Inspired by Ruby's creativity I decided to make a flower crown today.
I had been contemplating this for a while, and talked myself out of it. For starters, it seems everyone is doing it, and I tend to buck trends not ride them; secondly I don't look good in hats of any sort, so I reckoned crowns would be the same; and thirdly I'm over 40!
The jury is still out on whether they look good on me but perhaps after a touch up of hair dye and something creative done with my hair I may feel more confident.
This is the tutorial I semi-followed. I used what I had instead of running out and buying raffia-covered florist wire or florist's tape; which was fencing wire and some transparent ribbon left over from a gift for one of the crowns. I did pick up the flowers, so essentially the crowns cost me NZ$5 each plus time, and a few hot glued fingers.
I know our friend means well, but what he says sometimes grates on me.
I'm a fairly practical call-it-like-I-see-it kind of person. A spade is a spade, a shovel a shovel and a trowel, well, a trowel of course.
Throughout DH suffering back pain I have been reminded, by the said friend, that I ought to trust God," to come through"; and that we "have a war on your hands with this", that we "can't do any more", that " it's in His Hands" all-the-while also warning me not to "give up".
Give up what? I'm confused.
It's as if the art of trusting and having faith means I have to energetically and whole-heartedly verbalise the words in order to conjure up the response - the healing. Trust as I understand it is something that is gained (or lost) through relationship. It's not something that I can DO, it simply exists as a result of what the other person does (or does not do). Faith is an underlying belief in something I have not seen.
Does he think I have walked away from God? Just because I have the honesty to state that God is free to do his will but I am getting a bit sick and tired of His timing doesn't mean that I don't trust or believe in Him.
Then there is all this 'war' theology. If I am meant to do no more then isn't waiting 10 months for DH to do something also akin to letting God do what he wants anyway? I am sure that as He created the heavens and the earth in 7 days that if he wanted to, He could have healed DH in one of the last 300, or made DH go to the right doctor for a (divine) diagnosis.
Oh and there was the instruction to "Be strong for the Lord your God is with you!!" Hmmm...how do you do that?
I totally understand where these words have come from, as I have heard them from elsewhere, but there too they were hollow and confusing and carried no tangible hope.
I don't go around speaking christianese or adding it like grammar points to a sentence. When wading through the thick of life outwardly speaking about faith takes a back seat to just trying to get through each day.
It's not about how much faith we have. It can't be used or accumulated to be redeemed for anything. Faith is just a knowing that He exists. He is free to do whatever He pleases, but at present He is withholding healing and that doesn't please me at all. It doesn't strengthen my faith.
It's been 16 months since DH put his back out. 16 months of him lying on the couch. 16 months of driving him around in case he gets a pain attack and can't make it home from wherever. 16 months of him shrieking and coiling over/reverting to foetal position when it hits.
And 16 months of living with a bitch.
As a coping mechanism the rest of us latched onto the concept that DH said that it feels like he has a chihuahua up his backside. That chihuahua got a name, Bruta, after Caesar's best friend and betrayer; only female. We all hate Bruta with a vengance.
I am sure that some psychologist is really concerned that we have (de-)personalised the pain that DH feels representing it as an acutely yappy, invasive dog; but if that is all you have to help you cope, what do you do?
Even the wee baby now says 'hua hua' when he sees the first glimpse of his father grimacing in pain. It is SO SAD.
This pain is affecting everyone. It is affecting me.
I have been in survival mode for more than 16 months; which included recovering from pregnancy, breastfeeding all that time as well as the day-to-day running of the household. To be honest the later has often taken second place.
It is wearying enough to not have any immediate reliable adult support in relating to the children let alone maintaining 'stuff'.
Ruby and I have had to consistently take up the slack. She winces at being called into the kitchen before lunch or dinner, as she knows it will be her father whining for her to take over. That's not to say that meal preparation isn't a vital life skill, but to be called upon day after day, at the drop of a hat, is monotonous. It is thankless. It is disturbing.
Only three weeks ago did DH seek out another doctor. Prior to that he had not saught any further medical advice since making the pilgrimage in January 500km and return to see a GPSI - a general practitioner with special interest in the musculo-skeletal area. He hadn't done a thing to help himself get better. This rubbed salt into our very open weepy festering wounds. He didn't even try to protect us from the pain, when it was totally within his grasp.
This doctor gave him Valium which initially worked but has been wearing off for the last week, and ended with me taking him to the Emergency Department, with pain at an 8-9 out of 10. They didn't deem it necessary to do an emergency (same day) MRI, gave him a drug cocktail and sent him home with pain at a 7/10. I was not impressed.
At least, probably seeing me in tears, they decided to put through an urgent (perhaps within the month) MRI.
I am not given to outbursts of emotion. I hold myself together. So I know that I am exhausted - mentally, physically, emotionally, relationally, spiritually, just exhausted. I am empty. Drained. Spent. Dying.
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