I’ve not been consistent with blogging since I got my voice back. It’s just been fits and starts and little runs here and there. Being able to talk allows me to be fully engaged in life apart from the computer. Then there’s facebook. For an instant gratification girl like me, facebook has been easier to keep up with.
Back in June I dug out a journal I started while at Elysa’s house in Mississippi (who I’m going to Africa with) in October 2008. It was the night before Lisa’s Memorial Service (I wrote about her here, she killed herself). I wrote in it a few times between then and June of 2009. I decided I was going to start writing in it again and read through it. I was stunned. I was not in a good place in June of 2009. My husband was worried about me and wanting my anti-depressants increased. I’d been on them since the spring of 2008, when I was so distraught over our daughter running away. I wrote that I was worried too. I remember last summer waking up in the mornings and thinking, “God please help me.” It was the only prayer I was then capable of.
The first Sunday in September we made a church switch. Our church was much too large and I could never communicate with anyone there. We decided to try a much smaller church. I had had an epiphany prior to this that while I thought there was something that could be done for my voice I continued on as I would have with a voice. I still participated in as much as I could even though it was hard. When my doctor said nothing more could be done for me I just laid down. I decided I needed to accept my lot and get back to being me. Without telling anyone I started weaning myself off of the anti-depressants.
So much happened this last year… I was so intent on putting one foot in front of the other that I didn’t realize how far I had come. Reading through those entries in that journal was like hiking up a mountain and being so focused on how far I had yet to go but then having my breath taken away by turning around and seeing where I’d been.
In January I posted here about how I ended up with my new doctor in Denver. What I didn’t post about was when I first got involved with the ministry to the homeless on Saturday mornings. I showed up with a sign pinned to my jacket that said, “My name is Kelly, I have wacky vocal cords, I’m not sick.” Below that I had Jesus and You with a big red heart in between. Yeah, I know, cheeeeeeeeeeeeezey.
I walked around with a pad and paper and introduced myself to those in line. We serve breakfast outside near a park and it was bitterly cold that day. A church had set up one of those collapsible open sided tents for people to go under for prayer. I walked over to introduce myself and when the lady I spoke to read my sign she promptly drug me to the center of the tent to be prayed over first. This group was more charismatic than I am comfortable with but I just went with it. I even thought, “Hey God, if you want to heal me this way, go right ahead!” A little crowd gathered round and hands were laid on me. I prayed along with them for awhile. They were looking for a miracle and kept asking me to just start talking. I’d try… someone would say I sounded better… someone would ask me if I believe God can heal me… someone would say I need to just let go and let God. Sigh.
As if I hadn’t prayed a thousand times over the 5 years I’d been dealing with Spasmodic Dysphonia. One of them even said that by my saying I had SD I had given it power over me.
What a load of CRAP.
I got away from them as soon as I could without making a scene and went back to writing notes to the homeless people. They started praying over a guy in a wheel chair. After some time there was an uproar and the guy in the wheel chair stood up and faltered through some steps. Two guys in front of me looked at each other and one of them said, “Ugh, so it begins.” The man who was now walking was from their church and no one knew him so they weren’t buying it. I stood there confused. Yes, they were super charismatic but I didn’t think they were liars. I didn’t know what to think.
I continued on my way and at the end of the line was a very tall black man. He read my sign and then looked in my eyes. Most of the homeless that I’ve come in contact with do not make direct eye contact right off so he had my attention. He then said, “Can I ask you a question.” Of course, I said yes.
“Do you believe God can heal you?”
Oh Good Lord! I was highly annoyed and I’m sure he got that. I told him yes, but that obviously God has chosen NOT to. Still holding my gaze he asked me if he could pray for me. I said yes and he put his hand on my shoulder and turned me toward the mountains.
I wish so much I could remember the words he said. It was like poetry and all I could think was, who is this guy? Has he been to Seminary or something? When he was done he again looked very intently into my eyes and said, “I don’t know how or when but, God is going to heal you.”
I believed him.
Of course, I was thinking someday in the future through adult stem cells or something along those lines. It was only a couple weeks later that I was talking through the same treatment I’d been getting all along but through a different technique and a new doctor.
I’ve never seen that guy since. I’ve asked about him but no one knows him. Of course, my Christian family members and friends all think he was an angel. I really don’t know what to think. Maybe…
Interestingly, his name was Edmund. That gets to me a bit. In 2006, I wrote a VBS curriculum for our church using the Narnia DVD. When I was a kid I loved the Chronicles of Narnia and read them again and again. In fact, I remember lying in bed and wishing so much that Aslan was real and that he would come for me. I didn’t know the author was a Christian. I didn’t know that the story contained biblical principles. I just responded to what Aslan represented. For those not familiar with the story, Edmund was a child that Aslan laid down his life for.
Whatever that encounter with Edmund was it shook me.
To be continued…