Seek...and ye shall find?

I'm actively pursuing a diagnosis again...and it's so exhausting. It just drains me emotionally, mentally, and physically. It's this crazy stew of emotions, all swirling together, constantly at the forefront of my mind. It makes it hard to focus on anything else or just be able to relax. Anxiety, hope, pessimism, anger, frustration....there's just so much there, because it's been so long (almost 15 years)....and I just want to know what's wrong with me.

For a few years, I stopped caring (or at least told myself I didn't care) about getting a diagnosis, because it's so wearying, the cycle of  having tests proposed, getting the blood drawn, then waiting....waiting...waiting for the results to come back and finding out they're negative yet again.

And the doctors and other medical people I've dealt with, in general, just don't care that much and suck at following up. I have to hound them, over and over again, to get any kind of response back. That's why I'm done dealing with the Muscular Dystrophy Association Clinic (which is a whole post on its own). They are absolute crap at follow-up unless you badger them multiple times. It was very evident that I wasn't seen as a human being, with feelings and worries, full of pain and questions; I was a combination of symptoms that didn't fit nicely into an easy diagnosis, a blood test, a research project, something to think about in a distant and academic way. Their genetic counselor seems to act like she only has to talk to me when I go in for my yearly visit, even though she has all my contact info. She doesn't update you on anything--it's just radio silence for months and months. Supposedly they were having issues with the lab that runs some of their blood tests this last year, but she never bothered to let me know. And then she just "forgot" to call or email me with the results. I didn't even know the lab results were back until I got a bill for it! How hard is it to send a simple email? There was only ever one, ONE! doctor I was seen by at the MDA clinic that made me feel cared for and considered as a person...and he recently left.

I have no desire to be handed off to another academic, research paper oriented doctor who could care less about the patient in front of him. I never got any advice from the MDA on how to actually live with my illness, besides one nurse telling me to take an obscene amount of ibuprofen every day. One doctor said, "Well, you're not nearly as bad off as my other patients," as if that somehow meant I didn't need to seek physical therapy or other treatments to improve my quality of life because I wasn't incapacitated and severely disabled. I was never given any advice or suggestions on ways to maintain my muscle strength or energy levels. It was just tests, tests and more tests, and sometimes having to wait more than a year, let me repeat, MORE THAN A YEAR, to get back results from tests that take maybe a few weeks to do.

I was so turned off by the way I was treated by the MDA that I just shut off for a while. I couldn't take the emotional roller coaster anymore. I didn't even want to go to the regular doctor unless I was sick with something easily fixed, like an ear infection or something. The emotional strain is so hard, and doctors just don't get that. I am the one watching my body fall apart bit by bit, I am the one living with fatigue and pain, I am the one worried about the future (What if I wind up in a wheelchair? What work can I do that won't exhaust me? How can I have kids if I'm this tired and weak all the time? etc, etc), I am the one who has to live with it all day in and day out. And it can be so weighty and just overwhelming at times.

I have been struggling a lot emotionally since last summer. I have been feeling really, really down about being sick over the last several months. I have cried with Colin on multiple occasions and shared with him how utterly lonely and overwhelming it can be some days. It just feels sometimes like no one cares, that I am utterly alone in my desire to find out what the hell is wrong with me, that I am just another appointment the doctor crosses off their list for the day.

And I tried to not care for awhile, to put all those emotions away, but it just keeps coming back: I want a name to put to all these symptoms. I. Just. Want. To. Know.

I don't want a pat on the head and to be sent on my way, told that at least I'm not as bad off as other patients. I don't want to be told to keep waiting and waiting, and maybe someday someone somewhere will get around to figuring out what's wrong with me. I don't want to keep being told what I don't have. I don't want to hear any more academic jargon that just describes my symptoms (I live with it every day, I know what my symptoms are, thankyouverymuch). I don't want to be dismissed, as if I don't have any insight to offer because I don't have MD after my name. I don't want answers to questions I didn't ask or care about.

I want a little compassion, some empathy, acknowledgement that I am a living, breathing human being who has been struggling along for almost 15 years now with no clue as to what is making my body slowly but surely fall apart. That even though I keep hitting wall after wall, I have kept trying to find an answer.

And now, maybe, a lead of some kind. I'm trying so hard to not get my hopes up about this, but I'm going to get tested for celiac disease in a couple weeks. I have been doing a lot of research on celiac recently, and have discovered that people with unexplained neuropathy (which is what I have) should get tested, as a certain percentage of people will have celiac disease. (thank you, Celiac Disease Center for helpful and accurate info!) My younger brother, Andrew, and my grandma both have celiac, which puts me at a strong likelihood of also having it.

I can't let myself get too excited, because it could all come back negative yet again. But I so hope that this is it. That finally, finally! I will have an answer, a diagnosis, the reason for why I have been sick for so long. Yeah, switching to eating gluten free would be inconvenient at first, but I would be more than willing to make the change if that's what has been making me sick all these years. I will also be spitting mad at the MDA, because that's such an easy thing to test for.

Fingers crossed, I will know in a few weeks.

Searching for something to say

I've pretty much given up blogging regularly for over a year now. Over the years I have started and abandoned more blogs than I care to count. I always start strong, but grow discouraged and give up. I'll read the stuff I've posted from a while back and be amazed at what I've written. Was that really me? I typed that insight with such clarity? Where did I find the words? It's like reading the musings of a different person. I feel so inept at conveying what's in my head. I look back at those old posts and marvel...wondering from what depths I drew.

And then there's always something in me that says I don't have anything worth sharing anyways. That my voice is not unique. That I am merely throwing my words out into the wind of the Web with no impact. So even if I come up with something particularly insightful, who will actually read it? Like a grain of sand on a beach, who is going to be able to see that one speck amidst all the others? What's the point of putting in the effort?

Also, I'm lazy. I lack motivation to sit down and write. I have every intention of posting something new...but Facebook, DeviantArt, Etsy, some interesting time suck of a site distracts me. And then it's been a week, a month, a year, over a year....and it's been so long why should I even bother?

And yet....there's something else in me that pushes me to write, to hit the "Publish" button, to share my new creation with the world. I put it out there, hoping that maybe someone will come along and read and be changed for the better.

I don't know, but I'm going to try. To struggle to gather my thoughts. To make the effort to write them down. To post something, anything. I don't want to abandon yet another project.

God's Grace

This was a note I wrote on Facebook back in December, but it's been a train of thought for me again of late, so I thought I'd share it here:

I  was looking back through my timeline this morning, remembering the drama and craziness of college. Reminiscing about the people who have passed through my life for a season and I no longer keep in touch with, and also the ones who remain dear friends whether near or far.
Skimming through highlights of my life from the past seven years is strange--I forget so quickly the struggles, the times of tears, carrying a wounded spirit and a broken heart. And it's just as easy to forget the joys, the bright moments, the times of happiness and fun, and maturing into someone new. My time in college has started to blur together, and I have to remind myself that those three and a half years were a huge turning point in my life.
I went through a lot and came out the other side a better person, stronger, wiser, more sure of who I am in God. I don't want to forget how good God has been to me, how He walked with me as I went through counseling, challenged me to listen to Him over stupid people, called me to return to Him when I'd messed up, and just loved me where I was.
I'm thankful that He never gave up on me, even though I can be so stubborn and have a thick skull to get through. There were times where God pretty much had to beat me over the head repeatedly for me to be like, "Uh, I think you might be trying to tell me something, Lord?" I'm glad He's more stubborn and patient than I am!
The thing I am most thankful for is that I found my voice. I felt like I had no story, no great purpose to my life--I couldn't see how God was working. But looking back now, I can definitely see it. He was there, when I was a super shy freshman, when I went through an unhealthy relationship for two years, when I was figuring out being an artist, when I was juggling working full time and finishing school, and just figuring out how to be an adult. I couldn't see it at the time, being so caught up in the day to day of life.
But I'm starting to see how He has been directing my life, guiding my uncertain steps, leading me towards something good. And now I'm beginning a new chapter in my life. Not just getting married, though that's huge, but also stepping into new opportunities, accepting new challenges, considering new ideas and ways of doing things, and being open to God's leading down new roads. I don't want to let myself get hung up on the past, staying in a rut and not growing as a person. God wants more from me, I can feel it....and I'm willing to follow Him, to be open and willing to grow into a woman after His own heart (whatever that looks like). 

A funny thing happened on the way to being an art superstar

Well, well, well, look who's back! Good grief, I can't believe I haven't posted anything on here since last summer! That's what happens, I guess, when you have chronic fatigue, a huge energy suck of a job, and then start seriously dating someone. There really wasn't much of me to spare. I prioritized the things I felt were most important, or that I had to focus on, and just let everything else go for a while. (I've barely made any art worth noting either. A few collages and sketches, but nothing I felt like sharing.)

As my priorities were shifting over the last 8 months, I realized that my idea of what success is has changed. A few years ago, I was willing to sacrifice relationships and a social life to focus on "my art." That was all that mattered to me, especially after I came out of an unhealthy relationship towards the end of college. I would squeeze in as much art making as possible into my days, whether before work for just a few minutes or staying up a few more hours once I got home. My heart had been burned, and I found solace in the quietness of artistic creation. I was content to fill my free time with playing in my art space.

But then along came Colin, and my world was turned on its head. He won my heart, helped me to see that being a successful artist isn't the most worthwhile thing to pursue, and is just generally encouraging me to be a better person. His influence on my life, from his quiet thoughtfulness to the way he calls me out on my issues without realizing it to observing his heart to serve and help others, has been transformative. I'm still amazed that I caught his attention. Colin has been so huge in helping me to see what true success is, and it has nothing to do with selling lots of paintings or creating a popular blog.

This changes everything!

As my life has completely changed over the last month (quit my job, got married, moved out of my parents' home, renting my first apartment and learning what it means to be a wife), it seems like a good time to solidify new priorities and resurrect dormant ideas and projects. Just today, I submitted a book proposal and started seriously exploring and figuring out how to make a line of jewelry I want to create. And I hope to begin posting semi-regularly on here again, though it is strange to realize that my name is actually different now (it's Morley not Preble anymore).

Grateful

Life can change so quickly for the better.
I was sitting here and it just hit me how blessed I am right now. Awed gratitude is the only response that I can give to God. Flowery praise and poignant prose really can't do it justice. I am blown away at God's goodness and grace. For some reason it's really hitting me tonight.

Within the last week or two, I have realized that God was preparing me 10 years ago to be the person I am today. Specific prayers I said as a 15 year old are now coming to fruition in my life. I could never have imagined what the answers to those prayers would look like, how God would bless me so greatly.

In 2002, I was just beginning the process of facing the tough stuff from my past. I was painfully shy, awkward and withdrawn. I felt removed from my peers, so different and alone. I struggled with so much fear and doubt and shame and self-degradation. I wondered if I would ever be able to truly be myself, the person I knew I was deep down. I didn't know yet that I had muscular dystrophy--I just thought I was klutzy. I couldn't foresee the tumultuous long-distance dating relationship I'd have during college. I didn't even have my driver's license yet! I'd barely begun to delve into being an artist. The thought of coherently and logically writing my thoughts and emotions like this would have been impossible. I was a teenager, full of zeal and little life experience.

Now it's 2012. I thought I'd have my life all figured out by the time I was 22, let alone 25. I've come so far though--I'm a completely different person from the Elisabeth that asked God for peace and freedom that fateful July night. I consider July 11th my spiritual birthday, because that's the night I reached the end of my rope and cried desperately out to God. And He answered. And my life was completely changed. Now, so much to be grateful for, even the so-called "little things." Even though I now wear leg braces and struggle some days with being so tired, I understand that God has used it to make me stronger. I can now talk about the "dark stuff," because I see how God has worked through it for good. I have an amazing boyfriend who loves Jesus and accepts me--all of me--and encourages me to seek after the Lord. I have friends who "get" me. I don't feel adrift anymore; I've found my place. And even though I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, I know God is in charge. And seeing some of His plan unfold has been pretty cool.

But I did it my way

Every time someone tells me I can't do something or I have to do such-and-such in a particular way to be successful, I just want to prove them wrong. There's a part of me that exclaims, "Well, why?! Why do I have to do it that way? I'm going to do it how I want-and work harder at it-just to prove you wrong!" That side of me gets such a thrill out of doing things differently and making it work out anyways.

I'm quietly contrary, I guess. I don't argue to someone's face, I just go off and work at proving them wrong. Talk is easy and cheap. Actions back up and confirm my point. For example, I felt pressured by my advisor to apply to graduate school right away after completing my under-grad degree at Northwestern. I was burned out on school, and especially so after my last semester when I was working 40 hours a week and going to college. I got the impression that he thought that if I didn't go on right away for further education, I wouldn't amount to anything. I just wasn't interested in that path. I was like, "Why can't I simply keep making art on my own? I don't need a master's to be an artist. I'm just going to get my work out there!" And that's what I did: I applied to a bunch of calls for art, created business cards, made a point to carry CDs with my artwork and resume on them in my purse at all times. Within a year of graduating, I had work in 8 different art shows. Would I have been as motivated if someone hadn't told me that I was supposed to go about being an artist a different way? I don't know, but it definitely put a little extra fire in me to try harder and push myself further.

It's the same with my faith sometimes. I've always chafed under people telling me what I'm "supposed" to believe and do, how I'm "supposed" to be a Christian, a godly woman. There are so many voices out there who think they know exactly how everyone else is supposed to act--they've got the rules laid out, in detail, in their numerous books on how to live a better life/be a better Christian/be a 'real' woman/blah blah blah. It boils down to "This is what you're supposed to do. And if you don't, you're not really a Christian." That's legalism, not the freedom the Bible talks about. It's made me question things more, ask myself why I'm doing a particular thing--is it because I feel genuinely convicted to do it...or is it because I'm checking off a religious to-do list, trying to please others and not focusing on glorifying God? It's one thing for people I respect and love to speak into my life and point out error--I need that! It's another thing when you get blanket statements about how everyone is "supposed" to be.

For a time, I questioned and stepped back from all the "basics"--reading the Bible, praying, going to church. I knew I should do these things, but why? I knew it's what Christians are "supposed" to do...but that's not much of a motivation at the end of the day. I felt very aimless for a couple years, because I had to come to a conclusion for myself, not based on what everyone else says, but decide for me who I was going to be and how I would live out this thing called faith.
Eventually, I did make up my mind about all of it. I read my Bible pretty much daily, I pray a lot, I go to church every Sunday I don't have to work. But it's not because I'm "supposed" to, it's because I genuinely desire to.

I'm just pig headed that way, I suppose. Part of being such an independent person is that I question everything (sometimes to my detriment). I don't take things at face value--I don't want to know simply the "what" but the "why" as well. I have reasons behind everything I do. Empty actions are just so pointless to me. I guess it's that I want my whole life to have meaning and thoughtful purpose behind it. And simply jumping because someone says I should rubs me the wrong way.

Back to the future

A little over four years ago, the future I'd been planning was completely destroyed. All my plans and intentions went up in smoke. For a good two years, I'd been going along with a particular idea of how things were going to unroll in my life....and then it all came crashing down.

And I'm so glad it did. Though at the time, it really sucked going through it.

March 2008: I broke up with my cheating ex, cut off all my hair, and went on a spring break road trip to New Mexico and Utah. It was the perfect way to process a break up--just miles of open road and the time to reflect and decompress. I had almost two weeks of quiet and peace, time to think and let go, finding some solace and healing out in the grandeur of the West. You really can't help but feel a sense of calm wash over you when you're sitting on the edge of a cliff, with nothing but the sound of wind in your ears, and no sign of civilization for miles and miles.

I felt as if I had lost sight of God, and he'd stripped away everything that I'd been leaning on or distracting myself with to get me to look at Him again. I couldn't use homework or checking Facebook or talking on the phone or doing busywork...nothing....there were no distractions. I came face-to-face with who I really was out there. There was nothing I could do--I had to just be. It was just me, and the wind, and harsh beauty of the land...and God. Speaking to me in a still small voice that I'd been tuning out for a while.

One of my friends joked later that I had gone on a vision quest, and I couldn't really disagree. I had a couple unusual encounters along the way that reminded me that God was still there for me (maybe I'll share them someday). I went on a few hikes by myself, and the utter quiet I experienced out in that wilderness didn't leave when I came back to Minnesota. That sense of peace, so lonely yet comforting, so weighty yet freeing, settled in my heart and has never left. It's impossible to adequately convey the way I felt the presence of God out in the desert, but I was changed in a very deep way that I can't really describe.  It was just what I needed at the time. It was as if God was telling me, "Everything will be okay, Elisabeth. Your problems aren't as big as you think. Let Me comfort and heal your bruised heart."

"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her." Hosea 2:14

But then I had to come back home again. Back to school, back to my friends and family, back to every day life. But I didn't know who I was anymore. So much of myself, who I was, had gotten wrapped up in this one person, this one relationship, this one idea of how my life was going to go. I had to redefine myself. I realized that I'd been basing my identity and worth as a person on another human being. I mean, it wasn't like I had no sense of self, but I hadn't realized until that trip how much I'd changed who I was just to please my ex. That was a very healthy and needed thing to go through...but then I was faced with the fact that I had no clue what I was supposed to do with my life next.

Everything that I'd been thinking and planning for about two years had been pointed towards getting married and moving to Maryland and having this whole life out east. That all disappeared, and I had to find my footing again. It was like all these ties had been cut, and I was suddenly free....with no direction or leading.

And as healing and comforting as my road trip had been, there were still areas that really hurt. I shut down some parts of my heart, because I just felt like a fool and an idiot. I should have known better! I was like, "Guys--who needs 'em? Pffft."

And I went on with finishing up that school year, having fun with my friends, working on art, renewing my relationship with God. Over the next couple years, I moved back home, revitalized my connections with my family, got a job at Half Price, graduated college, bought a car, worked on building some artistic notoriety, just living life. But I didn't really think too hard about what might come next, I just took life as it came. "Why make long term plans when it might blow up in your face?" a part of me asked. And no way was I interested in dating. It still stung if I thought about it too much. I just decided I would happily be single the rest of my life and that was that.

But I didn't want to stay in a holding pattern, settling into a rut. Not only in daily living and work, I also realized I needed to make my faith a priority and not half-ass it. I begrudgingly decided to look for a church, but I wasn't going to like it. I knew God wanted me to get plugged in somewhere, but I wasn't too enthused about the prospect. I'd listened to Mark Driscoll sermons off and on throughout college, but I really started listening to them, actually trying to apply what I was hearing and learning. And one thing he really emphasizes is being in community with other Christians. Like, all the time, in practically every message I heard. I finally was like, "Fine. Fine! Okay, I will look for a church. But I'm not too excited about this, God. And if I don't like it, I'm not going back." I looked online to see if there were any Acts 29 churches in Minneapolis, kinda hoping there wasn't so I could make more excuses. There are four. And they are all close-ish to where I live. There was even one like ten minutes away. Crap. I wasn't going to get out of this so easy.

So I went to Antioch Community Church....and loved it. The people were (and are) awesome. I got connected with a community group. I've made friends, not just interacted with people who only talk to me on Sunday. I feel like I've found my place. And God's really been working on my heart the last six months or so, reminding me not to hold back in fear, to be open to new possibilities, to look to Him for guidance and not going back to my old way of living and thinking. He doesn't want me to keep my heart shut, because I'm scared of what might happen. I can't, and don't want to, live life that way.

I've been thinking recently of how God spoke to my heart in the desert when I was bruised and hurting. He gave me peace and reassurance when I had none and felt so empty. I had nothing to give, but God met me where I was at and didn't let me wallow and have a pity party. He reminded me that everything else can fall away, but He will always be there. I can be completely alone, yet He will never leave  me. I am His and will never be forsaken, though I may stumble through darkness and doubt. I have nothing to offer, yet He is happy to give everything and fill me with hope and grace and love.

And I've reflected on how God's been speaking to me over the last four years as I've matured and realigned myself with Him. He's been teaching me to tune my heart to his voice, however He chooses to speak with me--from a penny on the ground to a book coming along just when I need to read what it says to a sunny day spent with friends to the messages I hear at church. I don't get to choose how God works, I just have to be open and expectant for Him to come through for me.

And now....something new and completely unexpected has come my way. I wasn't looking or searching for it. I wasn't praying about it. I was just going about my life, and now this. There's this guy...and he's pretty awesome. And he thinks I'm kinda awesome too. It's like finding a little seedling popping up from the ground in spring where you didn't know anything was even planted. The future is all up in the air again. I have no idea what the future holds. And I have never been happier about uncertainty in my life.

I am so excited to see what's going to happen next....

Rid of my disgrace

Oh, man, talk about spiritual attack Tuesday. I was originally planning to write something chipper and upbeat ....but I have been feeling pretty weighted down today. Emotions, thoughts and feelings that haven't surfaced in a long while have all reared their heads. It's a bit overwhelming to be honest. Every time I think I'm done with stuff from my past, that I've overcome it all and will never have to think about it again....I get my knees kicked out from under me, and I'm flat on my back...again. And it's easier to stay down than fight my way back up for the umpteenth time, because there's just so much to face and it takes so much work.

In the past when something like today would happen, I'd feel completely off kilter for days. Just not being able to shake it off, feeling like I was drowning under all the old accusations and helplessness. I would get in a funk, because I'd listen to those things instead of pushing back. At the time, I didn't know how to fight back and win. It just felt like it was futile, because I believed what was running through my head was true.

"You're worthless. Disgusting. Nothing will ever change. You're unloved, unwanted, something to be used and discarded....If you were really a Christian, you wouldn't feel this way, struggle this much....You're dirty, defiled, garbage....This is all your fault....No one else could possibly understand, and if you told anyone, they would be disgusted by you. Who would want to be your friend, if they truly knew you? You can't trust anyone. You will always be alone."

And on it would go. I'd just want to curl up under the covers and hope that it would all go away. It was all so heavy and dark.....and it felt like I was choking on fear and shame. I thought all of that was flowing out of my own heart.

Now the thing you should notice, what I wrote above are all you statements. I never caught on to this. Who ever really addresses themselves in the second person? I would go from, "I feel sad and ashamed," to, "You're shameful and pathetic." The first is an appropriate response to sexual abuse, but the second is not. It goes from "I was sinned against," to, "It's all your fault." You want help and healing, but think you don't deserve it because you begin to believe you brought it on yourself somehow. These malicious thoughts come into your mind and you just accept them, never even considering that they're not from you.

So, today--well, actually starting last night when I went to bed, I was feeling the weight of some past regrets. Things I shouldn't have done, words I should have said instead, and compromises I made to my standards and convictions. I was thanking God for forgiving and redeeming my sin, wiping away my tears, creating a new heart and a new mind in me. But all of sudden, I was just slammed with these accusatory phrases. And I started wallowing, getting pulled completely off track. I went from, "That is who I once was--I'm truly repentant over the things I did wrong, God, and thank you for forgiving me and not choosing to hold my sin against me. I regret this and am feeling the weight of the wrong, but I know you love me," to, "You're a horrible person and always will be. You are undeserving of love. You haven't changed and never will." And shame started wrapping itself around me.

But. I'm not the same person I was ten years ago. And I realized that this wasn't coming from me. So, I did something that I didn't know how to do before when I was younger: I fought back the right way. "God, this isn't me and it's not how you see me. You have freed me from shame, from disgrace, from guilt. Yes, that's how I once felt, but that's not truth. This isn't true. You know who I truly am. Remind me of my identity in you and your love and grace. I am not alone--you are with me, and I have people I can turn to. I am loved. I will not give into shame and hide away. I am renewed, redeemed, beloved by you, God. I'm facing this and I know it's not me." (This video says it even better.)

And after a few minutes of praying, it was like a switch got flipped and those thoughts were gone from my head. Wow. It worked. And I slept through the night without a single bad dream (I've been having those lately).

This morning, those feelings came rushing back again, which isn't surprising. I've been confronting and praying against them through the day. I was looking at my tattoo earlier to remind myself that God is always there for me, even when the darkness comes. God's been reminding me today that my emotions don't define my faith and life. No matter what I'm currently feeling or remembering, God is good and He will never leave me bereft and broken. I'm not the same person I once was, because of His grace and mercy and love. I'm not bound to old ways of thinking and feeling.

This is me now. I don't care that it's kind of a crappy sketch, it illustrates perfectly who I am in Jesus.

Art Submissions

Today, I have already submitted work twice in response to calls for art posted on MN Artists. It's pretty tedious and time consuming, but that's how I get my art shown. The thing is, no two submission processes are the same. Each one requires you to label, arrange, re-size, and write about the work in completely different ways. This one requires a full artist resume, that one wants a one page summary, another does't want any supporting documents. And if you don't follow the directions exactly, down to the most minute detail, they'll just throw your submission out. They don't have time for artists who can't bother following directions. If you don't submit work exactly as asked, it also reflects poorly on how serious you take being an artist. It also depends on what kind of call for art you're responding to. Colleges, art galleries, and contests tend to have very specific, detailed instructions, whereas a coffee shop or restaurant just wants to keep it simple so their time isn't getting wasted.

I have gotten a number of shows so far by physically handing a CD, burned with images of my art and contact info, to a proprietor of a space. But that's like cold calling someone for a job--sometimes you get a bite, but most of the time you get nothing. It pays to be prepared though: I had work at Beloved for six months last year; I didn't even know they had a gallery space before I walked in the door. I was there for a tattoo consultation that day, but because I had a CD on hand, they saw my art right away and I came across as someone who is serious about being an artist. There's nothing worse than telling someone you make art and not having any way to show them some work when they ask. People are more likely to look at the art if there's a tangible thing to put in their hands, rather than trying to remember a random website later that was written down on a scrap of paper.

Today is the first time in a while that I've sat down and seriously focused on submitting work. Since November last year, I'd totally slacked off in this. I don't why, but I lost all my motivation and drive to respond to any art calls. I let a lot of good opportunities pass me by, not feeling like taking the time (maybe an hour at most for submission, which really isn't that much). I stopped being really proactive about leaving my art CDs at places. I haven't made much art this winter either. In 2010 through the beginning of 2011, I made over 100 different pieces. Since the end of last summer, I've completed maybe 15 paintings, and only this past month gotten serious about finally deploying the rest of the Doily Ninjas. It's just been within the last month that I've gotten back into some serious art making. I don't know what threw me off my game so much either. I just didn't feel the push that I normally do. I'm usually pretty good about using my time effectively and consistently working on art making...but up until this month, I'd been so uninspired. I'm just tired. And not particularly in a physical way, it's more in a mental way. Physically I always struggle with low energy reserves due to my health issues, but that never stopped me in the past. I've learned to manage and work around my fatigue if I really want to get something done.

I don't know, maybe it's just a seasonal funk. I'm trying to not let my emotions get the best of me and get back on track to get my work out there.

Like here!

Grad school a no go (for now)

I got an e-mail the other day informing me I wasn't accepted into the graduate program at the University of MN. I'm a bit bummed out, but not too surprised. I know they got over 100 applications...for 8 spots. That's about 1 person accepted per discipline area. So, no grad school this year, but I'm trying to figure out what I should do next.

I like my job, but it's not a career track job for me. I'm itching lately to do....something, I don't know what. I just know I can't lose my drive and settle into a rut. If I don't push out of my comfort zone, I'll just stay there and not do anything of worth with myself. I'm just trying to figure out what I should do! I do know that I want to take another vacation this year. I hadn't taken a major one in three years until my road trip with my sisters last summer. Elisabeth is a lot happier when she's had some time off to relax and see the world.

The funny thing is, when I was younger I thought I'd have my life all figured out by the time I was 22....I'm going to be 25 in March, and I still don't know what I'm going to be when I grow up. I just assumed I'd be married and have kids by now. Apparently, God's plan is a little different than mine!

I'm trying to enjoy each day as it comes my way, but also plan for my future. I want to enjoy the present and be smart about the road ahead. I just don't know what my next step should be right now. Hey, God, how about some flaming letters on the wall telling me what to do? That'd be nice.

Rock you like a migraine

Migraines suck, I'm just going say that right off the bat. I tend to get at least one, sometimes two, killer ones in a month. If I try to push through it and keep going about my day, it just gets worse. Like a sneeze, I can feel it coming. It builds slowly, like a river gradually flooding its banks until it starts sweeping houses away. Tylenol or whatever doesn't usually help too much. I find a cold washcloth on my face is more effective for dulling the pain. I just have to ride out the pain until it's over.

I got a doozy of a migraine yesterday at work. It usually takes me two days to really recover and feel normal again. The stabbing pain goes away, but a dull, low-grade headache lingers for a day or two. I don't know about other people, but when I get a migraine, I can't do anything else but lay down and wait for it to pass. Light and sound don't bother me too much actually, I just get sick to my stomach and feel like I'm going to puke. I also get really feverish and feel like a menopausal woman--too hot, too cold, too hot again. My face throbs like I have backed up sinuses even though I don't. Pain sparks behind my eyes, feeling like I got kicked inside my brain. If I'm already feeling sick and try to keep going about my day, hoping it will get better, I'll just get slammed with a tsunami of migraine--like what happened yesterday.

I had a sore throat, which started feeling a little bit better as the day went on, but I started feeling the swell of an oncoming wave of head pain. The store was too busy for me to leave, so I just dealt with it. When I was done for the day, I didn't feel too bad actually, but once I got home, I couldn't do anything but lay down. I couldn't eat or drink anything, just the thought of anything in my mouth made my stomach churn. My appetite still isn't back yet today. And my throat is worse too--I got some tea and a bagel down and that's been it so far. My head goes wonky and the rest of my body follows.

It just takes the wind out of me. I can't force myself to do anything, because the headache will come sweeping back if I try to do too much. I've learned the hard way that if I already have a slight headache, I can't try to shove more things into my day. I finish off whatever it is I'm doing and scale back the rest of my plans for the time being.

Going to the movie theater or watching TV in a dark room are guaranteed headache makers for me. So is drinking too much coffee, which thankfully I don't even like that much anyways. The weirdest cause for a rip roaring migraine I discovered while getting physical therapy several years ago: The physical therapist was testing my flexibility and had me on my back with my head hanging off the edge of a table. She tilted my head down and to the right, and I almost immediately got dizzy and sick feeling. Apparently that was odd in her experience, also because it didn't happen when my head was to the left. I'm just a source of medical mysteries, I guess.

I can't imagine getting migraines constantly--thankfully, this usually happens to me only once a month. But it knocks me out of commission for a couple days so it still sucks. Hopefully by tomorrow I'll be back to full strength and ready to shelve books at work.

Christmas Car Crash

Three years ago, just two days after I graduated from Northwestern College, I got in a horrible car accident on my way to work. It was a very cold day--a freeze-your-nose-hairs-when-you-breath kind of cold.
This was before I had my own car, so I normally would have driven the Saturn that my sisters and I were sharing. But that day, Leah had to work at the same time as I did, so my Dad let me use his Impala. It was icy and a little slippery as I set out, but it didn't seem unusual for Minnesota in December. I got on the highway, driving very slowly due to the ice on the road.

As I was going along, I saw a car that had spun out up ahead. Being the conscientious driver that I am, I moved over the the left lane to give the driver more room (in MN, you're supposed to move over away from cars on the shoulder). Well, I changed lanes right into the same black ice that guy had just spun out on.
I was only going about 35 mph, but I hit sheer ice and lost control of the car. Thankfully at that moment there were no cars around me. I spun around and around, headed straight for that other car. All I remember seeing was the front of that vehicle as I smashed into it.

BAM!!

I think I might have blacked out for a moment, because I couldn't hear or see anything for what was probably only a few seconds. I just remember hearing the crazy, insane beating of my heart, and then slowly, my hearing faded back in and I could hear the Celtic Woman CD still playing in the stereo. I had impacted on the driver's side of my car. I took a mental inventory of myself -- I was okay. Nothing felt broken. The airbags hadn't gone off. I looked down and saw that the seat was smooshed in. If that chair hadn't been so wide and taken all the impact, I definitely wouldn't have walked away so easily. I looked to my left and realized that the door was punched in, like a giant fist had smashed into it. But strangely, the top of the door was leaning away from me. The window hadn't even broken. My left thigh started hurting, and I realized that it had smacked into the steering wheel. Without even thinking about it, I put the car in park, and took the CD out and put it back in its case (it was from the library and I didn't want it to get scratched--funny what your brain focuses on in moments like that).
The other driver came running over as I was shakily taking stock of myself. Thank goodness, he hadn't been in his car when I hit. He had the same kind of Saturn that I would normally have been driving, and it was completely totaled. It looked like a giant had crumbled it up. All I could think was, "If I had been driving the Saturn, I would not be okay right now." Impalas are a much more heavy-duty vehicle than the chintzy Saturn.

When I crawled out on the passenger's side and walked around to see the damage, I was shocked. My car was totaled too, though not so bad off as the other vehicle; the frame was bent, the door was deeply punched in, the windshield had huge spider web cracking. My heart still was going a mile a minute, I could barely breath and I couldn't stop shaking.

I went to the hospital and got an X-ray of my leg, just be safe, but it wasn't broken, just spectacularly bruised. Thankfully, my Dad had full coverage on his Impala and got a new car pretty quickly. I went back to work two days later, with a sore leg and head ache.

It took me a little longer to get back on that highway though. It was hard to get behind the wheel after that. I wish I had a picture to show you of the accident, it was pretty spectacular. I had a slight panic attack the first time I drove after the accident. It was still winter, I still had to go to work and I couldn't have someone else drive me forever. Thankfully, I can just as easily take city streets as the highway to get to work, which is what I did for the next month.

Not giving into fear either

Three years later, I still get a tight feeling in my chest when the first heavy snow and hard freeze hits, and I have to drive in it. I have to remind myself to relax and breathe, and that within a couple weeks I'll be driving just fine in this weather. I push through the fear, because I don't want to be captive to the past. I'm going to live my life, which means I have to drive around the city year round. I refuse to let that bad experience hold me back from doing fun things. The fear is there, yes, but I won't give in to it. I'm definitely more cautious than I used to be when it comes to winter driving, however I don't freak out over every little slip and slide. Seriously, it's MinneSNOWta, the majority of the year it's cold and snowy here.

The weather today is what prompted this post--it's cold and icy. And I drove on the highway "like a baller," as my tattoo artist likes to say. (which means, awesomely)

Fa la la la BLAH!

Make it stop, dear God, please make it stop!

I'm no Scrooge, but there should be a law against Christmas music being played before Thanksgiving. I work in retail and it's audio abuse during the holidays. I'm there 40 hours a week, and we're supposed to listen to Christmas music the majority of the time between Black Friday and December 24. Even if you really, really like a certain genre of music, I don't think you'd want to listen to it 40 hours a week for over a month straight. And the customers don't like it anymore than the employees do. Seriously, what makes stores think that people want to linger in a business with "DECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY!! FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LAAAAAAAA!!!" blasting overhead? Nobody likes it, and yet stores keep playing it every year. It's not nostalgic, it's annoying. That does not encourage anyone to shop. That encourages me to get a headache. That's why online shopping is awesome. Seriously, if stores want me (and people like me) to give them business: no loud stupid Christmas songs; silence would be much preferable over having to hear yet another lousy cover of Jingle Bells. Otherwise, Amazon is getting my money. It's quiet, fast and I can shop in my pajamas without leaving home.

And it is NOT "the most happiest time of the year" for those of us who work in retail wonderland. I don't know what it is, but people feel like it's their right to treat the person behind the counter like dirt. Like I want to be here anymore than you do, angry psychopath grandma who thinks a rock painting kit is a great gift for a teenager (just buy them a giftcard). I don't want to be at work until 10:30pm on a Friday night, collecting empty coffee cups from the bookshelves (which is not a garbage can, in case you didn't know) and cleaning poop off the bathroom walls (and yes, that is something that has happened at my store...more than once).
I'm really hoping that at this time next year I'll be in grad school and won't have to deal with this anymore.

The only thing that I'm looking forward to about this holiday season is that I get to wear this to work:

That's what will make all the crap I go through worthwhile: I get to don a hat with elf ears and it will be awesome. You know you're jealous

Stop--Bible time!

Yeah, not so much.

I floss more regularly than I read my Bible. Not something I'm proud to admit, but it's the truth. As a Christian I'm supposed to like the Bible...but it's not the first thing I reach for when I'm in the mood to read. Having grown up in a Christian household, I know the Bible pretty darn well. I have actually read the whole thing multiple times, so I do know what it says. But the way some people talk, you'd think rainbows and magic Jesus glitter come shooting out every time you flip it open. Guess what, the Bible is not always easy reading. Sometimes it actually feels a little pointless and doesn't seem to help me that much. There are passages in there that are hard to accept and require pondering over. It's not something you can passively read, you have to actively engage your mind. To be honest, there are passages that I wonder why they're there. I ask God sometimes why I need to know the measurements of the tabernacle or what fabric it was made out of. I get keeping the prophecies in the Old Testament that point to Christ, but for the majority of us who aren't theologians, some of it seems a bit dry (the book of Numbers, anyone?). And I know I am not the only person who feels this way--I'm just being honest about it. Some Christians seem to think that if you admit doubt or ask any questions, you're not really saved. Well, guess what, I love Jesus, but I don't always like reading his book, okay?! I do question why He can't just speak audibly instead of me trying to muddle my way through a huge book that is thousands of years old, written by various authors in numerous cultures. Yes, the Bible offers truth and salvation...but does it have to be so boring/confusing at times?

But I'm learning that God doesn't do anything by accident, He always has a purpose and a point. Just because it's confusing to me, doesn't mean it's meaningless. Part of being a Christian is bumbling along and having faith that God will take your hand and lead you where you need to go. Following Jesus is not like driving on a wide open highway in a fast car, following huge signs posted along the way; it's more like you're hiking in the woods in the middle of the night with a crappy flashlight on a poorly marked trail, and the moon occasionally comes out from behind the clouds and illuminates your way for a while. The map in your hands doesn't make a lot of sense in the dark, but you're trusting that the one who made it knew what he was doing. That's what it feels like to me at least.

Hopefully, you can tell that I'm not interested in being phony and pretending that being a Christian is all hunky-dory, JESUS IS THE BEST EVAR!!!! *huge fake smile as I clutch my oversize Bible* So, I try to read my Bible somewhat regularly and be real. I ask deep questions, admit I'm not perfect, and seek a genuine faith.

Sickness rant

Reading Neurology Now Magazine tends to depress me. Not for the reasons you might think. It's not because it makes me worry about my future or brings to mind my physical limitations. Neurology Now has a lot of great advice and helpful information (and I even won their first art contest a few years ago). No, the reason it frustrates  me is because I don't know what information actually applies to me. I still don't have an official diagnosis for what's wrong with me. I have muscular dystrophy of some kind, so I've been told at the Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA) clinic. I have had innumerable tests run, many coming back "inconclusive" which tells you nothing. I can tell you the many diseases I don't have. I can tell you what it's like to endure a pointless spinal tap. I can describe how it feels to undergo multiple EMGs, one of which the doctor was more concerned about looking at the results on the screen than the fact that he was making me bleed because he stabbed me too hard. I'm an old hand at getting MRIs--I even know the best kind of music to bring to drown out the noise. I know from experience to drink a lot of water and have something sugary to eat for blood draws.

I go to the MDA clinic once a year to get told I'm "doing fine." Maybe compared to the last patient who was drooling on herself and can't walk, sure, I'm doing great. But compared to myself, no, I'm not. Ten years ago, I could work out on a treadmill, lift weights and run a mile (albeit not a fast one). Today, I get achy and tired from walking up a few stairs. Lately, my legs have been hurting when I drive my car.

Every year, I go to the clinic, get a bunch of tests done, and feel like I'm sent off with a pat on the head. All the helpful stuff I've had to figure out on my own. No one could tell me, "Hmmm, Elisabeth, you're underweight with low muscle tone and poor circulation, you might want to invest in some sweater vests and leggings to help keep your core warm in the frigid Minnesota winters." Or, "Because your lower legs are weak, your back muscles have to work harder; be careful, you're more prone straining your back and shoulders." Nope, had to find that out the hard way. Or when the skin on the bottom of my feet broke down when I first got leg braces, I was told the skin shouldn't be reacting that way. Well, thanks, Nostradamus, but my feet ARE cracking and bleeding. Andrew's doctor was the one to suggest a cure that actually worked!

I'm convinced I have some form of Charcot-Marie-Tooth Disease (CMT), which I've been tested for twice, both times with a result of "inconclusive." That can mean anything: the blood was too old by the time it got to the lab, something didn't get handled right, the test wasn't analyzed properly, etc. Anyways, I have pretty much all the symptoms: extremely high arches, curled toes, foot drop, wasted lower leg muscles, numbness and tingling in my toes, weakened hand strength, neurologic pain (meaning, pain that doesn't result from an injury, it's the nerves misfiring). Whenever I go to my regular doctor, I always get asked if I've been tested for CMT. When I saw a podiatrist last year, she said I have the highest arches she's ever seen, and asked me multiple times if I'm under the care of a neurologist and if I've been tested for CMT. Unfortunately, I don't have an extra $16,000 laying around to pay for the genetic test. Pretty much, I just follow the advice given to CMT patients. But I'd really like to know conclusively what I have. I'm sick of the medical merry-go-round though--let's draw seven vials of blood, let's do an EMG, let's do a spinal tap, let's draw more blood, let's do another EMG, and more blood drawn. Nope, I'm done with that. I've been dealing with this since 2004, and I'm not going through anymore painful tests that reveal nothing conclusive.