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The Light in the Being

January 3, 2013 By 2 Comments

I awoke on New Year’s Day with an inexplicable lightness in my spirit. Matt brought me a cup of coffee as I lay in bed (by anyone’s account, a great way to start the day). I am by no means a morning person, needing a good 5 minutes on the edge of the bed with half-closed eyes before I can even set foot in slipper. Which is why the brightness in my voice gave Matt cause to remark, “Well, you’re quite perky this morning!”

I grinned sleepily at him from under the quilt. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so…secure. So excited to continue. So ready to run.

“Yes I am!”

“Why? I mean, the present circumstances…”

“You’re right. It’s not exactly logical. But I’m still happy!”

In his brand new Christmas sweater.

On December 27th, Jesse was attached to a spider web of EEG sensors and laying in a hospital bed in order to evaluate him for epilepsy. The report from our Neurologist came through the next day, stating that though we are still waiting for the EEG report, he’s largely convinced Jesse is – like his older brother – also on the autism spectrum (though only a formal ADOS evaluation will tell). Having suffered from a low-grade flare through the holidays, I was beset by daily nosebleeds, including one “hemorrhage” that went on for 5 hours. We had one foot out the door to the E.R. because I looked like the president of some suburban moms fight club. We are moving and between homes. But we’ve recently found out that the contract for our new house may have fallen through too late and that, for most purposes, we’re now technically homeless.

HAPPY. Believe it or not, I am.

If it seems as though my posts take on a somewhat Eyeore-esque self-pitying tone, well then, you got me. I’m prone to listing woes – partly, because listing things helps me remember what needs yet to be tackled, and partly, because Matt and I are convinced we’ve hit the worst of our stretches, until another one comes along. In a way, my listing serves as a reminder that it could always get worse. Here though, there is no self-sympathy. I list to illustrate the illogicality of my happiness.

And to tell you from whence it springs:

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” Lamentations 3:22-23.

From the book of Lamentations – which chronicles the destruction of Israel and the horror of their fate after Babylonian invasion – comes an unlikely verse of promise and light. Because of the Lord’s great love, WE ARE NOT CONSUMED.

Because of what God has promised us, we are not consumed by illness or bankruptcy or loneliness or loss. We are not swallowed by the distress of fear or hunger or uncertainty or despair. We are strong in the face of adversity. Our beings are too light to be devoured by the darkness, for God in us is the antidote to every shadow.

To you of the hidden disabilities and the obvious calamities, I wish you a Happy New Year. May you ever fix your eyes on the Lord’s bright promises – those that make you safe, and strong, and swift.

- Sarah

Filed Under: Asperger, Autism, Challenge, Change, Contentment, Courage, Epilepsy, stress, Uncategorized Tagged With: , ,

On Connections

May 7, 2012 By Leave a Comment

One thing that links all of us together in community is our ability to form connections with friends and family.  We connect through shared experiences, special conversations, even current events.

My husband, Ben, does not experience the same connectedness in his life.  He does share experiences with people.  But he can’t…connect the dots.  His impaired memory makes it hard for him to remember the last shared experiences or conversations he’s had with the friends in his life.  And so each friendship, each new interaction, provokes anxiety.  I imagine he often feels like someone lost in space.

I am just now realizing the profound level of anxiety that Ben feels on a daily basis.  At the core of his anxiety is an overwhelming sense of his own lack of context.

Ben feels alone and afraid most of the time because he doesn’t have a sense of connectedness to his own life.  He can’t easily remember what he’s done recently or what events are coming up  This leaves him feeling… lost.  Panicked.

This week, God revealed something to me.  Ben and I have been married for almost 20 years.  Contextually, we are one flesh.  People have repeatedly told me that I need to be the leader in our marriage.  But that is not the case at all. I am not Ben’s leader.  I am Ben’s context. I am his connection…to our friends, to our life, to our children.  And sadly, I have not been embracing this role.  I have been rebelling against what I have perceived as Ben’s neediness for me.  But now, I feel as though I can rejoice that we are a couple with a strong context and that I can help Ben to feel more centered, more connected, and less afraid.

A Prayer:     My schedule pulls me from home and from my family daily.  My presence is helpful for Ben.  Because my presence helps Ben feel centered and connected and so much more in control of his own life, I am praying that God would provide a change in circumstances where I might be able to support our family financially and still be home with Ben (and the kids) more than I currently am.

A Praise:     And I am so very, very thankful that my husband has such a strong foundation in the LORD.  He has a simple, easy context with His God.  He has a foundation of Scripture that serves to connect him to the Lord and to other Christians.  Regardless of his memory problems, Ben is most at home in any context that is filled with praise, worship, and devotion to Jesus Christ.

These are the connections that ultimately matter the most.

~Nancy

 

 

Filed Under: Acquired Brain Injury, Anxiety, Courage, Epilepsy, Marriage Tagged With: , , , ,

On Ebbing (and Flowing)

March 31, 2012 By Leave a Comment

This week, life is both ebbing and flowing.

I am determined to respond better to my circumstances.  I have put some restrictions in place on my eating, which had gotten out of control with all of my business travel and stress of life.  I am waking early to pray and I am inviting others into my life to actively pray with me.  I have started taking walks in this beautiful weather we’ve been having.

I suppose this is the “flow” portion of my life.  On the “ebbing…”

Things with Ben’s health took a turn for the worse this weekend.  I was in DC for a 5 day conference.  My father took my children and Ben was home alone.  This is the first time we’ve tried this arrangement during my travels.  During the weekend, Ben played two concerts with the Maryland Symphony — work that he absolutely loves and is so thankful to be able to do.  He also experienced at least 9 seizures, if not more.

So life ebbs and flows.  After speaking with Ben and realizing how quickly his health had deteriorated, I was aware of how desperately I wanted to turn to food.  I didn’t.  First I tried to focus on work.  Then I tried to turn to God.  Finally, at night as I lay down to sleep, the tears came fast and quick and unbidden.  I didn’t want to weep.  But the release of tears frees me to pray more.

Another challenging issue facing me is that I need to make new arrangements for my children for after-school.  Ben needs to sleep in the afternoons, and I don’t like my kids coming home to an “empty” house.   One of my children is failing math because  Mom hasn’t been with him after school to supervise homework.  This is a bright child who is always responsible; but his lack of understanding has snowballed each week and he hasn’t wanted anyone to know how lost he is feeling in class so he hasn’t asked for help.  Now I need to find a tutor who can help get him back on grade level.

Ebb and flow.

How thankful I am for Hebrews 6:19, We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.

Ebb and flow.  But not for our God.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

 

~Nancy

Filed Under: Epilepsy, Parenting, Prayer, Self Care Tagged With: , , ,

On Losing It

March 24, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Today I told the kids that they could eat whatever they want and watch TV as much as they want all day long without asking me for permission.

I lost it today.  Repeatedly.

I spilled something on the kitchen floor, and then instead of cleaning it up, in a childlike fit of anger I grabbed an open bag of crackers and crumbled them on top of the mess that was already there.  At this point, my children noticed and came over.  “Mom, what are you DOING?” They asked in alarm.  “I’m making a mess,” I calmly told them.  My sensitive child began to cry.  They knew that my behavior was not rational even if my voice was calm and measured.  “Why are you doing this, Mom?  Stop!.”  “I like to clean,” I told my kids as I gave them each a hug. “Cleaning helps calm me down.  So I’m making a small mess so I can have something to clean.  Then I’ll feel better.”  This seemed to pacify both me and the kids, and I did feel better after cleaning the floor.

What does it look like when you lose it?

I am single-parenting a lot lately, which is exhausting as I need to manage my husband from afar and handle my own work load and my three children.  I go on two trips for work next week.  I asked my family to step up and help, but the truth is that they often look to me for every decision they are making which is really not the kind of help that I need.

Is it OK to want someone else to take over for me?  To make my decisions and just HELP?

I suppose these days are OK in moderation.

A friend sent me a much-needed email with portions of Psalm 73.  How timely:

Nevertheless, I am continually with you;
you hold my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will receive me to glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
For behold, those who are far from you shall perish;
you put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to you.
But for me it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord GOD my refuge,
that I may tell of all your works.
(Psalm 73:23-28 ESV)

I will close this weary post not with the wonderful Scripture above, but with my new favorite cookie recipe, from Joanne Fluke’s book “Devil’s Food Cake Murder.”  Scripture is life.  But these cookies … well, if Scripture had flavor and texture, these might be close.  Don’t let the absence of chocolate fool you, they are truly wonderful.

Raspberry Vinegar Cookies

Yields 3 dozen

1 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 tsp raspberry vinegar
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp rum extract
1 1/2 cup flour
1  cup chopped almonds (or other nuts)

Preheat oven to (325ºF).
Cream the butter with the sugar. Mix in the vinegar and the baking soda, then the rum extract. Add the flour, and stir until well incorporated.
Line four baking sheets with parchment paper. Drop tablespoonfuls of cookie dough onto the sheets, spacing them out (about 12 cookies per sheet).
Bake the cookies in batches for around 18 minutes, until golden around the edges and on top. Let cool on sheets for two minutes, then transfer the cookies to a wire rack and cool completely.
Store in an airtight container (if there are any left!)

 

~ Nancy

Filed Under: Confession, Emotions, Epilepsy, Family, Parenting Tagged With: , , ,

On Anniversaries

March 5, 2012 By 2 Comments

This week, as I approach March 5th, I am mourning the loss of my beloved mother.

This week marks the 10th anniversary of my mother’s death to breast cancer.  It also marks the 8th anniversary of Ben’s life-altering status epilepticus and subsequent memory loss/amnesia (strangely, they don’t make a mug for that!).

These two events are forever linked in my mind.  Ben experienced a fairly large seizure while we were visiting my parents the night that my mom received her cancer diagnosis.  Though my mom knew about Ben’s epilepsy, she also knew him as a healthy, thriving musician, doctoral student, and college teacher.  I don’t think any of us could have envisioned the changes we would experience in our lives due to Ben’s seizures.

It is inconceivable to me that I have been through so many unimaginable, life-altering experiences since my mother died.  I often wonder if it was God’s mercy in taking her before Ben got sick so that she didn’t have to see us suffer.  But I also know how much I miss her.  I wish I could call her for support.  I wish I could call her and cry.   I can’t believe the things I’ve lived through without my mom knowing about it.  She would not recognize my life.

There is an old Bette Midler song from her 1990 album “Some People’s Lives” that has always moved me: “Since You Stayed Here” (click on the link to listen).  It’s a song about a break-up, but it seems appropriate to post on this anniversary of my mother’s passing away.  The lyrics are:

You’d never recognize the room. The pictures all have different frames now. And all the chairs are rearranged now. Somehow, I’ve thrown out every souvenir. Yes, there’ve been changes made since you stayed here.
You’d never recognize the street. The neighbor’s kids play different games now. The colors in the trees have changed now. Strange how I’ve hardly thought of you this year.  Yes, there’ve been changes made since you stayed here.
The same address, the more or less. More happens, less matters, I guess.
You’d never recognize my life. The party-givers know my name now. And when I cry it’s not the same now. Somehow, I never waste a single tear. Yes, there’ve been changes made since you stayed here.

Dear Mom,

Since you’ve been gone, I’ve walked a road I never could have imagined.

I moved to a new house.  I gave birth to a daughter who I named in your memory.  I’ve remained married to a man who has suffered incredible physical, emotional, and neurological damage…and despite the bumpy road, we are still best friends!  We’ve battled addiction and depression, hospitalizations and brain surgeries .  Dad remarried.  Gary got married.  I went back to work, starting several new jobs in different careers.  And the kids…oh Mom, they have grown!  Emily is almost a teenager and she’s beautiful and smart.  Joel is everyone’s friend…not at all like the screaming infant he was when you last saw him.  And Meg…well, you never met her, but she is the most dynamic, active, intensely joyful seven year old you’ve ever met.  Our kids are kind.  And they’re funny.  You would love them.

Here is what they look like today.  Aren’t they beautiful:

I am not the same person I was when you died, Mom.  But because God holds me in His hand, I think I am growing more into his image.

I miss you, but rejoice to know I’ll see you again in heaven.

Love, nancy

Please join me on March 5th in remembering my wonderful mother, Myrna Goodman Ginstling.  Her faith helped bring me to the Lord and her perseverance through trials set an example for me and for so many others.

And on March 8th, join me and my family as we celebrate with our annual “Ben is Alive” party.  Anniversaries may be painful, but we do our best to give thanks as we remember all that the Lord has done in our lives.  It’s not always easy, but He walks with us every step of the way.

I remember the days of old;
I meditate on all that you have done;
I ponder the work of your hands.
(Psalm 143:5 ESV)

Filed Under: Acquired Brain Injury, Epilepsy, Family, Grief, healing Tagged With: , , ,

On Doing it All

February 15, 2012 By Leave a Comment

“I am a mom who does it all.”

Do I have your attention yet?  There are many different meanings to the statement above.  It can be said with pride, stemming from thankfulness to God for being given so many roles, tasks, and (gulp) people.  It can be said in surprise, as life so often sneaks up on us and requires more from us than we ever could have imagined.   It can be said with tears as we think of all the things on our plate and the responsibilities awaiting us.  Or it can be said in exhaustion and weariness and perhaps, a little bit of regret.

Today I voice this statement with all of the sentiments described above.

I am a mom to three children.  I used to say three young children, but I don’t think that is a fair statement anymore.  Perhaps, if I wanted to be more descriptive, I should say “I am a mom to two young children and a pre-teen GIRL.”  Life has changed since my daughter turned twelve!

I am a wife to a highly unpredictable man who suffers from seizures and an acquired brain injury.  I function as both lover and caretaker, prayerfully balancing my way through both roles in any given five minutes.

I am an employee who manages others and travels frequently, working full-time to support my family as my husband’s disability leaves him unable to work.

I am a child of God, loved by the King and chosen to live with Him forever in eternity.  As I wait for that time, I strive to live fully and completely for His glory, empowered by the Holy Spirit, despite trials and tribulations (and now, teens!).

I am a reluctant expert on Brain Injury.

Life is both richer and more painful than I ever could have imagined.

“I am a mom who does it all.”  Who are you?

 

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

–Reinhold Niebuhr

 

 

Filed Under: Emotions, Epilepsy, God's presence, growth Tagged With: , , ,

On Structure

January 18, 2012 By Leave a Comment

When I write for Chosen Families, I try to discuss issues that might touch the hearts of others living with a family member with a hidden disability.  We all have situations in our homes that are unique to us … specific to our family and the type of disability we are facing.  But because we are created in God’s image, we also experience issues that are common to man (I Cor. 10:13).

As I write this post, I have been living in a hotel room for the past 10 days hosting a large conference for work.  The travel involved in my job is unique to me.   But I also spent the week before I left creating structures and routines to help my family succeed while I’m gone … and the need for routine and structure are common to those of us who live with someone experiencing neurological challenges.

My husband suffers from memory loss and cognitive difficulties.  Although his mom came to help during my trip, Ben asked me to create a menu for the 10 days that I would be gone.  I chose our family’s favorite (and easiest) meals and left Ben with a daily menu plan, recipes, and ingredients that would be simple for him to follow.  As we were talking, I casually told Ben “the chart I made is really just a starting point.  If you feel like mixing things up and serving something on a different night or making something else, you don’t need to follow the chart exactly.  It’s meant to be a guide, not a rigid schedule.”

“No!” Ben looked stricken.  “It’s the schedule that helps me succeed.  I need rigidity.  I thrive on lists.  I panic when I don’t have a list to follow.”

I am so thankful for a husband who understands his own disability. Ben knows that mental flexibility is something that he has lost.  He is aware of the anxiety he feels when he needs to think outside the box, come up with plan B or make quick decisions on how to deal with a problem (skills necessary for successful parenting … are tantrums ever planned in advance?  But that’s a post for another time!).

It has taken Ben eight years of struggling with his disability to learn and accept the tools that help him succeed.  Structure gives Ben a sense of security.  Doing things the same way each day helps him feel more in control as he struggles with a brain that at times can feel chaotic and out of control … a trait that seems common among those who live with hidden disabilities.

Understanding how important routine is to my husband’s sense of safety and well-being prevents me from being bitter and short-tempered.  God’s spirit allows me to be kind, gentle and self-controlled.  How thankful I am for both!

We are fearfully and wonderfully made.

~ Nancy

Filed Under: Epilepsy, structure Tagged With: ,

On God’s Lovingkindness

November 9, 2011 By Leave a Comment

Sometimes it’s hard to see God’s faithfulness in the midst of a life that is challenged by things out of our control.  Sometimes it’s easy to despair.

And sometimes God displays His perfect love and care for us right in the midst of these challenges.  This is one of those stories.  It’s a story of victory; but it also involves difficulty, hardship, and temptations to despair.

I went away on my first business trip this weekend…two nights and three days of being away from the family.  Ben stayed home with the kids.

I was nervous.  Ben’s seizures have been escalating and he’s been much more fatigued than usual.  His fatigue can often lead to confusion.  While I was gone, we made the decision that Ben would take the kids to the annual school Square Dance, a fun Friday night event to raise money for the High School seniors.

I wanted the kids to enjoy this yearly event.  I didn’t think things through enough to realize that everything about the Square Dance was going to be bad for Ben’s brain:  Noise, crowds, lights, loud music, teenagers…all of this stimulus overwhelmed Ben’s brain and made it hard for him to relax and respond with grace and sound judgment.

The evening went well, until the end.  Ben was tired and he misinterpreted some events.  The kids ended up fearful and worried.  They texted and called me, crying on the phone, obviously shaken and fearful.

I felt defeated.  I tried to trust God.  I will need be traveling for two to three nights every month or so, and all I could think of was fear.  I questioned God…how could this be best for my kids?  How could this be best for me?

The next morning I found a text on my phone.  Ben told me that he knew that his brain wasn’t functioning right the night before.  He was heartbroken by the fear that his disability put on our kids.  That morning, Ben went over to our neighbors’ house…they are dear friends and they moved in knowing all about our unique family situation.  Ben humbly told Craig, our neighbor, that his brain wasn’t functioning well and his behavior was making the kids uncomfortable.  He told Craig that he gave our kids permission to go next door the moment they felt uncomfortable in the house with Ben.  And then Ben led our children in a long family discussion about his brain.  He led them in a devotional from the Psalms, helping the kids to know that even when our flesh and our strength may fail, God is the strength of our heart and our portion forever.

When I read Ben’s texts, my heart lifted.  I felt God’s lovingkindness in my heart and in my life.  My husband’s humility in the midst of this very challenging situation put my mind and heart at ease.  We can’t change the fact that Ben’s brain gets overwhelmed easily with too much stimulus.  But we can change how we respond when these issues arise.  Ben’s humble, God-glorifying response to a very difficult situation helped me to respond in greater faith.

I will travel again.  Ben will have struggles.  The kids will have fears.  But God will remain faithful in displaying His lovingkindness to our family.

The weekend ended with Ben having two small seizures.  We both napped for several hours when I got home while the kids played outside with our neighbors (oh, we are so thankful for our wonderful neighbors!).  Instead of ending in fear or frustration, the weekend ended in rest and a deepening walk with God for all of us.  For this, I am so very, very thankful.

O fearful saints new courage take, the clouds that you now dread
Are big with mercy and will break In blessings on your head
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, but trust Him for His grace
Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face

God Moves in a Mysterious Way
Music and additional lyrics by Bob Kauflin
Lyrics by William Cowper

Filed Under: Acquired Brain Injury, Anxiety, Emotions, Epilepsy, Family, God's presence Tagged With: , , , , ,

On Balms (and Bombs)

October 28, 2011 By 3 Comments

About a year ago, during a season when Ben was suffering from multiple seizures, a dear friend of mine was praying for me.  She prayed that I would be a “balm” for my family in the midst of confusion and struggle.  I heard her pray that I would be a “bomb.” Her prayer made no sense to me at all.  I felt like a bomb about to blow.  Yet here she was, asking God that I would be a BALM meant to heal and soothe and comfort.

I am married to a man with a hidden disability.  Many of you are moms to children with hidden disabilities.  How do you separate your emotions and moods from those of your high-needs family member?

When my husband struggles, I struggle.  When he is cranky, I am more likely to be cranky.  When he yells at the children because his brain is overloaded and he can’t handle the noise, I…

fill in the blanks.  I wish I could say I respond with the grace of the Holy Spirit and I am a calming influence on my house.  Unfortunately, I find that when my husband sins, I am more tempted to sin.

Uh Oh…I am a bomb.

My husband sins.  I sin.  And when his brain is not acting properly, when he is struggling with seizures and fatigue and medication overload, he has a hard time.

Sometimes I think my husband has a particularly hard time because we have children.  Children are loud.  Children are messy.  By nature, children whine, complain, and argue.  And even though it’s supposed to get easier as they get older, it also gets HARDER as they enter the teen years and stay up later and are more sensitive to the moods of their parents and are undergoing hormonal (and neurological) changes of their own.  OUCH!

For those of you who are parents, I trust that God pours out His grace on you and that He enables you and your husband to support one another so that when one is weak the other is strong.  Ben and I do this at times.  But often my husband’s moods are dictated by his disability.  Unfortunately, when my husband experiences seizures and struggles physically (or neurologically or emotionally), I also struggle.  When Ben is cranky due to his limitations and disabilities, I struggle.  Oh how I wish I could be more Godly!  Oh how I wish I could be bigger than my husband’s limitations!  How I wish I could be more of a balm.

Each day, I go through major mood swings where I swing from being a BALM to being a BOMB.  I am so sorry for my children when I am a bomb.  And I am so thankful to God when I am a BALM.

How do you respond to the changing moods in your families?  How do you handle the shifting emotions of grownups and children AND a family member with hidden disabilities?  Are you a bomb, or a balm?

 

Filed Under: Challenge, Confession, Emotions, Epilepsy, Family, Marriage, Parenting Tagged With: , , , , , ,

On Suffering Well

September 4, 2011 By 1 Comment

What should someone who is suffering look like?

Have you experienced suffering in your life?

Ben and I have joked that we know things are difficult when people continue to give us books with the words “Suffering” in the title.  We aren’t suffering nearly as much as others we know.  We have a strong marriage and family and an incredible community of people surrounding us and praying for us.  But these books help us learn to trust God in our own unique circumstances.

All of us who live with a family member with a hidden disability have experienced suffering in some form.  Some of our suffering is hidden.  Sometimes our suffering can be visible.

Over the past few years, my family’s trials have become more and more visible to our network of friends and acquaintances.  Ben’s seizures have caused multiple hospitalizations, a painful diagnostic brain surgery (which only indicated that his seizures were not treatable by surgery), and ultimately the loss of his ability to work.  Yet still, if you were to meet my husband today you would have no clue that he had any type of hidden disability.  Ben is calm, articulate, interested in his environment and the people around him, and extremely good-looking (OK, that last part is my own opinion!).  When he tells people “I probably won’t remember this conversation with you,” they have a hard time taking him seriously because he does not come across as someone with brain damage (unlike many of the neuro-atypical people on this website, Ben has concrete, damaged portions of his brain that are actually visible on an MRI).

Last Monday I went with Ben to meet one of his new doctors.  As we talked with her, she commented on the profound trials we’ve experienced over the past few years.  She then said something that I’ve been thinking about all week.  She said that noone could tell from looking at us that we are people who are suffering.  She commented on how calm and well-spoken we both were…the undercurrent of her words was her surprise at how normal we looked!

What should someone who is suffering look like?

There have been times when I’ve wanted to walk through suffering well; times where I’ve prayed and asked God to help me to please Him and accept His boundary lines with thankfulness and grace.  Then there have been other times when I really couldn’t care less about pleasing God…all I’ve longed for has been an end to the pain.  I think where I’m at right now is sort of a middle ground.  I certainly want to please God regardless of my circumstances.  But there are definitely days that I am far more aware of the circumstances that I would like changed than I am of the fact that I want to please God.

What should someone who is suffering look like?

This is both a spiritual and a physical question.  There are thousands of people around us who are suffering daily who don’t look any different from the rest of us.  As someone who is struggling, I still wake up in the morning, shower, put on clothes and makeup, and care for my family.  I watch what I eat, manage my cholesterol, and try to remain others-centered in my dealings with my friends. I do my work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for man. But a lot of what I do is borne out of habit, rather than a true desire to please the Lord.

So I end this post with a question for those of you experiencing suffering in your life:

What should someone who is suffering look like?

~ Nancy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Acquired Brain Injury, Epilepsy, God's presence, grace, Gratitude Tagged With: , , , ,
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