stop panicking. and breathe. someone's coming.

I’ve been trying for quite some time – several months to be exact – to put into words exactly what’s been going on in my life. But words fail, because I have absolutely no idea how to explain my heart to you, which is a new feeling for me. Normally I can spout out words like it’s nothing…lately though, I’m lacking in that department. I wish you could just step into my shoes for a day or so, experience my feelings, thoughts, emotions, …experience the turmoil my soul is going through.
And so I cry. A lot. It’s stupid, really. Because when I look at my life, there is so much to be thankful for …and I know this, but lately it’s been really hard to see that. I’ve spent the majority of the past six months on my knees, begging for that light at the end of the tunnel, that curve in the road where the valley fades as the climb back up the mountain begins.

But it hasn’t come yet. And so I keep waiting. And I keep trying to find the words to explain it to people when they ask…but the words never come. And so I guess that God …in His crazy and intricate way…has chosen to keep me silent through this time and instead to use someone else’s words to get the point across. It’s funny how someone you don’t even know – have never even met – somehow takes your heart and places it perfectly on paper…[it’s long, but keep reading…]

The author is explaining how she’s almost died 3 times in her life [and told some pretty outrageous stories. Ha]. I’ll start as she’s explaining her 3rd almost encounter with death…

“Third time was white water rafting. And this time was a bit scarier. A bit more real. I was scared long before we ever started. I picked the raft with the biggest guys in the youth group because i reasoned that this would keep me safe and eliminate the chances of flipping over because of the extra weight. My friend Tim was on this raft. I trusted Tim because he was an Eagle Scout and lived at a Boy Scout Camp with his family and he was a trainer for the football team. To me, these all seemed like good qualifications for aptitude on the rafting course. A guy named Cody, a big ole' football player, was in the boat. One of my high school boyfriends, Jon, was on the boat and your high school boyfriends always protect you, right? :)



I am forgetting who all was in the raft, but it didn't matter, because we weren't in very long. We were going down the Ocea River. The place we let into the river was right where the dam opened up and was part of the Summer Olympic course the year prior. The most important thing they said was to make sure we paddled the right way at the very beginning because you would either hit a level two rapid on the left or a really difficult level four rapid on the right. And the level four rapid was not really meant for puny high school kids from the city like us. That was a part of the Olympic course.

I'm not sure what happened because it happened so fast, but I remember seeing my friend Tim hit his head on a rock and get pulled downstream. My instructor was yelling instructions and that was when Jon disappeared. I think Elizabeth was in the boat and she disappeared. Cody was gone. And I saw my paddles swept away and I vividly remember the rush of the water over my head. I was pinned in between two rocks now, still in the raft, and I couldn't catch my breath because the water kept coming and coming. It pounded down on me and rushed over my head. It was so strong. It was beating me. I knew it was beating me.


I'm drowning. I'm drowning.


Oh my God I'm drowning.


The instructor catches my eye. He is on the shoreline now. Someone is coming for you, he says. Look at me. Stop panicking. You have to breathe. Do what I tell you to do. Go under water when I count to three. When you come up, blow out and take a huge breath.


1. 2. 3. Go


Do it again. Someones coming. Go under... now.


By that point there are all kinds of people on the side of the river and I am having this out of body experience. It was so slow. So long. So labor intensive. Every single breath was a conscious decision. Go down. Hold your breath. Come up. Breathe. Do it again Jenny. Go down. Hold your breath. Come up. Breathe. Do it again Jenny. Focus. Keep your mouth closed. Close your eyes. Breathe.


I'm not sure how long this went on. But eventually another raft came by and they pulled me from the two rocks that had me pinned and pulled me into their boat. Once we regrouped I learned that Tim was bleeding out of his head and had a concussion. The other guys were cut and banged up. But we were all OK. I was too scared to cry. I was just in shock.


I will always remember those moments because that is, I assume, what it feels like to fight for something.


I'm not even sure if the event was as perilous as I remember it or not. But I felt that it was. I felt that I was losing control. I felt myself fighting to breathe. To keep my head above water. To hold my breath. To listen to the voice of the guy on the side who kept telling me someone was coming for me. I knew I was fighting. To someone else, say a professional rafter or swimmer or professionally brave person, this may not have been a fight at all. But it wasn't them, it was me. And for me, it was a battle.


The past year or two I have been fighting. And I know it.


Maybe not anything too huge: I'm not fighting cancer or divorce or poverty or the complete destruction of my homeland.


I'm just fighting the constant flow of water beating down on me. Little tiny blows that when taken one after another begin to threaten my endurance, wear down on my body, and try to steal my joy.


This past week was one such week. Taken separately, even with just a week or so in between, it might have been more manageable. But taking it all together reminded me of being in that river, coaching myself through one breath after another.


[then she explains what’s been going on in her life…]




I hear that voice from the side of the river. You cannot panic. You have to breathe. Someone is coming for you. Breath Jenny. Someone is coming for you. I am coming. Do what I tell you to do. Take another breath.




Take another breath. Focus on Me. Nothing else. No one else. Go under. Come back up. Breath. Do it again. Keep going.


So maybe you are tired of hearing about the blows over the last year or so. The shingles and illnesses, the emergency surgeries, the unpaid bills, the stolen van, the family that moved all over the country before Annie was born, the stolen van and gear again, the wrecked van, the exhaustion, the doubt, the year that the line "till death do us part" became a command and not just a romantic simplicity, the little tiny blows that seem to keep coming and coming...


Maybe you are tired of hearing about them...


Well, I am tired of living them. Blow by blow living is not my desired mode of operation.


But I am not joyless. I am not depleted. I am not finished. I am not raising the flag of defeat nor am I trumpeting my tiny blows as a badge of pride. I have yet to crawl into a hole somewhere with my ice cream and ipod and not come out. I am just fighting.


And in the midst of the fight (which everyone faces, big or small) I am breathing. I am listening to that clear, strong voice that tells me someone is coming. And I believe it. And I am actually quite happy to fight.




Someone has come. I am not alone….




The Lord leads me beside still waters.




He restores my soul.




Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for You are with me.



It doesn't say how long that valley will last. It just says a valley. So my apologies to anyone who is annoyed at the length of my current valley. So am I!


I am not dying. My life is nowhere near as hard as a lot of people's. But that doesn't mean the blows aren't nothing. To me, they are. Your blows are hard for you too, no matter what shape, form, or size they come in. But they are not what define us.


Because there is a guide on the side of the river saying that someone is coming.




And while we are waiting on that someone, we see such perfect glimpses of love and beauty. We take breaths we didn't think we could take. We find hidden strength that fights hard on our behalf. We see faithfulness. We see miracles. Promises. We see redemption weaved into our stories.


And we are not just in a valley...



We are experiencing the beautiful mountain peaks at the same time. Those moments of grace. So technically we are living in the in between. Neither valley. Nor mountain.



We are living in a valleymount. A valtain. A movalley.


And we hope for the disease to be cured and for the parents to fall in love again and for the baby's illness to have a name and have an answer and for the jobs to come back and for the lost daughter to come home to her mother who longs to see her and we keep breathing and we keep living and loving and we keep at it...




Our stories are the stories of redemption. We are never just in a valley.




And that's enough to help me fight another day...”


So that's where I am. In that moment between drowning and bobbing up and down, gasping for breath as I wait for Someone to come. and I trust that God knows what He's doing. And He understands that I'm getting tired. but ...He understands.

And to quote Jenny Simmons [Addison Road]:

"And that's enough to help me fight another day..."