Be thankful for the "bad"

Allow me to back up a bit for those of you who I haven't known since childhood...

In mid-December of 1995 when I was eleven years old, I got sick. It began as an upset stomach. It got worse, and after a visit to the doctor it was concluded I had a stomach virus. I took medicine. I rested. And I got worse.

I went back to the doctor, who sent me to the hospital to be tested for dehydration. There are certain pictures, certain moments of your childhood that stay with you. For me this is one. I clearly remember lying on an empty counter of the hospital bathroom, Mom standing next to me, as we waited for the results. I had to be at a certain level of dehydration for them to keep me there. I remember literally wanting to stay there. I had never felt that bad in my entire life, and I knew something was wrong. I knew it wasn't normal. Mom wanted me to stay, too, so they could figure out what was wrong with me. If I remember correctly, I was one or two tenths of a point away from the dehydration level needed to admit me.

I continued to feel worse. Since the first day I felt sick I'd had consistent stomach pain and nausea. It drained me (literally). I couldn't eat. I could hardly pick myself up off the bathroom floor. Meanwhile, it's Christmastime. I felt at my worst on Christmas Eve. It wasn't just uncomfortable. It was constant pain. Then, somehow, I felt a little better on Christmas day (blessing). We actually have a family video of Christmas that year and there I was, sitting by the Christmas tree after opening presents, looking pale and frail. I was already a small girl, but I looked like skin and bones. And in the video you hear my Mom say, "Jennifer has had a stomach virus but is feeling better." The statement makes me shudder a little now, because we had no idea...

The day after Christmas, I felt worse again. I remember lying in the bathroom floor and suddenly raising up to throw up. I didn't make it to the toilet, so it ended up in the bathtub instead (sorry, Mom). And perhaps this is too candid to share, but the vomet was a thick pool of green. Yes, it was as green as a monster. NOT normal. So off we went again to the doctor, where I threw up again. More green, right in front of the doctor's face. And rather than sending me to the hospital, he sent me home again, saying, "If she throws up like this again, take her to the hospital." Another distinct picture I remember - Mom crying in the doctor's office when we were waiting for him. She said she just wanted to know what was wrong with me and wanted me to get better. At this point I was so weak, drained, numb, and listless, that I couldn't cry. And when you're at that point and then you see someone else crying because they love you so much, it's actually quite touching. Your tears meant a lot to me, Mom, and still do. You were so brave that day.

To our relief, I threw up again. We had been praying that it would happen so that I could go and get well. On December 26th I was admitted to the hospital. Countless X-rays and tests. I remember having to drink this horrid, thick, white, disgusting liquid before the X-rays. Doctors concluded they knew one thing for sure - my intestines were blocked.

On December 27th, only hours from my twelfth birthday, I went into surgery. Again I remember my mom crying, and I remember as they wheeled me down the hall to surgery seeing so many faces I loved. Family and friends had come to support us. I realized this was serious.

Yet I remember something else very vividly. I remember being strangely at peace. I remember my pastor coming and praying with me before surgery. I remember as I went into surgery that I wasn't worried. Some would say it was the medication or the fact that my body was drained, or perhaps just childlike naiveness. I don't think so. I felt God's arms around me.

The doctors soon discovered my intestines were blocked and intoxicated due to my appendix having ruptured three days earlier. From what they gathered, it ruptured on Christmas Eve. That's why I felt so terrible that day, and it's also why I felt a little better on Christmas. Once the appendix ruptures, you feel temporary relief. But then as it spreads like poison throughout your organs, your body begins to shut down...

I'd had a ruptured appendix inside of me for three days. The surgeon called other doctors into surgery to help him as some of my organs were unrecognizable. They had to take my intestines out in order to clean them. They essentially cleaned out the poison that had spread and infected my body. They said had they waited much longer, I may not have made it. The crazy twist to this story is that my older brother had a ruptured appendix just three years prior, and had surgery ON THE DAY of his twelfth birthday. Freaky. Perhaps we could've figured it out, but appendicitis affects people differently. We had different symptoms and our pain was in differing areas of our stomach.

I spent about ten more days in the hospital recovering. It was not a delightful process at all. I had a drain put in my side, a catheter up my you-know-what, a tube down my nose and throat, and I'll spare you the rest. Grandmama says I was a tough little cookie. Another memory - my Dad firmly holding my hand when they were sticking tubes in me - not pleasant AT ALL, especially for a then fifty-five pound twelve year old. I lost around fifteen pounds during the whole escapade.

But finally, there came a day towards the end of my hospital stay where I began to feel like myself again. I would go through a whole day without feeling pain or nausea, and I felt like a new person. I remember the very first solid food I got to eat after days of chicken broth and ice chips was a bowl of Cheerios. I never knew Cheerios could taste so wonderful in all my life. And later that day I got to eat a cheeseburger. Talk about redemption!!

So, to get to why on earth I am thankful for all this?...

First of all, because of all this I am pretty fearless when it comes to doctors and hospitals. Don't get me wrong. I hate going and can be stubborn about it. But if they say, "Ok, we have to stick this needle in you" or whatever, I don't flinch. In fact one time recently a nurse was about to put an IV in my arm and said, "Ok now for the hard part." And I literally laughed out loud as thought, "This ain't nothin', sister!" When you go through something so physically demanding as a child, you kind of have this feeling that you can go through anything as an adult. So I thank God for that fearlessness.

In my teenage years and beyond I began experiencing complicated stomach and bowel issues, demonstrating symptoms of IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). The appendix is attached to the colon and occasionally those who have it removed experience bowel issues later on. We figure this is likely why I have had these issues. My IBS acts up most when I eat certain foods (typically fried or greasy) and when I am nervous. (I promise I'm going somewhere with this)

As many of you know I am a musician - a singer and piano player. My heart is in worship ministry. I feel like I was BORN to lead others to God's throne room through music. While I have done this for many years now, I still typically get a little nervous, sometimes more than others. Just a natural, physical reaction for me. And you guessed it - every time, my stomach acts up and I get sick. As a result I am shaky and drained by the time I am on stage or in front of people, and I feel as though I can hardly do my best. I have struggled with this for a long time, and there are times it's so frustrating that the thought has crossed my mind, "Is this worth it? Is going through this every time worth it? Should I just give up and devote my life to something else?"

The thing is, this constant struggle makes me turn to God. I realize again and again that I can't do this on my own strength. Literally. I need Him. I want to glorify Him with the gifts He has given, and so it is only through His power made perfect in my weakness that I can do that. Sometimes I wonder what singing would be like if I didn't have these stomach issues. Perhaps I would be very arrogant. Perhaps I would try to do it all without Him. I'm sure I wouldn't have gotten very far, had that been the case. I am thankful that this struggle I will likely deal with for the rest of my life reminds me that I am weak - that HE is strong. It reminds me that every time I go through it all - getting up there and singing/leading/playing after having just gotten sick in the bathroom moments earlier - that I have overcome... that God has overcome. I am nothing without Him.

In closing, I am also very grateful that God showed me at an early age how precious and special life is. We all say we take it for granted, but I think until we have a certain level of an experience where the goodness of life is taken away for a time, we don't really learn how much we should appreciate it. I remember finally returning home from the hospital on that crisp January day, and the farm never looked more beautiful. I actually welcomed the smell of cow manure as opposed to yucky hospital smells. My house and bed had never felt safer or more perfect. I looked at my family differently. In fact, I think I didn't fight with my brother for... at least a week.

Since I know it is all for Christ's good, I am quite content with my weaknesses and with insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corin. 12:10

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