Maybe, Actually, Always

Dear friends,

After a day like today, I am starting to think that productivity, work, and even contribution are just a bit of nonsense. See, I am the type who gets a little too anxious over things - months in advance. I joked with some friends the other day that if I ever got engaged, the wedding would be planned in a month. So as I begin to make the transition from living with relatives to living on my own, from not working to getting a paid job, and from exchanging one community for another, I realize that the move takes time, planning, and a little hard work. But the move also takes a lot of faith, patience, and hands wide open to the way life will actually unfold.

On a small scale, let's peek into what today looked like. Since I spent all last week juggling three different projects, I was feeling pretty tired. I decided the best remedy for the situation was to go find beauty.

So I went.

I decided to travel to the St. Johns neighborhood, which, to be honest, should just be it's own entity because it takes 100 minutes each way when traveling by bus from my house. Actually, St. Johns was its own municipality until 1915 when it decided to be annexed into Portland. St. Johns, however, never lost its core character. It boasts a few movie theaters, restaurants, banks, mom and pop stores, and a neighborhood grocery store - all within the downtown area.

But the best part about St. Johns is the bridge that swoops in out of nowhere to take you to, well, nowhere - if that's where you want to go. The second best part about St. Johns is what you can find underneath the Gothic-style bridge. Cathedral Park leads you from near the east end of the bridge all the way down to the Willamette River. It's certainly not the biggest park in Portland, but it arguably has the most character. From the lampposts to the 60s era-style amphitheater, Cathedral Park commands my attention every time.

I spent many minutes lying in the grass on the slope that overlooks the amphitheater, listening to the cars on the bridge whiz by, attempting to do the New York Times crossword (but being beaten back by Will Shortz's aptitude), and gazing at absolutely nothing. Because, for the most part, the entire park was mine. I expected more people, but only a few people walked by the entire time. I expected the park to be teeming with screaming kids, but the park was rather quiet - peaceful actually. I spent considerable time analyzing Forest Park's tree line, admiring the incredible amounts of blue space above that tree line, and even noticing that a few leaves on the trees are already turning shades. Meanwhile, my fatigue disappeared.

In this moment, I didn't care what time it was or the projects awaiting my attention back home or even that my stomach was growling. All I cared about was being fully present, fully aware, fully Anna. However life unfolds, I am a willing participant. The only request I have is for beauty to be found always.

A.

Under Our Skin to Screen in Portland/Two

Hi everyone,

You are officially invited to the screening of "Under Our Skin," which is a documentary telling the stories of Lyme sufferers, the Lyme epidemic, and the controversy. The main screening will occur on Saturday, September 26, at 2p at the Hollywood Theatre (NE 42nd Avenue & Sandy Boulevard). Cost is regular price of admission. A few more screenings will be shown on that same weekend.

Immediately after the main screening, we will have a 30-minute panel to answer questions from the audience. This panel includes one medical doctor aggressively treating Lyme Disease, one naturopath who not only treats Lyme but also suffers from the disease herself, and two Lymies from the Portland-Metro area who have some interesting connections to the film.

In addition to the panel, we will have a professional photographer on hand to take free, individual portrait shots of all Lymies in attendance - so bring your glam! The idea is to not only gift Lymies with something special to take home with them (something most Lymies cannot afford), but there's also an idea floating around to use these photos to publish a book of stories about the Lymies in the Portland area. (We'll see. Let's get through the film event first.)

Please pass the word about this film screening to your friends, family, doctors, health practitioners, churches, government officials, and community groups.

A.
P.S. To read my review of the film, please click here.

Ever Careful

Dear friends,

Quite often, when I go more than a few days without reflecting, without finding myself alone in a safe space, and, well, without just being, all my emotions boil over to the point where a good cry seems to be the only remedy. After a full and engaging week of contributions and surprises, I finally took some time to decompress this evening. A mere two seconds after sitting down to journal, I began to weep. There wasn't one particular thing I was crying about - I suppose it was a combination of recent life events. Yet, tears tend to flow easier when I realize that the thing I am crying over is part of something greater, particularly an unwanted theme carried throughout my life. And because I find it woven in my life's fabric, the solution seems incredibly out of reach.

Besides weeping, the only remedy that seems to work is to be honest with God. While usually difficult at first, once I just blurt out whatever is on my mind, the conversation stops being about me trying to manipulate Him (usually by giving Him ultimatums) and starts being about a real relationship shared between two person, both being true to his or her character, feelings, and place he or she is in now.

God listens. He listens because He has provided the space for us to come to Him. This space is called Jesus Christ, the Son made human (among other things) to exemplify all goodness in perfect relationship, such as gentleness, honesty, trustworthiness, boundary holding, unconditional love, and holiness. I am becoming more and more convinced that relationships go awry because we don't give each other the space to be free, to be ourselves, and to tell the truth - even when the truth is ugly. Personally, I know people whom do not feel safe to me, and when I happen to be in their presence, I recoil. Like clockwork. When this happens, there is little room for life-giving to occur - from either person.

While I was in the middle of weeping, I remembered 1 Peter 5:7, which, in the NASB (the Bible I regularly use), directs us "[to cast] all your anxiety on Him." I thought to myself, OK, Lord, I'm casting. Now what? Sometimes when I get stuck I like to go to other Bible versions, so I looked up the entire chapter in The Message. The end of verse 6-7 says this, "Live carefree before God; he is most careful with you." I didn't just need to know it was OK to cast my worries, but I also needed to know that my line can stay out in open water as long as it needs to be in order to set things right. I can set down the line to go play, attend to other things, or even cast another anxiety, and meanwhile, God is taking care of my worries, being ever so careful with me in the process. He knows me well enough to know how to approach my fears, misunderstandings, pain, and residue from my past. And He is such a gracious and merciful God that He will redeem these sins and sufferings in a way that I become a willing participant also.

I long for this kind of space to be found in my earthly relationships; I long to give others the same.

A.

The Kissing Booth

Hi everyone,

Happily, the yeast in my mouth and my yoohoo has disappeared. No more black fungus, no more heaviness, and no more gagging while scrubbing my tongue. No more discomfort, no more reminders about how much medicine I swallow, and no more embarrassment. No more guilt and no more shame. I am a free woman. Get out the lipstick. The kissing booth is ready to open.

A.

The Trick

Dear friends,

I think I can say that I am officially no longer nomad Anna without a job and a task. In the last few weeks, I have picked up three different projects for which to lend my expertise. All three projects are volunteer, one is a short-term project, and the other two will last as long as I desire. In addition to these three, I have picked up another project that is indefinitely long-term and, of course, my first fall graduate school class picks up next week.

I am beginning to feel the tension between the space I have been blessed with in the last 15 months and the expectation to perform and produce. I really do miss the days when I had nothing to do. I miss the days when I was given the opportunity to explore without time constraints. And I miss the days when I could wake up without knowing where I would go or who I would meet.

Certainly, I still have days like those I just described because I still have complete control over my involvement. There are few deadlines, and the work can be done from almost anywhere and at any time of the day. I think the tension comes from within: my desire to produce, to perfect, to provide. I so wished that this "over-doing-it" tendency disappeared in the last year, but alas, the struggle still remains.

As I plan for the near future, I can foresee that my work and grad school life will look a lot like what I've got now. The trick, then, is to create a rhythm for my life that gives honor to God, to my body, and to my natural giftings.

To the present and the possibility,

A.

The Journey Held

Dear friends,

What makes people do what they do? What makes them not do something? These are the questions I have been thinking about this week due to a book my friend Mike recommended to me and a conversation I had with Ruth (the name I have given to the woman who shares her Rife Machine with me).

First, the book. Written by Andrew Marin, Love Is an Orientation is like a gust of wind in smoggy Los Angeles: the wind rarely comes through, but when it does, the skies clear up and the people are the better for it: clarity and health is the outcome for all those who read this book. Marin implores his fellow Christian brothers and sisters to elevate the conversation with the gay community. The way he approaches the reader in this book is the same way he is asking us to do with gays and lesbians: instead of chiding, demanding, or manipulating, he respects, persuades, loves, and remains honest with us throughout. And he doesn't tell people what they want to hear, either. Just when you think he is going to say one thing, he says another; and just when you want him to take a position on a particular issue, he brings it back to the thing that will build bridges with gays and lesbians.

Furthermore, Marin is an advocate for God's children by retaining the identity of Christ in all His children. For me, this is the concept that grabbed hold of me. Because Marin's book ceased to be a book about a cause, but began to be about the thing that distinguishes me from, well, nobody. Marin persuades readers to consider ourselves on a journey, living on a spectrum between dead and alive, being in the tension between black and white (e.g., gray), between knowing Christ and not knowing Christ.

I may not relate to the particular struggle and reality of gays and lesbians, but this I can relate to: knowing that I am a Christ follower but very much struggling with sin; not always understanding why I was given this life; faithlessness; pride; and not knowing why God gives me over to my ungodly desires. Marin would answer this by saying that we are on a journey, each somewhere along the spectrum, being held by Christ, even if at the moment it doesn't appear to be, while He transforms our hearts in such a way that brings Him glory and honor. The journey between death and life will look differently for each person, and the journey will almost always occur on a timetable that seems too slow.

******

During my weekly Rife appointment, Ruth asked me how I would answer the question, "Is there a cure to Lyme Disease?" I smiled, partly because it's a normal question and partly because I like to respond with a vague (and long) answer. I responded, "In my opinion, which my doctor shares, there is no cure because the Lyme is hanging out in the tissues and bones, not the bloodstream. However, I can get to the point where I am essentially in remission, which means that my immune system is strong enough to fight off the remaining Lyme, I am living a healthy life, and the symptoms do not come back. In order to be in remission, you have to see the treatment process through."

Ruth interjected: "Some people tell me they know people who 'saw the process through' and still relapsed once they stopped taking the antibiotics."

"There are a few factors to consider," I said. "Every body is different. People are dealing with different co-infections - some that can surface well into someone's treatment plan. We are dealing with different immune systems, and we are dealing with Lyme at various ages: presumably, a 20-something Lymie will have a more robust immune system than someone in their 50s.

"Furthermore, what does it mean to 'see the process through'? Do we really know when it ends (or begins for that matter)? Like I said, I do not believe there will ever be an endpoint to Lyme. The journey towards wellness is never ending, at least until I go live with Christ. Until then, I am exploring, discovering, researching, talking, and asking questions."

******

I confess that my heart has not been as patient as I would like it to be - it doesn't always reflect my words like above. I confess that I have gotten frustrated that a Lymie did not choose to do something that worked for me or did choose something I did not think would help. I confess that I have imposed my will on others. I have expected that my arguments would already have gotten through to them. I have wanted them to be at a place where they just are not. The reasons are plenty and legitimate: lack of funds, lack of knowledge, fear, different co-infections, different medical histories, different life experiences, different everything.

Like Marin implored, it is not my job to judge or convict, my job is to love. And Lymies need a lot of love. We are a set of people who have been told the problem is "all in our heads," dismissed by our family and friends, and shut out by insurers. We have been told to "suck it up," to "get a job," to "just go to this or that doctor or try this or that treatment, I know it will help you." After a while, you learn to stop trusting, to stop believing, to stop hoping. You resort to whatever dulls the pain: morphine, drugs, alcohol, unhealthy relationships, work, isolation, sarcasm, and the list goes on and on. After a while, you forget that you are loved.

******

At the beginning of this post, I asked a few questions about what makes people do or not do something, but I want to amend that question to: What makes people do something that I don't want them to do (or vice versa)? Because the real problem is me. What if I eliminated my will from the equation? What if I gave up trying to order their lives based on what I would do, and started loving them like Jesus would?

I think the outcome would end up being something like I experienced early this week. I was up in Seattle to visit some friends and decided to take a walk by myself around their neighborhood. My friend pointed me West, so I went. Somewhere along my journey, I came upon a small entrance into what I thought was private property, until I noticed a Seattle Parks sign that noted this was the Parsons Memorial Garden. This garden is directly across the street from a lookout that provided a 270-degree view of Elliott Bay and Bainbridge Island.

Since the garden was obviously public (next to beautiful, expensive, grandiose homes that were obviously not public), I decided to go in. As I stepped into the garden, I immediately felt like the little girl in The Secret Garden. I had the overwhelming sense that I was in a safe, beautiful, mysterious space. The path more or less led me in a circle, though it weaved left and right, forked, and took me down paths to dead ends - or at least what I thought were dead ends. In these presumed dead ends, I found benches one could only see once you were at the end. It was like the architect was suggesting that sitting on the bench may take you further down your journey than the garden wall allowed for.

The laughter of two small girls playing together drifted throughout the garden. It reminded me of such innocence, such freedom. I saw them run on and off the path, under trees, and through flower beds. Once, as I was standing in a dead end next to a bench, they ran by me and stopped to stare. I casually said hello, but they didn't answer. Perhaps they wondered if I would chide them for coming into my space, I don't know. But they quickly became bored and continued to run on laughing the entire time.

As I departed the garden, I couldn't help feel like I had just walked through a dream. Except that I hope it isn't. I hope that we can play, laugh, explore, discover, and be free just like these girls. I hope that we can live in the space Jesus Christ invited us into, and that we can accept that some will be on the path, others will be tramping through the flowers, and others will be sitting on the bench going somewhere we don't quite understand.

A.

Physicology/Twenty-Nine

Dear friends,

It remains a mystery whether I have been more active because I have more energy or because I am pushing myself to do so. It's such the classic chicken or the egg dilemma. Either way, I have more stamina to get through my day without needing much rest. For instance, yesterday I was engaged in one thing or another for about 13 hours straight and did not get tired or experience any inflammation in my legs and arms. Sure, I wasn't actually working for 13 hours straight, and some of that time was walking in the hot sun or talking to friends, but the point is that I was engaged in something without taking a rest break (i.e., laying in bed). Then, like a "normal" person, I became tired at an appropriate time - at night before going to bed. How about that?

One thing I forgot to mention the last time I wrote about my physical symptoms was that I have been experiencing a ton of nausea ever since I visited with my doctor a month ago. I attribute the nausea to the change in antibiotics and to the increase of pills overall, especially in the morning, which is when the nausea tends to occur the strongest. The nausea has significantly lowered my appetite, too. Sometimes just looking at food makes me feel full. Fortunately, the nausea has decreased in the last few days, and perhaps I can start eating again without having to force it down my gullet.

Overall, I am walking as much as I can, getting an urge to go running (though that's a long way off), and have a strong desire to be outside as much as possible. Yes, I'm writing this post on an extremely hot day, one of many warm days lately, and I know that the feeling to be outside will subside in a few months. Nonetheless, I sense that I have fully experienced my first real summer in Portland since moving back here four years ago. (I became ill the first summer after moving back here.) I feel motivated to do what I gotta do to keep experiencing summertime even more fully in years to come.

A.

The Idea of Medical Insurance

Dear friends,

I am blessed to have medical insurance.

That statement may be the only positive thing in this entire post.

The idea of having medical insurance gives me a false sense of security. I believe I will always be taken care of.

The idea of having medical insurance makes me feel superior. I am healthier/smarter/richer/fill-in-the-blank than those who do not have insurance.

The idea of having medical insurance gives me access to proper health care. Of course I will get the best doctors who provide me with the best level of care in the entire world. All I have to do is dial a number, make an appointment, and show up. The doctors will figure out the rest, which leads me to my next idea...

The idea of having medical insurance is that my poor health will be fixed by these doctors. They will give me the medicine that gives me no adverse side effects and takes away the pain within a few hours. (I don't care if the medicine actually treats the source - I only care that the pain goes away.) Oh, and the medicine has got to cost no more than a co-pay, which leads me to the next idea...

The idea of having medical insurance assures me that the most I will ever pay out of pocket is a co-pay. I will not have to pay for the premium myself (my employer will take care of that; and if I don't have an employer, well then no insurance for me, of course), nor will I pay anything but the co-pay. And that co-pay better be $15 or less. Otherwise, the medical treatment will be deemed a luxury and, therefore, unfathomable and unreasonable.

The idea of having medical insurance means that I can expect my insurance company to reimburse me in an accurate and timely fashion. When I submit a claim, I will be reimbursed within 30 days as they promise. I won't have to call three times to get someone to do the job right, I won't be asked to fix their mistakes, and I won't have to tell them how to do their job.

The idea of having medical insurance is just that: an idea. Insurance companies are not my savior. Doctors are not going to hold my hand. And no one is going to waive my bills. As much as it is up to me, my health is my responsibility.

Like I said, I am blessed to have medical insurance.

A.

Monastery/Seven (Community)

[This is the seventh (and last) installment of a series about my experience retreating at St. Andrew's Abbey in Valyermo, California, June 15-19. This retreat was part of one of my graduate school classes titled "Leadership & Community."]

Dear friends,

I have been putting off writing this post for a while because I think, in part, it is difficult to describe the kind of community I experienced at St. Andrew's Abbey. The community was threefold: There was the community I observed among the monks (and was partially invited into as a guest); there was the community I experienced among my classmates, my professor and me; and then there was the community I experienced between myself and the Lord.

Each night before falling asleep I made sure to write down my thoughts and observations from that day. I knew that I didn't want to lose this valuable information. Looking back at my journal, I made at least one comment about community each night, so I would like to share my thoughts with you:

Monday
Even though we are out in a desert, the grounds are very lush. They remind me of the juxtaposition of this walk with Christ: lonely yet in community, dry but filled, wandering but not lost, dead but alive.

I feel drawn, invited, and loved as I walk through this journey.

Tuesday
Everyone here is on a journey. At least that's the feeling I get.

My classmates and I have had intriguing discussions regarding community, leadership, theology, life, organizations, and spirituality.

There is a lot of pain and suffering no matter who you are.

Wednesday
Today my class went on a hike. Though the hike was relatively short, we stopped many times to talk, engage in rich conversation, and point out the various rock formations. At first, I was annoyed that we stopped so often because I preferred to walk and talk in order to get to the bottom to where the creek flowed. But after the second or third time of stopping, something in me shifted. My fear that we wouldn't stay on schedule, that we would just be idle, went away. In its place, came peace and contentment. And I began to enjoy my companions. Perhaps the greater peace had something to do with having to stop and look others in the eye. We stopped to come up with creative interpretations of rock formations, to carry out a conversation, or to take a picture. Life holds a pattern, a rhythm, that we cannot deny. For to deny it would deny ourselves. Walk, stop, talk, look, talk, walk. There are times for work, times for play, and times for social intimacy.

The community I am experiencing among my peers is unreal. Our conversations have been rich, intimate, loving, encouraging, and respectful.

Thursday
The class feels like it is the culmination of all my studies, personal journey in the last year, life, and organizational experiences. I feel like I am understanding community in a whole new way.

******

Before the class officially ended last week, my professor, Dr. John Horsman, wrote to us one last note. He wrote:

One thing I know is that the family/community is the crucible where we first learn and grow and are formed; organized community is also a crucible where we can learn and grow. Our task I think is to learn to create in our own environment a community environment where learning-healing and transformation can occur - this is what Benedict was trying to do. This can best be done when the crucible is permeated with love.

******

I mentioned earlier this week that I am intrigued by the relationship between physical space and organizational life. Christopher Alexander says this, "To produce this life, we must first see how life springs from wholeness, and indeed how life is wholeness. Wholeness exists all around us, and life springs from it. Every situation we are in, even the most mundane, has the capacity for life in it" (The Nature of Order: The phenomenon of life (Book One), p. 55). Physical space, then, is a tool to create, nurture, and transform a community.

I happened to be reading a back issue of Dwell magazine last night (thanks to a friend who has an extensive library of these fun reads), and in this particular issue was a story about the design and construction of a modern community and residential building for the 10 Jesuits who live on the campus of Brophy College Preparatory in Phoenix. The architects designed three buildings to better reflect the Jesuits' values and give them a space entirely unlike their old dormitory. Namely, the Jesuits desired to cut the noise down, limit the amount of running around they had to do, get more privacy, and have a closer-knit community among them. As a solution, the architects cut down on the clutter and replaced the furniture to reflect the Jesuits' vow of poverty, added secluded courtyards and water features, and set the buildings to face each other.

"For the first time in my life, I've become really aware of how the space in which we live and what we see every day can have an impact on our lives and how we relate to each other," priest Michael Gilson said (Dwell Magazine, March 2004, pp. 49-52).

******

More than a few elderly monks live in the St. Andrew's Abbey community, including one who is 100 years old who looked like he was asleep three-quarters of the time, and another one living in a nursing home. The Abbot told us that the younger, more able monks take care of the elderly monks on the monastery grounds until they require meals to be taken to their room. The monk living in a nursing home is not forgotten, however - the brothers visit him a lot and the 100-year-old monk even says Mass at the home once a week.

Since I have been rather ill, this situation greatly intrigued me. I think you really know who your community is at the point of illness, trauma, loss, or other stressful situations because it takes others' sacrifice of their time, money, energy, and other resources without any guarantee of payback. I have a full heart of gratitude for all those who have made sacrifices to see me get well; I would not be here without this community.

******

Community is one of the hardest things in life to accomplish. Inevitably, communities will yield fights, dissensions, and bitterness, and good communities will create the space to respond and hopefully resolve conflict in such a way that all are heard and God is honored. Notice I said that this is good community. Because no community is perfect. But a community can be successful when the people give up their individual rights for the sake of the whole.

This is humility.

A.

Discovery

Hi everyone,

Tuesday was a typical day - not much to do, no deadlines to meet - so I did something I haven't done in two years: I went for a bicycle ride. This is a momentous occasion for one reason mainly: I have Lyme Disease and aerobic exercise doesn't usually help. In fact, the aftermath of strenuous exercise (which means anything but walking or yoga) can create one big herx: running one mile often feels like you just ran a marathon. (There is another reason to make the bike ride such a momentous occasion: Two years ago my bike was stolen - six days after I sold my car - cutting short my plans to use my bike on a semi-regular basis.)

Anyhow, I decided that Tuesday morning was the time to borrow my sister's bike and set off for my adventure. I had no idea how long I would be able to bike for, half-expecting that I would need an emergency pick-up from one of my friends or family. I headed south along the I-205 bike path for about four miles and then headed west towards the Willamette River on the Springwater Corridor. I have biked, run, or walked portions of this 40-mile loop, but had never been on this portion of the route.

While I appreciate what the Corridor provides for Portlanders, its execution could use some help. Because the portion between SE 92nd Avenue and SE 42nd Avenue is ugly. I tried to see some beauty in it, but there isn't much. It's mostly flanked by tall grasses - which could be beautiful except for the stench of weed - and old warehouses covered with graffiti.

Though my thighs hurt at first, my body had warmed up enough by the time I got onto the Corridor. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in Sellwood (about 10 miles from home) and feeling tired, but still with lots of energy. I helped myself out by making sure that I didn't pedal too hard and that I coasted as much as possible. Consequently, little kids passed me, but I didn't mind: I was just grateful that I was out biking.

In Sellwood, I stopped at a coffee shop to break up the bike ride. I sat in the comfy chair for about a half-hour journaling, reading, and looking out the window. To have nowhere to be, with no timetable, is bliss.

From there, I rode over to the bluff that offers great views of the Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, Oaks Park, and, a bit further, downtown Portland. I sat down for a few minutes to take in the beauty. I set on towards Sellwood Park, raced down the gravel path, and met up with the Springwater Corridor again towards downtown. By this time, I was getting tired and coasting as much as I could, but I made it safely to the Hawthorne Bridge to catch up with a bus to take me back home.

Overall, I probably biked 16 miles or so. I was very tired when I got home - and rested for the remainder of the day - but I was just fine. I didn't herx the day after or even the day after that. My body must be healing itself.

A.

Wholeness

Dear friends,

In the last few weeks, I have been reading a book called The Nature of Order: The Phenomenon of Life (Book One), by Christopher Alexander. This is one of four rather large books, each of which costs about $60. I started reading this series after I read Community: The structure of belonging, by Peter Block. Block's book has had a profound impact on me this summer for all kinds of reasons, but namely because he writes a whole chapter on physical space. The idea of physical space and its relationship to organizational life is incredibly intriguing to me, so much so that it will probably be the topic for my Master's thesis.

The way we order physical space is a profound metaphor for how we order our lives. When we decide to have a meeting around a round table instead of a rectangular one, we communicate that all are equal and will be heard. When we put our workspace next to a window, we open ourselves up to creativity, imagination, and innovation. Our choices indeed have a direct impact on the quality of our lives.

Alexander argues that life is a spatial system and each thing each has its own center that affects all other centers. Take the room you are sitting in right now. Among other things, you probably see a chair, a table, and a lighting source. Each of these objects carries its own weight and center, yet all of these objects carry more weight and centeredness - creating wholeness - together rather than as separate objects. Also, the relationship among all of these objects matter. There's a good reason your furniture isn't all the same height: your seat is not as tall as the table, and your floor lamp is not as short as your seat.

I have been reflecting on wholeness lately, particularly what makes a person well...or whole. What sorts of components do I need in my life? Can it be duplicated? Take, for instance, a thought I had about my particular non-car situation. Because I don't have a car, I walk a lot, I am outside more, and I soak up the sun more than the average person. The downsides to not having a car (which, I suppose, takes me a few moments to think about) are that I have to suck it up when I feel bad and I cannot spontaneously take off to see friends who live further away. For other Lymies, their situations are different. Each Lymie must balance a unique combination of co-infections, immune system levels, finances, community support, and lifestyle choices. Doctors approach Lyme differently, too, partly because no "how to recover from Lyme book" exists.

So, what makes me whole? I think it is a unique combination of ordering my life with things that bring wellness. For me, I need people - good people - in my life who shine positive energy upon me. I also need acupuncture, chiropractic care, massage, and counseling. I need intellectual stimulation (because I would go crazy if I didn't have something to interest me.) I need medicine. I need my doctor. I need the time and space to get well. I need spontaneity and I need surprises. I need beauty and I need life. Most of all, I need Jesus because my life would have no meaning without Him.

Becoming whole is not only an individual accomplishment, but it is also a feat that affects other people: my community, my family, and other Lymies. Reminding myself that my life affects others gives me the motivation I need to keep persevering, as well as to keep pursuing greater things.

A.

Under Our Skin to Screen in Portland

Hi everyone,

I wanted to place a bug in your ear that the Lyme documentary, "Under Our Skin," is tentatively scheduled to be screened at the Hollywood Theatre on Saturday, September 26, in the afternoon. We hope to have a panel of doctors, Lymies, and other advocates answer questions after the film. The Hollywood may be the only theater in the Pacific Northwest to show this film, so please try to come. All people are welcome - tell your doctors, friends, and family. In addition to this screening, we may show one or two subsequent screenings but without the panel.

More information to come soon.

Anna

Saturday

Dear friends,

I can't get enough of how God gifts me with the pleasure of spontaneity - among other things, it tends to involve good friends and good conversation. Today was just that. I woke up this morning feeling pretty groggy (because I stayed up too late the night before to watch a movie), so I mentally prepared myself to use all the energy I had just to get through the day.

I knew the only thing I had planned today was to hang out with my friend Judy. I got a car to use this weekend, so I made plans with her to meet up at a park and pray. Judy lives 40 miles from me - outside of TriMet service - so I rarely get to see her. Since I had a car, I thought it was perfect time to take advantage of the wheels.

We went to a park near the Tualatin River and soon found ourselves sitting on a dock on top of the water. The air temperature was warm and crisp, the sun was pushing its way through the clouds, and there were few people around - only two kayakers drifted by the whole time we were there. We sat there on the dock, all alone, cloaked by enormous, green trees on either side, with the river holding the space in between, and caught each other up on our lives. It's been a while since I have been in a space that felt so safe.

Sometime later, we walked on along the path, around the wetlands, past the blue heron, and prayed for each other, alternating every minute or so. Judy prayed for the things I shared and for some things I didn't share. I did the same. My heart felt at peace.

******

I was still feeling tired so I went home and took an hour-long nap. I woke to my sister opening my door to her friends who had stopped by. I felt a little exposed, but not as much as I have in the past. Also, I genuinely like these friends of hers, they have adorable kids, and they live in Seattle, which makes for yet another contact there.

******

Sometime that afternoon, I got a invitation from a friend to come to her birthday party that evening. Amanda is a friend I don't see that much, but enjoy being with every time we do get to hang out. Because I had a car and nothing planned for this evening, I decided to go.

Just before I was getting ready to leave, a new Lymie called me. I had known about her for a few weeks, and I was pleased to get her phone call. We spoke for about an hour, and in that hour I came to realize that one of the benefits of having Lyme is the opportunity to coach other Lymies, especially newbies like this woman. I remember what it felt like to have no prior to knowledge of Lyme, to not know anyone else with Lyme, to not understand the dynamics of the disease, and to have no clue as to the controversy there is to get appropriate diagnosis and treatment. I enjoy resourcing people with information; outfitting them with basic principles and perspectives in order to navigate the medical establishment; and modeling for them a new way to live. (As someone pointed out this week, I like to talk...but I can listen, too.)

Once I finished my conversation with this new Lymie, I headed to the birthday party. I walked in to find a small gathering of people seated in a circle in the living room, which was a welcome relief from the typical 20-something parties I don't go to. Besides my friend, I didn't really know anybody else. Normally this would make me nervous, but I suppose I've been thrust into situations lately where I hardly knew anybody, and I made out just fine.

At one point, Amanda asked me what I did today, so I told her, including the conversation I just had with the Lymie. That perked up one girl, who identified herself as a nurse, so she started asking me about it. (By the time I left the party, I realized that I had been in the presence of 4-5 nurses.) I was happy to answer her questions, though I felt embarrassed that the conversation suddenly turned to me. I suspect that perhaps the Lyme topic provides a relief from the typical conversations about what each of us does for a living, nonetheless, it always seems to surprise me that people are so interested.

I know that the conversation is going well when someone at some point turns to me and basically tells me that I seem to be handling the illness quite eloquently. Because at this point, I know that she or he gets it, that neither the illness nor work nor any other material gain is the thing to grasp hold of. Rather, that thing is life, rhythm, peace, and being alive in Christ. It is to be found by a God who loves me and transforms me into His likeness.

So at this point, when this man or woman makes a comment about how I've handled the illness, is the point when I smile real big because I know that I have just been invited to share just how good this entire journey has been. To tell a story - your story - is not something to ever be embarrassed about. Instead, it is the truth about what God is up to - in you, through you.

A.

Close But

Dear friends,

It is easy to tell myself that I am fine. It is easy to think I am enough of the way there that I can coast to the end. And it is easy to live in the future.

Yet, here is the present situation: I have been herxing almost nonstop since Saturday morning. My joints ache, my muscles could use a massage, and I am just tired. I would also like to speed everything up about a year: At that time, I hope to be done with my Master's degree, I hope to have some kind of job, and I hope to be out on my own.

Here is more of the present situation: I have taken on a few, volunteer projects because I have the time, energy, and heart to contribute. I have spent considerable amounts of time with my nieces, nephew, and family members. I have been in prayer and in Scripture a lot. I have hosted a friend over for dinner. And my skin is still being painted.

And still more: Last week I realized that finances don't cover me taking four classes this fall (double the number I usually take), so I will be taking just two. This means that I won't be finished with my program until late summer or early fall 2010. Given my extra free time, I will continue doing everything I mentioned in the paragraph above. In addition, I plan to look for a part-time job to begin possibly late in the year or early next year. One main reason for taking a job is to earn some extra money in order to move out of my sister's home around the New Year. No worries - all is fine between her and me - but she is expecting again and I don't want to live with a newborn.

Though I have been gearing up for this transition time for a few months now, I can't say where it's going to take me. There have already been many surprises, and I'm sure there will be many more. In the meantime, I am staying the course, listening to my body, coaching myself to stay in the present, seeking wise counsel, and praying for God to stay right beside me.

This journey is getting really good.

A.

It Is True

Dear friends,

Sydney, one of my Lymie friends, and I often bemoan the fact that we have yet to meet one person who has been cured from the disease. I personally know two dozen or so people living with Lyme (or who I suspect have Lyme), and few seem to be anywhere close to anything resembling wellness.

Sometimes I hear about people being cured: "friends of friends" or perhaps a well-known person in the Lyme community. Even though these "cure stories" are meant to encourage me, these anecdotes tend to sound like fairy tales - not unlike stories about Prince Charming or Santa Claus - and usually leave me feeling doubtful, discouraged, and hopeless.

This post, then, is not about people who have gotten cured because I still don't know anyone who has been cured. But I want to tell you about some Lymies who are getting better.

First, there is my friend Sydney (not her real name). She has been sick for more than a decade, and has been Rifing for almost 18 months now. She is a successful businesswoman, athletic, and looks at least ten years younger than her age. I am proud to say I steered her towards my doctor, and since then, she has gotten significantly better. Because she and I take some of the same medicine and because she and I go to the Doug treatments together, I get a buddy with whom to compare herxes and general symptoms. Perhaps because I'm slightly competitive, our Lyme-friendship is true motivation.

Then there is Rachel (not her real name). Rachel and I are the same age - one of the few people I know around my age who is actively treating Lyme - and she is a fighter. In the last ten months since I have known her, she has persevered again and again to persuade her family of many means that her Lyme diagnosis is indeed real. Rachel is quite ill. She cannot work, and even though she and I have relatively flexible schedules, she is usually too sick to meet me for coffee. Despite the lack of face time, we often email each other. Lately, I have told her that I have been committed to praying for her, particularly that she would find family members who would believe her and fight for her. Last week, Rachel emailed me to say that "my prayers are working" because she finally persuaded some family members. Now she is walking around with a pic line in her arm and taking Rocephin. (For those of you who are not familiar with this, some Lymies with really bad symptoms receive their antibiotics intravenously. This method is by far the most powerful and effective way to treat Lyme, although it is quite expensive and inconvenient - nobody likes to walk around with a tube sticking out of their body for months on end.)

Like Rachel, I haven't seen another Lymie friend, whom I will name Cathy, since late last year. Cathy is a wife and mother of two young children. We met through a mutual friend about a year after Cathy was diagnosed with Lyme (but several years after she became ill). After speaking on the phone several times, I finally visited with Cathy just after Thanksgiving. To be honest, I was quite taken aback by her state: her hair was prematurely going gray, she was too skinny, and she was depressed. But mostly, she was plain tired. We prayed together, encouraged one another, and said we would keep in touch. For reasons I count as entirely my fault, I had not talked with Cathy since then - until last week. Pleasantly surprised, she called me last week to catch up. I could tell right away something was different. Her voice had an extra bounce in it, she talked about her future with hopefulness, and, despite the treatments that have helped her thus far, she was considering seeing my doctor as her next step.

I could go on and on about the progress each Lymie has made, but what you really need to know is that people in recovery from Lyme are getting well. Though the process is much slower than anyone would like it to be, it works. It takes a lot of perseverance, stubbornness, faith, and hope. We have to trust the process, trust the medical professionals, trust ourselves, and trust the Lord that He knows what He is doing.

The Lyme hanging out in my body is no accident, it is not punishment, and it is certainly not a death sentence. Rather, the disease has given me a new opportunity and a new perspective to be transformed into a woman of beauty, of peace, of being. It is true.

A.