Tag: faith

Faith Healers and Hope Dealers (CLL journey)

Photo by Inna Lesyk on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

By his stripes you are healed!

If I had a dime for every time I have heard this scripture in the church -telling me I’m “already well,” I would be a kajilionaire. And the words are said with love and good intention, and belief that “healed” means bopping up out of a wheelchair INSTANTLY.

I can only say so much about the subject, because I have been both a victim and a perpetrator of “faith healing.” Again, with all the best intentions. But much damage was done to my spirit on the road to heal my body. And with my intentions, I had probably given someone false hope. You feel spiritually orphaned when you stay ill.

“You’re already healed, you just don’t know it!” they told me, when walking was torment and the joint pain excruciating. Oh, thought I. I must have some flaw that keeps me from receiving. And as I got sicker, I felt like a disappointment to all who were so fervently praying for me.

Perhaps it’s the “demon of infirmary, which is a little trickier to toss, but don’t despair, Beloved! “The Word is a weapon, and we will command the enemy to leave your flesh!” Only it felt like I myself was being “cast out,” because I wouldn’t get well. I took it personally, and it seemed like they did too.

Still sick? *sigh* “Well, have you thought maybe you have a secret SIN? Everybody has secrets, but Jesus loves you anyway HALLELUJIA? and he knows your heart. Confess unto him, and you will be well! (Why does everything revolve around SIN in the church? Frankly, a God who can heal you but just won’t is not the same God I was taught was love.

I was told at one service by the pastor, “The metal in your leg from the injury has TURNED TO BONE! Get an x-ray, and you’ll see!” Faith healing seems Biblical, so to it we cleave.

Now, I consider myself reasonably intelligent. I get by. But brethren, I believed it. Because, well… cult reasons, honestly. I had invested my whole life in this system in which any disability they can’t hibbity-jibbity out of me in reasonable amount of time (or at all!) was a defect of the strength of my belief. I am a rabid people pleaser (working on that) so disappointing the clergy was of utmost concern.

I love the late Carrie Fisher, herself no stranger to things like addiction, depression, illness and the like. My favorite quote from her is, “Instant gratification takes too long.”

INSTANT GRATIFICATION TAKES TOO LONG. And maybe that’s why our faith is so impatient, so spiritually entitled. We are taught that we don’t deserve to be healed really, but it’s our birthright, so God has to do it. (Spoiler alert: God doesn’t have to do squat but love us and teach us to love in return.

Here’s the corker though, I think – and it’s kind of a piss-off here Earthside: I think we will all be ultimately healed. But we’ve just taken the healings that Jesus did as miracles when he was Earthside and assumed that same healing is for every person.

But on the physical plane, that may not be so. These are meat-suits, and they are temporary and bockity as all Hell. Creaky, apt to damage, prone to wear and tear. Several features do not work. The Church told me I bought the warranty, but if so, the warranty company ghosted me (I tried not to type, “but not the HOLY GHOST,” because she hasn’t gone anywhere…)

I believe our pain pains God – which I still think is true. But that logically deduces that there will be pain. And I wonder how much being a sickly kid emersed in an environment that tells me I am inherently bad dinged up my psyche. To add to that, I lived in an echo chamber as an adult, where nobody would admit seeing the emperor had NO CLOTHES, because they all believed like I did.

Maybe I’ll get that physical healing this side of eternity. God, I hope so. Science is making huge strides! I will welcome it. Western medicine, Eastern medicine, prayer, meditation, and breathwork? I’m going to throw EVERYTHING I can at this illness. I don’t think God faults me for it, either. I will keep praying for healing. But I will also not make the physical my god. I begged a seemingly aloof god to make me well. What I got is an incredibly compassionate God who inhabits this body with me. And sometimes that has to be sufficient, like his grace.

To pretend that we are all entitled to be able-bodied and expect such does our fellow humans a great disservice. It’s just another method of setting others apart in the name of God. But there is no separation. Your pain is my pain, too.

I think in a way, I did get my healing. And it was different from what I was told to expect. It didn’t come with tossing my walking cane to the side and doing a jig. It didn’t come as relief for my chronic, unrelenting pain, to be honest. And that bummed me out for a long time and kept me from healing on the inside.

But I did heal on the inside – I am still healing every single day, from the ‘inside.’

We are not ghosted by our birthrights. We are made of stardust and God-spit, with whatever infirmary becomes our new normal is a surface just a ding in the paint. It’ll buff right out. Meanwhile, beloveds, take gentle, loving care of yourselves. Body, mind, and especially Spirit.

0

Doing it Scared (my CLL Journey

Okay this is the proof I got out of my actual pajamas yesterday, if only for an hour.

By: JANA GREENE

Hi. In the interest of journalistic integrity (haha), I feel like adding a disclaimer of some kind to the entries I’m going to be adding in Words by Jana Greene. Because I’m a writer, I like stories to have a clear beginning, middle, and end. I like when I can weave the narrative in clever ways or end up with a cohesive piece.

Yeah, this is NOT that.

When writing about this journey in particular, I am writing stream-of-consciousness-style, and if you don’t want to read me because this page may be full of incorrectly punctuated, rambling, seemingly random words, I get it Sis. I am not over-editing, because that breaks the intention of sharing my heart and makes it sort-of clinical in a way. I’m going to get plenty of “clinical;” this is the opposite, I think.

Yesterday, I had a rollicking good afternoon. Weirdly good. I put on a dress, asked my husband if we could go to dinner. I’m so tired of having cancer-ese language in my head.

I did my makeup, which happens with the relative frequency of a solar eclipse, and my hair – which is very long and very thick, and EXAUSTING to my hypermobile shoulders. And THEN – after alllll that – I look him dead in the eye. “Baby, I’ve used every ounce of my energy getting ready. I’m exhausted.”

“It’s okay,” says he. “Want to order in wings and binge-watch Dexter?”
GOD, I LOVE THAT MAN.

So, lickity-split, I changed back into my “Agape Against the Machine” oversized t-shirt, ordered food, washed off every bit of makeup, plopped on the couch with my beloved, and ate chicken wings King-Henry-the-Eighth style in a MOST unladylike fashion with what little energy I had left.

The energy of a sick person is finite. And some days, it is more finite than others. “But you just DID it,” they say. “Yes!” say I. “And that’s why I can’t do it again!”

Doling it out over the course of the day must be deliberate. We don’t just “do things,” we do things that deplete our body’s energy ration in parcels. The parcels are not of our choosing, even. We wake up, take stock of pain, and – if our pain to exhaustion ratio is high, goals for the day get voted off the island until you are left with one crappy thing to do that isn’t even fun. Disabled bodies are utilitarian, and have no time for frivolity, on low-energy, high-pain days.

The ante was significantly upped with the cancer diagnosis June 13.

Tomorrow morning, I go for an invasive bone marrow test, which by all accounts SUCKS. I feel like up until now, I’ve been pretty accepting of my diagnosis and kind of positive about all this, but I ain’t feeling brave this morning. Fight, Flight, and Fawn all have seats at my breakfast table right now, and they look a hot mess.

So, today, I interrupt my own sometimes-toxic positivity with a special news bulletin:

I’m scared.

For the first time since the diagnosis, I am legitimately scared. I don’t know what triggered the fear (having cancer, probably – ha) but as tomorrow’s test looms, I’ve decided NO THANK YOU PLEASE, I don’t want to do this cancer thing. But thanks for the offer, I already have a full schedule full of trying to stay alive. I already gave at the office. Dance card is full. I have prior engagements. But thanks for stopping by!

But that’s not reality, so I just need to be able to say, “I’m f*cking terrified.”

When a disabled person gets cancer, there are “people of the Lord” who assume God’s got it OUT for me. Why else would he “allow” all of this? Or this secular quip: “You’re the unluckiest person I know.”

But I don’t feel unlucky. I am surrounded by light and support and love. I just feel scared today, with a chance of intermittent sadness. Not strong. Not perky and upbeat. Just run-of-the-mill scared. I feel both: Scared AND lucky to have such an amazing tribe helping me make it through.

So I’ll shut this laptop, and light some candles, and get into a quiet spot, and breathe deliberately. I might take out my tongue drum and play some tones, focusing on each one as it completes its own life cycle of vibration, letting the sound take my fear down a buttonhole. Light some sage, let it’s perfume reassure me. Pray honest. Do some breathwork. Maybe I’ll get into the paints and make a mess today. Talk to God, and listen for his answer back, which can come in a myriad of ways – you just have to have the awareness to hear it. (Just ask for greater awareness of the Divine. God wants us to have the peace that passes understanding. He is not stingy with it! Don’t believe me? God lit in the forest by yourself for a while and receive. I highly recommend.

These are some of my tools to treat the fear when it comes. I acknowledge it, thank it for trying to protect me, but busy myself in art and music until it can stop actin’ a fool. And perhaps in the coming weeks, I will have another energy burst and put on the little black dress again, and actually make it out the front door! Maybe get all the way to a nice restaurant, where I’ll be able to stay awake, digest food like a normal person, and have a whole-ass date, start to finish. My husband deserves that – and so much more.

Signed,

Afraid in the Port City

Blessed be, friends.

2

Sorrow Like Sea Billows, Peace Like a River

The Hubs and I went for a little adventure in Southport the other day. We made a whole day of exploring after a lovely ferry ride across the choppy Cape Fear River. Well, we made half a day out of it anyway.

By: JANA GREENE

Nobody talks about what it’s like the first week after a cancer diagnosis. You’ve been leveled, and you know you have a “long road ahead, “but that road is a raging river so far as you can tell. The same day I received my CLL diagnosis, I was also diagnosed with a basal skin cancer on my leg. What are the odds? Two cancers in one day? I never half-ass anything!

Instinctually, you want to lay in bed and lament your fate, with weeping and probably gnashing of teeth, but you have things you want to do. And none of us have the time we think we do, so I’m trying to do the things. Like get out of bed. Like brush my hair. Like meditate until my mind quiets. Sorrow rolls like sea billows, a Nor’easterI didn’t know was coming. But I also have times of peace like a river, attending my way. There is no manual for this. I don’t really know how to feel most of the time.

I was having a good day and we were down for an adventure, so the Hubs and I spent some time in Southport. We even took the ferry across the Cape Fear River. Ferry rides are always fun.

One of the places we visited is the Maritime Museum. It has all the usual small-town museum kitch – displays about pirate life, a few real buttons from the Queen Anne’s Revenge (Blackbeard’s sunken ship.) Displays about hurricanes that have come ashore here. An “interactive” fishing exhibit. That kind of thing.

But what stopped me in my tracks was a display featuring little porcelain figurines of sailors trying to row themselves out of Hurricane- whipped seas. Every crest of the ocean higher than the last, roiling waters with no safe harbor in sight. And this little sculpture spoke to me. It reminded me right away of my favorite old hymn – “It is Well With my Soul,” by Horatio Spafford.

You see, Spafford wrote the hymn after several traumatic events leveled him. He had been a successful attorney and real estate investor who lost a fortune in the great Chicago fire of 1871. Around the same time, his beloved four-year-old son died of scarlet fever.1n 1873, hit by the economic downturn, he planned to travel to England with his family. He sent his wife Anna and four daughters ahead on the SS Ville du Havre, a French ocean liner, while he finished up business. He planned to follow in a few days’ time. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the ship was involved in a terrible collision and sunk. More than 200 people lost their lives, including all four of Horatio Spafford’s precious daughters. His wife, Anna, survived the tragedy. Upon arriving in England, she sent a telegram to her husband that began: “Saved alone. What shall I do?”

My grandfather had loved the sea, though he was never a sailor. And he had his own struggles, as we all do. He met up every day with depression, but he also had this bright light – like the bulb in a lighthouse. He showed me the way many times. I remember watching him paint a great Cutty Sark ship. His oil paintings of oceans were always depicted with rough waters, and he spared none of the turquoise, deep blues, and crests of white foam to get the point across – chaos is the nature of this world. Rough seas ahead!

Some might think his paintings were of angry seas. But to me as a child, surrounded by the smell of turpentine and admiration for my Papa, it looked happy enough to me – like riding riding the tilt-a-whirl at the state fair. A busy, alive sea…. WHEEEE!

My creative Papa was also a choir director, and when I’d tag along to his practices, he would often choose the old hymn. It is actually a horrible story to tell a little kid. I’m not sure I would have told that story to a four-year old, but it was a different time. I definitely never forgot the song and its meaning.

It means, “Shit happens, kid. Things will occur in your life that an earlier version of you would have sworn would kill you. Hoist the sails. If you don’t have sails, trust the wind. If you can’t trust the wind, trust God. Because tragedy is inevitable, and saved alone, what shall we do?”

Ah, but we are not rowing alone, and we are not saved alone. We are saved by a God who knows we will get roughed up a little and saved by each other – crewmates. Keep rowing over the roiling seas, and I will too. I’m grateful a little plastic sea featuring sailors in danger reminded me to trust God in a small-town museum in the middle of a crisis.

Horatio Spafford had to go through hell in order to create something that has brought untold millions hope and strength.

I have complained to the manager (God) about this protocol, that in order to bring hope, you have to walk through despair. Doesn’t seem like a good business plan but what do I know? He is the Captain, and I am not. Whatever my lot, he has taught me to say, it is well. It is well with my soul. (Today anyway, which is the only day all of us know we have.)

“And Lord, haste the day with the faith shall be sight; it is well, it is well with my soul.” I pray it is well with yours, no matter the seas.

Blessed be, friends.

2

Spilling Goodness and Mercy

Photo by Jou00e3o Vu00edtor Heinrichs on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I believe we will all share a Christ-consciousness. I believe that we are all sharing communal birthing pains – periods of big intensity, followed by what could be misconstrued as God’s silence and withholding, if you didn’t know better.

We are all in spiritual labor, that’s why it’s so hard, I think.

I believe the same God who expands the universe and paints the cosmos envelops us in Love and one day – when we are past the bullshittery of politics, fighting amongst ourselves, dealing with pain in our Earth Suits and in our hearts – there is only goodness and mercy waiting for us.

For us ALL.

When the husk of physical being falls away, only universal love and acceptance remain. We can do nothing to enable it, and nothing to suppress it. It’s our birthright. It’s the ultimate reality.

So be encouraged, dear one. Lift your chin. Leave space in your expectations for good things.

Leave space in your ego to accept those good things humbly.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives, spilling over and splashing other humans who are lost in the dark.

Here, take my hand, and we will get through this intensity together, one itty-bitty step at a time.

Let us strive to have a dry-run here and now.
Let us learn how to love and accept here and now.

You can say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. ❤️

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑