(Dedicated to all my friends & family who have lost someone suddenly...)
This morning, I sit here watching a very silly cartoon show about a talking sponge...you know the one if you have any kids in your house. It's silly and a little demeaning at times to people everywhere, but sadly, I still find out humorous.
I am watching this cartoon on a Monday morning because my kids are out of school today. My son woke up in the middle of the night with a very sore throat, and consequently, I had to call in sick to work today. This past year, my kids have been sick more times than in the past few years combined. It's just been that kind of year.
When I first woke up and realized that I had to call my supervisor yet again to tell her my kid was sick, I felt a twinge of anxiety. Most of the people I work with are younger than me, have no children, aren't married, and sometimes I feel they don't really understand the married with children life. It makes calling in sick to take care of my children seem out of place to me.
The bigger question is, why am I even worrying about what they think?
I can answer this question in two words "People...pleaser."
All my life, I have fought an internal struggle between strong sense of identity and self, and endlessly worrying about what other people think of me. Depending on what day you catch me on, you might get an extreme version of one or the other. Some might say that I'm fiercely independent, shunning rules and order, forging my own path in life. Some have called me stubborn and rebellious, not caring what anyone thinks. For many years, I put up the front of not caring to protect my heart from being hurt by people knowing how much I really cared about what they think.
You may have known me during a more sensitive time in my life when I feel exceptionally vulnerable, soft-hearted and trying hard to let people see the inside of my heart. This has been more of how I've been the past few years. I've been letting go. However, I've noticed that my circle of good friends has become significantly smaller. In fact, since becoming more this way, I've fought loneliness and felt more than ever than I'm not accepted for who I am. At times, I have lashed out in anger and become "sad-mad" at people for their responses to my vulnerability. It hurts to expose your heart and to find out people really don't care.
Just the fact that I'm writing this blog post means that I'm still making efforts to be vulnerable. I'm rather tired of acting hard and calloused. I want to develop deep, intimate connections with other human beings. We are all in this life together, and I want to walk through it with people by my side.
Yesterday, I heard a great sermon about taking time to appreciate the grace of God, and focusing more on the wonderful things that God has given to us versus constantly focusing on things to complain about.
Today, I'm taking note of that sermon and I'm going to share something with you all about what I've learned in life.
Life...is...short AND Life...is...extremely...unpredictable.
It's easy for our glass to get broken. If you don't understand what this means, read my previous blog posts. My glass has been shattered...more than once.
After the sermon yesterday, I shared a piece of my own story with my pastor. On November 5, 2009, my perspective of life completely changed.
I was in a delivery room, giving birth to my third child, a son. After three previous miscarriages, this was my miracle baby. I had prayed fervently for the pregnancy to go well, without complications, and I had been faring quite well. Besides the usual weight gain and some late-term pain of carrying an 8 pound baby, it was going better than I expected.
I made the decision with my third child to attempt completely natural childbirth. I felt the Lord urging me to try during my private prayer time, and I felt it was an act of trusting Him to take care of all my needs. My second child was born more quickly than expected, and I ended up not receiving the benefit of the epidural. I found that natural childbirth was not as bad as people make it out to be.
As I laid there, breathing deeply and heavily, laboring in this beautiful miracle of life...I realized that it was taking an exceptionally long time to push the baby out. Pushing had always been easy for me and a very quick process. What was wrong this time?
I asked the doctor, "What is taking so long this time? This usually happens faster." The midwife and doctor told me that my son's head was stuck in my pelvic bone. They asked if they could turn him around to give me a better angle for exiting. I said, "Ok."
They tried to turn him...it wasn't working. The doctor said, "I'd like to use forceps to turn him and get him out." I said, "Ok." (Now I wish I hadn't agreed).
In just a moment, the doctor began to turn his head. I felt pain like I have NEVER felt before. On a scale of 1 to 10, it was a 14. Immediately, I felt I was going to lose consciousness. In a way that is hard to explain, the whole room turned GRAY. Everything became blurry. It was like I was there, but I wasn't really there. It felt like a dissociated state, like I was watching and hearing it happen, but I wasn't taking part in the story.
I felt them throw up the side of the hospital bed and we began to race down the hall to the operating room. I remember feeling like I was fading in and out of consciousness. The sights and sounds seemed to be in slow motion. We entered the OR and there were many more people around me. There seemed to be about 20 people in the room! I couldn't count, but there were many more than I would expect in such a small room. The people were yelling at each other across the room. The anxiety turned to anger and shouting when someone wasn't doing what the doctor was wanting him to do. I could hear the doctor saying, "You're going to be ok, you're going to be ok, we are going to help you...we are going to take care of you." His voice vibrated...there was an underlying insecurity in his voice. He quickly rolled me onto the operating table and I felt all the strength in my body seem to leave me. I felt so weak, my arms flopped to the side and I felt that I couldn't move. Even moving my eyes to look around seemed to take an enormous amount of energy. I was absolutely exhausted beyond anything I have experienced. I remember looking around for my husband to appear, but he wasn't there. Finally, I closed my eyes and started praying.
I haven't told many people the following details, but I feel compelled to share them now. Perhaps, as a comfort to others who have lost loved ones. Perhaps, to finally share what happened to me on November 5, 2009. I found out that we don't die, but our spirits are going somewhere when we die.
Before my husband came into the room, I began to feel my spirit rise out of my body. I have told the story a few times before, but only more in the past year. I had a sense there was a giant magnet in the corner of the operating room and it was pulling me out from a place about 2" above my belly button. I felt I was connected to something and the magnetic pull was very, very strong. I was unable to even try to fight against it. It was pulling me very hard, and very quickly.
Every degree of measurement that I came out of my body, I felt the most incredible peace, warmth and love that I have ever felt. Every second that passed, this feeling was getting stronger, but it was like time was fading away at an equal rate. I didn't feel connected with time...or my body...but I could feel the coldness and weakness, lifelessness, of my own body.
I remember praying one final thing...I prayed, "God, just please take of my husband and my children." I told Jesus that I was ready to go with him, if that is what He decided. I felt like I was about 75% outside of my body and it would be over and I would be gone, in just a few more milliseconds. I just closed my eyes and surrendered myself to the pulling sensation.
This is where things got very confusing for me. In a matter of milliseconds again, I woke up in the recovery room of the hospital. I remember wondering if I was dead or alive. I wasn't quite sure. I remember thinking about it for a minute and then feeling pain in my abdomen from the c-section I had just endured. I thought, "Revelation 21 says that there is no more pain or sorrow in heaven, so I must not be dead."
The nurse walked in the room and I said, "I'M ALIVE!" I took her by the shoulders and shook her a little from my great excitement (and I'm sure still having some drugs in my system). She said, "Yes, but it was a very, very close call."
I was taken to a hospital room where my baby was waiting with the rest of my family. I felt very, very weak, and I could not hold my baby for more than a couple minutes. It was like all the strength I had before the surgery was gone. I have NEVER been so tired in my entire life.
I remember looking around at my baby, my husband and my other family members. It was like I had never seen them before and I was seeing everything in a fresh new light. I remember thinking, "I don't care what just happened, I'm alive and I'm going to live every moment as if it's my last."
That day, I stopped taking life for granted. I deeply understand that every moment of life is a gift from God. The good Lord giveth and He taketh away! I also came out of this experience with a renewed passion to share the good news of Jesus Christ with others. There is life after this place. Our spirit is a part of who we are, and I know it's going somewhere after we die. I believed in eternal life and our spirits being eternal before this experience, but I definitely believe now.
Why am I sharing this now? Some have heard me tell this story before, but many have not. I have worried too much in the past about what people will think of my story. Perhaps, they will think I am lying or exaggerating, or that I'm simply crazy. Maybe what I say doesn't line up with their own view of God, scripture, or their interpretation of the Bible. I have worried and worried about what others think. It's that darn people-pleasing side of me again.
I think God gave me an experience so that I can give others hope. It is not a light that is meant to be hid under a basket. There is hope. His name is Jesus and He is the giver of eternal life. When you die someday, your spirit will go SOMEWHERE...of that I am sure. I do believe in both heaven and hell. I believe that we go to one or the other, but our entrance is only based on ONE thing. Do we trust in Jesus completely as our Lord and Savior? Do we truly believe that HIS sacrifice is enough to cover all our sin and wash it away completely?
His grace is really ENOUGH for anyone who believes to be saved. The thing about life is that it's a GIFT and we never know when we will not be given another day. While we are here, on this planet, we need to live as though we might not be here tomorrow, in richness and abundance of God's grace, and making the most of each moment. Life is a precious gift, not to be squandered.
Eternal life can start now.
I'm not guaranteed another day. The blessing of feeling like I was going to die is now I know how to truly live.
I work everyday with people who are trying to kill themselves or kill other people. They want to die because they feel that life is hopeless and without merit, and they are tired of feeling like they're dying anyway. Some get angry at the world and want to take precious life from others. Neither way is what God intended. I am hoping and praying that sharing my story might help someone to take the time to enjoy life and smell the roses....and maybe find abundant life that never ends.
I pray this testimony blesses you and gives you hope. I see death everywhere around me...every day...and I want to share LIFE and spread HOPE--a light shining in a dark place.
No matter what you think of my story, I know it's real and it has given me hope to live a wonderful life.
This morning, I sit here watching a very silly cartoon show about a talking sponge...you know the one if you have any kids in your house. It's silly and a little demeaning at times to people everywhere, but sadly, I still find out humorous.
I am watching this cartoon on a Monday morning because my kids are out of school today. My son woke up in the middle of the night with a very sore throat, and consequently, I had to call in sick to work today. This past year, my kids have been sick more times than in the past few years combined. It's just been that kind of year.
When I first woke up and realized that I had to call my supervisor yet again to tell her my kid was sick, I felt a twinge of anxiety. Most of the people I work with are younger than me, have no children, aren't married, and sometimes I feel they don't really understand the married with children life. It makes calling in sick to take care of my children seem out of place to me.
The bigger question is, why am I even worrying about what they think?
I can answer this question in two words "People...pleaser."
All my life, I have fought an internal struggle between strong sense of identity and self, and endlessly worrying about what other people think of me. Depending on what day you catch me on, you might get an extreme version of one or the other. Some might say that I'm fiercely independent, shunning rules and order, forging my own path in life. Some have called me stubborn and rebellious, not caring what anyone thinks. For many years, I put up the front of not caring to protect my heart from being hurt by people knowing how much I really cared about what they think.
You may have known me during a more sensitive time in my life when I feel exceptionally vulnerable, soft-hearted and trying hard to let people see the inside of my heart. This has been more of how I've been the past few years. I've been letting go. However, I've noticed that my circle of good friends has become significantly smaller. In fact, since becoming more this way, I've fought loneliness and felt more than ever than I'm not accepted for who I am. At times, I have lashed out in anger and become "sad-mad" at people for their responses to my vulnerability. It hurts to expose your heart and to find out people really don't care.
Just the fact that I'm writing this blog post means that I'm still making efforts to be vulnerable. I'm rather tired of acting hard and calloused. I want to develop deep, intimate connections with other human beings. We are all in this life together, and I want to walk through it with people by my side.
Yesterday, I heard a great sermon about taking time to appreciate the grace of God, and focusing more on the wonderful things that God has given to us versus constantly focusing on things to complain about.
Today, I'm taking note of that sermon and I'm going to share something with you all about what I've learned in life.
Life...is...short AND Life...is...extremely...unpredictable.
It's easy for our glass to get broken. If you don't understand what this means, read my previous blog posts. My glass has been shattered...more than once.
After the sermon yesterday, I shared a piece of my own story with my pastor. On November 5, 2009, my perspective of life completely changed.
I was in a delivery room, giving birth to my third child, a son. After three previous miscarriages, this was my miracle baby. I had prayed fervently for the pregnancy to go well, without complications, and I had been faring quite well. Besides the usual weight gain and some late-term pain of carrying an 8 pound baby, it was going better than I expected.
I made the decision with my third child to attempt completely natural childbirth. I felt the Lord urging me to try during my private prayer time, and I felt it was an act of trusting Him to take care of all my needs. My second child was born more quickly than expected, and I ended up not receiving the benefit of the epidural. I found that natural childbirth was not as bad as people make it out to be.
As I laid there, breathing deeply and heavily, laboring in this beautiful miracle of life...I realized that it was taking an exceptionally long time to push the baby out. Pushing had always been easy for me and a very quick process. What was wrong this time?
I asked the doctor, "What is taking so long this time? This usually happens faster." The midwife and doctor told me that my son's head was stuck in my pelvic bone. They asked if they could turn him around to give me a better angle for exiting. I said, "Ok."
They tried to turn him...it wasn't working. The doctor said, "I'd like to use forceps to turn him and get him out." I said, "Ok." (Now I wish I hadn't agreed).
In just a moment, the doctor began to turn his head. I felt pain like I have NEVER felt before. On a scale of 1 to 10, it was a 14. Immediately, I felt I was going to lose consciousness. In a way that is hard to explain, the whole room turned GRAY. Everything became blurry. It was like I was there, but I wasn't really there. It felt like a dissociated state, like I was watching and hearing it happen, but I wasn't taking part in the story.
I felt them throw up the side of the hospital bed and we began to race down the hall to the operating room. I remember feeling like I was fading in and out of consciousness. The sights and sounds seemed to be in slow motion. We entered the OR and there were many more people around me. There seemed to be about 20 people in the room! I couldn't count, but there were many more than I would expect in such a small room. The people were yelling at each other across the room. The anxiety turned to anger and shouting when someone wasn't doing what the doctor was wanting him to do. I could hear the doctor saying, "You're going to be ok, you're going to be ok, we are going to help you...we are going to take care of you." His voice vibrated...there was an underlying insecurity in his voice. He quickly rolled me onto the operating table and I felt all the strength in my body seem to leave me. I felt so weak, my arms flopped to the side and I felt that I couldn't move. Even moving my eyes to look around seemed to take an enormous amount of energy. I was absolutely exhausted beyond anything I have experienced. I remember looking around for my husband to appear, but he wasn't there. Finally, I closed my eyes and started praying.
I haven't told many people the following details, but I feel compelled to share them now. Perhaps, as a comfort to others who have lost loved ones. Perhaps, to finally share what happened to me on November 5, 2009. I found out that we don't die, but our spirits are going somewhere when we die.
Before my husband came into the room, I began to feel my spirit rise out of my body. I have told the story a few times before, but only more in the past year. I had a sense there was a giant magnet in the corner of the operating room and it was pulling me out from a place about 2" above my belly button. I felt I was connected to something and the magnetic pull was very, very strong. I was unable to even try to fight against it. It was pulling me very hard, and very quickly.
Every degree of measurement that I came out of my body, I felt the most incredible peace, warmth and love that I have ever felt. Every second that passed, this feeling was getting stronger, but it was like time was fading away at an equal rate. I didn't feel connected with time...or my body...but I could feel the coldness and weakness, lifelessness, of my own body.
I remember praying one final thing...I prayed, "God, just please take of my husband and my children." I told Jesus that I was ready to go with him, if that is what He decided. I felt like I was about 75% outside of my body and it would be over and I would be gone, in just a few more milliseconds. I just closed my eyes and surrendered myself to the pulling sensation.
This is where things got very confusing for me. In a matter of milliseconds again, I woke up in the recovery room of the hospital. I remember wondering if I was dead or alive. I wasn't quite sure. I remember thinking about it for a minute and then feeling pain in my abdomen from the c-section I had just endured. I thought, "Revelation 21 says that there is no more pain or sorrow in heaven, so I must not be dead."
The nurse walked in the room and I said, "I'M ALIVE!" I took her by the shoulders and shook her a little from my great excitement (and I'm sure still having some drugs in my system). She said, "Yes, but it was a very, very close call."
I was taken to a hospital room where my baby was waiting with the rest of my family. I felt very, very weak, and I could not hold my baby for more than a couple minutes. It was like all the strength I had before the surgery was gone. I have NEVER been so tired in my entire life.
I remember looking around at my baby, my husband and my other family members. It was like I had never seen them before and I was seeing everything in a fresh new light. I remember thinking, "I don't care what just happened, I'm alive and I'm going to live every moment as if it's my last."
That day, I stopped taking life for granted. I deeply understand that every moment of life is a gift from God. The good Lord giveth and He taketh away! I also came out of this experience with a renewed passion to share the good news of Jesus Christ with others. There is life after this place. Our spirit is a part of who we are, and I know it's going somewhere after we die. I believed in eternal life and our spirits being eternal before this experience, but I definitely believe now.
Why am I sharing this now? Some have heard me tell this story before, but many have not. I have worried too much in the past about what people will think of my story. Perhaps, they will think I am lying or exaggerating, or that I'm simply crazy. Maybe what I say doesn't line up with their own view of God, scripture, or their interpretation of the Bible. I have worried and worried about what others think. It's that darn people-pleasing side of me again.
I think God gave me an experience so that I can give others hope. It is not a light that is meant to be hid under a basket. There is hope. His name is Jesus and He is the giver of eternal life. When you die someday, your spirit will go SOMEWHERE...of that I am sure. I do believe in both heaven and hell. I believe that we go to one or the other, but our entrance is only based on ONE thing. Do we trust in Jesus completely as our Lord and Savior? Do we truly believe that HIS sacrifice is enough to cover all our sin and wash it away completely?
His grace is really ENOUGH for anyone who believes to be saved. The thing about life is that it's a GIFT and we never know when we will not be given another day. While we are here, on this planet, we need to live as though we might not be here tomorrow, in richness and abundance of God's grace, and making the most of each moment. Life is a precious gift, not to be squandered.
Eternal life can start now.
I'm not guaranteed another day. The blessing of feeling like I was going to die is now I know how to truly live.
I work everyday with people who are trying to kill themselves or kill other people. They want to die because they feel that life is hopeless and without merit, and they are tired of feeling like they're dying anyway. Some get angry at the world and want to take precious life from others. Neither way is what God intended. I am hoping and praying that sharing my story might help someone to take the time to enjoy life and smell the roses....and maybe find abundant life that never ends.
I pray this testimony blesses you and gives you hope. I see death everywhere around me...every day...and I want to share LIFE and spread HOPE--a light shining in a dark place.
No matter what you think of my story, I know it's real and it has given me hope to live a wonderful life.
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