I have always been one of those "sports girls." You know the type - played basketball and can actually shoot a 3, into lifting weights at the gym and not just doing the elliptical machine, still has issues with nail polish on my fingers - that type of girl. I'm not sure if this is the reason why, but whenever anyone finds out that I happen to have asthma, they look at me with a bewildered expression and say something like, "Really? You have asthma?"
Yes, indeed. I have the thrilling experience of having my lungs swell to the point where my ability to breath becomes extremely difficult (to say the least). I know that brain function depends on oxygen, but truthfully, whenever I am in the midst of an attack, my brain is working overtime. Mostly, thinking about the exact location of my inhaler, and then thinking about how insanely silly and stupid I look, followed up by more self-conscious thoughts, then slowly thoughts that I really need to calm down. These all happen within a matter of a second and then are re-thought over and over again. It's quite the vicious cycle.
Having asthma is a bit of a problem for someone like me who has major issues in the realm of pride. You see, I try again and again to do things all on my own. I have issues, if you will, with letting things go. So, to be reliant on an inhaler every time I want to go work out is extremely trying. In recent years, I've tried to just do exercises that won't require that I take my inhaler - like yoga or pilates, even light jogging. But every now and then, I begin to think that I am doing so well with my work out, that I try to add on more and more - and then the lungs start to swell more and more. Before you know it, I am keeled over, feeling like an idiot - gasping for air.
It is in between the gasps that I am reminded that God created my lungs. He is the One that I live and move and have my being in; He is concerned with every hair on my head, so why would every breath that I take be any different? Way back in the day, there was a song called "Air I Breathe." It's funny what a simple lyric will do for a girl with asthma; but hearing that "This is the air I breathe, your holy presence living in me," did wonders for my prideful, asthmatic psyche.
Now for the abrupt shift - my mom died. In fact, it is now just a little over two months ago that I received the phone call from my uncle telling me this. I am not exactly sure what the grieving process is for other people, but right now, for me, I feel like I am stuck in a permanent asthma attack. I spend a lot of my time gasping, and being stuck in my prideful state thinking that I can get myself out of this one; I can fix it; I can stop gasping for air without the help of anyone or anything; I can do this on my own. It's a lot of silliness, really.
I know that every day is one day closer, time is the healer, and all of the other such timely phrases. It is actually realizing this every single day, physically making a conscious effort to know that God is not only concerned with my ability to breath while I exercise, but that He is concerned that I am not gasping for air while I grieve. We never suffer alone, we only feel like we do. He is not far off; He is not stuck in some cosmic conversation. He is near, ready to bring Joy in the morning.
