We Interrupt This Blog Again, Because, Well, Covid's Still a Squatter

Warning: This is not a humorous post. And it is not a religious post. It's simply me trying to process. If you want a play-by-play of how I'm feeling, read on. If for some inexplicable reason, hearing me whine doesn't sound particularly fascinating or appealing, you have my blessing to just move along. I totally understand.

I just re-read thoughts I blogged  last February about my experience being a Covid Long Hauler. I was about 5 weeks in at that time, and was processing Lessons Learned and Insights Gained. I wonder what I would have written, had I known that 7 months in, Long Covid would still be hijacking my life. 

It's probably good that I didn't know.

I'm in a different place now. Oh, the insights I shared over 5 months ago still are very applicable, and I have to remind myself of them quite regularly. And I know I am still learning and re-learning lessons, the most obvious one being, "I am not in complete control of my world." 

But I haven't made peace with this. And I am no longer philosophical about it. In biblical terms, I am kicking against the pricks. I am alternately raging or grieving or frantically searching for answers, because I want my old life back. 

I want to make plans with friends or family without having to worry that I will be too dizzy or too sick to participate. I want to be able to simply drive myself where I need to be, when I need to be there, without a second thought, rather than having to make last minute arrangements for a ride or a raincheck. I want to exercise vigorously, to sweat and feel my heart pounding and my muscles exerting, without being flat in bed the next day. I want to go up and down stairs without an iron grip on the handrail. I want to see tasks that need to be done, and just do them. Or stand for more than five minutes without looking for a wall to lean against. I want to be able to go grocery shopping without things starting to spin. I want to be able to walk Thanksgiving Gardens or even my former regular 2 mile neighborhood loop. (I've realized how much I love to walk. Oh, how I miss walking!) I want to lie in bed at night and not ache deeply, everywhere, even to my fingertips. I want my right tonsil to be its normal size and quit hurting. I want the sporadic insect buzzing in my ears to quiet down. I want my body to behave when I tell it to do something (for example, the simple instruction to "Just snap out of this ridiculous colossal freakout already.") 

I want to NOT be so self-absorbed and hyper-focused on my own well-being. I'm in my head so much, analyzing why today is a good day and how to replicate it, (or why today is a terrible day, and how to fix it), and I'm weary and bored of being there. I'd like to regain the portion of attention and mindspace currently consumed with managing life, and apply it to a less egocentric purpose. Like seeing others' needs and jumping in to help.

And I want a doctor to tell me, "This is what is wrong; take this pill or undergo this procedure and everything will be back to normal." But so far there have been very few answers, other than the label of Long Covid.

Years ago, I went on a backpacking trip in the High Uintah mountain wilderness with my Dad and some other family members. I think I was in college, although I could be mixing up trips and may have been younger. We were headed to the aptly-named Lost Lake, a magical place where, according to my Dad's memory, the fish were plentiful and huge and very anxious to attach themselves to the end of our fishing lines.

Lost Lake was never easy to find. (Go figure.) There was a subtle trail. Blazes cut into the trees helped guide us when the trail was not discernable in the thick forest. It was 7.5 miles to the lake, but in Heavy Backpack Mileage Reckoning, it seemed much farther.

On this particular trip, we were about halfway there. Shoulders were starting to ache with the weight of our backpacks. Our backs were damp with sweat. We were getting tired, but it was okay, because we were following the trail and knew where we were headed.

Then we came up over a rise, and saw a huge swath of burned trees. A forest fire had roared across this area apparently. The problem was, we could no longer see the blazes in the burned stalks left behind. We wandered. We picked up the trail (we thought). We were wrong. We went off in another direction, only to stop again in confusion. We crisscrossed the blackened landscape for quite some time. Which meant extra miles and extra time required for an already tough hike. We knew the end goal was Lost Lake, and we knew generally where on the mountain above us it could be found. But we just couldn't find the darn trail to get there.

That's how I feel right now. I am lost. 

I know the end goal - restored health. I am not willing to consider any other goal at this point. I still believe I can get there, if I just can find that stinking path. 

Doctors so far have not been very helpful, although they've been intrigued. I'm discouraged and desperate. At my last appt with my Dizziness Doctor (who probably prefers the term ENT), he kept checking his watch. I held it together until the end of the appointment, when I had a very public and very embarrassing breakdown, bursting into tears when the receptionist simply asked for my name and date of birth. 

So I'm trying to fix it myself. I'm working to educate myself, reading articles and viewing graphs and listening to podcasts. I'm praying for discernment, pleading with God to lead me to the person, place, or information that can help me find the right path. I'm searching for blazes in the trees, and just when I think I've found one, and maybe even several in a row, it dead ends.

My patient and supportive husband reminds me that I'm still moving; I'm still progressing. But sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Especially on the bad days. And even though I should know better, when a bad day comes after a string of good ones, I am despondent. 

Sometimes the Middle of a journey can be a hard place to be. 

I'm sure that eventually I will figure this path out, whether it leads to being cured or somewhere else I am supposed to go. And hopefully, through the journey, I will gain a bit more wisdom, much more compassion, as well as greater gratitude, purer humility, and stronger endurance. 

But right now all I see are dead trees. 

They Ran (unedited version)

 Note: This is a religious blog that I wrote a few months ago. My church was kind enough to feel it was worth sharing, and after some edits, recently posted it on their general website. (Even in different languages!) I am touched by their willingness to publish it. But because of all of the language translations needed and length requirements and likely other aspects I don't even grasp (i.e. cultural sensitivities, publishing protocol, etc.), there were some edits in the version they posted. There are a few things I wish had not been changed, but I do understand. However, I wanted a version of my original as well. So I'm posting it amidst all of my embarrassing ChristyMoment stories. 

They Ran.

While I am no great scriptorian, I am deeply moved by the accounts of Peter in the New Testament. Brazen, impetuous, fiercely loyal and loving... the original "Rock".

I particularly love the images from two different stories, both happening shortly after the Savior was crucified. First, in both Luke 24 and John 20, we're told that early in the morning of resurrection Sunday, Mary Magdalene, Mary the Savior's mother, and others were there at the tomb, ready to care for his body. (Sidenote: Of course the women were there, at the first opportunity to serve Him. They recognized the need, and despite their own overwhelming anguish, there they were, at the tomb at sunrise, ready to minister to Him, even in death. I love that.)

When Mary and others came running to the disciples, telling of angels and folden linen and an empty tomb, it says Peter and John ran to the sepulchre. (Sidenote #2: In John's version, he wants to make sure we know HE won the footrace to the tomb, with Peter coming in 2nd place. That always makes me giggle. (#guys) )

But I am inspired by the fact that they RAN. They didn't know what they would find in the tomb. They were reeling, I presume, with feelings of grief and loss, confusion (How could this happen?! And why, when he raised so many from the dead, did He not save Himself?), betrayal and bitterness (How could they crucify the most loving and holy individual to walk the earth?). 

I'm certain there was physical and emotional exhaustion (It had been a rough few days), paralyzing fear (What now?) and so much more.

So they had a lot they were dealing with, to put it midly. But instead of debating and analyzing Mary's assertions, or curling up in their grief and depression, or focusing on seeking revenge, or Peter wallowing in self-hatred for denying Christ not once but 3x in His hour of need... they RAN to the tomb. Not knowing what was ahead, they still RAN to Him.

Often when I am feeling bloodied and bruised, exhausted or empty, preyed upon or put upon, weak, wounded, less than, confused, abandoned, discouraged, outraged, fearful or tearful or sinful, all too often, I withdraw from Him. I close the door, turn out the lights, and curl up in bed (figuratively).

But Peter seemed to know better. He seemed to recognize that healing and strength and clarity would only be found in the Lord's presence. And he ran to seek that influence.

He showed his willingness to rush (or more accurately, to swim) to the Lord once again just a short time later. We learn about it in John 21. Peter decided to "go a fishing² and several of the disciples thought that sounded like a pretty good idea. However, their opinions may have changed after a full night of fishing without any success.

"But when morning was now come, Jesus stood on the shore: but the disciples knew not that it was Jesus."³

After calling out to them, and learning they had "no meat", Jesus suggested that they cast their net on the right side of the ship. When the nets were suddenly filled to the breaking point with fish, John said to Peter, "It is the Lord."⁴

That's all it took.

"Now when Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he did cast himself into the sea."⁵

Man overboard.

He couldn't wait even long enough to row the boat back to shore. He threw himself headlong into the water. I love the image of him, furiously swimming. (Sidenote #3: Apparently walking on water is still a challenge.)

I can see him paddling, splashing, water spraying everywhere as he urgently and clumsily half-swims, half-staggers up the beach from the shallows. It is the LORD! And nothing is going to keep him from the Savior's side. He is exerting all of his strength and energy to draw near to his friend and his Redeemer.

This reminds me of how I felt when my missionary children arrived home. My family teases me, because I went a *little* crazy. Nothing could hold me back when I saw their tired but beautiful faces step onto the airport escalator. With a strange fusion of Happy Dance and Ugly Cry, I rushed to embrace my children. I was overjoyed to see them. Perhaps it was a similar type of emotion that drove Peter. (Sans the happy dance, perhaps.) 

I've pondered a great deal about what I can learn from Peter's example. His desire, his focus, his humility, his love. How can I run to the Lord? How pure and compelling is my desire to be in His presence? And how urgently do I seek Him?

As those questions have prompted self reflection, I've had a few thoughts. For me, I think running to Him begins with loving Him. Not in an abstract way, but in a deeply personal, one-on-one relationship sort of way. Before Peter was even fully dried off from his swim, the Lord was asking him, "Lovest thou me?"⁶  And lest we skim and miss that question, the Lord repeats it 3x. Obviously it matters whether I love Him and how I show that love.

In addition, running to someone requires intention and direction. President Nelson has encouraged us, "Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought. But when we do, our doubts and fears flee ... Such reaching requires diligent, focused effort."⁷

Elder Neal A. Anderson referred to President Nelson's counsel, and added, "The Savior said, "Look unto me in every thought." In a world of work, worries and worthy endeavors, we keep our heart, our mind, and our thoughts on Him who is our hope and salvation."⁸

I believe that our love for Him and our focus on Him form a cycle. The more time we spend by His side, the more we love Him. And the more we love Him, the more we'll want to run to His side despite what is happening around us.

Oh how I wish to strive to do this better! To reject the tendency to get distracted, to wallow, or to wait. No, I want to consciously RUN to Him. In my distress, in my fear, in my confusion, in my pain, in my whatever, not always knowing the end from the beginning. Because He is the Beginning and the End. And He is Risen.

 

1. John 20:4

2. John 21:3

3. John 21:4

4. John 21: 5-7

5. John 21:7

6. John 21:15

7. Russell M. Nelson, “Drawing the Power of Jesus Christ into Our Lives,” General Conference, April 2017

8. Neil L. Andersen, “We Talk of Christ,” General Conference, October 2020