When God throws you into the sea of turmoil, you claw for life like a terrified cat thrown into the river for the first time. There is no rhythm to the undulation of daily pain and I'm more consumed with the torment that my hell will never end. The more I struggle to clamor into the presence of the King, the more I'm pulled in different opposing directions, yet I still grope for El Shaddai, the God of all comfort.
As I type and compose this message, every other word is misspelled and needs to be spell-checked. The former flowing creatively thoughts flowing from my mind is now interrupted by the ugly chore of going backwards each sentence to correct misspellings and typos. Very fun.
This miserable condition called Dystonia has truly made life and living a chore. The hobbies and gifts I've enjoyed in the past are nothing more than a ritualistic way to move past the hours in the hopes that maybe tomorrow, the incessant spasms will end and I can move forwrd to enjoy my life and what God has called me to do.
I want to run. I want to hide. I want to be carried off into Elijah's chariot away from the pulling of my spirit, the irritations of my soul and the constant, exhausting efforts of opposing and pushing against. And there are many who are in worse conditions than I. Poor souls who cannot even speak, they must talk through an electronic instrument. Some cannot feed themselves their hands are gnarled and drawn up to their chests.
Dystonia a living hell I wouldn't wish on my worse enemy. This trial has been too long for me, three years and two months. I must pretend to be happy, after all I'm a long-time Christian. Christians should NOT reveal their pain and disgust with themselves or their sufferings...and when they do, they are rebuked and so-called friends will disconnect because they cannot handle the ugliness of the reality of chronic illness.
Count it all joy...my brethren...but don't complain OUT loud. No one wants to hear you die, LOL!
Sometimes I hold on and put on a strong face, but I'm not really strong. Any supplement or treatment that gives me the hope of some relief, I'll take.
And so, tomorrow is another day. I wonder how long Job suffered scraping himself of his boils. How many months or years before God gave him back his health, His children and his wealth? How many of us have truly wept at the suffering of this faithful man? He is now my second hero after Jesus Christ, of course. What piety and nobility that Job said, "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed is the name of the LORD. Yet though HE slay me."
I concur with you, Job! Where can I go from the Lord. Whether I make my bed in hell or reach the lofty mountain tops, I lift up my eyes to Lord in n whom my helps comes from. So be it Amen.
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