About Living Loved
John, the Husband
John is a retired school teacher. He continued to work part-time for the high school of his retirement, teaching a couple of computer-related classes and keeping the school's computer system maintained. On Tuesdays, he said, "I'm gainfully employed, paid to play." On Fridays, he said, "I'm happily retired."
He usually sits in his recliner oblivious to the world around him. He could also be using his exercise machine, which counts his mileage, which runs to about 2 miles daily. He reads, keeps email communication going with his mother and our children, plays Sudoku, and critiques my writing. He also watches my watercolor-painting process and suggests improvements.
Like me, John is a child of God, learning and growing in His relationship with His Creator.
He usually sits in his recliner oblivious to the world around him. He could also be using his exercise machine, which counts his mileage, which runs to about 2 miles daily. He reads, keeps email communication going with his mother and our children, plays Sudoku, and critiques my writing. He also watches my watercolor-painting process and suggests improvements.
Like me, John is a child of God, learning and growing in His relationship with His Creator.
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The Reality
I was recovering from “the tailspin of an identity crisis” when I wrote the "About the Author" info inside the back cover of Living Loved. It all started when I lost my ability to perform every task required by my job. It was too much for me to handle and left me to wallow in outrage and despair.
After all, from the age of seven, I had always worked and earned my own keep in a family-run business. Without that ability now, I couldn’t help but question, “Who am I?”
It is clear to me that, as I wrote that section of my book, I was still in a struggle to maintain an identity. I wanted people to believe I had the needed "credentials" to write such a book. I recount this struggle in more detail in my book. I liken my experience of losing my identity to having an essential part of my body amputated. At least, that’s how it felt for me. Nonetheless, I swear by the truth behind everything I wrote in that section of my book, except there was so much more truth than what I had revealed.
I am a worker displaced from the home, a housekeeper who never learned to keep house, or a sick person battling a disease that hasn't always been on the list of approved diseases or injuries. Surely, a broken leg is easier to explain than chronic fatigue or fibromyalgia.
When I say, "I'm tired," I could almost read the response across my listeners' faces: "So am I." When asked where I hurt, I’d respond, "All over and in different places," and get a glazed or frustrated look in return.
After all, from the age of seven, I had always worked and earned my own keep in a family-run business. Without that ability now, I couldn’t help but question, “Who am I?”
It is clear to me that, as I wrote that section of my book, I was still in a struggle to maintain an identity. I wanted people to believe I had the needed "credentials" to write such a book. I recount this struggle in more detail in my book. I liken my experience of losing my identity to having an essential part of my body amputated. At least, that’s how it felt for me. Nonetheless, I swear by the truth behind everything I wrote in that section of my book, except there was so much more truth than what I had revealed.
I am a worker displaced from the home, a housekeeper who never learned to keep house, or a sick person battling a disease that hasn't always been on the list of approved diseases or injuries. Surely, a broken leg is easier to explain than chronic fatigue or fibromyalgia.
When I say, "I'm tired," I could almost read the response across my listeners' faces: "So am I." When asked where I hurt, I’d respond, "All over and in different places," and get a glazed or frustrated look in return.
From Identity Loss to Parkinson's Disease
As the years go by, more and more people are diagnosed with fibromyalgia.
And now, as even more years go by, other diagnoses are coming forward to plague people. Parkingson's Disease, a major one, is fast overtaking the usual cancer and heart disease numbers in incidence. Support groups have sprung up everywhere, and information is readily available. In April of 2018, I received a diagnosis of Parkinson's Disease. A few people are beating the diagnosis, which is my game plan, although I’m not there yet.
As much as my job is not my identity, I realize that neither is my condition. Sad to say, it has taken me awhile to see this, but it’s clear to me now. My identity—-I am a wife—actually, beloved wife. I am a mother of five children: one I birthed and four I birthed from my heart. I am a daughter, sister, and friend. My identity is finally settling where it belongs. I am God's child―a dearly beloved daughter. My value is my being human and the fact that God died for me. Wow!
And when I fall into bemoaning my lack of productiveness, which I define as the inability to earn money, I remember my new identity and rejoice.
As much as my job is not my identity, I realize that neither is my condition. Sad to say, it has taken me awhile to see this, but it’s clear to me now. My identity—-I am a wife—actually, beloved wife. I am a mother of five children: one I birthed and four I birthed from my heart. I am a daughter, sister, and friend. My identity is finally settling where it belongs. I am God's child―a dearly beloved daughter. My value is my being human and the fact that God died for me. Wow!
And when I fall into bemoaning my lack of productiveness, which I define as the inability to earn money, I remember my new identity and rejoice.