Niagara Falls, limping, and the love of God
Do you ever want to really explain something so significant in your life, but you come up short with words? Are there really words to describe the greatest joys and deepest sorrows of life?
In Brennan Manning's book, The Ragamuffin Gospel (which I can't recommend enough), he writes that trying to comprehend God's love is like trying to contain Niagara Falls in a tea cup.
I feel overwhelmed by the sheer love and mercy of the Lord looking at these pictures my good friend Mary Ashley took of my feet. My little tea cup has shattered because His grace just can't be contained. So in feeble words- I will at least tell my story in hopes that you will hear His story of love and mercy which is intended to be the theme of all our stories.
Five years ago, during my first year teaching, I started coming home from school with terrible pain in my feet. I developed plantar fasciitis. Your plantar fascia is a band of connective tissue that runs along the sole of your foot and your arch. It helps absorb the impact of your steps. Excessive strain on on your feet (like being on your feet all day teaching) can lead to breakdown of that tissue that leaves it inflamed and very painful. For me, it was also a result of not having a strong enough core to be able to have correct posture all day while standing and teaching. Slowly different muscles in my lower body were essentially put on overdrive and so shutdown. When the muscles don't fire properly, other parts of your body compensate and strain.
For three years I tried different things- special shoes, rolling a tennis ball under my foot, stretches, special inserts, night splints, even cortisone shots in my feet. All of these things had minimal impact.
A few years of this chronic pain strained not only my body, but my soul. Fear become my natural response to all things related to standing and wearing shoes which, unfortunately for the average person, takes up a significant amount of time. Then, add that as a teacher I stand more than the average person. Then, add that as a special ed teacher I chase kids down, lift kids onto changing tables, and kneel and bend all day long to be at eye level with these beautiful children.
Choosing shoes would create a complex mix of emotions. Before church on Sunday, I would sometimes be in total tears trying to figure out what to wear on my feet. When I would stand and talk to people, my main thoughts would surround thinking of kind ways to ask if we could sit and talk instead of stand.
I asked people to pray for healing. I asked God for healing. And it seemed it just might not come. I was thinking that I may live the rest of my life with significant foot pain. I would never play tennis again. I would never ride a bike a again. I would never wear cute shoes again. And the list went on.
Two Christmases ago, Dan, my brother-in-law who is studying to be a physical therapist, recommended I try dry needling. I was hesitant and skeptical. I hate spending money on doctors and had never been to a physical therapist. Plus, I am terrified of needles.
Two months later, I still hadn't looked into it, but slick ice, a run away dog, and a broken finger on the first day of Lent forced me to the doctor. During that same visit, I asked for a referral to PT. One broken bone led to the healing of a whole lot more.
I thought drying needling and PT would be a one and done deal. But it was not so. Week after week I went back. I was given stretches and strengthening exercises. I bought running shoes that gave me the stability I needed and wore good orthotics. The pain would improve and then I'd have a set back. The cycles of physical pain cycled right along my cycles of fear and doubt that I would ever get better.
My PT brought me to the point where most all my muscles were back to working properly. I was probably the most faithful of all patients in that I actually did my stretches daily at home and still do to this day (there should be an award for that!). I was getting stronger each day. I had signed up for a summer membership to our local rec center and was absolutely loving the group fitness classes. Being someone who was once terrified to even enter a gym, I overcame that fear and learned how to use all the weighted machines. I got back to riding my bike for short periods of time. I tried swimming (and failed miserably).
Towards the end of summer, I saw that my PT had done everything possible to physically get me to a very healthy place and yet I was still having setbacks and could tell I was baffling him. I began to realize, and I know he did too, that mentally and spiritually I was going to also have to heal.
Through conversations with Aaron, lots of tears, prayer, and self-examination, I confessed how the pain had psychologically become a part of me. While I didn't know how to undo all that, realizing how intertwined my body and spirit were seemed like a good first step to letting Jehovah Jireh (the God who heals) heal my heart.
Then there was Job- this book of the bible that I was simultaneously reading. This book that I had previously read, mostly been uncomfortable with and confused by and so therefore, would jump over without pausing to ask hard questions and sit until I found answers.
This time, I started sitting and asking and receiving some answers. But mostly, I started seeing Jesus in Job. I started seeing God's love and mercy in a book that I thought had little of it in the first place. I started to understand how one could say Blessed be the name of the Lord no matter what. I started understanding how I could ask for healing on earth and also accept that maybe my only full healing would come in heaven, but somehow that would be ok. Blessed be the name of the Lord. I started seeing God in this fig tree that was planted next to our house. I started seeing the seasons change and hope arise. Blessed be the name of the Lord. I started to tell people the story of healing even though it wasn't over. That may have been the hardest step. It's easy to tell about triumphs. It's not easy to tell about the limb to the finish line- let alone the limb you have and the finish line you can't see. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Summer turned to fall and the leaves stopped being green and I stopped going to PT. My feet were significantly better. If I stayed the course of stretching, exercising, and wearing good shoes, I finally believed that I should eventually see complete healing.
Since then I have still been fighting fear a good portion of the time. I have had some relapses. I still get anxious when I buy shoes. I still get anxious when I where non- running shoes to church. And yet- it's different. I am able to fight that fear with praise and be at peace in the midst of it. I recognize patterns of thought that make me spiral downward and can speak truth instead. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
The leaves turned golden and must have tuned a switch in my brain as this crazy thought popped into my head. I saw an image of Blessed be the name of the Lord on my foot. So I stored that image in the back of my mind and thought that if I ever reached complete healing I would get it tattooed on my foot as a stone (like the stone piles the Israelites set up after crossing the Red Sea) to remember the healing of God. Not just physical, but spiritual healing- the sweetest kind. While I am terrified of needles, there was the reminder that I had to be dry needled to start the physical healing process so maybe I could muster up the courage to do it.
The golden leaves fell off the trees, snowflakes covered our yard, February rolled around and my feet still weren't completely healed. Ash Wednesday came and I remembered that it was one year ago that I had broken my finger which propelled me into PT. Suddenly, I was weeping. I wept at the mercy of God for making my feet so much better (even though they weren't 100% better). And I wept at the mercy of God to set me free from fear and anxiety. Which, even though I'm not 100% better, I am confined by flesh and blood and I know that until I reach heaven I will still wrestle and triumph and fall and get back up. That's exactly why I need a Savior. My only hope in this life is Jesus. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
So I did it. A year and two days after breaking my finger which started this journey, I overcame another fear and got a tattoo of that verse on my foot. Before the complete healing. Before knowing the end of the story. Which after all, is exactly what Job did and the very reason this proclaimation is both inspiring and baffling. It's what Brennan Manning called the victorious limp. Maybe it will be fully healed one day, maybe not. All I know is I have Jesus and that is enough. I praise him for the healing that has taken place and continue to ask in faith for full healing.
I stand and praise Him and when my feet hurt from standing, I will kneel and I will fall on my face because I know that He walks with us through the valleys. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
In Brennan Manning's book, The Ragamuffin Gospel (which I can't recommend enough), he writes that trying to comprehend God's love is like trying to contain Niagara Falls in a tea cup.
I feel overwhelmed by the sheer love and mercy of the Lord looking at these pictures my good friend Mary Ashley took of my feet. My little tea cup has shattered because His grace just can't be contained. So in feeble words- I will at least tell my story in hopes that you will hear His story of love and mercy which is intended to be the theme of all our stories.
- - - -
Five years ago, during my first year teaching, I started coming home from school with terrible pain in my feet. I developed plantar fasciitis. Your plantar fascia is a band of connective tissue that runs along the sole of your foot and your arch. It helps absorb the impact of your steps. Excessive strain on on your feet (like being on your feet all day teaching) can lead to breakdown of that tissue that leaves it inflamed and very painful. For me, it was also a result of not having a strong enough core to be able to have correct posture all day while standing and teaching. Slowly different muscles in my lower body were essentially put on overdrive and so shutdown. When the muscles don't fire properly, other parts of your body compensate and strain.
For three years I tried different things- special shoes, rolling a tennis ball under my foot, stretches, special inserts, night splints, even cortisone shots in my feet. All of these things had minimal impact.
A few years of this chronic pain strained not only my body, but my soul. Fear become my natural response to all things related to standing and wearing shoes which, unfortunately for the average person, takes up a significant amount of time. Then, add that as a teacher I stand more than the average person. Then, add that as a special ed teacher I chase kids down, lift kids onto changing tables, and kneel and bend all day long to be at eye level with these beautiful children.
Choosing shoes would create a complex mix of emotions. Before church on Sunday, I would sometimes be in total tears trying to figure out what to wear on my feet. When I would stand and talk to people, my main thoughts would surround thinking of kind ways to ask if we could sit and talk instead of stand.
I asked people to pray for healing. I asked God for healing. And it seemed it just might not come. I was thinking that I may live the rest of my life with significant foot pain. I would never play tennis again. I would never ride a bike a again. I would never wear cute shoes again. And the list went on.
Two Christmases ago, Dan, my brother-in-law who is studying to be a physical therapist, recommended I try dry needling. I was hesitant and skeptical. I hate spending money on doctors and had never been to a physical therapist. Plus, I am terrified of needles.
Two months later, I still hadn't looked into it, but slick ice, a run away dog, and a broken finger on the first day of Lent forced me to the doctor. During that same visit, I asked for a referral to PT. One broken bone led to the healing of a whole lot more.
I thought drying needling and PT would be a one and done deal. But it was not so. Week after week I went back. I was given stretches and strengthening exercises. I bought running shoes that gave me the stability I needed and wore good orthotics. The pain would improve and then I'd have a set back. The cycles of physical pain cycled right along my cycles of fear and doubt that I would ever get better.
My PT brought me to the point where most all my muscles were back to working properly. I was probably the most faithful of all patients in that I actually did my stretches daily at home and still do to this day (there should be an award for that!). I was getting stronger each day. I had signed up for a summer membership to our local rec center and was absolutely loving the group fitness classes. Being someone who was once terrified to even enter a gym, I overcame that fear and learned how to use all the weighted machines. I got back to riding my bike for short periods of time. I tried swimming (and failed miserably).
Towards the end of summer, I saw that my PT had done everything possible to physically get me to a very healthy place and yet I was still having setbacks and could tell I was baffling him. I began to realize, and I know he did too, that mentally and spiritually I was going to also have to heal.
Through conversations with Aaron, lots of tears, prayer, and self-examination, I confessed how the pain had psychologically become a part of me. While I didn't know how to undo all that, realizing how intertwined my body and spirit were seemed like a good first step to letting Jehovah Jireh (the God who heals) heal my heart.
Then there was Job- this book of the bible that I was simultaneously reading. This book that I had previously read, mostly been uncomfortable with and confused by and so therefore, would jump over without pausing to ask hard questions and sit until I found answers.
This time, I started sitting and asking and receiving some answers. But mostly, I started seeing Jesus in Job. I started seeing God's love and mercy in a book that I thought had little of it in the first place. I started to understand how one could say Blessed be the name of the Lord no matter what. I started understanding how I could ask for healing on earth and also accept that maybe my only full healing would come in heaven, but somehow that would be ok. Blessed be the name of the Lord. I started seeing God in this fig tree that was planted next to our house. I started seeing the seasons change and hope arise. Blessed be the name of the Lord. I started to tell people the story of healing even though it wasn't over. That may have been the hardest step. It's easy to tell about triumphs. It's not easy to tell about the limb to the finish line- let alone the limb you have and the finish line you can't see. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
Summer turned to fall and the leaves stopped being green and I stopped going to PT. My feet were significantly better. If I stayed the course of stretching, exercising, and wearing good shoes, I finally believed that I should eventually see complete healing.
Since then I have still been fighting fear a good portion of the time. I have had some relapses. I still get anxious when I buy shoes. I still get anxious when I where non- running shoes to church. And yet- it's different. I am able to fight that fear with praise and be at peace in the midst of it. I recognize patterns of thought that make me spiral downward and can speak truth instead. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
The leaves turned golden and must have tuned a switch in my brain as this crazy thought popped into my head. I saw an image of Blessed be the name of the Lord on my foot. So I stored that image in the back of my mind and thought that if I ever reached complete healing I would get it tattooed on my foot as a stone (like the stone piles the Israelites set up after crossing the Red Sea) to remember the healing of God. Not just physical, but spiritual healing- the sweetest kind. While I am terrified of needles, there was the reminder that I had to be dry needled to start the physical healing process so maybe I could muster up the courage to do it.
The golden leaves fell off the trees, snowflakes covered our yard, February rolled around and my feet still weren't completely healed. Ash Wednesday came and I remembered that it was one year ago that I had broken my finger which propelled me into PT. Suddenly, I was weeping. I wept at the mercy of God for making my feet so much better (even though they weren't 100% better). And I wept at the mercy of God to set me free from fear and anxiety. Which, even though I'm not 100% better, I am confined by flesh and blood and I know that until I reach heaven I will still wrestle and triumph and fall and get back up. That's exactly why I need a Savior. My only hope in this life is Jesus. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
So I did it. A year and two days after breaking my finger which started this journey, I overcame another fear and got a tattoo of that verse on my foot. Before the complete healing. Before knowing the end of the story. Which after all, is exactly what Job did and the very reason this proclaimation is both inspiring and baffling. It's what Brennan Manning called the victorious limp. Maybe it will be fully healed one day, maybe not. All I know is I have Jesus and that is enough. I praise him for the healing that has taken place and continue to ask in faith for full healing.
I stand and praise Him and when my feet hurt from standing, I will kneel and I will fall on my face because I know that He walks with us through the valleys. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
- - - -
While there is so much more I could say about this and all the small moments God spoke to me and all the wonderful things he's done, there's just not space here to write it all. So I will have to save that for a cup of tea or a good glass of wine with you.
Thanks to Mary Ashley for the pictures and Jimbo at Boulevard Tattoo for the "stone."
Your article are superb and pics are really very well.
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