Ordinary but good

It's Friday morning here. I have just finished putting the groceries I got online away. It's so convenient for Chris and I seeing as we both are unwell

I have done a couple of loads of washing and am thinking about doing some lunch. Toasted cheese and tomato sangers sounds good and easy.  

My kitchen needs to be cleaned but I am out of spoons as I didn't sleep well last night. The weather is changing as it's autumn here and we can experience all seasons in one day. It plays havoc with my fibromyalgia. It's making me feel miserable.

I am thinking of taking a nana nap before I do the kitchen. But before that I will take some Panadol Osteo   to help relieve my fibro pain. Pacing and resting are not an option with fibromyalgia: it's a necessity. 

After I clean the kitchen I will cook chow mein and rice for dinner and if I have enough spoons I will fold the day's clean clothes and put them away.

It's an ordinary day here and I am glad. When you think of what's happening in the world, I can truly gratefully say that God has blessed me with a day that's ordinary and good! 

Breath of God

THIS IS INTERESTING... There was a moment when Moses had the nerve to ask God what His name is. God was gracious enough to answer, and the name He gave is recorded in the original Hebrew as YHWH. 

Over time we’ve arbitrarily added an “a” and an “e” in there to get YaHWeH, presumably because we have a preference for vowels. But scholars and Rabi’s have noted that the letters YHWH represent breathing sounds, or aspirated consonants. 

When pronounced without intervening vowels, it actually sounds like breathing. YH (inhale): WH (exhale). So a baby’s first cry, his first breath, speaks the name of God. A deep sigh calls His name – or a groan or gasp that is too heavy for mere words. 

Even an atheist would speak His name, unaware that their very breathe is giving constant acknowledgment to God. Likewise, a person leaves this earth with their last breath, when God’s name is no longer filing their lungs. 

So when I can’t utter anything else, is my cry calling out His name? Being alive means I speak His name constantly. So, is it heard the loudest when I’m the quietest? 

In sadness, we breathe heavy sighs. In joy, our lungs feel almost like they will burst. In fear we hold our breath and have to be told to breathe slowly to help us calm down. When we’re about to do something hard, we take a deep breath to find our courage. 

When I think about it, breathing is giving him praise. Even in the hardest moments! This is so beautiful and fills me with emotion every time I grasp the thought. God chose to give Himself a name that we can’t help but speak every moment we’re alive. 

All of us, always, everywhere. are Waking, sleeping, breathing, with the name of God on our lips. Amen 

By Sandra Thurman Caporale

And a good sleep

So recently we have been told that we are low on magnesium and have been taking magnesium tablets. It is about 10 days now that we have taken them and although my muscles still pain me, both Chris and I have had less calf cramps.

I have noticed a deeper sleep for myself, though Chris still has trouble but also reports a more refreshing sleep when he manages to drop off. He has noticed that he has less restless leg at night. Any help is a blessing.

As a sufferer of fibromyalgia, I welcome anything that helps me hurt less and sleep better. As it's early days of taking the supplement, I live in hope that it will get even better in its' relaxing effects.

I know it is improving my sleep already because I usually cannot get back to sleep if I wake up early and it's getting light. But today, I woke up to the grey dawn and decided to try going back to bed after going to the bathroom. I managed to sleep until 9.50am. 

I was amazed by this, but had to have an inward chuckle as today was the day my cleaning lady comes at 10.30 and I hadn't done anything. I still needed to get dressed, take our bloods, give Chris his insulin injection, feed Xena and then feed us.

Usually I pick up any dirty clothes up off chairs in our rooms, stack the dishwasher, and empty rubbish from the mini rubbish bins around the house, plus check Xena's tray is clean before she comes. I don't want her wasting her time on stuff I can do- I want her to focus on what I can't do like washing the floors and cleaning the bathroom.

But today, I managed to tidy up so that the cleaner could just clean- but we still were eating breakfast when she arrived. So because we were late through sleeping in, she was surprised to see us still at the island bench, eating. 

It all worked out well and I am hoping that the magnesium's effect continues. Even if it's ten pills a morning now for us both to take. As long as they make our bodies think we are healthier than we are, it's all for a good cause. And a good sleep.

Lovely stuff

As a long time member of the Fibromyalgia Club, I usually wake feeling unrefreshed and aching all over. I have never been hit by a bus or train, but I would imagine that early morning stiff feeling would be akin to it.

Almost in a trance, I find my way to my kettle and turn it on. I grab the milk out of the fridge and proceed to take my blood to determine how much sugar I have in my diabetic old body. Like my weight, there is always too much of it.

Whilst the bread is toasting, I check my diary to see if there's anything we have to attend to or go to. With fibro fog my second nature now, I write everything down so that I don't forget it. In spite of aches and no spoons, if I don't have to leave the house today, I may do a little soft shoe shuffle. No wait- not a shoe shuffle- a slipper shuffle.

Really, it's sad when you come to think of it. A day with no appointments or shopping makes my day. I don't even care that the bins go out more than I do. 

Pyjama days are splendid days and I look forward to any excuse during a fibro flare to allow me to lounge around in my nightie and dressing gown. On days like that, it is enough that I brush my teeth and wash my hands. Forget the trauma of taking a shower. That's a good day job!

With high blood readings lately, I have had to be strict with limiting sugars, but because I hate my tea with none or worse still, with artificial sweeteners, I only allow myself one treat: a cup of white tea, one teaspoon of sugar. Stirred not shaken.

My first cup of tea in the morning is the one I enjoy the most, and I find I can limit tea sweetening during the day. Give me the joy of a refreshing, uplifting *sweetened* cuppa in the morning and I will be a reasonably happy little diabetic warrior the rest of the day.

Most people need a coffee in the morning, but for me, it's tea all the way. I can't live a happy life without my morning cup of tea with milk and one: it truly is lovely stuff.

 

I just want some breakfast!

I was minding my three young grandchildren this morning. It was a very early start at 4am with all three children waking up at 5am as soon as their parents left for the airport. I decided to feed them early in hopes that they would go back to bed....As the children told me what they wanted to have for breakfast, I listened to the chatter...

"Jess, you can't have Weeties, too many carbs!" "No, Liam! I am allowed bacon and eggs: Mum said I can have that cos it's got no carbs, and I'm on a fat and no carb diet!" I had to referee a fight over Jess not taking sugar in her tea whilst Liam piled his on his cereal....he is not on a diet! In fact, he could gain a pound or 2, whereas Jess takes after her Nana...ahem! Yes, life could be so unfair! Sighing, I glanced at the clock: 5:45 am and the day was still young!

Getting a bottle for Thomas, I smiled to myself: he is too young to care what goes into his bottle and he accepted it with his characteristic grin and good nature (except for this morning at 5am's outburst of horror as he realised that Mum had gone. But I digress)...Catching the morning's Nutritional Goodness theme, I mentally made a note of calcium benefits for him.

It was then time for me to have breakfast and I found myself staring blankly into the pantry, trying to keep awake. As my hand reached out for the Sugar Frosties, Liam piped up with, "Hey, Nan, they're full of sugar: are you allowed to have sugar? Sugar's not good for you: Mum said I can't have too much cos it makes me hyper!" I thought guiltily about my diabetes and I put it back!

Knowing that the smell of toast would be too much of a temptation for young Jessica to resist, I decided that I would forgo that this morning and instead I grabbed a tin of tuna as a high protein choice. But my little shadow informed me that his Mum had bought just enough tins for Dad's high protein/no carbs diet next week. Guilty again, I put it back in its place in line with the others.

My stomach was growling by now and I was getting desperate for something to fill it. Better be something healthy today I thought with an inwards chuckle. Not wanting to be warned off anything else, I made myself a cup of tea without sugar and grabbed a piece of rye bread sans butter and slowly chewed on it...

The kids returned to bed and I crept back out into the kitchen: I don't care what my diet conscious grandchildren think: I just want some breakfast! I grabbed the sugar loaded cereal and put some sugar in my tea. What they don't know won't hurt them, but please don't tell their parents!

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

"A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken" Proverbs 15:13

The only nice thing about it

So we went to the doctor yesterday to get our results from blood tests taken a few days ago. My blood pressure was 140/90 which was slightly better than last time, but still high.

He asked was anything bothering me and I had to tell him I am worried about Chris. Both of us have heart failure, high blood pressure, diabetes and cellulitis plus I have fibromyalgia. 

We both have pitting oedema on our feet and legs and the fatigue that comes from obesity and feeling sick. Dressing and showering is shared in that we help each other and because of exhaustion from showering, we shower every second day, taking opposite days. That way, we can help each other.

Our love language is touch in the form of massaging each other's feet and legs and our speech revolves around spoons and how much sugar is in everything that passes our lips.

We rarely leave home any more except for the doctor or chemist and our rubbish bins go out more than us. The highlight of our day is to discover we don't have any appointments or need a blood test. We are extremely relieved to know we can just stay home and have a PJ day.

It is unusual to call on us and not find at least one of us having a nana nap, particularly if we haven't slept well the night before.

When massaging Chris's feet or watching him sleep upright so that he doesn't feel like he's drowning in his fluid, I become anxious about how ill he looks and I fret that I will lose him.

I can't bear to think of that and when I do, I have to give it to the LORD in prayer and trust that He will grant us more time together.

All this angst does nothing to alleviate my fibromyalgia pain or help me get over a flare and I find myself taking mild pain relief every 6 hours. As the doctor advised.

Our home is able to be company ready in half an hour as it is basically tidy all the time. True, there may be slippers in the lounge or a cup on the table, but this can easily be fixed. I just close our bedroom doors to hide the permanently clean but unmade beds.

We love our home as we feel it nurtures us and even though we only may be gone a few hours when we have to go out, we find we are really looking forward to coming home again.

When we were engaged, we agreed that it would be nice to grow old together and we have. Twenty-five years later, it isn't so nice. But thank goodness we have each other and that's the only nice thing about it.

Teardrop babies.

WARNING- POSSIBLE TRIGGER FOR THOSE WHO HAVE LOST A BABY: 

Many years ago, my mother went to the hospital bleeding heavily during her 13th week of pregnancy. It was unclear on her admission if she had in fact lost the baby she had planned. She was laying in the cubicle awaiting results of the examination of her lost tissue to see if she had miscarried or not. It was in the days before ultrasound.

Eventually a nurse came in, winked conspiratorially at Mum and announced that it looked like she had miscarried. Her demeanour was like she was the bearer of good news and that Mum should be grateful that she was no longer pregnant. Mum just turned her face to the wall and cried.

As a young woman, I too had a loss of a much wanted pregnancy. At the time I conceived, I had to have an emergency surgery. I was so ill for so long after the anaesthetic that it dawned on me that it could be morning sickness. It was.

I prayed that I would not lose the baby but it was not to be. A few weeks after my morning sickness disappeared- and I was always morning sick the entire 9 months with my other babies- I started bleeding.

Eventually I lost my baby and Mum had advised me to keep any tissue I lost to show the doctor. I fetched out my lost tissue and found a little embryo, all curled up and just forming its eyes. I was devastated. 

I showed the little one to my then husband, who sniffed and said what a  silly looking little thing it was! Something inside me died and I went outside and wept for the baby who would join its stillborn twin sisters, Sarah and Ruth in God's nursery. I named it Leslie because that name would do for either gender.

Wiping my eyes, I thought about how precious these lives were and how sad most women feel when they never see the light. By far there are more women who grieve over the loss of a baby than who feel relieved or rejoice. I decided that I would call lost babies Teardrop Babies. For many would shed a tear over their loss.

No Teardrop Baby is lost to God and is known to Him and that brings me some comfort. All mothers of those babes will see them again if they know the Giver of Life. I believe that goes for aborted children as well. Many a woman who aborted a baby will suffer great anguish over that choice and if she repents, God will forgive her and show her His great mercy and grace.

No matter what people tell us about our lost Teardrop Baby being just a bunch of cells or tissue, we know that they were our potential son or daughter and we will grieve for them with many tears. Another reason I call lost babes Teardrop Babies.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, The days fashioned for me, When as yet there were none of them. Psalm 139:16

Probably for the children.

We lived in a low income housing estate owned by the Housing Department. The Navy bought a lot of these homes to house the Naval families and it was there that I met Jezebel.

She was a young wife, quite pretty and she knew it! Most of her day was spent outside sunbathing or shopping. She had two young children who she treated with indifference. They were often playing with my children when we visited my mother who lived next door to her.

We sometimes had to call on her to bring our children back to Mum's and her house was immaculate. As far as these concrete houses went, hers was well furnished with expensive drapes, couches and lamps- and something unheard of in the day- with wall to wall carpet. She was not one to have a conversation with, unless it was about herself or her children, who she considered pests. Or occasionally she would talk of her absent husband, who we were told was a complete boring pig!

That was an enigma to us as he obviously was supporting her and the children very well. In fact, whenever he was on shore leave, we would find him at the clothesline pegging out loads of washing and sheets. Jezebel didn't believe in working when her husband was home. She was a true feminist.

One day, I called on her to pick up my children and she confided in me that she was pregnant to her pig of a husband! (Her words) She had just come home from the doctor and she told me she had informed him that she would notify him if she decided not to go through with the pregnancy. Not after a discussion with her husband. Maybe he wouldn't even be informed, I thought.

I know she had the child, her third son, because I bought her pram for my coming baby. She was wondering how she was going to offload it, she said. It certainly wouldn't be needed again. The Pig had had a vasectomy! 

To this day, I don't know what became of this family as Jezebel's husband was deployed elsewhere, and she went with him. But I do wonder if they are still married and if so, how happy are they. Was The Pig ever valued as a good husband and father, or did he only have Jezebel's scowling and barked orders to look forward to whenever he got home?  

Reflecting on this feminist's treatment of a good man, I felt sorry for her husband and children. I can only hope that Jezebel, so nick named for her horrid feminist ways, has found the LORD and that her children have grown up with some self-confidence and feelings of having been loved. For I am sure  that as hungry as The Pig was for love and respect, he would have made sure the children would have been loved.  

I do pray for them all, and for "The Captain", not "The Pig".  I salute you, Sir for staying with  your Jezebel. Probably for the children.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband. Ephesians 5:22:33

We both are spoilt girls

With heart failure and certain blood pressure tablets, my feet and legs puff up with fluid. I have pitting oedema which means that the indent when a finger is pressed on the limb, stays for a long time. My heart is not working as it should.

At the end of the day, when we watch TV together, Chris will automatically reach for my feet and gently massage them, rubbing the fluid upward towards the heart. He also rubs my toes which burn and sting with neuropathy from diabetes.

The other night as Chris rubbed my foot, Xena jumped up onto the couch and lay beside me. Not wanting to miss out on cuddles, she put her paw up on Chris's arm, purring loudly. It was a lovely relaxing time and helped lift our depression. 

Neither Chris or I are doing too well physically at the moment. Chris's sugars are uncontrolled and he has fluid on his lungs from heart failure.

Such is the loving nature of this man that he rubs my feet continually, even when he needs his own done. I do rub his feet and legs at least once a day and when I cut his toe nails for him. But it must be said that his ministrations to me are more frequent than mine to him. I simply have no spoons at the end of the day. 

I manage the house with all that entails and Chris knows that my spoons are in short supply, especially with a fibromyalgia flare, and so he seeks to bring me some comfort and pleasure at the end of the day.

Xena seems to pick up on the loving atmosphere and always makes sure she's between us in order to be included in the cuddles. 

She loves her Daddy too and we consider her as our feline child-and because she loves her Mummy as well, she purrs contentedly as she wonders which one of us is a spoilt girl. We both are spoilt girls.

Rejoice in being a home maker

When a demanding and chaotic world is so overwhelming, and a woman’s role is somewhat confusing, the result is the ‘depressed housewife’. ‘Housewife’ is a term used loosely, since today’s women are much more than simple ‘housewives’, and their contribution to society is so often taken for granted. 

Most women are confused by their role in life. The feminist movement has empowered the woman to achieve corporate success, while the natural yearnings of her soul lead her toward the security, love, and tenderness of a family-life.

How does this confusion affect the average woman? When ten to twenty percent of the general population is depressed at some point in their lives, and this percentage is made up of twice as many women as men, the answer is so obvious that it hurts.

For the past thirty to forty years, women have been fighting for respect and recognition as more than just ‘housewives’. Women are now encouraged from childhood to put away their dolls and get an education. After the education is complete, a family is started and the woman is in pursuit of her career. She soon finds herself praised on one hand for her accomplishments, and persecuted on the other for neglecting her role as a dutiful housewife!

There is also found a handful of women who cannot ignore their desire to experience the traditionally accepted life of a woman. These are the women who devote their lives to nurturing a home and family. Their aspirations are no doubt cherished by their children, and perhaps even their husbands. However, equal disapproval is shot their way by those who view them as inferior, lacking ambition, and possibly even plain old lazy.

How, in the face of these conflicting opinions, is the woman expected to find her niche? How is her soul, the center of her being, expected to be at peace when it is torn so violently in different directions? How can the devastating reality of the ‘depressed housewife’ be overcome? author unknown.

This article expresses a basic struggle of most housewives who have been blinded by feminist views. How does one overcome? Through accepting Gods' Word about our worth as homekeepers and resisting worldly views of worth.

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

Favour [is] deceitful, and beauty [is] vain: [but] a woman [that] feareth the LORD, she shall be praised. Proverbs 31:30

This too will pass

 

It's been nearly a week without spoons. I have absolutely no energy to speak of and have just been focussing on keeping the clothes washed, kitchen clean and cooking.

I suppose it's my fault. With some recent spoons, I probably overdid it and hence the Flare of Flares. It's sort of predictable with fibromyalgia. But I was hoping to break out of the pain/fatigue cycle. I haven't.

 

The doctor has become concerned about my blood pressure being high 160/90 and has been trying to get me to give myself a once a week injection of a drug that's supposed to help me lose weight as well as keep the sugars low. I don't want it.

My feelings are that once you inject something, you have to put up with any side-effects for another week, unlike oral tablets that you have some control over. You can stop taking them: not so with injections. Yes, you can stop using them but the chemical is in your system for a week.

I am sick enough with the antibiotics I am taking for suspected cellulitis in my leg. They are very rugged and have given me thrush as well. But I need to finish the course to heal my leg.

So because I have an infection, I am listening to my body and taking a nana nap if I need it. And I don't feel guilty for napping.

I am trying to keep upbeat and not stress too much. It's hard for me as Chris is suffering with his heart failure as well.

I know better days must come and that's why I chose the picture above. With prayer and leaning on the LORD, this phrase often comes to mind:  "this too will pass" and it will- eventually. 

The fruits will be there

As a chronically ill woman who truly doesn’t eat much, my weight gain is mainly inactivity and taking Prednisolone and other drugs for depression and polymyalgia rheumatica etc. If I dwelt on weight gain and my consequent obesity, I would be so depressed that I wouldn’t have time to write for the LORD, or feel close to Him. 

Having said that, it is my intention to give my eating to God and ask for His help in making good food choices, and in self control.  I will try to exercise gently by walking and seeking out a swimming pool so that I can exercise without hurting my muscles, back and torn meniscus. It will be a balancing act so as not to bring on a new flare of my fibromyalgia or an angina attack. 

Because obesity can effect our spirit, I would say that we have to bring negative thoughts about our bodies and weight loss in general, into the captivity of Christ and not allow it to distract us from what He has for our life. 

In practice,  healthy weight loss will take time and it will be necessary to be patient with my body as it slowly releases the fat and comes into subjection. For it is going to be a battle: I know that, and it is a battle I simply must win.

In starting each day, I will be asking God for wisdom in what to eat and when. I will be making losing weight a priority after God, one which I know is in His will and that will please Him.

I am expecting a very slow reduction in my BMI, a very slow introduction to movement and a rather rapid new intake of water daily. In return I am expecting a reduction in blood pressure, pain with arthritis, depression, GERD, and lower HBA1 C for my diabetes. I am expecting a reduction in medications. 

Boring subject that it is, nevertheless weight loss is often so depressing and consuming that it can distract us from our relationship with Jesus. In fact, weight loss can become an idol. We must avoid becoming obsessive with it.

A new outlook has taken me to seeing that loving myself enough to lose the weight that is literally killing me is pleasing to God. He wants the best for me. So knowing this, I can rely on help from the Holy Spirit in putting an end to living trapped in a sick and grossly overweight body. 

I have tried diet pills in the past, but they made me anxious, wound up and irritable. I can't take them. Even if I diet and don't lose weight, at least I will know that I have lived trying to look after my body.

Love for God and pleasing Him,  joy in obedience in the journey, peace in being proactive, patience in the struggle, kindness to myself when I stumble, will produce a woman who is feeling better and more able to be kind, good, faithful and gentle, through obedience to God through self-control. After repentance and obedience, the fruits will be there. 

© Glenys Robyn Hicks

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Against such there is no law. Galatians 5:22-23