first broke it when she was six-years-old (for over 80 years), the one that had two previous elbow replacements before the huge surgeries that began almost exactly a year ago where she got a shoulder/humerus/elbow replacement, the one she was never able to rehab well enough to work correctly - it will finally be healed!

I have a photo of the last time she ever got to ride a roller coaster, which she loved. I was with her. We never buy the photos that cost an arm and a leg (no pun intended... again!) at amusement parks, but this time was different. I was pretty sure it would be her last time to ride her favorite amusement park attraction - and it was.

I'm proud to be her daughter, and I'm so very thankful that, as hard as it has been and is currently, I'm getting to ride this roller coaster with her, too.

Mom, I love you so much. Even though I'm going to miss you TERRIBLY, I know you'll be okay. In fact, you'll be better than okay.

And I will be too, mostly thanks to you.

Aspects of Caregiving that Aren't Talked About

Caregiving is HARD! I knew it would be emotional to have someone you love need help for so many formerly independent tasks. I knew it would also be taxing because of losing sleep. I knew it would be financially draining due to losing work and missing potential work opportunities because of something coming up with my mom's health or having a sitter not be able to come at the last minute.

But I didn't know there were so many other aspects that you would never think about until you are there.

Things like... 

- eating fast-food or take out more because of not having the energy to grocery shop or fix food;

- bills piling up and checks bouncing from not being able to stay on top of mail and paperwork;

- not being able to work out consistently because of needing to find someone who can stay with her when I want to go to the gym; 

- having to throw away food that spoiled because of not being able to keep my act together enough to use it in time;

- the guilt of doing things (like going out to eat) without her; 

- knowing that there are lots of other caregivers out there and even caregiving support groups, but not having the time or energy to access that support; 

- the brain fog that develops because of so many decisions to make, with some being tiny things to others being potentially life-or-death;

- how hard it is to keep a relationship going with your spouse because of the added stress and time apart, both physically and emotionally (mostly due to exhaustion);

- little things like missing return windows on items that we bought and didn't work out and missed sales...

But by far the biggest aspect of caregiving that I was totally unprepared for is always, always, always second-guessing every decision - from how much to hover to keep her safe vs giving her as much independence and autonomy as possible to not knowing what to do if she's not feeling well but it's not quite bad enough to call the hospice nurse.

It's been a little over seven months now since my mom went on hospice. Something else I really wasn't prepared for is how one would think that I would have adapted to this life by now. But obviously I haven't. 

I'll still see a concert I'd like to try to shoot and/or cover (through my freelance work as a photographer and writer), and only after I've started trying to get the job, I'll realize I have no one to stay with her. I'll see something I really want to buy on Facebook Marketplace and then realize I have no one to be with her while I'm gone - even if it's only 30 minutes. I'll meet someone new at church and start to plan to go out to eat with them after the service is over - only to realize the sitter I got to stay with her during church won't stay longer with her because they have their own plans.

One thing I want to make sure I emphasize - I wouldn't have it any other way. I feel privileged to take care of my mom. I'm thankful that I'm in a place where I get to.

But there are a lot of times I just really, really wish it wasn't so hard.

Long Time, No Writing (AKA Full Body to Thin Body - But Not in the Way You Think)

My title of this post isn't exactly completely accurate. I've been writing, but not here. It's been hard to write much at all with everything going on - and so this has fallen by the wayside. But I've decided that I'm going to try to write here more often.

As you know, coming here is my go-to when I'm sad (or really happy) or have something that happened I need to vent about or just have something I realized I thought you might be interested in hearing it. 

So, this morning, when a bout of sadness hit me, seemingly out of the blue, I thought I would come back to the best way for me to process it. 

Setting: I'm sitting along the back wall of my church. My husband is practicing with the worship team. I brought my laptop so that I could get some stuff done these couple of hours that I don't need to worry about Mom. 

I had asked to be on the team this week but there was a miscommunication between my worship pastor and me and I wasn't included. As it often does, it worked out better that I'm not on it this week. I really needed to be home with Mom this past Wed night during practice. (It's like God knows what's going to happen in the future - amazing!) 

It doesn't make it any easier to hear them playing and want to be up there with them. Well, I just figured out the why on my sadness! Though I know logically it was better for me to be with Mom and honestly, that I'm finally able to get a blog out for the first time in months, I'm still sad that I'm sitting on the sidelines of something I love to do so much. 

I would have to go back and see if I ever wrote about the miracle that me even being on the worship team is. A few decades ago I gave up on church - too organized, too many issues, too much hurt. Around the same time, I also shut my heart down concerning music - all types of music, not just worship. I thought that if I just shut it down and tried not to listen to any music, it wouldn't hurt so much. 

During that time, I also gained a lot of weight. A couple of times through during those years, I picked up my guitar and tried to play. It was physically just not possible. My full-body and shortish arms weren't long enough to reach the guitar strings with my full-bodied guitar. 

So, when I finally started back to a regular church (not Deaf Church) a little over two years ago, I wanted to join the worship team, but I didn't think playing guitar, my favorite instrument, was a possibility. Instead, I tried to play keyboard, which I had been somewhat successful in the past playing. Not this time! I failed miserably.

But my worship leader at the time kept encouraging me to pick my guitar back up and I had the bright idea to get a thin-body (not myself - my guitar). My mom supported me and gave me the money to buy a cheap one... and I was able to play it! Not only could I play it, it was like I had never put it down!

Then a few months ago, after losing weight and having more a thin body myself, I decided to be brave one day and try my beloved Takamine guitar, one that was special to me for many reasons. One was that during a horrible divorce, my worship team at the time took up the money to buy it for me. It's a sweet sounding guitar and through my no-music years and no money, I thought several times about selling it, but just couldn't do it.

It was incredibly special to me to be able to play it again.

Combine that with sitting on the sidelines... I've had other loves in my life where I had to sit out for various reasons. I know this is a common theme with humanity - there's not a person who hasn't had that happen figuratively if not literally.

Plus, add in being more than extremely tired. I haven't been sleeping much lately - averaging maybe 3-4 hours a night. It wears on you more than you realize until it happens. So my emotions would be on the edge even if I wasn't on the sidelines.

I feel that most of my posts have been more positive lately and I feel a little bad that I'm going back to my all-too-common post that verges on a pity-party. But I also have made a commitment to be real with this blog - and today I'm sad. Today, even though I know why, I feel left-out and on the sidelines. Today, I wish I was rested and up on the stage doing what I love.

But I'm not, and it's really okay. One thing I've been learning is that with life, and especially with bipolar disorder, emotions come and go. This sadness won't last forever. Not being able to sleep won't last forever.

And sitting on the sidelines won't last forever. In fact, most likely in just seven days (or three if you're counting until practice), I'll be back up there. 

For all this I am incredibly thankful.

A Gay Man Sat in Front of Me in Church Today

A gay man sat in front of me in church today.

During pre-service, I listened to him pray fervently. During worship, I saw him enthusiastically join in. During preaching, I noticed that he was fully tuned in.

If you read this blog, you know that I am not sure that being gay and being Christian aren't possible. I have heard a lot of perspectives from both sides. I've heard that Bible translations have been interpreted anti-gay when they weren't actually meant to mean what we now think. On the other hand, I grew up hearing from the pulpit and from other Christians how horrible it was to be gay, how incredible a sin it was, how it's impossible for a person to be gay and be saved. 

However, that's not the point of this post. I have only listened to the viewpoints of others. I've never researched it myself. Even if I did, there's a portion of anyone's interpretation of Scripture that is their opinion. How much is God's Word and how much is culture? Plus, even if being gay is a sin, is it really my place to judge someone else's actions? Isn't that the job of the Holy Spirit?  

Back to this morning. What I saw brought up a question. Which is right? If praying fervently proves you are a Christian, then this man was a Christian. If being engaged in worship proves you are a Christian, then this man was a Christian. If tuning in fully to preaching proves you are a Christian, then this man was definitely a Christian.

On the flip side, however, what about those who might not pray fervently, might not engage in worship, might not fully tune into the sermon? If someone doesn't do those things, does that mean that he or she automatically isn't a Christian? 

In other words, it was one of those tangible reminders that we can't know what's going on in someone's heart. Maybe, just maybe, we should let God do His job and we should worry more about Him changing us than Him "fixing" everyone else.

Size Shouldn't Matter... But It Does

Following is a question I asked my pastor, but first, some background.

Our church is like many now that has "merch" - coffee cups, baseball caps, t-shirts, etc. These items have the church's name on them along with an associated event or saying. In this instance, they came out with a design of a shirt that was very special to me, one I really wanted.

However, I was almost positive that they didn't have a size big enough for me. I try not to let it bother me but I do feel left out when I see so many others wear the merch to church events. Oh - I don't wear baseball caps so that's not an option, even though I know it would fit.

So, this is where the email to my pastor came in...

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What's the largest size of the t-shirts you are giving out next week? My guess is 3x - because that's usually the standard biggest one out there (if you even got any that big). 

But something I would appreciate you thinking about... 

I gave up years ago ever getting a t-shirt at a church event, a concert, or with a club because there wasn't ever a shirt my size. I thought it wasn't possible.

I battle feeling left out, even with a group where I KNOW I'm not. Not being able to look like those around me because I can't afford clothes my size doesn't help this. I wear whatever I can find, which doesn't fit right even on the best day - and since I've lost weight, they fit even worse. I used to just accept that fact but I'll admit, it's really difficult when other women wear such cute clothes and I can't - and church is the worst place I deal with it. Not because anyone looks down on me for it (I hope), but because I look down at me for it.

Every... single... time... I see one of these shirts on someone at church, I feel just a little left out. Every single time a new shirt comes out, there's a tiny hope that there will be one my size - or that I've lost enough weight to have one fit. And every single time, I'm disappointed all over again.

When it happened at the marriage retreat, I mentioned it to one of the leaders. Usually I try not to worry about it - after all, I could just put the one given to me (that was too small) aside like I have so many others. But because they wanted everyone to wear their shirts for the group photo, I had a rough morning. I so wanted to be part of the photo without standing out like a sore thumb that this was one of the very, very few times I tried it on, just hoping against hope that it would fit - 

It didn't.

Yes, I should have been able to let it go. Yes, I shouldn't have let it get to me... but it did, pretty badly actually. It sounds crazy if you weren't in my head, but that stress, combined with my camera messing up and thinking I had lost all the shots from the retreat plus the paid shoot I left the retreat to do that Saturday morning, left me somewhat suicidal. Yes, that's extreme, and the shirt was a small part of the problem (how it seems like everything keeps going wrong was the main reason) - but the shirt led to me feeling not a part and that made it take that much more effort to ask for help.

Back to when I talked to the leader... when I told her all this, she apologized and said that she could have gotten a bigger size, but didn't even think about it. Does this mean it's possible to get even bigger sizes when you guys order shirts? Does it cost a lot more? Is it possible, at least once in a while, to get one for me?

When I started writing this, it was going to be just a simple question. I didn't plan to go into all that. I didn't think it would be a big deal. However, I'm ugly crying right now, so much that it's hard to breathe. It's apparently deeper in my heart than I thought.

Anyway, like I said, something to think about...