Femoral Neck Stress Fracture and a Call for Prayer

After a couple of weeks now of very limited mobility and ongoing pain in the ol’ hip bone, I have done some “research” (i.e., scoured the Internet and read a lot of forums) and am 99% sure that what is going on with me is actually a femoral neck stress fracture (FNSF).

 

The implications of this are kind of hard for me to even grasp right now, so I’m taking it one day at a time.

Make that an hour at a time.

I wanted to write and just ask anyone who reads this to please pray for me.  I go back to the doctor tomorrow for results of my X-rays, but FNSFs are notorious for not showing up on X-rays, which means I may need an MRI or bone scan to accurately diagnose the problem.

Thanks so much for all your support and sweetness…and thanks ahead of time for praying.

 

truth has stumbled.

I really, really did not expect to feel this way.  I’ve felt almost removed from the whole election process, even though I’ve prayed a lot for it (just goes to show, praying knits your heart to something more than you might think).  But I’ve just thought, I belong to a different Kingdom.  God will use whoever sits in that oval office.

But today, I feel really concerned.  I feel mad at the American people and how loudly they have spoken in favor of the shedding of innocent blood.  That is scary.  Scary to me.

I know that in this hour, the Church is going to shine like never before, because the darkness is probably going to be gloomier than we’ve seen.  It’s our glory to display His shining, colorful holiness.

And in the midst, I keep plugging along, helping doctors get insurance, organizing meetings, chasing deadlines, and experimenting with tofu.  It’s days like this that make me long for Jesus’ return.

river.

My prayer room today was a river.  I dare you not to sing another song about the river of God until you’ve gone swimming in a river.  There’s something about the current of a river that will wash your soul into a place of peace that is much more than my puny rhetoric.  Try it.

 

I went for a long, hot walk and then just jumped in the Brazos River behind my mom’s house.  Despite all the silt and sticks, it felt clean.  I laid on my back and my Chacos made my feet float and before I knew it, the current had carried me farther than I meant it to.  I stood up, but the river pushed and prodded me, trying to sweep me off my feet again.  I started thrashing my way back to my entry point, but made no progress.  The river was insistent that I go where it wanted me to.  I swam against it with all my might for what seemed like forever, and then I took a break and stood up again.  The water was only up to mid-calf.  I laughed–so did He–and spent the rest of the afternoon stomping upstream and then floating back down over and over.  I could only sit still if I dug in my feet.  And even then, crouched underwater, I would find my arms floating into the current, pulled by the river toward a destination it was sure they would want to go toward, also.

 

I’ll let you draw all the parallels.  For me, they were profound.  I felt like Jesus was flirting with me.  Don’t get weirded out.  If you had heard the fish jump that I heard, and turned and seen nothing there, you would have felt flirted with, too.