Birthday Cookies

Today is my birthday. I woke up this morning at 5am with an unusually bad headache. Like really splitting to be honest. I did not want to be awake and I did not want it to be my birthday. I certainly did not want to get on stage at church this morning for the ministry minute I was scheduled for and excitedly explain how Operation Christmas Child shoe boxes work.

I had made a point of telling Natalie that I didn’t want a point made of my birthday. Honestly it’s been a stressful month. Coming off your parent’s insurance when your work’s insurance doesn’t kick in for a few months is hard and there are a lot of details to figure out. I wasn’t happy about the day and in fact, had pretty much forgotten my birthday was coming up.

But I don’t like to be grumpy when other people are trying to celebrate so when my Sunday School class sang me Happy Birthday, I smiled and thanked them. And I did the same for every sweet person that wished me well. And I successfully got my ministry minute pulled together (with some awesome volunteers!) and smiled the whole time.

I got home from church and tried to give my attitude a stern talking-to, but the screaming pain in my head just made me lay on the couch, wishing I could enjoy the beautiful day outside.

And then suddenly, I got the urge to bake some cookies. I know that sounds weird but I haven’t baked anything for no reason in a while and I (almost in a daze) got up and started getting out the ingredients. It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when the dough was finished and I was getting down my cookie sheets, that I saw what had happened.

I looked down at the dough and realized I had just made the cookies from memory. My memory. I had remembered. This is my Dad’s family recipe and I’ve had it memorized since I was at least 10 but the last time I tried to make them, I had to call my Mom because I couldn’t remember it. And I hadn’t made them since.

Yeah, I know. It probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to you. But it was to me. And I was so thankful that I burst out crying like a little baby.

This has been a hard year. Harder than most people know. And as I sit here typing, I know my problems aren’t all gone (still have a whooper of a headache.) But I am thankful for what God has taught me and for the fact that he is continuing to lovingly teach me.

Even if it’s with cookies.

 

“Life’s Not Fair”

As I pulled back the covers and crawled into bed, the nearby ambulance was dispatched and the siren went by my window. It pushed my exhausted body and heart just over its limit and I started to cry. Suddenly, life didn’t feel fair to me.

I often heard that phrase growing up and I fully believe it and I think this may be this first time in the last 18 months that I have felt “injustice” in my life because of everything going on. I’ve had plenty of others tell me “it’s not right” and “you’re so young, you shouldn’t have to deal with this” but I just shrugged it off, thinking of how it could be worse.

But I always said I could deal with anything as long as it wasn’t stomach issues. And for the last 11 days, I have had constant, debilitating nausea. You can add dizziness, weakness, fatigue, and headaches to that mix too. I have practically laid on my bed or couch all day, and sometimes I’ve been unable to sleep at night because of the nausea. I’ve missed two important church events that I was really looking forward to. And for what? Side-effects of the new medication I’m on. (You may be thinking that my neurologist is a monster but I also haven’t had a seizure in 7 days so we are trying to work things out.)

I don’t often feel like my life is unfair. But that day was my birthday. I was miserable and try as I might to think about all the people who came around me and showed love and blessed me, I just needed to cry for two minutes and then I fell right asleep.

And I think that’s okay. I woke up the next morning, still feeling miserable, but able to thank God for all his blessings and appreciate my friends and family more. Life is certainly not fair, and I’m so thankful because I don’t deserve what I have.