glory days

I read from Numbers 11 today and got caught up over this verse.
“…the Israelites started wailing and said, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost- also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions, and garlic. But now we have lost our appetite we never see anything but this manna.” (v4-6)

It’s a funny and morbid couple verses under the circumstances. The Israelites were just rescued by God and Moses from horrendous and terrible slavery imposed by Pharaoh. They might have had meat and watermelon but I wonder how often that was the case. Would they trade whipping and hopelessness with a side of fried onions for unknowing yet manna, a constant reminder of God’s presence and provision?

As I thought about it, I remember times when I wanted to go back to how things were before Louie moved in. I know my sister thinks about that all the time. “Back in my day, I could cook for 5000 and be funny all in one afternoon…” or whatever. I remember staying up until odd hours in the morning, talking on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, loosing so much weight from all the laughter. I remember pulling all nighters at work just so someone else’s mistakes didn’t make any of our people look bad at performance time.

But I also recall those times were full of pain and lots of prayers. Something was off but how and why? A little bit (ok a lot a bit) of fear corresponded to this pain and uncertainty. The thing about Louie, he’s predictably unpredictable.

The other part about being here now rather than back in Egypt is just that. We’re here and so is God. He’s not still hanging out in Egypt, laughing at us for moving on. Instead, he’s called us to this place. The Israelites were God’s children wherever they resided, but they were obediently free out of Egypt. I am me 18 months ago at 2:13am just as I am me here. My identity has not changed. And neither has that of my sister. So she has a new roommate (bodymate) and I am a sister by association, but who we are as God’s kids is the same. If anything, we’re better off for the move. We’re better off without garlic and cantaloupe, eating plain bread. We have a story to tell and a life to live right here and now in the midst of whatever comes next. The past only enhances the perspective and makes the now so much clearer.

It’s easy to relive the “glory days” in our heads but the glory comes solely from our interpretations. Why was eating leeks so nice in the days of Pharaoh? Because that was the small bit of joy in a time of pain. Why was talking all night better than going to bed after dinner as can happen now? Because that was a small gift to share with a sister in the midst of unpredictability. But today could be a glory day if I file it away as such. A recent glory day included pizza and a movie and a bit of talking. It’s minor. It’s practically manna. But it’s where I’m at now. And that’s ok. Wailing has it’s place but going back to garlic fish is a life I’m glad to have learned from and moved passed.

Louie Legs

I woke up on Tuesday morning with Louie Legs. Or at least that's what I imagined they would feel like- no scientist or doctor has confirmed it yet. But I know that when my sister says her legs are dead and can't move and my legs are dead and can't move it's not something we ate.

Now I don't actually have Louie Legs. Instead I'm insane enough to be running a half marathon in a couple months for the first time. Does that qualify for half insanity. So dead legs for me are actually fatigued, overly worked, unappreciated, under coddled and nursed legs. They hurt all around probably like logs would which were just cut off the tree if they could feel. My sister's legs on the other hand, scratch that, on the other foot hurt from the inside out. The bones hurt. I think the hone marrow is wading war or having a ridiculous party without caring about the cranky, creaky neighbors (ie the bone shaft and rest of the leg).

I made myself get up but knew the moment I went vertical how Sis feels even going pee- too much work. I made myself work out on the elliptical (it was cross training day thankfully), hoping all the deadness would either ooze out my toenails quickly or resurrect to full working order. Some things aren't even attempted by folks with Lupus. Oozing or resurrecting death is usually out of the question. Rolling over for another hour or two of sleep is a much better option.

Well, my Louie Legs must have been jealous of the extra attention my sister gives her legs because no type of revival came to pass. Instead, after doing my bidding for most of the day, they took me to bed for a nap. (That focused dragging to bed might have been the only enthusiastic movement of the day.) Naps end quickly, though. My legs refused to hear the alarm. We compromised- one more trip out and then early bedtime. By the end of it all, my legs were a little jealous but completely empathetic- when Louie says play dead, it's not time to shake.

DNA

I have a sister.
Of another mother. And another father.
So really I got a sister. And not a mail-order one. I got her last year for my birthday through a random assortment of different connections that ended up bonding us like twisted DNA. It's a little different than the bond I share with my brother, biological in all senses as seen in our bright blue eyes.
But bonded, connected, twisted still we are...as sisters should be.

It's funny I say connections because my sister like to connect my freckles with a sharpie. Actually it's not funny, it's a bit cruel, but there you are. All the more confirmation that she's my sister and God has a weird sense of humor.

I didn't know my birthday of 2008 would be so generous. Neither did my sis know that soon after her birthday of 2008 she would get a unique present. This "get" is more like "have" as it's fully biological- actually in her DNA.
My sister was diagnosed with Lupus, an autoimmune disease that will be with her always. We call it Louie. So I'm Louie's sister by association.

I like telling stories though Sis is much better at it than I am. But she can't tell my story. She can't tell the story of someone living with someone living with Lupus. So I thought I'd jump in. Perhaps other sisters or brothers or moms or dads can relate...at least by association.