When God showed up.

Is it me that shows up, or is it God in me that shows up?

I would be remiss to not document the epic nature of this day. Remember, Thursday (two days ago) was round two of my steroid shots. And on Thursday (two days ago) I could barely stand. And here it is, Saturday. And this is what happened today:

I spent the morning with God. Like every morning in the past two weeks. This, in itself, has been an epic and essential part of my life. It's a joke that I try to maintain a relationship with God when I don't give Him any of my time. Anyone else in my life would have moved on by now. Some have. And who could blame them?

As I was writing in my journal this morning about my physical struggle, God put it in my heart to toss all my junk food out. All of it. So I did. Anything questionable in my house that was impeding my progress was purged. That was amazing.

God showed up.

Mid-morning I went down to NC State to have lunch with the Wizard. Now if you don't know her, you are really missing out. All the while, my leg feels stronger, my back felt loser, and my heart felt fuller. Yeah, fuller.

Do I dare try a workout? I did dare. And I was so...nervous. I have felt defeated, watching myself gain weight back and not be able to control it. Watching my progress turn to regress is heartbreaking. I got on the bike and started pedaling.

And then, God showed up again. In the form of my friend Nancy who works out at the Y frequently, walks with a cane, and never fails to smack my perspective back in line. I said a simple hello to Nancy, but what I really wanted to say is: "you INSPIRE me. Every single day that I see you, and I don't tell you that enough."

So I biked. And I did an upper body workout, and I have never, ever felt so grateful for my hands. And my feet. And the ability to walk. And strength. And progress and struggle and all points in between. Because amidst the peaks and valleys, no matter where I am, God shows up.

I know SO many of you prayed for my healing. I cannot thank you enough. I am overwhelmed with gratitude, and humbled by your love for me. Because of you, God showed up.

It's time for me to start showing up for God a little more.

-Liz

Dear Diary. Daily.

Every day. Every single day.

Yesterday was round 2 of steroid injections. And I was all "Hey, this will be no big deal! Last time it was actually kind of fun!"

I am so naive.

This time, Dr. Bhat got me. And he got me good. Was he mad at me? Bad morning at the golf course? Obamacare got him down? Whatever it was, he took it out on me, and my bare butt (yeah he's seen my beautiful booty twice now and has yet to buy me a meal) on that x-ray table.

Someone asked me what it felt like. You know that sensation when you might accidentally chew tin foil and it hits a filling? (note: who "accidentally chews tin foil'? Me. But it happened more when I was a kid. So I am not sure what my parents were feeding me?

Or what about the feeling when you get a paper cut? But not an ordinary paper cut. This paper cut is from the lip of a manilla envelope and it's in the webbing of your hand or something.

Or if your knee cap momentarily slips out of its home and you were like "what the heck just happened to my body?"

So yeah, add those three things together and multiply them by 5 or so...it's a math problem. A painful one.

But I also said to the doctor and nurse "This hurts WAY more than last time! So that means it's going to work!" I didn't get the resounding high fives I was looking for. I think they were just appeasing me. But I am excited nonetheless.

I am up this morning, and I feel less numbness in my leg. Great sign. I can put more weight on my left leg. Great sign. I have more hope than ever. Great sign.

I do feel like God has said to me "Why has it taken this debilitating injury to get some time with you?" He's right. So I have been practicing that art of surrender and purposefully writing in my journal every morning, THANKING Him for this. Not for causing this (because He didn't...deadlifts did) but for using the pain for good. Beauty out of brokenness. And at the end of each entry I tell him that I love him and I ask for one thing: "God, please heal my body."

Because I know God can. And God will. Stay tuned...

-Liz

Jamaica tomorrow. Not a cruise. A mission.

Tomorrow I am leading a team of 16 to Jamaica to work with My Father's House ministries in Whitehouse, Westmoreland, Jamaica. I am feeling...unequipped.

I am not sure why God, throughout history, has used broken people to change the world, but He has. All through the bible I read about people who weren't ready, who made huge mistakes, who were outlaws, outcasts, and ousted by others, but God chose them.

And on this day, over 2000 years ago, God chose to walk alongside us as a baby, of all things. And a baby to an unwed mother. Not in an elaborate king's chambers, but in a manger. In a barn, surrounded by donkeys, filthy and cold.

Right now, I sit on a king size bed in my parents' house in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania surrounded by beautiful things. Tomorrow, I will stand in the middle of an impoverished country surrounded by beautiful people.

"So the last will be first, and the first will be last."

I would love your prayer for our week in Jamaica. I would love your prayer that I would get out of the way and let God use me. I would love your prayer that I would choose God and His will above me and my will. Because my will is freaking STRONG and I tend to make situations all about me, even when I don't mean to.

That's how deep my pride goes. Good thing God runs deeper.

-Liz