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Friday, March 14, 2014

Miracles

    There are miracles, and there are miracles. I've heard of unseen miracles.   I just haven't witnessed any because, you know... I can't see them.  But then you have your "unheralded" miracles.  Now, Jesus birth, that was unseen to a lot of people, but to a field of shepherds and to some star-watching smart guys, it wasn't unheralded!

     You wouldn't believe it, but I myself have seen, and heard, and witnessed a miracle...and I didn't herald it.  I have this blog right here, and I've been silent.  No time, I guess, or no words. So here's heralding:

     My last post was over a year ago, and pretty bleak for Anne Marie. (See post below) And so it was, and kind of still is.  Eventually her bleeding stopped. They placed a tube in her skull to drain the blood and pressure, and to measure the pressure in her skull. (Sorry, you who are squeamish!)  We sat by her bedside as she drifted in and out of consciousness, and she slowly improved.  Day upon day, setbacks here and there -- but Anne has always been so good at covering for her disabilities, we didn't guess the truth for quite some time.  The doctors were amazed she survived!  They did make it clear to us, and it's still true today, that at any time, any moment, another bleed could come, one that could take her life, or make her a vegetable. Grim.

     Eventually, Anne recovered sufficiently to start Physical Therapy.  Something seemed off, though, even though Anne was covering to spare us and to try to cope emotionally herself before we found out.  

     The bleed had taken her sight.  

     How we mourned, with her and alone!  The injustice!  Had she not been through enough!  Personally, I felt like God was a big Cat, toying with His creations, playing with us like we are mice, until the final kill.  Big, not even intentionally mean, no feeling for us at all -- just the pain until the final kill.  I struggled, even as I know Anne struggled and sometimes still struggles, as we all do, and with one wish: if only she could see!

     I knew that God is big enough for my rage, that He could handle it, that I had to be honest with Him.  So I raged.  I told Him every single way He let Anne Marie down.  I told Him that I loved cats, but He was not supposed to be a cat, and I hated that in Him.  I wanted to know WHY.  Why.  Why?

     In the end, it wasn't enough to say that our pain and suffering make us better people, more like Christ.  It wasn't enough to say that in our pain we learn to understand others in pain better, and learn to comfort and understand them, even as we find comfort. I think the breakthrough for me was just understanding that God is not the Cat. The cat enjoys his play -- God weeps with us.  God is not toying with us -- instead He holds and helps us through it, though not always by carrying us.  Sometimes we have to walk. God is not the cat, but He truly loves us.  He loves me. He loves Anne Marie so very much.
                                     
                                     "The Lord your God in your midst,
                                      The Mighty One, will save;
                                      He will rejoice over you with gladness,
                                      He will quiet you with His love,
                                      He will rejoice over you with singing.”          
                                                                                (Zephaniah 3:17)

      Anne in rehab was something else.  Though she naturally still expressed a desire to see, she would sing little songs and hymns with her nurses and physical therapists, and would say to them, always, "How can I pray for you?"  Sometimes they'd stop right then and Anne would pray for them.  Was she loved or what?

     In the meantime, Anne went to an ophthalmologist who confirmed that the optic nerves were dead due to pressure in her head.    Ann was home now, getting from room to room like Mid-westerners travel through blizzards -- by rope!  Also, her sister, Christine, put a radio to play loudly in the bathroom, and Anne could then always find it.  Anne visited another neuro-opthamologist and had her first gleam of hope.  He recommended they do exercises for vision.  One was to get a penlight and have her try to follow the light.  She had a very dim perception of dark and light.  After months and months, she began to improve, and her sight IS slowly returning.  It will never return 100%, and it's best in the morning when she is fresh, but she can see 2 inch letters if they are near.  What joy she had, and amazement, when she, for the first time in months, saw her reflection in a mirror.  "Why -- I think that's me there!"

     She can't be alone, so during the day a neighbor comes and sits with her, Trey, a lovely older black woman.  Her contact with Anne Marie has brought her back to a sadly neglected faith in God.  She reads to Anne, makes lunch, they do things together, and love each other dearly.  Another blessing from above, as Anne's husband, Bob, can go to work knowing Anne is well-cared for and safe, and Anne is never lonely.

     And so, these are my heralded miracles of love I witnessed with my friend and "adopted sister" Anne Marie.  Her birthday is next week, and I'm glad she's here for it!  I thank God for it, the God who loves us, and actually rejoices over us with singing.