anxious

I finally finished the bathroom and have taken some time to breathe. What a weight off that was.

But then, today something happened that reminds me that we are never more than one quick turn from ruin. I was eating lunch an chatting with a coworker when I swallowed and the food lodged in my throat. I know the feeling well. A few years ago I ended up in the emergency room because a pill lodged so thoroughly that nothing would remove it. Finally it was surgically removed and my esophagus was dilated. I discovered that I have a stomach condition that burns my esophagus with stomach acid and scars it. Combined with a naturally narrow throat, this creates restrictions where food can easily lodge. I'm supposed to take medicine to stop the acid, but found the medicine and the anxiety associated with having to take medicine all the time were causing more discomfort than the acid problem, so my doctor advised that I stop taking it so frequently...which turned into rarely.

But today in one split moment, I was right back in that distress. I tried to drink, but the water wouldn't pass or move the food, so I ran to the bathroom and began retching and swallowing until it finally dislodged. It's a horrible feeling. I would almost rather block my wind and pass out quickly. So I am reminded now of those days following the surgery where everything I ate was a source of anxiety. Where I felt incomplete, broken. Where my previous delusionment of strength and self-sufficiency was shattered. I feel it must be a bit of what chronically ill people feel.

It even led to a bit of hypochondria where I was so afraid of what other major health issue I might be ignoring that every ailment had me hyper-examining myself and even going to the doctor to ensure I was ok.

But now it's back to the diet to reduce acid, back to the medicine. I'm trying hard to keep peace about it. To "be anxious for nothing..." But it's not easy for me. I am naturally bent that way.

The strange thing is that I am not in the least afraid of dying. In fact it makes many people uncomfortable to hear how much I am truly not afraid of it. For me it would be a blessing, an end to this life of anxiety and depression and fear and evil. I know that I will fall into rest in my Father's arms. I can't wait to step out of this flesh and gaze at the real world. How appropriate then that to break whatever pride or perversion is in me, I am given this cross of decidedly undeadly burden. I must face this anxious fear, this dread of medical pain and systematic torture. I could face a knife or bullet with ease, but to face probing, medical, prodding and pricking is terrifying to me.

This is yet another instance where I must decrease and let Christ increase in me. I am in myself less than a cripple because my cross is internal with little external sign. My struggles have no substance, no matter, therefore they are "insubstantial" and "don't matter". You see how even language degrades me? No one teases a visibly handicapped person, but when it is not visible, all manner of jokes are permissible. To be inwardly stricken is to be flawed by choice to most people. Why can't I just be normal. I hate the word. It has no real meaning. It is truly insubstantial. It is an abstract statistical term.

Therefore I want to wear my invisible crosses outwardly. I am willing to take scorn and disrespect, though it scares me and I crave approval. I know that my identity is not this flesh which tries to dominate in weaker moments. I know that I cannot change what I cannot change. I know that I am too weak even to change much of what I can change. Therefore I plead Christ. I am bound to him because he is the only source of hope I have found to be credible. If it is up to me, then I am already doomed. No "you're ok, I'm ok" claptrap will resolve this. No PMA. No universalism. Call me Christian and let my strength and identity be Christ.