Friday, April 4, 2014

Bed Bugs Make It Well With My Soul


I go to a health and wellness doctor. Please don't judge, I'm not a weird health freak and I don't believe in mystical healing or anything like that. I go because they make me feel better and eating half a bottle of Advil every day probably isn't healthy.

The last checkup I had, my doctor put me through a heart and stress test. They strapped a band around my chest and it recorded my heart rate while I was lying down and while I was standing. Simple stuff.

After the nurse had done the test, my doctor walked in to the room. Giving me a big hug, she said, "So how has your semester been?" while simultaneously picking up the test results from my heart rate test.

Looking at the results, she went quiet for a second. "Oh. That kind of semester."

Yeah. That kind of semester.

I'll spare you the minor details, but. Blizzards. Power outages. Bed bugs (like REAL LIVE ONES). Basketball practices (the explanation of why whenever someone asked me how I was, my automatic response was "Exhausted."). A well-placed elbow to the temple that left me concussed for a week. A friend group nuclear explosion. A weekend in bed with a case of something that may or may not have been the flu. Breaking the heart of someone who I care very much about--the day before Valentines Day. And then falling in love with the wrong person...again.

Every time I convinced myself that this had to be Rock Bottom, the cosmos said "LOLOL" and the Bottom dropped out, plunging me into yet another, "You've got to be kidding me. This too?!" situation.

Ok, I'm really not that cynical. At this point, the only thing to do other than cry is laugh.

Above my bed I've created a collage of quotes lovingly termed, well, my "quote wall." Almost a hundred quotes on picture paper are arranged on that wall, in hope that while I sleep, their wisdom is imparted to me. Or something like that.

One, a simple white text on a black background: "There isn't enough room in your mind for both worry and faith. You must decide which one will live there."

Another, in a beautiful script font: "I can be changed by what happens to me. I refuse to be reduced by it."

Another, as if it were inked on the page: "In the barren places of my life I can be assured that God is there, as He is when life is fruitful" (Elizabeth Elliot. Everyone should read her.)

Another, simply: It is Well with My Soul.

I don't have those quotes above my bed because I follow them all. I don't have those quotes above my bed because I understand them all. I don't have those quotes above my bed even because I like them all. I keep those quotes there because they are truth, reflecting the ultimate Truth. The truth does not always sound nice, look nice, or feel nice. I don't always get warm and fuzzy feelings when I read the quotes on my wall-or even the pages of my Bible. I get angry because those truths are not the way I've chosen to live, frustrated because I cannot understand the hows and whys, disappointed because it seems impossible for me to live the way God intends for me and improbable that He's there at all.

But the beauty of truth is that no matter my reaction, it is still truth.

I could rip down my quote wall, close my Bible, shut out my friends and family-and the Truth would still be Truth. And in the times when my life seems to be operating in spite of that Truth, it remains. God remains. And as long as He remains, I will seek His Truth and trust that it transcends my situations. He is there among my quote wall. He is there among my crazy schedule, and my relationships, and my physical weaknesses. He is there. Bed bugs and all.

What's one semester in the cosmic timeline of all that is True?

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