Hacked, Pfished, and Whatnot

I just finished reviewing every privacy setting in my Facebook account. I also deleted a number of applications, changed my password, and reported some spam invites being sent from my account.

It's a strange feeling to have your personal cyber-space invaded; to know that someone managed to get into your account without permission. The damage was fairly innocuous. Some friends got invited to try a miracle weight-loss strategy while others had the option to engage in 5 minutes of life-changing activity. Fortunately my friends know I am too level-headed to fall for too-good-to-be-true offers.

In addition, I recently received three Explanations of Benefits from my insurance company for claims filed on behalf of myself and my two sons for well care visits we did not have with a doctor we did not see. Somehow our HIPAA protected health information was obtained and used to file fraudulent insurance claims.

What I am learning is that such events have become so common that everyone knows what to do when it happens. "Change your password," they are saying. "Call this number to report insurance fraud," I am told.

It saddens me that the present reality assumes everyone will be hacked, pfished, and whatnot. Perhaps it sounds naive, but I yearn for a place where being preyed upon is not normal. I long to live without the need to for constant vigilance. 

I am going [to my Father's house] to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me....

--Jesus, John 14:2b-3

In that place there will be no need for passwords, privacy, or vigilance. Come, Lord Jesus. Come. 

Ruth

I wrote the following on March 3, 2010:

I spent a couple of hours at the hospital tonight with a good friend and her family. Ruth, who taught me everything I know about football, has been chronically and severely ill for as long as I have known her. She is in her 60s and spends most days in extreme pain. Now unable to walk and barely able to stand, Ruth is one of the toughest chicks I know.

I enjoy visiting with Ruth. Her strength and will are inspiring. Her faith unflagging. Her humor hilarious. But I think the best part of visiting with Ruth is knowing that she loves me.

The greatest gift a person can give another is the gift of presence. That is the gift Ruth gives me. She is always thrilled to see me, ever asking about my boys, and never afraid to be herself with me. Her trust in me calls me to be a better person.

I never posted this blog. I am not sure why. Ruth died peacefully with her faithful husband at her side early last Friday morning, so it seems fitting now to post this as a small thank you note to my friend.

I am one of many whom Ruth loved and inspired; some knew her for decades while I knew her only a few years. Part of Ruth's gift was that she had enough room in the space of her love that there was always a place for anyone who would join. Since writing the blog above in March I have realized that this, too, was part of Ruth's gift to me.

The Sacred Space of Dying

Over the past week I have had the honor of sitting by the bedside of a dear friend while she and her family awaited the arrival of her death.

It's an odd thing to say, I know.

In our cluttered lives we do not leave much room for death. Death happens and we deal with it when it does, but we rarely wait for it. Indeed, we often try to deny its approach or take fantastic measures to ward it off.

Yet at times it is clear that death is inevitable.

There is a lovely grace in acknowledging that, gathering around you those whom you love the most to cherish one last time, and then simply waiting together.

Such waiting takes place in very sacred space. Few deeper intimacies exist than the one among those who wait on eternal things. Few greater privileges exist than to enter the sacred space of dying as a trusted and beloved friend.

Real Advice from Real Moms

I spent my morning with a group of young moms at a playground. I remember when I was the young mom with kids to take to the playground during school hours. I'm not old, but I am older, and I don't mind it a bit.

I love these young moms. They are fun and interesting and have beautiful kids who range in age from 3 weeks to 4 years old (with a couple of school-age kids as well). I love these moms because they are real. Everyone was in shorts or capris, no one wasted time on makeup for a trip to the park, and every one of them has retained the edge of intelligence that marks them as adults.

These moms, who hold little ones and walk around with some kind of goop on their shoulders pretty much all the time, were more than happy to let me hold the 3 week old. And not a single one of them tried to hide from our newest mom the fact that the first 2-3 months is the hardest ever.

"Enjoy every precious moment," we tell brand new moms. Good advice, but we forget to tell them there are very few, if any, precious moments in those first weeks and months.

"Sleep when the baby sleeps," we advise, yet we don't mention that the baby will only sleep about an hour at a time because a 2-hour feeding schedule means the baby eats for 30 minutes and burps for another 30 minutes of that 2 hour cycle and that sometimes the baby gets hungry even sooner and the cry for that sounds just like every other cry and no you are not a bad mom if in desperation you try feeding early only to discover the baby was hungry and you held out because the "book" said to wait!

"This time will pass by too fast," we warn, not realizing those are the sweetest words on earth to an exhausted, uncertain, and guilt-ridden new mother whose friends all forgot to tell her there may be more screaming than smiling at first and it's not the mom's fault.

And that's why I love the young moms I hung out with this morning. Their words of wisdom and comfort to their new compatriot were very real:

These weeks will pass quickly, hallelujah! It's impossibly hard right now, but it won't always be. And once this part is over, you can repress the memories and it will all be a blur. And THAT is when you will be able to start 'enjoying every precious moment!'

I am Free

I recently had a flare-up of a painful stomach problem that began when I was 7 years old. It involves severe pain in my upper left abdomen that lasts for a few hours to a few days. Sometimes the flare-ups happen only once in many years, other times they happen repeatedly for several months.

Back in October I experienced the first episode of what would become the worst flare-up ever. Over the months the pain has become more frequent and more intense until I finally landed in the ER Sunday morning.

32 years ago when this first happened my parents took me to all the doctors. In the end we were told there was nothing really wrong with me, that my stomach was having spasms and that I needed to learn to relax.

I spent the next three decades relaxing. Deep breathing, meditation, flotation tanks, neuromusic. If it could help me relax, I tried it. And it worked. I relaxed. I can relax through anything. I fell asleep in between labor contractions. I can get into a meditative state with my eyes open. I can relax!

But the pain persisted.

Today I saw another specialist who confirmed that 30 years ago the docs were on the right track. The spasms they believed were causing my stomach pain are similar to charley horses in the leg. Excruciating and uncontrollable. But not caused by stress. Furthermore, today's doctor stated very pointedly that while the relaxation techniques I learned in an effort to end the torment were good things, they really could have no impact on what was likely happening in my stomach muscles. After all, what can one do when a charley horse strikes but wait it out trying not to shriek with pain.

I, of course, quipped that my ability to relax was helpful in keeping me from shrieking in pain when Charlie's horse was running amok through my torso.

There are moments of great freedom in life. Some of the greatest moments of freedom come not in the obvious, but in the more subtle undertones of life. Today I experienced just such a moment. Today I was told definitively that my pain is not caused by my inability or failure.

Decades of work and worry over this pain began slipping away as I realized for the first time freedom from this dark shadow. I am not free from the pain. It will continue episodically and all I can hope for is to control the attacks when they come.

I am free from the responsibility for them; from the blame and the cure. I did not cause the pain and I cannot cure it. This is a far better freedom than being pain-free.

This strikes a resonant chord deep within me. Somewhere else I have experienced such freedom. Freedom not from pain, but from blame and from responsibility for the cure.

At the foot of the cross, at the empty tomb, at the throne of the exalted Christ.

Freedom from the blame (for it was my sin, but that has been forgiven) and from responsibility for the cure (for it is a gift from God, King of Kings, that I am cured).

At the foot of the cross, at the empty tomb, at the throne of the exalted Christ. 

That is where I am free.