Too Young To Know?

An excerpt from Rainbow Remedies for Life's Stormy Times
by Joanne K. Hill
All rights reserved.

As a young homemaker and mother, I was ill almost every week. At the time, my chronic ailments appeared a natural outgrowth of life as a “sickly” child. Because I was very small for my age, most adults saw me as puny, frail and susceptible to contagious diseases. Also, I lived in foster homes for three years due to a broken family, receiving little TLC (Tender Loving Care) except when ill. Between the need for TLC and the expectancy of illness, I was sick a lot.

When I became an adult, my illnesses took on a new meaning. The only extra rest came when I was too sick to get out of bed or went to the hospital to give birth. In those days, new mothers stayed in the hospital for a week and the nurses took care of the baby. Clean sheets every day, prepared meals served in bed. Flowers. Ah!

Eventually I was battling two or three bouts of bronchitis a year, which sometimes progressed into pneumonia. Each illness presented a crisis for me and the family. I’d be in bed for a week or two and feel tired and cranky for weeks afterward.

With six children in the house (my own five and a foster child), there were no coffee breaks or leisurely luncheons. I was lucky to get three hours sleep a night. In addition to the care of the children, an eight-room house, assorted animals and my husband, I committed time to Cub Scouts, Girls Scouts, PTA, car pooling, a monthly bridge club and church activities. I couldn’t say, “No.”

I loved all the activities, but lacked the time, energy or stamina to do everything I was committing to. Invariably I got sick and had to bow out of something temporarily to get some rest (such as it is in a houseful of children).

One year I volunteered to chair the decorations committee for our church’s main fundraiser: a style show and luncheon. For several years, Jane, a well-known businesswoman in our city, had organized the event for St. Mary’s Church. She bypassed my offer, drafting Todd, a talented art teacher, to supervise the decorations committee. I volunteered to help Todd.

Once we decided on a plan, Todd left me to implement it. I didn’t mind. He liked my ambitious ideas to use tiny twinkle Christmas lights (new that year) for stars in our simulated American flags. I knew the results would be stunning for the “Miss America” theme. I persuaded a local business owner to let us borrow his decorative lights. This will make a great impression on Jane, I thought.

Somehow I managed to keep up with all the meetings and preparations and continue with my other activities. Then shortly before the event, Jane called (as she frequently did) to check on progress. I was in bed with bronchitis. Jane heard my raspy voice and said, “I knew you were too young to handle this job.” I was flabbergasted! What did being young have to do with it? I was sick. Anyone can get sick.

As Jane berated my ability to handle the job, I was speechless. When she finally drew a breath, I jumped in with every bit of voice I could muster.

“I am twenty-nine years old, but I don’t see what my age has to do with this.”

Now she was confounded. “But you look like a teenager.”

I was not complimented. (Oh, to hear those words again!)

“How I look has nothing to do with my competency.” I rasped into a list of all the preparations that were in place. Hearing about the coup with the lights, that I was saving as a surprise, she begrudgingly apologized, said “good-bye” and hung up.

I lay back on the pillow to think, really think, about my chronic illnesses.

Am I immature as she intimated? Incapable? Why do I always get sick at critical times when I can least “afford” it? Was my husband (and sometimes even my doctor) right about my growing list of aches and pains?

My list of symptoms grew, often with no obvious physical cause. The medical bills grew proportionately. Ken’s frustration erupted as well.

“It’s all in your head. Just work through it.”

Although my doctor never used those words, I felt the inference in his comment, “Well, it’s only normal to have those symptoms… with all those children… but I can’t find anything physically wrong.” Then he’d prescribe a tranquilizer or muscle relaxant. Only when I had bronchitis did I get “real” medicine for a “real” disease.

Several days after the phone call, while still sick in bed, my questioning thoughts led me to a fascinating insight.

As with a close friend, I talk over my problems with God. Unlike some of my friends, my Creator never interrupts me, or tells me to “get over it” or “don’t worry about it.” What’s more, He never commiserates. In fact, I never hear a voice with distinct messages. But when I really listen, something happens that touches my soul deeply. Peace comes. That’s when I know that my prayers and questions are answered and life improves.

Prior to this particular time, my prayers were acts of pleading. “Please, please, please heal me fast. I need to get back to work.”

Sometimes the answer came back “yes” and sometimes it was an obvious “no.” When the bronchitis progressed into pneumonia, I felt like the answer was “NO! And another thing, young lady… ,” as if I were being punished for something. Learning more about the relationship of mind to body, and body to spirit, brought an understanding that it is I who does the punishing. And it has nothing to do with maturity either. It’s about listening to the inner spirit.

For the first time, my forced bed rest brought healing to my spirit as well as to my body. I asked the right questions and looked for answers from within myself, not from outside. Instead of asking for healing for my body, I asked for insight into what I might be doing to cause chronic health problems. Initially I resisted the nagging thought, “It’s all in your head.” Finally, in frustration, I took out pad and paper and wrote an argumentative letter to God.

“I don’t see how a disease in my body comes from my head. I don’t go around saying, ‘I want to be sick.’ You know that. In fact, I’m always begging you to heal my body.”

Once I’d vented my anger, I fell into a sound sleep. Several hours later as I was waking, an often spoken phrase came to mind. “I just want some rest!” Sitting bolt upright in bed, the truth poured into my mind.

That’s it! Only through an illness that restricts my breathing can I find “breathing space” to hear myself think. Although Jane had caught me off balance with her remarks, she touched something inside that caused me to look at my choices. How fortuitous!

This evaluation became a time of balance as I looked at what was really happening in my life. From the reflection came an inner wisdom I didn’t know was there — a valuable lesson. I owe Jane a big thank you.

“Change negative thoughts to affirmative thoughts and you change negative, unpleasant experiences to affirmative, pleasant experiences,” writes G. Eric Pace in Don’t Just Sit There — LIVE!

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Copyright © 2002 Joanne K. Hill