Category: Renee

Over the past year, Jon and I have been looking ahead and praying about a couple of potential open doors for our family. Anticipation began building in our hearts, perhaps more than we even realized, until, within the last few weeks, both doors appear to be closing. A familiar feeling rises up in my heart.  “Here we are again, ‘slow pedaling’ along to . . . where, exactly?”  The uncertainty of the world around us doesn’t offer feelings of reassurance, either. Uncertainty is impacting us all.

One of the unexpected blessings of this quarantine for me has been the privilege of  joining a sweet group of ladies in my neighborhood that have been meeting online for Bible study. We have been going through the book of Colossians, and it has been “virtually” blessing my socks off. We have also had the privilege of meeting in person (social distance style), and I am once again encouraged by the unity that Christ brings, in spite of contrasting backgrounds. I have been ruminating on this particular passage over the last couple of weeks.

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” Col 3:1-2

These verses take me back to a particular part of my journey, and I thought I would take a few minutes to write out that story as a way to remind my own heart of God’s sovereignty.

A few years ago, I went out to Arizona with my husband to have extensive medical testing done. We had reached a point in my health journey where we had made some progress, but it seemed that we were missing “something.” We had heard about a Lyme Disease and Cancer treatment center that would run an extensive panel of testing, including genetic testing. We decided that we would go out initially to have the testing done in the hopes that something would show up that would give us some further insight into “next steps.”  After testing, we would return to South Carolina and wait for a follow up phone consultation with the Doctor to go over results.

Truthfully, we had no real expectations for that phone call. We didn’t really have any specific reason to believe that I had Lyme disease, but we also knew that sometimes Lyme disease presents in a variety of unusual ways. When the phone call came, the facility had not yet gotten the results back from the Lyme panel, but they had gotten all of the rest of the test results back. Here’s a little glimpse into that consult.

My husband and I get ourselves situated on our upstairs couch after dinner to wait for the phone call. The phone rings. We put the phone on speaker so that we can both hear. After a bit of initial introductory small talk, here is how the discussion begins (we went back and listened to the recording of this call):

Doctor: “Does anyone in your family history have any notable heart issues?”

Me: “Not really. I mean, my grandparents had some heart issues later in life.”

Doctor:  “That’s pretty common. Have any family members on either side of your parents’ families had any sudden death, or just like the heart stopping–anything like that?”

Me:  “Ummm.” Pause. “I don’t think so.” I feel my heart rate rising a bit. I am not sure where this conversation is going.

Doctor: “OK, well, there are a lot of things going on that need to be addressed. Let’s go ahead and go over all of the blood work to discuss the infectious load that your body is carrying right now, and then we will come back to the genetic testing.”

Me: “Ok?”

The Doctor proceeds to go over the pages of results, and then comes back to the genetics and his summary:

Doctor: “You have a double mutation of the calcium channel, which is quite rare. We have never had anyone come  through our center with this kind of double mutation. This mutation is related to Brugada Syndrome, which is known to be associated with sudden death in people around age 40.”

The doctor goes on to summarize that my body is carrying enough of an infectious load with a variety of other concerns that he thinks it would benefit me to come out to Arizona for treatment. However, he is not entirely sure how my body will respond (given much that is unknown about this double mutation and how it presents).

So I have a certain genetic mutation that is related to a syndrome that could lead to sudden, early death. We get off of the phone, not quite sure what we have just heard, much less the implications of this information. How do I even begin to process? I am 35 at the time of this call (a few weeks later the Lyme test come back positive as well, and so we decide to proceed with treatment).

The very next day, I drive over to our church to update our Pastor on  everything that we had been told, including this information about my “sudden death” gene.  The rest of that conversation is a bit of a blur in my memory.

I leave the church and head downtown toward my favorite juicing spot to pick up some green drinks. I pick up my drinks and begin driving home. I am driving through an intersection near downtown Greenville, and, as if in slow motion, I look up and see a very large SUV coming straight toward me. I feel the impact.  My air bags activate and hit me in the head. The green drink, that I had just opened, explodes all over the car. All of the traffic stops.

A police car pulls up. I get out of the car and hear a voice behind me saying my name. “Renee.” I turn and see that the police officer responding is a guy from my church. I look at the front of my car. It doesn’t look good. Our recently purchased, first “reliable” vehicle to ever own is totaled (the accident was entirely the other guy’s fault). I look inside the car. The green drink that I had just opened has exploded everywhere. The upholstery is a mess. I feel the urge to laugh. My husband shows up. He looks at the exterior of the car  and then looks at the interior of the car with “the green juice laden upholstery.”  He smiles and begins cleaning up the mess.

The irony was not lost on either of us.  

It is hard to explain all of the feelings in that moment. I just remember that one of the first cognitive thoughts that I had was: “Sudden death gene, huh?” The moment that truck made impact could have been my last moment. God reminds me that my times are determined by Him. He created my genetics. He is certainly not limited by them. I have no need to fear. That was it. The “peace that passes all understanding” came over me and completely covered all of that “yet unprocessed” news. The totaled car did not even seem to matter. I was ok, and I would be ok. God’s plan for me didn’t change the moment I became privy to previously unknown information about my genetic code.

“My life is hidden with Christ in God.” These past weeks as I have reflected on this memory, I am reminded afresh that not only is my timeline under His care, but that the circumstances of my life are also under His care. The closed doors that have come recently and brought about that familiar ache in my chest have been carefully orchestrated. Certainly, these times in our country are causing many of us to “feel” the reality of how little control we really have over our days. Control is merely an illusion that gives us temporary comfort in the “guise of normalcy.” We are not in control. We never were.

So what will our perspectives be? We will remember Whose we are. We will remember where our life is hidden. Today, afresh, we will set our perspective upon things above. Whatever uncertainty we are facing, we will remember that  “our lives are hidden with Christ in God.” As children of God, we rest. Perhaps we even find a way to experience child-like joy today, for we are as safe today as we have ever been.

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” Col 3:1-2

P.S. I am now 38, and God has blessed me with a fairly “tranquil-for-me” year, health-wise. I have enjoyed a number of unexpected joys.

Last night, like many other nights, I got into bed and looked over at my husband in the low-light of our bedside lamps. His eyes were closed, and I just looked at his face for a few moments. I give him a hard time if he turns the light off before I get a chance to “stare at his face.” At my cue, he turns the light back on and tries to lie there all nonchalant-like while I “get my fill,” and then usually laughter erupts at the “goofiness” of this ritual. It is one of my favorite parts of the day.  It is my little moment of “thankful” for this sweet relationship that God has gifted to me before the lights go off, and I drift off to sleep (yes, I do realize what a ridiculous old sap this makes me out to be). Last night was no different. After a minute or two, he opened his eyes, and I asked him why he opened them. He said: “Because you laughed.” I answered, “No, I laughed after your eyes were already opened.” His response: “Well, I could hear you smile.” 

This last year has been one of processing some deeply buried, difficult things. At the beginning of the year, I chose the word “enough” as a theme concept that I wanted to grapple with and grasp. I have struggled for as long as I can remember with feeling like I need to be more or do more, that I am never quite “enough.” I have struggled under self-imposed expectations, expectations of others, and perceived expectations of God. Exhausting. 

When I was hit with intense physical pain and loss six years ago (as complete adrenal malfunction took over my body after my fifth abdominal surgery, perhaps triggered by Lyme disease, medication, and some parasitic infections), I had no idea how to process what had happened to me and the loss that I had experienced. We had spent several years going back and forth between doctors, trying to figure out how to help my body heal. I could not, for several years, even meet  the most basic of expectations as a wife and mother because of debilitating pain and fatigue. It had all happened so suddenly. Like people often do when shocked with life-altering trauma, I lived in denial for a time, trying desperately to just  “get back” what I had lost in almost frantic ways. I had lost time, some relationships, functionality, future hopes and dreams all at once. It was just too much. I struggled to get out of survival mode, desperately trying to regain my health so that I could show up for the people who matter to me. Feelings of desperation can only take a person so far. There is a fine line between ambition (fighting spirit) and acceptance, and I have teeter-tottered all over that line.

So here I am.  God has brought me to this very uncomfortable year. I have felt squirmy through much of it. I knew the time had come for some deep processing. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Some of the loss seems here to stay for the foreseeable future, and I have needed to let myself feel the hurt and disappointment. There have been more layers to the onion than I had initially imagined, and the process has been longer and more grueling than I anticipated.  I am a classic “stuffer of emotions” by nature. Opening the door to let the emotions out felt very scary to me. I would no sooner open a door than I would want to slam it shut because the intensity of the emotions frightened me. It didn’t take long to realize that I would not be able to do this alone. I have been slowly learning to bring these hurts, fears, and disappointments to God, begging Him to do the healing of the deepest wounds in my heart, which are now laying naked and exposed before Him. The layers of the onion are pulled back, and the tears burn my tired eyes. 

Last night, not more than two minutes after the aforementioned “ritual,”  we heard little footsteps approaching our bedroom. I immediately felt warmth in my heart as I anticipated what my sweet Emily girl needed from me this time (and yes, I knew immediately that it was my Emily girl). This time, she needs a kiss on her eye because it is hurting. I gladly oblige and give her a few big squeezes just because, well, I can, and because she is my girl who can never get enough hugs. Satisfied, she marches back up to bed.

I feel the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. I begin to think about my Father who knows me intimately. Surely He “hears my smiles”  and delights in my joys. Surely His heart wells up with warmth when He “hears me coming” with my cares. He is prepared with comfort, even delighted to extend it. Surely He knows the deep ache in my soul before I can find words to describe it, and He is ready with a balm that only He can provide. Surely He knows the nervous quiver in the pit of my stomach as I branch out into uncharted waters. Surely He delights in my baby steps of growth. Surely He gives grace for my blunders. Surely He WANTS me to come to Him and place my burdens into His arms, and then “march” back into my day with peace and confidence.

I am already “enough.”

“For God has said, ‘I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.’ So we can say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper. So I will have no fear. What can mere people do to me?’”

Hebrews 13:5-6