Struggles and a Sandwich

I was tired.  War torn.  Beaten.  I stared down at my feet dangling from the counter stool I was sitting on in my parents’ kitchen.  Yep, my parents’ kitchen.  It’s an odd thing when you go back to live in your childhood home as an adult.  A very difficult time in my life had brought me there; an ill husband resting in the bedroom right above me, to be exact.  When was he going to get better?  When was this nightmare going to end?  Every step forward seemed to bring two steps back along with it.  Living in the looming shadow of a visit to the emergency room 24-hours a day had certainly taken its toll on me…on all of us.

I was mad and uncomfortable, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.  How many more times would I have to call my mother-in-law in the middle of the night to tell her we were on our way to the hospital?  I was no longer me – I was a caregiver – day and night, night and day, at the age of 38.  At that moment, I was praying…well, struggling to pray.  My own religious scruples were keeping me from experiencing peace.  I had long desired to have a set time of prayer and reflection every day.  Somehow that coveted routine always eluded me, even when my husband was in good health.  But in this particular moment, I was really struggling with myself, sending up prayers for help:  one part focused on the prayer itself, one part focused on arguing with my scrupulous self about how and when I should be praying, and one part thanking the Lord for the sandwich I’d made sitting in front of me so I could finally eat something.  On this rare occasion, the house was empty, and my husband was feeling OK enough to be left alone in our bedroom for a short period of time.  Nothing like a little “me” time.  Despite the argument going on in my soul and mind, I still managed to enjoy the solitude. 

I’d grown accustomed to these circular, soul-stinging, brain-aching arguments over the last ten years or so.  Being diagnosed with severe obsessive compulsive disorder in my late 20s was not a part of the future I’d ever envisioned for myself.  But there it was – the friend I could always count on to make the most difficult situations worse – OCD.  During these arguments, I’d pile weights of condemnation upon my back.  Where was that “freedom” Christians talked about?  “Freedom in Christ”, they would say.  The “Chain Breaker”, they called Him.  But right there in my parents’ kitchen, I felt anything but free.  I wanted to trust God.  I needed to trust God.  But I couldn’t.  Look at how terrible my life was!  As a young adult, I’d come to know that if God saw an opportunity to make my life worse, He would.  And so, I often dreaded spending time alone or in prayer with Him.  He had already taken and destroyed my life and now I had to give up what little time I had for myself too!  Can’t I just eat my sandwich and zone-out, please?!  As every part of my psyche and soul warred against itself, I saw something out of the corner of my eye…

I turned my head towards the window that overlooked the swimming pool and back patio.  In the near distance, the wooded area all green and lush in the summer afternoon, took on a gray hue – like a thunderstorm was approaching.  Suddenly, the green leaves and branches FLASHED like they were a photographer, and I was the subject staring directly back at them.  I blinked a few times to regain my vision.  But then, something even more curious happened.  I saw the outline of a box appear, as if being drawn against the backdrop of the leaves and branches.  If you’ve ever had a migraine headache with an aura, it looked very similar to that. If you haven’t had a migraine with an aura before, consider yourself very fortunate indeed. Whatever the case, I can tell you with certainty, migraine auras don’t do what I saw happen next…