Saying Yes to No

You may remember Breathe Festival from previous posts. It's about time I tell you what happened this past summer at Breathe.

I've liked creating stories since I was a kid. And in high school, I really got into writing fiction. Throughout my undergrad studies, writing was my foremost hobby. By early 2014, I had finished two novels, and a number of short stories, all unpublished. And leading up to Breathe, I was planning out a new story, one that I felt (and still feel) had the greatest potential to take me from being a hobby writer to published one.

But here's the thing: I spent lots of time thinking about writing. I would think about it at work, during class, during sermons, on car trips, and while falling asleep at night. I would meticulously plan what I was going to write the next time I sat down at the computer. When I saw people who were out of work or had otherwise lost their sense of meaning in life, I told myself that that would never be me, because I would always have my stories, my personal writing projects to give me meaning. Even if society collapsed into chaos, I would still be able to write, so I would still be okay.

When I went to Breathe this summer, they had a breakout session about self-denial, which sounded interesting. I went to it, and the guy recommended each of us take some time during the weekend to ask God "What's wrong with me?" I did that during worship after the following sermon, and I tried to be open to any answer that He might give. In doing so, I had such a visceral reaction against the mere possibility that God might be telling that I needed to give up writing, that this finally registered as a problem.

If God truly is King of my life, then if he says no to something, I need to as well. If I never write another piece of fiction in my life, if I never write another word, that has to be okay.

And I knew in that moment was that this was not okay. Not by a long shot.

So I had a choice: I either had to turn my back on God, or say yes to God's no.

Immediately, I knew I had made the right choice. As worship continued around me, I felt that - for the first time in my life - there were no idols between myself and God. I was able to worship with full abandon, in Spirit and in Truth. It was incredibly liberating.

Those of you who write for a living are probably going to have a hard time understanding this. (You probably also wouldn't believe me if I told you that I actually enjoy writing, but I do). But this isn't about writing. That was my idol, but it likely isn't yours. This was something that I was hoping in, counting on, before and above God.

And so I gave up writing fiction. An indefinite fast. And when you fast from something indefinitely, there's not really any fun in fantasizing about it anymore. So the obsessive patterns of thought have been breaking down. And with this idol out of the way, I've been growing. (More on that next time).

I sincerely believe that God will call me out of my fast someday, to use the talents He has put in me; but whenever, if ever, that may happen, I'm learning to be content.

Timing

Five years ago today, a doctor phoned my parents’ house to tell them that the results of the MRI were in: I had a “mass” in my spinal cord. And given how rapidly my symptoms had developed, it seemed to be growing very quickly.

It was spring of my senior year. Five months prior, I had started dating Alexandra, my first and only girlfriend. I was cast as Nathan Detroit in my high school’s production of Guys and Dolls. I was taking two Advanced Placement classes. Prom and Senior Trip and Graduation were two months away.

And there was something growing in my neck. I had numbness on my abdomen, pins-and-needles sensations on various parts of my body, and my right leg was weak enough that I was starting to limp noticeably.

The day after the phone call, the doctor gave me some of the best news I could have hoped for: it wasn’t cancer. It was a cluster of malformed blood vessels called a cavernous angioma. The blood vessels had hemorrhaged, and the pooling blood put pressure on my spinal cord, which is why the symptoms had appeared so quickly. Given that 85% of the diameter of my spinal cord was the angioma, the surgeon was a little surprised I was even capable of walking.

I kept a journal during that time. Here’s an excerpt:

The question “Why me?” is not one that I’ve felt like asking much up to this point, March thirtieth. More what I have been asking is “Why now?” though not so explicitly. Of all the times to need a surgery, spring of senior year is one of the most inconvenient.

I had two options. I could have the surgery as soon as possible. But the projected recovery time overlapped with just about everything I was looking forward to. And the most likely thing I would miss was the musical, which was the most important to me.

Alternatively, I could wait until summer to have it removed. I would probably be able to do all the things I was looking forward to. But there was also a risk that between then and the surgery, the angioma would bleed again, leaving behind more permanent damage.

I didn’t want to sacrifice all the things I was looking forward to about my senior year, but when I laid it all out, there really was only one option that made any sense.

But weighing the potential risks, and how lasting their consequences against the temporary satisfaction of today’s events, the choice becomes clear; indeed, putting it on paper, it is not possible to spin it any other way. But yet when it finally comes to turning the theory into reality, letting eternity have direct and immediate consequence on the present, things become significantly more difficult. And yet it is the clearest, best, most sensible option.

And I believe that God has granted a strength in me I didn’t know I had, for even taking time to reflect on what I’ll miss out on, I did not even cry as I expected I would. He truly is faithful to give me the strength that I need now. I don’t think I could bear paralysis, but I trust that if that’s His plan, He’ll uphold me. He has daily given me what I need even when unable to avoid staring the truth in its now-unpleasant face. He will continue to do so. May He grace those around me with it as well.

I chose to have the surgery right away. Leading up to it, the surgeon told me on multiple occasions that there was a small chance, very small, that I could be paralyzed from the chest down. I remember waking up from the anesthesia – though the memory is terribly hazy – and moving my left foot (the one relatively unaffected by the angioma) and saying “Hey, I’m not paralyzed!” Despite the fog created by the sedatives, you can imagine my excitement. The nurse said that was good and asked if I was able to move the other foot. It was much weaker, so I was little reluctant, but I moved it.

They kept me on a regimen of steroids to try and mitigate the swelling. It was weeks before I could sleep more than a few hours each night. That, coupled with not attending school, meant incredible loneliness. I wrestled through depression for a short time. I remember lying on the bed in the spare bedroom, staring at the ceiling, thinking literally about nothing. I was uncomfortable, but I didn’t move, because the past month had taught me that the discomfort was purely due to the angioma and moving only helped for a few seconds; it simply wasn’t worth the effort.

But I went to physical therapy and over the next two months I was blessed with the opportunity to resume my part in the musical, score as good as I’d hoped on the AP tests, go on my senior trip, and attend prom and graduation. In short, I didn’t miss any of the things I thought that I would by choosing not to wait until summer for the surgery.

Now I’m twenty-three, married, in graduate school. Looking back – both at what I wrote and what I recall – I don’t think I fully appreciated at the time just how crazy that experience was. And while it might seem like my recovery was little short of a miracle, what really blows me away about that time of my life was my attitude throughout the experience. Yes, there were moments when I felt alone – I remember one experience in particular when I was so absorbed in my own fear that I let go of all trust in God – but on the whole, my reactions are hard for even me to believe. Before I found out that the mass was an angioma and not cancer, I wrote this:

But thank the Lord He’s written my story in advance. I know that at the end of this, I’ll be closer to Him, I’ll be a better man. What more do I need to know? What more could I ask for? My Father who loves me is in control. Praise His holy name.

I greatly doubt I would react that way now.

There are three things that made that reaction possible. First and foremost is grace: I am convinced that God was bolstering me with the strength I needed every day, like manna. The second is youth: I think I was still young enough then to be just a little foolhardy about the whole thing. And the last is a strong belief in the sovereignty of God impressed upon be during the preceding six years at Riverside Bible Church.

Prior to attending Riverside, I lacked assurance. And since graduating from High School, I’ve gained a more healthy respect for my own mortality. But between gaining that assurance and that respect for mortality was a window of time when something crazy could happen, and I could react how I did. Perhaps God’s timing wasn’t so inconvenient; perhaps it was good after all.

Come to think of it, there were so many things that got me through. When I was lying awake night after night in the hospital, what got me through was eager anticipation for day to arrive so I could see Alexandra. And when I was lying around day after day at hon, it was homework for AP classes that forced me to engage (“strength must be won by strength”). And when I didn’t want to go to physical therapy, I remember my mom giving me a much-needed verbal kick in the pants, asking if I really wanted to get back on stage for my final show. And when I didn’t want to follow up on physical therapy at home, the desire to go to prom and graduation and senior trip helped to motivate me. If I had waited until summer, what would have pushed me forward?

And you remember that the surgeon was surprised that I could walk given the state of my spine? Had I not just finished my fifth season of cross country and set the school record for the 5K, my legs might have been too weak to walk at all.

So it wasn’t just good timing; it was perfect timing.

Musings Related to That Story You're Probably Tired of Hearing by Now

So, first, a little piece of that story I don't think I mentioned the first time around. Right after I prayed for Greg at Breathe Festival 2012, he told me that things might have felt better, but he wasn't completely sure. About that time, I felt like I heard God say "Don't stop asking" (and for those of you who've never had an experience where you've heard something from God, it's about as odd as it sounds).

Anyway, I thought at the time that that meant "Don't stop asking for healing for Greg," even after Breathe was over. So I kept praying for him for several weeks. But when I talked to Greg at Breath 2013, he seemed to think it happened right then and there during Breathe 2012. So that got me thinking, if he was already healed in July, why would God have me keep praying for him through August?

It seriously took me until a few weeks ago (and Breathe 2013 was in July), to think of a good answer to that question: maybe He didn't mean "Don't stop asking for healing for Greg," but rather "Don't stop asking for healing." Period. As in never. As in "Don't stop asking for me to do what I've now show you that I can and am willing to do."

But that's not easy. Especially because that whole experience almost seems like a dream. Like it didn't really happen, or didn't happen to me. Like it was just a story, and not a real experience. Like it was a one-time thing that won't ever happen again. I asked for healing a number of times since then, but quite honestly, I'm filled with doubt that God really wants to use me again. And worse, each time nothing happens, I feel like I'm letting Him down with my lack of faith, like it's my fault they're not healed. Like I need to do more.

And I know God is not a force, but a person. He is not made to do my bidding through the incantations of nice-sounding words and "a sincere heart." No. Those miraculous blessings are gifts. We receive them because we ask, and we are His children, and He loves us. That's all. It's that simple, and I know that. Or at least I think I do.

But I feel like I'm doing something wrong.

And I'm getting discouraged.

That Story I Already Posted: Now In Video Form!

So, back in July I wrote a post called It's Just Like Me about this crazy experience I had. Anyway, here is a video to me telling an abbreviated version of that same story. Yeah, I know, it's kind of a cop-out of a post, but I felt like I should share it anyhow.

Order and Chaos

LEARNING is a way of making order in the mind out of chaos in the world.
WORKING is a way of making order in the world out of chaos in the world.
CREATING is a way of making order in the world out of chaos in the mind.
REFLECTING is a way of making order in the mind out of chaos in the mind.

Honduras Aquaponics

 This May, I was not with the rest of the 2013 class at OSU receiving my BS in Mechanical Engineering; I was in a rural village in Honduras.

As a graduating senior this past school year, I had a capstone project. I chose the multidisciplinary capstone, which simply means that not all of my teammates were mechanical engineers, and we received a more interesting project.

There were six of us, and not one of us knew much about aquaponics (I for one had never heard of it). But we read a book about it learned that it's a way of growing fish and plants together such that the fish provide nutrients for the plants, and the plants clean the water for the fish (with the help of some bacteria).

By February we had designed a system that we could build out of materials locally available in Honduras (no easy task). We built a prototype on OSU's west campus in March and got it up and running with fish and plants. As May approached, we were fairly confident we would be able to build a working system in Honduras.

Of the six team members, three weren't able to go to Honduras due to prior obligations and visa troubles. The three remaining team members, our faculty project advisor and a translator departed on the first Saturday in May. Graduation was on Sunday.

We faced a number of hurdles, not the least of which were several bouts of traveller's diarrhea, one case of heat exhaustion, and procuring gravel (which we had been assured from the start would not be a problem). In addition, the plastic liner of the fish pond had a hole (which we didn't realize until it was partially full). Then when we got the new liner, we inspected it, found no holes and filled it... only to realize that it was leaking, too! Ultimately we just patched the original liner.

However, we also received immense help from the Overholts, who are missionaries down there and who graciously shuttled us and all our building materials from the hotel to the worksite and back. But what blew me away was the help we got from Carlos, on whose land we were building the system, and the other residents of Siete de Mayo (the village). When we started digging, they grabbed a shovel. Within our first two days there, they taught us a considerable amount about how we would build the system. As we worked together, they asked us questions about how the system was going to work, what they would need to do to maintain it, what they could grow in it, etc. Before we were remotely close to finishing, one man in the village even asked us how he could get on in his land, telling us he had the money to buy it. Their help and enthusiasm for the project has me convinced that they won't allow the system to go the way of so many humanitarian endeavors and break down, but will maintain the system and possibly even spread the idea of aquaponics. We really couldn't have asked for better people to build it for.

Mid-May we planted beans and cucumbers (among other things). Partway through July, Carlos began harvesting full-grown cucumbers and beans (for those of you who don't garden, that's pretty quick for a non-commercial setup). And given that the temperature and hours of daylight don't vary widely during the year, they should be able to continue growing vegetables at that pace (provided they are able to keep it filled with water during the dry season, October to May).

Since then, I personally (not to mention my teammates) have been contacted by more than one person about doing more projects related to aquaponics. I'm so excited about what the future may hold!

Lifeguarding and Car Accidents

There are car accidents on our corner ALL THE TIME.

The people coming down our street get to the 2-way stop, and can't see the cross-traffic (which doesn't stop, as it says just below the stop sign). So instead, many people just gun it and hope for the best. Most of the time this works. Most of the time.

In the two years we've been in this townhouse, I've been on the scene of probably five accidents at this intersection, and heard of several others from the other folks who live in the area.

Case in point: Tuesday morning, I went out on my porch in the morning before work to soak up some fresh air. I'd been out there no more than a minute when I heard screeching tires. I looked over to see a taxi smashing into the side of a red sedan.

Immediately, I threw on some shoes and then ran over to see if anyone was hurt. Per usual - and thankfully - no one was. After that, I went back inside to get some water bottles from the fridge, placed there for just such occasions (which just goes to show again how often these accidents occur).

Anyway, I was thinking about that situation later that day. How was I able to jump into action instantly when I saw the crash? I don't know about most people, but I think my natural reaction to something like that would be to wait for a minute, deciding whether it's my problem to worry about.

But I was a lifeguard for several years. And as a lifeguard, you're trained to jump into action instantly, to run toward the danger.

Being a lifeguard is certainly not as dramatic as being a firefighter or EMT or anything, but in some ways, I think it requires the most diligence focus, the most readiness, and an unusual kind of decisiveness. EMTs and firefighters get a call; something very obvious says, "GO RIGHT NOW."

As a lifeguard, on the other hand, your sign to jump into action is often both far subtler and much more ambiguous: a dark area on the bottom of the a crowded pool; someone who is swimming laps, but instead of being horizontal in the water, they're somewhat diagonal. And if you're not fully alert and diligently watching, you'll miss these things.

And then you have to make your own call; at every moment you are deciding whether what you're seeing indicates that it's time to jump into action. And the time between the warning sign and the moment you must to make the decision to jump, you have at most a few seconds. There's no time to ask, "Is that person in the area of the pool I'm watching, or is the other guard supposed to cover them?"

You just go.

And while the opportunities to jump during my daily life are far less frequent than they are as a lifeguard, they do happen. And as someone who has the training (First Aid, CPR, etc.), I think I want to be the kind of person who fosters that readiness and decisiveness, a visceral inclination to run toward the danger. So even though no one is usually hurt on my corner, it's the perfect training ground for when the warning sign of real need appears.