Not much

We left the house this morning around 9:15 and headed north towards Rochester MN.  God blessed us with safety travelling despite the fact that I felt sleepy most of the way.  We were also blessed with friends who offered their van so that we could bring all of our trappings along and Ian could also stretch out and find some level of comfort along the way.

The doctor saw us and after hearing our story, doing a physical, and looking through our stacks of paperwork, sent us home for the night.  In the morning we’re lined up to have yet another EMG, yeah, one of those, and then we’ll see the doctor again.  The Hoovers have been so sweet and made us feel comfortable in their home.  Ian is currently sacked out on their lounge chair, trying to relax a bit.

On other news, the test results came back from the blood work that was sent to Boston the beginning of October.  They came back negative for myotonic dystrophy so we have yet one more thing we can check off the ‘negative’ list.

And off to Mayo we go

Wednesday I found myself reading a text message from Ian, 

“Mayo appointment Oct 29 at 2:15… :)”  

 This is something we’d been hoping and praying for now for quite some time.  I was both excited as well as scared.  The doctors at Iowa City are struggling to know what Ian’s illness is called. We thought it was mitochondrial myopathy but then they decided that the muscle biopsy was not definitive enough for this type of diagnosis.  Another test they took was for myotonic dystrophy.  The results won’t be back for a while they said.

In the mean time, after waiting sometimes for weeks to hear from the doctors to know what to do next, we were encouraged to look into possibly going to Mayo.  There is a Mayo Clinic in Rochester MN about four hours from our house.  The doctor at Iowa City was willing to refer us.  They set up an appointment for December the 12th and said we could call twice a week between now and then to see if there were any cancellations.  The first time Ian called they told us they had an opening for the very next week.  They told us to plan to be there for five to seven business days.  I’m not quite sure what to expect since every other doctor visit we’ve been to in the past has always resulted in them not being able to find anything.  Maybe we’ll still be there next year? Maybe we should look for a house near by to live in?  Maybe rent is cheaper in Rochester?  I doubt it.  But sometimes I think about it.   

Once again I’m awed by the support coming from the Body of Christ.  Within just a few hours of finding out that we needed to go to Mayo, someone gifted us with a nights stay at a hotel and through several other connections we now have a place to stay that is quite near the Clinic.  We feel blessed by such generosity and we continue to feel God’s presence very close despite living in our broken world.

Thank you for your continued love, support and prayers.  Next week looks overwhelming to me but I know that with God's grace, we'll find His face in the midst of the week of challenges.

“Excuse me Ma’am, could I see your license…”

It was so nice to have my friend Kaylan here for a visit a few weeks back.  She, like so many others have been good about coming to visit us when we don’t have the option to travel as much as we wish we could. 

We were standing in the kitchen at work.  I was slicing fruit for the day.  Our conversation was all about her life and my life and family and friends we know.  I told Kaylan that even though life has been rough, God has been very present in our struggle.  As I cut the cantalope in half and cleaned out the seeds with a spoon Kaylan asked me, “How?  Do you have an example?”

I sliced the melon in quarters and found myself tearing up. 

“Yeah, the other day it was early in the morning.  I went and picked up Orlando, (the little boy that Ian babysits) and when I got home I was rushing around trying to get things lined up for Ian for the day.  He wasn’t feeling well at all so I dished up food onto plates for them and stored them in the fridge for lunch.  It was shaping in to a no good morning really fast.  Should I ask Dena to take care of Orlando?  (She’s been so good about helping us when we’ve needed it.)  Why do I have to rush off to work and leave my sick husband at home every day?  Why does my world look this way?  God didn’t create me to be living this life.  At least not in His perfect plan.

Just before I left for work for the day I sat in the drive and sent a text to several friends asking them to pray for me just to survive the day.  I’d been crying all morning and life felt like more than I could take.  When was my heart going to physically break in half from the pain?  I was just imagining trying to make food for people’s lunches with tears dripping into the soup and all over the sandwiches.  Not great.  But that’s how I felt.

As I left the drive, I glanced down at the clock and realized I was going to be just a bit late for work, if I didn’t hurry.  More thoughts coursed through my head as I drove and I wasn’t paying much attention to anything.

What does it mean to live in this state of brokenness?  What is God trying to teach us on a day-by-day basis?  How can I try harder to pursue God’s heart in knowing how to live?  Even for this moment?

 The pile of tissues grew on the seat next to me. 

And really, what do we do next?  Where do we go?  Who do we talk to?  How many more doctor’s visits should we seek out?  When God looks at my heart, what does He see?  Does He see a heart that is desperate only for physical healing for Ian?  Or can I hold my desires with an open hand realizing that clutching them tightly to myself will do no good anyway?

Just then I looked up in my rear view mirror and saw a white car pull around the vehicle following me and swing in behind me.  I put on the brakes right away.  I knew immediately it was a policeman.  Even more than that I knew that I’d let the way I was feeling take over my ability to drive wisely.  I’ve been pulled over before and I know that feeling of blood pounding in my ears, the sting of knowing I deserved what was coming, or in some cases wondering why I’d been stopped but being pretty sure I was at fault.  The rush of adrenaline that goes with it all.  Surprisingly as the police officer walked up to my window I felt none of that.  Just an odd feeling of calmness that didn’t seem to match with anything I’d been going through.

I don’t know what the police officer saw when he looked in my window.  I’d composed myself well enough that there were no tears running down my face and I was searching in my wallet for my license.  The $100 or so I was about to pay to the Dallas County coiffeurs for driving over 55mph, didn’t seem to matter for some reason.  Maybe the weight of perspective was still vivid enough in my mind to keep me composed.

Even as I told Kaylan the story tears ran down my face.  God was so real in that moment it almost took my breath away.  I don’t know if that officer ever realized that I thought he was an angel.  Maybe he was and maybe he knew it but he felt to me like one of those pink slips from heaven that we so often want God to send us.  I deserved a fine.  I needed to be reminded to drive safely and cautiously.  All of this I knew.

“Well ma’am I’m just here to give you a verbal warning…” I could hardly believe my ears.

Why the officer decided I only needed a warning?  I have no idea but to me he was a very tangible picture of God reaching down into my life at that moment.  “Ruth, let Me show you ME, right now.  In the midst of what feels like a difficult morning, in the midst of your pain, in the midst of your questions, let Me stop you.  Let Me literally pull you over, and show you mercy.”

My heart stands in awe of a God who takes such a personal interest in my life and a God who holds true to His promises.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…”   -Psalm 23

Grace like rain...

 I’m not quite sure where to start this post, or how to finish.  The only problem with letting too much time slip by between posts is that so much accumulates to write about that when I finally find time to write, it all jams up in my head and pours out in uncomfortable ways like our backed-up drain system has been doing recently.  Soon I find myself with a wet basement, piles of dirty laundry and I’m dumping my dishwater on the wilting morning glories that still refuse to bloom.  See!  I told you it gets confusing!

As many doctor’s appointments as we’ve been to in the last several months it’d be nice to say that we know what is going on with Ian’s illness.  It’d be nice to say that we know what we’re facing.  It’d be nice to at least say we have a diagnosis.  The only thing I can truly say is that we’re still experiencing God’s grace in our lives, and this is beautiful.

If God gives me more years of life to live, I pray that when I look back on our first year of marriage, I will remember grace.

My sister Martha was here the beginning of August for a short visit and I asked her to create a painting for me.  I had an idea in my mind for a while and I wanted to see if Martha could create it with paint for me.  Of course she did ‘cause she’s good like that!

This painting represents much of what I feel every day.  When I look at life it seems like dark, black clouds are hanging over us drenching us with rain.  My heart wants to run.  It wants to hide.  It wants safety.  It wants light and not darkness.  It wants life and the ability to breathe.  But instead, God is helping my heart to find beauty in the clouds and even in the storm.  When the thunders of the unknown boom, I am learning the boldness of trust.  When the lightning snaps its surprise I am learning the patience of taking each surprise with hope.  And the rain, oh the rain.  I’m learning that so much of it is in my perspective.  I can reach my hand out and say it stings, I’ll be drenched, it pounds and it pours!  Or, I can look at each precious drop as a gift from God.  I see the softening effect it has on my hard heart.  I see the growth that it brings.  I see the grace that is in each and every one of those little drops.

Early in the spring when I was starting to garden I was thinking about how we often use hard and tough tools to break up ground for planting.  It was fascinating to see that God used rain with the same effect.  Gentle rain brings softness.  I remember specifically asking God, over that time, that I would be able to respond to His grace, and the words from a song, “O for grace our hearts to soften.”  And now, today, I live that prayer fulfilled, moment by moment.

Seeing grace and accepting it can be as difficult as extending grace to someone that has wronged me.  Grace comes in so many forms sometimes I don’t even know what it is and I call it pain and despair.  I daily find though, that grace, is using the pain and despair to turn my heart to a God who holds my wound with a tender hand, a God who faithfully keeps His promises by building hope and a God who knows just what I need.

The last months have brought much change in our lives, and yet, no change at all.  We’ve been to the doctor numerous times.  We were given a diagnosis: A very mild form of Mitochondrial Myopathy.  Now the doctors are saying they aren’t so sure about this diagnosis and maybe it is something else.  More testing, more waiting and many days of not knowing.  A few weeks back Ian was feeling stronger than he had been for months.  He was walking around the house quite often without using his cane.  He had energy to babysit three children for several days in a row.  But then three weeks later he experienced some very low days where he felt so weak it was hard to even shake hands to greet people.  We wake up every morning unsure of what the day will hold.

But this we know, God is faithful.  Whenever my heart wants to doubt, or be afraid, I only have to remember a few years back, a few weeks, a few days, only a few moments ago to remind myself of His declared faithfulness.  I have nothing profound or clever to say, in fact, I’m still learning the definition of faithfulness but I cannot turn a blind eye to what I see daily.  I see and experience friends who call to encourage me even when I don’t have the emotional energy to answer the phone.  I get my after-work boost by opening the mailbox to encouraging notes and letters from so many of you.  I see God providing for us financially through hundreds and thousands of dollars coming from our friends and even people who we hardly know.  I've learned to feel blessed, instead of overwhelmed, by an over productive garden that left jars of canned goods and a freezer full in it’s wake.  I have a stack of material given to me by the young ladies in our church that wanted to bless me with some new dresses.  I have boxes and boxes full of canned goods in my basement from our mothers and friends who put away tomato products, pickles, peaches and more for us.  Our church family continues to support us in big and little ways through meal invitations, and just little things throughout our week.  And many times I have seen and experienced God’s strength in Ian’s life when he’s been low and we’ve prayed specifically for extra strength.

Fascinatingly enough, I find the hardest moments in life are not necessarily the odd ones.  Like last week when Ian was at an eye appointment and found it more comfortable to rest on the floor instead of in the chair in the waiting room.  You could see the worry mounting on the face of the receptionist when I didn’t bat an eye at how he was acting.  It did feel a little odd with people coming and going and I’m sure thinking we looked a bit crazy, my husband stretched out head to toe on the floor with his eyes closed.  Moments like that aren’t as hard as other times.  Last evening we watched the video that one of our friends put together for us from our wedding.  It had all the happy moments and the sad goodbye looks and the experiences from our special day, but the thing that caught at my heart the most was how Ian could walk, and stand, and jump, and feel excited.  I could hardly take my eyes off of his simple movements.  Another thing that hurts is looking at friend’s family photos where the man is standing, or watching some of the young men in our church cross the room.  Simple, I know, but surprisingly difficult for my heart to accept.  God is teaching me to thank Him in those moments that these men have beautiful strength from Him.  I praise God that Ian does have the amount of strength that he's been given.  And I learn most importantly not to not worry about our future.

 Thank you to so many of you who have let us know that you are following our story and are praying for us.  We daily feel and experience your support.

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Grace like rain by Martha Strickler

the gift

     Recently I found myself rehearsing in my mind something I had said to a friend.
                                  "Just remember, this time right now, no matter the outcome of today and 
                                tomorrow, this experience is a gift from God and He wants you to enjoy it."
The reality of life?  I am not living these words.  I worry, I fuss, I complain and close my hands and more intentionally my heart to the grace that God is extending to me daily.
     Often times when we pray for friends we ask that God would give them grace.  I remember specific times in my life when I felt like I was living on a cloud of grace.  When Jon-Eric Hope, one of my teammates while I was living in Taiwan, died unexpectedly, I remember specifically realizing that God's grace was surrounding us almost tangibly.  I knew it was because people around the world were praying for us.
     Today I know that people are praying for us.  We are daily reminded through letters and cards in the mail and phone calls from many places.  Sunday after Ian had his muscle biopsy there was a reunion in our area that brought several families from PA.  We were looking forward to seeing everyone and having our hearts encouraged.  We awoke Sunday morning and Ian realized he was feeling too sick to go.  We're still not quite sure what was going on but maybe a side effect from the antibiotic or the pain medicine he was taking.  My disappointment in not being able to go was enough to bring on a bout of self-pity.  After nursing my 'wound' for a bit I walked into the room where Ian was resting and realized he had called in on the phone line to listen to the River Brethren service in Lancaster.  The first thing I heard was Brother Mark Forry saying, "And Father bless Ian Bennett and his wife Ruth in Iowa..."  In that moment God's grace broke through the wall of self-pity I'd built and helped me to realize that while it is ok to miss something good it is not ok to allow Satan to use self-pity to destroy my day.
     What does it mean to accept each day as a gift from God?  What does it mean to experience grace?  Is grace something we can't control?  It pours into our lives or is withheld at God's whim?  I know that grace is a gift extended even to the most hardened heart.  I also believe that we can turn away from grace just as we can turn away from God's gift of Salvation.  "'Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come, 'tis grace has brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home."  It is the very essence of grace that keeps me alive and experiencing life.  What does it mean to turn away with a closed heart to the grace God is extending to me?  What does it mean to be as a child standing under thick, heavy, clouds of rain with head back, arms extended and little hands wide open experiencing every drop of refreshment as if life depended on it?
     What does it mean to close my heart to grace and lock it shut with the padlock of despair?  Even in that moment it is God's grace that is giving me the ability to close my heart.  I can't get away from grace.  And since I can't, what does it mean to accept it?  To see life, and the struggle as beautiful?  To taste joy and disappointment both seasoned with grace?  "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. (Physical weakness is what we struggle with most right now.  Ian doesn't have the daily strength we somehow think he should have.)  Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."
      On the way home from the doctors appointment on Thursday Ian said that it is odd to feel like he is graduating from highschool all over again.  We all know what it's like to be asked a million times if we know what we want to do when we graduate.  I told Ian maybe it's like having a mid-life crisis?  It's hard to know what to do with our lives right now.  We thought we knew where, and what, and how God wanted us to serve Him.  Maybe some of that vision is being changed but most likely it is simply being refined.  It is hard to know what to do right now.  Maybe that is where grace comes in.  Living with the power of Christ resting upon our lives.  Living this moment accepting every drop of grace that God is showering on us.
     The muscle biopsy was directional but not definitive.  The doctors are still hesitating to make a final diagnosis until several more test results come back.  We may have a better idea what is going on in a week or so.  In the mean time we live, we laugh, we step, we breathe and struggle to make God central, to find rest in Him, to experience life as a gift, and to hold our hands and hearts open to His showers of grace.

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for this moment

            “O Jesus I have promised to serve Thee to the end…”  This song has been running over and over in my mind the last few weeks.  I find it easy to think of serving God ‘to the end,’ it’s just in the middle where I find the struggle. 

Jogging the other morning I found myself plodding one foot in front of the other trying to get my lazy legs to move my body down the road.  The struggle.  Breathe, relax, step, I know at some point I can turn around and think about making it home.  Oh this is hard!  Why do I do this to myself?  “But I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection.”  I make this body do what I want it to do, not what it thinks it wants to do.

Step, keep stepping.  I turn and feel the wind at my back now.  I wish it would blow harder.  Blow me home.  All the way home.  I can look at the ground and take just one more step.  It’s a relief sometimes to look ahead and see the house.  This flat Iowa land doesn’t leave much for the imagination.  It’s all there in stark reality.  The good, the bad, the sometimes awful.

            The other day someone said in a card that right now God has us in His intensive care unit.  Close to Him.  Where He can watch us closely.  It made me cry.  Who wants to be in the ICU?  Isn’t that for other people?  People I don’t know?  Isn’t it for me to hear about and wonder how they are doing and be glad it’s not me?

            What does it meant to be close to God?  How do I know if I’m responding correctly to this situation?  Is God shaking His head at me and saying, “Really?  How can you miss My point?”  Do I really believe that God is working something beautiful in my life through this situation?  What if I’m responding like the children of Israel did so often?  Asking for a more when they were already being given so much?

Step, step, step.  I breathe in the air and remember that there is a verse similar to the song I’ve been singing.  “But he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.”  It doesn’t talk so much about arriving at home.  It talks about endurance.  It means the struggle.  The stepping, the breathing, the relying on God for this moment.  My life is just a vapor.  I can hang on, I can step, I can breathe, I can endure for a vapor, just a moment.  This struggle is not so intense that I cannot, with God’s grace, endure to the end.

Today Ian is sore, and tired.  He said the pain medicine he is taking for the wound in is arm, helps with the pain and discomfort in his legs.  He was out fixing the rabbit cages in the barn, making sure everything is in place for when the does decided it’s time to have their kits.  Caring for the rabbits gives him something to do, to think about, when I’m away at work and he is left with little to do at home.

When I met Ian in the recovery room yesterday afternoon he was perky as ever.  He wanted to show me the incision the doctors made in his arm for the muscle biopsy.  He specifically asked the Anesthesiologist not to sedate him so he could talk to the doctors during the operation.  When Dr. Reddy met me in the waiting room after the surgery he said with a bit of a smile that Ian was fine, everything went well and he thinks Ian saw most of the operation through a reflection in the chrome on a light fixture overhead.

The drive home was a bit long as the pain medicine started to wear off.  We decided to wait to get back home to fill the prescription the doctor gave us.

We won’t hear back from the doctors for at least 6-12 days.  More enduring.  More quietly learning to wait.  But this is life.  Patience without anger.  Trusting without hopelessness.  And enduring not just for the end but truly learning to endure for this moment.

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                                                                                                                                                   Photo Courtesy: Ariel McGlothin

A happy birthday week!

Thank you to all the ladies that came to help today at our house. It's lovely to look around and see clean windows, clean floors, clean flowerbeds, clean garden, clean painted shelves and more.

I realized this evening that just the distraction of having everyone here was a blessing.  When there are other things to plan for, live for and experience, it helps to take my mind off of the every day changes and worries and lifts my spirits!  So thank you for giving us a wonderful day that will be blessing us for a long time to come!

There isn't much to report on Ian's health status at the moment.  We've been calling the doctor's office every day this week to find out what is going on.  It sounds like the doctor needs to talk to Ian before we can get an appointment.  Several of the tests he took have come back and maybe after looking at those he is making another decision.  One of the nurses mentioned that the doctor is only looking to do a muscle biopsy and not the EMG?  Until we talk to the doctor we won't know but it's nice to think Ian might not have to go through another EMG again.  (And I won't have to watch him experience it either!)  Pray with us that the doctor will call soon and we can move forward in scheduling the next step in this process.


(Just a little note, in case you didn't know, I have a wonderful husband!  Not only does he remember to give me my vitamins every day but he took me to a greenhouse yesterday for my birthday and helped me pick out some lovely house plants!)