If only I was a

MASOCHIST! (i. e., someone who obtains pleasure from receiving punishment) Then ripping off bandages in tender biopsy areas would be something I could look forward to. In contrast, my bathroom has become a place of dread and loathing. "Skreap: Etymology: A mixture of 'scream' and 'rip' with a portion of 'scrape', which to me, is a pretty painful sounding word."

 

 

The biopsys are healing, but the progress is slow. The drug tamps down the itching, but also smothers my brain. I am beginning to have more empathy with those who suffer from mental illness but do not WANT to take their meds! I get it! But the itching begins to drive me mad and I take the pill and apply the ointment and try NOT to complain.

This is my brain on mud:

 

 

Perhaps even more painful is the sense that my purposes and activities have pretty much come to a halt while I wade through the itching

(Hebrews 12:1b 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,)

and try to find Christ in my midst

(Hebrews 12:2-3 fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.)

 

Isaiah 26:3 Thou wilt keep her in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee:

because she trusteth in thee.

 

John G. Whittier wrote:

Love which outlives

All sin and wrong, Compassion which forgives

To the uttermost, and Justice whose clear eyes

Through lapse and failure look to the intent,

And judge our frailty by the life we meant.

 

Oh, Lord, how I pray his poem is correct! There are times my intention is vasty different than my actual performance.

 

 

 

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