My Tithe

I feel the need to share something. Not in an effort to take a side or to judge anyone who feels or has experienced differently,  but simply share my experience...

Tithing.

My first memory of the principle of tithing was as a 9 year old. I'm guessing it was tithing settlement and mom brought us with her into the bishops office. My feet didn't touch the floor as we sat in orange upholstered chairs. We lived in a very affluent area in southern California and my Dad had left just weeks before. I remember the bishop asking in a kind way, if my mom paid tithing and mom saying no, I can't. I have to support my girls. The bishop told her if she paid her tithing and was short that the church would help her...

This enraged my mom: I am not a beggar! And I will not be treated like a poor person!! My mom yelled at our bishop. Stood up, grabbed our hands and  stormed out of that office. That was my first and last experience with tithing as a child. It remained a painful topic for my mom....

When Grant and I married, neither of us had ever had first hand experience paying tithing. It was nothing more than a math equation to us. We struggled to pay it, for years and years. We'd pay for a while, months at a time even, but something always came up and we'd stop. It went on like that for ten years...during that time the church helped us at times and our bishops encouraged us to keep trying to pay our tithing. Trying and trying and trying....

Our ward in Raymond was very kind to us. Those 5 years were traumatic for us. We had Alex (4 under 4),  Grant broke his back in a work accident, We had Dallyn (5 under 6), Grant became addicted to pain killers, Mental health episodes led to hospitalizations and scary diagnosis's. Raymond was where we learned about the church welfare program first hand. Our bishop made sure we did not go without. I remember one night while Grant was in the hospital our bishop showing up on our doorstep and asked for every bill we had... I can't make Grant better, but I can help you here. 

{side story: One time my mom found out  (she saw the groceries in our van) we had gone to the Bishop's store house (think large scale food bank)  in Lethbridge to feed our family after Grant had broken his back in a work accident. My mom lost it at me. Accused me of shaming our family name and embarrassing her because she knew people who worked there....Mom never fully understood tithing or the church welfare program}

In 2003 we moved back to the Island, a fresh start for us in every conceivable way. The only goal we made as a couple when we moved was to pay our tithing. I'm not sure why we both felt so strongly about it at the time but we did pay our tithing. Okay it still took a few years to be full tithing payers but we got there...

A few months after we moved back to the Island my Mom was dying. My sister and I rushed to her bed side in Lethbridge. This wasn't the first rush but unknowingly was our last. Mom wanted to meet with her bishop, which surprised us some. Among a few requests she wanted to pay tithing on her pension check for that month. I still remember her shaky handwriting on that check and her handing it to her bishop....Mom died just a few days after we had gone home. Tithing was a painful thing for her, but I will always admire the courage of that last tithing check.

Over the last 15 years our understanding of tithing and church welfare has grown from a math equation to a principle of faith that we continue to be so blessed by.

As a RS president I had the sacred privilege to administer the welfare program with our bishop. Some of my most sacred experiences ever,  came when I was invited into  homes to talk about needs and then be able to meet those needs. It was never a principle of money but of love, our Savior's love.

I make no judgement on any one who feels differently. The ability to choose and feel for ourselves is such a gift.

 I'm grateful for tithing.

 

Healing Some.

{Ucluelet 2016}

I sat in a pew on Sunday and for the first time in months I didn't want to run for my life...
Stay with me here.

Up until August I gave everything I had as I served in a calling I never thought once I was capable of doing, but I gave my all. I loved my sisters deeply, prayed for them continually and wanted nothing more than for them to understand just how much their heavenly father loved them. While I served some very traumatic things happened and I paid a high price both emotionally and mentally from those events.


Up until April we had spent the last eight years fighting Grant's illness. We had managed to keep him from being suicidal. In April, that changed overnight. Beginning the worst six months we have ever experienced with his illness. Home life was a firestorm of unpredictability and chaos.

The Sunday I was released felt like I was hit with a tsunami of emotions. Relief, frustration, fear, wondering, grief, gratitude..... no one knew or understood what I had been through. Why did I have to experience such difficult things in the middle of some of my most sacred experiences?

Home was no sanctuary either. Grant's illness robbed him of his ability to show empathy or understanding. The more grief and upset  I showed the more unstable his illness became.

God where are you? Nothing.... Chaos collided.

I had never felt so alone and unloved in my life.

I was trying to keep Grant alive and out of psychosis.

Church felt like torture. Going alone a reminder of all the blessings that seemed to be slipping away.
I felt ignored entirely or deeply wounded by senseless platitudes and assumptions. Many Sundays I sobbed in the pew.

What's the point, all my years of trying seemed absolutely pointless. I was ready to run.

A friend has dragged me to Sacrament meeting for months. Most Sundays I just felt like a wounded animal slowly dying unnoticed. There out of duty and my slight fear of my mother haunting me.

I went through the motions...

Sunday something happened...I had begged my Heavenly Father for relief the night before. But instead of asking for him to help others understand us and stop hurting us...I asked him to help me heal and find peace.

As I sat in the pew on Sunday and listened to the introduction of  my favourite Christmas hymn being played. The thought came:

 " No one here knows what you've been through or are going through, but I do, Robin."

For the first time in months I felt the burden of grief lighten and my Heavenly Fathers love.

My heart is healing some. There is still much of the journey ahead. I'm just grateful I didn't run.








 

Gate keeper.

We sat in the psychiatrist office this week. Doing so takes a lot of courage for both of us. We come away feeling exhausted, but heard. It's a place where the gravity and complexity of Grant's mental illness is acknowledged and fully validated.

 Things are improving, sort of. An additional med has provided some tentative relief these last six weeks. . We are holding our breathe, this med has failed before, in 2013 and 2016 but we are hoping that in combination, it may hold him. For how long? It's completely unknown. 

Sitting back and realizing what we have endured the last six months brings bewildered, heart broken tears.

When you think you are going to lose your spouse to his illness... When you watch that spouse's illness destroy him into someone you hardly recognize... When you see this illness torturing him day after day and you are powerless to stop his suffering...you will do anything to save him.

Stress (even minor), being in public, well intentioned but ignorant people,  unsolicited advice, unexpected visitors, paperwork, nonsocial phone calls, criticism, perceived judgement of any kind, too many things to do in a day, unmet expectations...on and on.  These are things that have triggered him, sometimes leading to life threatening events.

I am now the gate keeper and not really by choice. But I will do anything to keep him safe and here. Our home is our sanctuary. Grant's safest place. A place where he can take his mask off and it's ok to be ill.


We have had some difficult things happen, where our boundaries have been bulldozed. Mostly unintentional. Simply not understanding, I guess.

What you don't see is the aftermath. The recovery time. The prayer that he won't slide.

When peaceful days are such a prized procession, you will do anything to keep them.

We've lost many friends, been the subjects of the latest gossip, when people don't understand they judge us.  Say we are too easily offend and we just need to let it go and that nobody can understand mental illness, so its unfair to expect them too. We've heard it all.

You don't need to understand us. You only need to understand our need for compassion is the same as others.

Grant didn't ask for his illness. I never asked to be his gate keeper. We are both exhausted, our hearts ache, but we promised to walk this road together and that we will do.

Today I'm Grateful.

We could have never known just how uncertain our future would ever be or how hard it would get.

China Creek 2004

The last six months...I've come to the conclusion there are not words in the English language to tell the story and many don't have the context to understand our the depth of such suffering. Grant's stability was gone. Almost overnight we were in the middle of the worst storm we had ever experienced.

This can't get worse. But it did. Again and again. The light, gone. Hope, fleeting. The illness just raged.

Grant insisted he fulfill his high council speaking assignment in October. I fully doubted he could do it, and tried everything to get him to cancel. The entire drive to Nanaimo, I felt sick, completely aware of just how unwell he was. Seriously Heavenly Father?? Why?

I watched as he struggled to get out of the seat next to me. The next twenty minutes could not move fast enough for me...

Grant grabbed each side of the pulpit, each hand hanging on for dear life.

"I'm grateful to be here today, actually grateful to be anywhere today...."

I hang my head trying to hide my tears. Knowing if I made eye contact with any of the few who knew in the congregation just how poignant Grant's statement. I would start sobbing....The spirit flooded my heart as Grant spoke with strength and clarity. How is this even possible, with as sick as he is?? His spirit isn't mentally ill. I know this. Still the miracle of the moment humbled me.

His talk ended. As we left the stand I could see in his face he had just given all he had to give that talk. The illness had only taken a twenty minute siesta...

Three more days, I just have to get him to his psychiatrist's appointment on Wednesday.

72 hours of tormented hell, the culmination of the last six months...

I thought I was losing him. Rational thought had left the building. The rage so intense, I could not imagine anything worse...

Tuesday night he begged not to go to his appointment.

I prayed that entire night. Not for a miracle, not for healing.

For courage and that the psychiatrist would be inspired. Inspired just to know what to do next....

We walked in that office more exhausted and weary than we had ever been. Please hear us, I thought.

As the brutal honesty of the last months flooded from my mouth, I fought back fear, panic, heartbreak. Even Grant found the courage to admit just how bad it was.

The doctor was so kind. He acknowledged the intensity of the storm we were walking through. Patient and caregiver. He showed compassion, not pity. Honored my dignity and Grant's.  By the end of the hour he had a plan. No promises but a plan. I have never felt the spirit in a medical appoint like right then. I knew Heavenly Father had answered my pleading from the night and months before. The doctor did know what to do next.

. We left just as exhausted, but hope wasn't so fleeting. 

The storm has slowly slowly slowly calmed. How long will this reprieve, hold? Its unknown. How lives are forever changed, but I have always promised my heavenly father that no matter what comes, I will always be grateful for each good hour or day.

Today I am grateful.

Shedding Light

{Warning: Talks about tough stuff...}

Kelli and I had talked for nearly an hour, when the question came up.

 "What was your single most traumatic event for you as a kid??"

My mind flipped rapidly through my childhood memories, like a Rolodex (sorry millennials)

That time mom locked us all in the bedroom every night because of the Night Stalker.
Oh my gosh, me too!

Is it called reminiscing when its traumatic?

Kelli and I had never talked in depth about this as adults, until that moment.

It was the summer we were 10. Our California house was on the end of a cul-de-sac, Hillock View Plaza. It wasn't as fancy then as it sounds. A tract home, every fourth house was exactly the same as ours.

Dad had been out of the house for two years. Mom struggled to keep up. Cleaning and organization were never her talents. The clutter and chaos had descended so slowly Kelli and I hadn't noticed.

Mom watched the evening news religiously. We as ten year olds probably should not have watched the news quite as religiously, but mom only sheltered us from odd things like Three's Company and Johnny Carson.

Being in Southern California the news had its fair share of violence, crime, car wrecks, and scandals.

I remember throughout that summer hearing something about a serial killer on those news reports but didn't really understand what that meant.

One evening there was a special news report, the entire broadcast devoted to this one story.... Serial Killer Stalking Orange County.

Mom should have made us go play but instead insisted we sit beside her on the brown love seat and watch the whole thing.

Fear gripped our house.

The next morning mom took us to the hardware store to buy 1 x 2's to secure all the sliding glass doors and windows in the house. By that evening she had hatched a plan to keep us even safer....

We three, our two dogs (pound specials) would sleep all together in the first bedroom down the hall. It was the only room with only one window and an extra lock on the door.

That night at dark mom took us all into that small bedroom. A chair shoved under the door handle the last measure of security she could conger up.

We laid there, tv blaring, mom crying until sleep rescued us. When dawn came we were allowed out. Mom's fear was all she could talk about day after day. There was no escape for her innocent audience. The sequester lasted from dusk to dawn for weeks. Mom's fervor was like falling asleep to a horror movie each night. I wondered if we'd die each night....

They finally caught the Night Stalker at the very end of August, just in time for all of us to return to school. The barricaded sequester ended just as abruptly as it started the month before. But I never felt safe in that house again and mom was never the same.  We never mentioned it again. But its mark, changed us, forever.,


I recognize now that what we were seeing in mom was untreated mental illness, fear had turned into psychosis, but we were ten and we didn't have the vocabulary to explain what we were going through or the even the knowledge that this was not normal.

Kelli and I have spent years, each in our own way, to shed light on the darkness of our childhood. I have learned that with light, shame and fear cannot continue. We are not broken, nor do we need pity. Our compassion for ourselves, and others has just come at a very high price.

 We have no idea what each other carries or what they have had to endure. So just be a light to everyone.

Eye of the Storm

It was at the end of the worst week we've experienced with Grant's illness, ever. In fact we're still in the middle of that raging hurricane. Who am I kidding? Right now it would be so easy to just give up.  On. Everything. We are exhausted, misunderstood warriors, even helpful intentions can deeply harm us...

So here's the thing... you know when they say some of the most  sacred experiences can happen in our hardest times...well that kind of happened.

I hadn't slept in a week, caring constantly for Grant as his illness raged...

I was going to cancel my MRI on my foot but forgot until going was just easier. When I got to the hospital, they told me my appointment was delayed at least an hour. I was too tired to care. I came back an hour later and waited and waited....Someone walked by and said something about emergencies. "No worries" I said . The MRI tech came by 2 hours after my original appointment and promised 20 more minutes, just as another emergency rolled by from the ER...

Its then that I notice the male tech's shoes... Red Converse Hi Tops.... I smile.

{Oh HI Dad, I think. My dad loved Converse Hi Tops and usually wore bright purple or pink ones. In fact we buried him in Converse Hi Tops. The only bright color we could find at the time was RED and since red was his favourite colour, he was buried in a track suit and those Hi Tops.}

I watch the tech with the red converse pace the hallway, I think I'm in for at least another hour wait. It's then that the red converse guy tells me they are going to squeeze me in between emergencies as long as I promise to hold perfectly still for the 20 minutes. At that point I'm so tired I didn't think it would be a problem....

They strap me down, give me ear plugs and head phones and ask what music I want....classical, please. I know from experience every other playlist is garbage.

My heart starts racing as my mild claustrophobia kicks in...I keep breathing. They forget to turn the music on...seriously...

I'm laying there with nothing but the loud drone of the MRI and my own thoughts.

I think of my dad and those red converse and then I think of my mom and her dragging me to specialist after specialist, test after test as a kid. Gratitude floods my heart...what? gratitude?? I'm surprised by the emotion, but very grateful for it.

In my minds eye I see my mom and dad standing together, happy. Weird?

For the first time since their deaths I think to talk to them (in my mind) like they were standing in front of me. I know its maybe strange but the thought of such a thing had terrified me for years. Hurt and grief does that I guess....


As I laid there I told them how much I loved them. How grateful I was for them. That I forgave them for all the hurt and harm. And that I looked forward to seeing them again some day. And that I was so glad they were happy.


I felt the table move. "One more scan and you're done, Robin" they say over the intercom.

Fastest 25 minutes ever.

As I struggle to get my braces back on and put my teeth back in :) I feel such a sense of relief as I realize I just had the sweetest birthday gift ever. Thanks mom and dad.


My storm rages, but Heavenly Father has not forgotten about me.

Walk gently, You never know.

A Tuesday in the middle of April. That day started like any other. Nothing about the morning, afternoon or evening stood out. Dinner. Dishes. Laundry. Mundane tasks. Relief Society stuff.

Grant had left hours early for a church meeting in Nanaimo. I laid on the couch surfing Netflix and Pinterest simultaneously.

Grant's text lit up my phone: I've asked President for a blessing. I'll text you when I"m on my way. Me: I'm so glad you asked. <3 p="">
15 minutes later: I love you. I'm on my way.  Me: Love you too, drive safe.

Back surfing Pinterest. Gardening ideas....

Maybe ten minutes had  past. It's Grant again, this time he's calling....heLLO I say almost annoyed.


Rrrobbbin.
 He's sobbing. My heart sinks, my mind racing.
What's wrong, where are you????
Sobbing, trying to catch his breath.
Did something happen? Have you been in an accident??
Deeper sobbing.
GRANT what's going on? I beg nearly yelling.
I...sob....just....sob....can't....sob.... do it any more.
Where. are. you??
Sobbing. I can't take all this pain anymore.

{Oh shit we're in CRISIS}
I run down stairs, mouth to Dallyn "Dad's in trouble"
He throws me his phone. I'm ready to call 911.
I'm begging my sweetheart to tell me where he is.
Dallyn is ready to jump in his car.

Finally through his sobs he says he's by the Gnome.

{Shit too far up the highway for Dallyn to easily get to him}

Grant's heartache is tumbling out like a tsunami.{ Please just stay on the phone with me. What should I do?} I speak heaven sent words, trying to sound calm. He kind of stops sobbing. Ok, start driving, but you have to keep telling me where you are....

He drives for maybe 5 minutes, the wailing sobs start again.
I keep him talking, mostly sobbing, but I know he's alive.

My phone talking to him.
Dallyn's phone 91....
Me one finger typing, emailing our counselor back and forth.

The sobbing, talking, typing, begging, praying went on for an hour and 8 minutes.

Horne Lake Caves....Mile marker 75.... Cook Creek.....Buckley Bay Ferry.....Exit 117.....Parkway....

Each kilometer took an eternity. Please Heavenly Father, keep him safe.

Finally the headlights turn the corner and the van is in front of the house.

He comes in the door, I bear hug him. I hide my relieved sobs.

We crawl in bed both exhausted. Grant talks and cries non stop for the next two hours. Finally I feel his body relax and his breathing slow. Finally sleep has rescued him. I lay and for the first time realize my body is shaking uncontrollably.

How can we do this...again??? 
Sleep rescues me around 2 am.

Morning comes with exhausted frustration.

Psychiatrist is on vacation.

He was at a church meeting, for heaven sakes?!?! Got a blessing.
Come on, we've like mostly kept the commandments this week!!!!
What have I missed, he's bipolar and has anxiety, but nothing had been overly obvious...Seriously.

I literally sat in the chair for hours. Names fluttered through my head. But I had the courage to call no one. When our counselor called I didn't pick up.

Finally I sent an email to a very few that evening and picked up the phone when our counselor called. "It was so scary!!!, I sobbed. For the first time I let myself cry.

The next morning came with Relief Society responsibilities, I hadn't said anything to my presidency. Most of me want to pretend April 16th hadn't ever happened.

Private hell.

Grant and I finally saw the psychiatrist 6 days later. He was sympathetic and brutally honest. Borderline personality disorder, its the first time we had heard it associated with Grant. Recovery might never be possible for Grant. We left feeling understood and stunned.

The last five months, brutal. Letting go of the reality of recovery, pure grief. Accepting the difficult days that are BP & GAD & BPD, not sure that will ever happen.

One would think April 16th was enough. That people would rally around us. That people would tread gently. Sadly no. The last six months have been life's hardest. The times I have felt the darkest and been treated the worst.... only a very few have tried to understand.

Walk gently we don't ever truly know the trials each of us are asked to go through, especially those he has asked to serve in leadership.

Better Broken.

Go easy, this wasn't easy to share.....

Conference weekend, a year ago, I lost it. My front tooth broke and it felt like my world was imploding on its self. All the fear and deep secrets I had held for decades felt completely exposed. I was a failure and a fraud. I started sobbing and couldn't stop. It would be days and days before i could stop. I needed help and could no longer hide from that fact. It was the most scared I have ever been.

I had secretly made this note on my phone a few days before.....

Also on this list was talk to my bishop. 

Grant called our family counselor. That counselor just listened as I sobbed and sobbed. Never once did I feel judgement, just a desire to help and guide. (He is such a blessing to our family.) 

Grant got me to the doctor, I hadn't had an appointment in 15 years. Our new doctor was so kind. I was terrified, but he listened and honored my needed boundaries and gave me a safe place to acknowledge the extreme anxiety I had suffered since childhood. Medication began that day and has become a much needed safety net.

Next came the dentist, I shook and sobbed.  I was the only one not shocked at the x-ray. How are you not dying in pain?? I am.  Major oral surgery and dentures followed two months later. 

Our family doctor also sent me to a physiatrist (MD specializing in rehabilitation) For the first time I was in control and able to honestly discuss how my cerebral palsy truly affected my mobility and daily life. For the first time in my life my disability was validated. Botox and braces brought stability and so much less pain.

My family counselor  helped (and continues to help) me bravely navigate terrifying emotions and experiences that had been tucked away, some for thirty years plus years. These were things I had vowed NEVER to deal with, but my ability to hide was gone and it all flooded out like a tsunami. All my fears and phobias. All the guilt and shame on full display. Terrified relief. 

I was certain I would be released from my calling. How can I do this? I'm completely broken and felt so far from worthy. Between the family counselor and a chance to go to a training meeting with Elder Bednar and an opportunity to shake Elder Bednar's hand. {As I shook his hand I instantly felt my heavenly fathers love for me and his desire to help me heal}. I had the courage to speak with my bishop about the guilt and shame that I had carried for decades. That meeting is the most sacred experiences. Forgiveness is real. I am forever grateful for a compassionate bishop.

The last year has been one of tremendous growth and I have continued to serve in my calling with amazing support. When I wrote that list I never imagined accomplishing any one of those things. But one led to another and then another... I am a different person, stronger... I will always need medication and professional help but I feel a freedom I never imagine would be mine. There will always be work ahead but I understand my value and how much my heavenly father loves me in a more profound way. Each terrifying step was so worth it. 

Now I am a better broken.

You are never too broken to find peace. He will help, I promise. Grateful for all  the angel friends who continue to walk beside me in this journey.

Her Tragic Death, Our Temple Triumph

She wanted to die. Her troubled mind had convinced her there was no other option. It wasn't death she was seeking, but relief from the torments of mental and physical illness. We saved her from herself countless times. Racing to the emergency room hoping there was still time. Why mom, WHY. Over and over and over.

She would end up in care entirely against her will. there was no other choice. Anger and rage eventually overtook any recognizable pieces my mom had left. We no longer knew her. We were just collateral damage to an illness that would not relent. A mother would never treat her daughters like that.  Our slow goodbye happened years before her death.

 A phone call before dawn on a Sunday morning told me she was gone. Her death brought no relief. Just more unanswered questions.... She had fallen, they didn't find her until it was too late. She was 62. Her devastated daughters not quite thirty.

Grief hit like a tsunami. Nothing brought comfort. My knowledge of eternal life and families dug like a knife in my heart. I was so traumatized by what we had been through, the thought of spending eternity with her was terrifying. All the platitudes that people say to grieving children brought deeper resentment and anger. "She's in a better place", lucky her. We were going through hell. You are not supposed to be angry at dead people, especially not your mother. I felt like a fake and a failure. I suffered for years. Struggling to trust anyone with the darkest corners of my sacred heartache.

My heart was shattered. I never imagined healing was possible. Those blessings were for other people who didn't hate their mother.

For years I had no real desire to let go of the hurt or heartache. It some how felt safer than the alternative. More than a dozen years passed and I was so tired, the hurt so heavy. I had to set it down. A kind counselor, a good bishop and many dear friends gave me a safe place to start unpacking my bags. Slowly resentment was replaced by acceptance. After a few more years I only carried a small suitcase, the last bitter remnants of the hell we had been through. It wasn't really that heavy. Maybe someday with enough courage I could unpack it too.

I need to be sealed to my parents. I had refused the thought for years. Why would I spend eternity in chaos. But over the last year the thought kept coming. I knew it was part of my healing but how could I find the courage to face something I once thought impossible...


Our dear friends were called to serve in the Vancouver temple. We were present when they gave talks in their home ward before they left. One of them shared the following quote....

God, in His infinite capacity, seals and heals individuals and families despite tragedy, loss, and hardship.

Those words flooded my heart with peace. I had known I needed to be sealed to my parents for years, I now had the courage....

So many obstacles still stood in front of me... But a kind, inspired bishop made it possible to clear those hurdles. I entered the Vancouver Temple last Friday to be sealed to my parents. My sweetheart by my side. My bishop and his dear wife, steps behind me.

 It seemed surreal to be sanding at the top of the mountain. The temple was so quiet and peaceful. Our dear friend sealed me to my mom and dad. Gratitude flooded my heart for my mom and dad and all that they have taught me and continue to teach me.  I left that that little suitcase in that sealing room. There was no longer a need to unpack it, it was no longer mine.

Peace was possible it just needed 15 years to find a home in my heart.

That Sunday morning phone call was fifteen years ago today. I miss her and can't wait to get to know her again someday.

Healing continues to always be possible.

Magic Legs

It was a hard decision. Getting AFO's (ankle foot orthoses) after more than thirty years of make every effort possible to ignore the fact that I have cerebral palsy. I don't actually remember a step in my life without pain, but I had an amazing ability to mostly ignore it. So it worked. Until I hit forty.

The last four or five years, the pain progressed to nearly excruciating, each step brought agony and finally the (medicated) courage  to seek help.

I figured they'd give me some grandma shoes and some Advil. Turns out there was much more need, my feet and ankles were messed up. Thanks Cerebral Palsy. Bilateral foot drop, a torn tendon and a degenerative tendon issue to start.... You are such a FALL risk. I heard repeatedly. Safety sold me, AFOs would provide balance and stability and probably save me from serious injury from falling......

Wearing them the first few days I felt like the Tin-man and Forrest Gump's love-child. So awkward, so obvious, and the stupid stairs (and stares) and the hard questions. (What's wrong with you???)  I wondered if I'd made a mistake. Give it a few days....


Within that first week I realized something. It no longer hurt to walk. No pain. Each step solid. I haven't tripped once wearing them. Grateful triumph.

I'm still figuring out stairs and have to use the handrail. People's questions are sometimes too personal and I still can't find pants that will fit over top of them. But I. Don't. Care! I love my new legs and the gift of freedom they have given me. My magic legs and I have become fast friends.


Even a few months ago these answers seemed like an impossible leap of faith. Trusting them brought the ability to leap again. (okay more like hop, but I'll so take it) The lesson here is not lost on me.

And I think this may be my new favorite scripture:

Isiah 40:31  But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.