BlinkBeat

February 9, 2024. A moment of lasting infamy. Another BlinkBeat.    

What is a BlinkBeat, you ask? "An event that occurs in the blink of an eye, leading to significant, lasting changes, often evoking strong emotional responses and leaving an indelible before-and-after mark on one's life."

Looking back on my first craniotomy and the subsequent three weeks of rehabilitation, I feel like I handled that BlinkBeat like a pro. 

After all, this wasn't my first medical rodeo! I've been urgently intubated three times, survived COVID-19 Alpha variant, whirled away on three medevac flights, and have had truly countless ambulance rides. (The local EMTs know me by name and can almost complete all my paperwork without asking!) I've had a combined six months of inpatient care and had twenty-four surgeries. The most notable being a knee replacement, hip replacement, 16-hour spinal surgery, and two craniotomies.

So when this year's brain abscess showed up on my radar, I followed my standard circle of emotions that comes with each new diagnosis or health crisis. 

And what is my circle of emotions? Well, thanks for asking! It begins with the Investigation Phase as I try to reconcile new symptoms and long-term repercussions rationally. This Phase also involves hours of research with Dr. Google, WebMD, and online support groups. Then comes the Frustration Phase as the reality of more daily physical, emotional, and spiritual struggles becomes real. Next, I stumble into the Conversation Phase, where I do a lot of screaming and shouting at the Lord and a little bit of bouncing thoughts around with a trusted confidant. If you were a fly on the wall during my Conversation Phase, you might hear, "Where are you, God? Did you have to take a nap? Did you forget about protecting me and let a few things slip through the cracks? How much can I really handle here? Do I need yet another diagnosis to bring You glory? If this is friendship, maybe we shouldn't be friends right now. I need support, not another setback!" Eventually, with the gentle guidance of the Spirit, I finally arrive at the We Got This (aka acceptance) Phase. This is when my spiritual/emotional and practical sides finally meet again, and I devise a plan to survive… and maybe even thrive. But typically, 48 to 168 hours later, I'm back on track and focused forward.

So, on February 9, while waiting on an urgent ambulatory transfer to a larger medical facility for craniotomy preparations, I started my circle of emotions. By the time I was discharged from the ICU six days later and admitted into rehab, I was, once again, in the We Got This Phase.

Then, without warning, March 19th barreled through, and another BlinkBeat landed on the shores of my life. A few days prior, my pre-surgical symptoms reappeared – loss of feeling on my right side, inability to engage my core muscles to sit up, lack of depth perception, etc.   On this day, Dr. G drilled burr holes for a second time, then expertly cut a section of my skull, accessing my brain and Nocardia-filled abscess.[1]  I awoke from this surgery in significant emotional, spiritual, and physical pain. How could I be here all over again? The thought of starting at the beginning with physical rehab was overwhelming. (Check out the March 28 post entitled "Eternally Friday" for a peek into these days.)  I began my circle of emotions again but got stuck in the Conversation Phase. And here I've sat for four months. Sleepless, prayer-filled nights. Weeks of despondency and despair. Days where my get-up-and-go just got-up-and-went. "Help, Lord! Fix me!" is my constant cry. I have never experienced discouragement lasting for more than a couple of weeks. I feel drained and don't know how to refill myself. I pray. I cry out to the Father. I listen to His Word. I wrestle with my faith. I feel like I am drowning.    

On one such sleepless night, a meme on social media triggered a research study into the Dead Sea. I soon discovered that many of the sea's attributes were traits I saw in my life. How so? 

Let's hike down the Dead Sea Road and see what we find! I pray that these little nuggets of truth will meet you right where you are and encourage your heart, too. 

My first question was, "Why is the Dead Sea… well, um, called dead?" Profoundly, it has six times more salt than most waterbodies, so fish and other marine life can't survive. Interestingly, though, freshwater springs constantly feed the sea. But there is no outflow. None. The severe Israeli heat causes the freshwater to evaporate, which leaves behind super-concentrated, high-saline liquid. Researchers estimate about 840,000 gallons of water evaporate off the shores of the Dead Sea annually. (This amount of water would fill an Olympic pool with 180,000 gallons left over!)  Not only does this body of water sport massively high salt content, but it's also the lowest point on earth at 1.3 feet below sea level. While its waters are so unique because they feature much sought-after mineral-rich waters, they are still "dead."

What if our lives are pictured in the Dead Sea? Imagine with me. Our lives are fed and grow through springs of Living Water. We see this in the Holy Spirit's ministry to our hearts through God's Word, exhortation from others, and conversational prayer. Yet, the brutally hot trials of life feel constant, causing our water levels to evaporate. And we often find ourselves at our lowest, well below "survival level." Thankfully, for every drop of that Living Water that evaporates, another drop is added by the Spring that lives inside of the Christian. Yet, because life is often painfully challenging, we become distracted and fearful, damming up our own outflow. After all, at this point in life, we're usually just trying to survive one breath at a time. Staying alive has become the only mission. We no longer feel we have the emotional capacity to reach out to others. Before we know it, we've let our emotions become comingled, creating a brackish mixture of "salt lies" and "freshwater truth." For our Dead Sea life to become living, it must contribute again to the area's watershed. We must learn to find our spiritual outflow. This can look different for each of us. But it must involve looking beyond our situation to others. It must involve actively seeking those in need of encouragement, support, and the comfort of His presence... and ours. 

Before my brain surgeries, I had developed habits that maintained a solid inflow into the sea of my life: audiobooks, podcasts, sermons, delight-directed study, lectures and coursework to become a Certified Life Coach, and personal encounters. 

This inflow automatically led to outflow, as I shared what I had absorbed. For me, this was through writing. But for you, it may be teaching a class, one-on-one discipleship, a podcast, a simple text, or even social media updates. Our aim should be to seek out the gifts God has given us and dive headfirst into creating a bedrock outflow for our lives. 

As Christians, our inflow is promised through the work of the Holy Spirit. He is our Living Water that will never run dry. We're reminded of this truth in John four: "Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"

I may feel like the Dead Sea right now, but I'm confident I'll slowly find greater absorption in the Spring of Living Water. I'm progressing with a higher percentage of fresh water as I recreate new outflow basins.

On February 9, I had another BlinkBeat. A brain MRI showed an abscess filled with a deadly infection. It caused a strong emotional and spiritual response and left another indelible before and after mark on my life's timeline. 

But BlinkBeats makes us who we are. It's the culmination of dead-sea-life-events that show us who we are inside. I've discovered I'm more in need of a Savior than ever before. I can't muscle up enough strength to fight this on my own. I can't listen to enough podcasts or sermons to replace the water being evaporated by life's trials. It's only through the Spring of Living Water that I survive. Even with the Spring inside me, the BlinkBeats of life feel as if they are evaporating all my water. I fear I will become a dry, cracked lakebed. But my God is faithful. He promises He will provide us with a way to endure![2]  Notice He doesn't promise to take it away. He doesn't promise to heal every sickness. He doesn't promise to repair every relationship.   He doesn't promise to keep the checking account full. But He does promise to be with us[3] and give us grace to endure.

So, sponge up, my friend! Let's surround ourselves with truth. May we absorb the life-giving flow from the spring of Living Water within us. And might we watch with wonder as the Lord transforms your sea from salt water to brackish water and, one day, fresh water!

If you feel like a Dead Sea, remember, you're in good company! "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."[4] 

If you need me over the next few weeks, just trek over to my Dead Sea. I'll probably still be stuck in the Conversation Phase - hanging out in the heat with my friends Sad and Despondent. And watching helplessly as my water evaporates. And yet… I'm amazed daily that I don't ever run dry.

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Personal Note:  This has been one of the most challenging pieces I have ever written. Not because the content is so deep. Or because it required massive personal investigation. But because I'm dry. My sea is dead. My inflow and outflow aren't titrated correctly. I have spent probably 25 hours, hands poised over a keyboard with nothing to fill the black pages. This "writer's drought" has been draining to my already low water levels. However, the first step to change is identification. "A problem well stated is a problem half solved."[5]  Einstein says, "You cannot solve a problem with the same thinking that created it." So, with a purposeful change of perspective, I soak up the free-flowing Living Water of Jesus Christ. I get up and do life again.

Before closing, I want to speak briefly to those of you reading these words who don't understand this metaphor of Living water. You've never experienced the satisfaction of a drop of Living Water in your parched life. If your life is drying up without a spring to refill it, I encourage you to seek a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Talk to a local pastor, email me, or tap here to learn how to have a relationship, not a religion. 

Because of His Living Water,

[1] The CDC indicates an 80% mortality rate when Nocardia moves to the brain.

[2] 1 Corinthians 10:13

[3]  Hebrews 13:5

[4] Hebrews 12:1

[5] Charles Kettering