On the Yellow Brick Road

Most of the time, I have more ideas for blog posts rolling around in my head than I could ever put on paper, even if blogging were my full-time job. Lately, though, it's been kind of quiet in my head.

I think that's because it's quiet in my heart....finally. 

I'm not okay with having Parkinson's and I'll never stop fighting it. But I am okay with surrendering what happens in my life today to God's control. If I still have Parkinson's, it's because in some way, He will get glory from it, or I will learn discipline from it....or both. I'm only fooling myself if I think I can somehow wrest control of my own life from Him. He willingly gives me that control, and somehow, then, I think I've accomplished it on my own.

It reminds me of a time my brother and I decided to run away from home. I was about nine years old, and he must have been around six. We lived deep in the country in a house with no indoor bathroom, situated on a gravel road with no traffic. We were playing outside one day, and decided it would be fun to run away from home. We weren't mad about anything (that came later in our teen years when we were mad about everything!), we were just looking for adventure. We went inside and started packing things to take. My young mother, wise beyond her years, asked what we were doing, and, innocently, we told her. She said, "Would you like to take a lunch with you?" and proceeded to make PBJ sandwiches, packing them, along with cookies and some other snack items, neatly in a bag for our trip.

We collected our things and started out, having absolutely no idea where we were headed, but with lunches safely tucked in hand. Our family owned 11 acres at that time, and our property was long with a great deal of road frontage. We started out shuffling through the gravel on our road, and, after what seemed like an eternity, we finally passed the fence that separated our property from the next. We kept walking, losing a little more of the joy of the journey with each step. We couldn't have gone more than a quarter mile before we looked at each other and one of us said something like, "You wanna go back home and play? 'Cause I don't really know where we're going anyway." And that's exactly what we did.

My mother never lost sight of us. We were never really in control, though she let us think we were. She wasn't wringing her hands, surprised and distressed by our running away. She simply let us make our own decision, in her wisdom knowing all along what the end result would be.

Sometimes when I kick and scream, I think God "packs my lunch" and sends me on my way, knowing that I have nowhere to go but back to Him. He's not surprised, He hasn't suddenly lost control, He hasn't lost sight of me or abandoned me. He's just waiting for me to be still; for me to stop kicking and screaming; for me to come back  home.

Since my diagnosis almost 3 years ago, I've always wanted to be one of those people who said things like, "I'm actually grateful for having Parkinson's, because without it, I would never have  _____ ." Instead, I always felt like I was dragged kicking and screaming into the disease. I was always mad about it. I almost thought the people who said they were grateful for their experience must be lying.... except for the fact that they were, indeed, peaceful.

Well, I can tell you that I'm not yet glad to be here, but I think I've stopped kicking and screaming. My heart is quiet, my soul is at rest, my spirit is willing, I'm encouraged. Every day I expect my symptoms to be better. When they aren't, then I know it's because God is at work doing something I cannot even imagine.

I told Joshua and Yolanda at the Life Wellness Center last week, "I don't have to get to Oz today. It's enough to know that I'm on the Yellow Brick Road."

Think of the story that would have been lost if Dorothy had found Emerald City in the first scene of the show, or the first chapter of the book.

God, give me patience as You write my story. Make me content in the chapter You're writing today.