So that...

 I wasn’t super faithful to write while I was inpatient at UAB. I had some really great, really clear moments. But I also had some really foggy, really confused moments too. That is all the excuse I have to offer. :)
 I am home now. Sleeping in my own bed for two night in a row, with my Andy there next to me. Only staples on my head, nothing high tech. Eating “real” food, while sitting at a table, surrounded by my amazing teens.
 It seems slightly unreal.
 Too good to be true.
 So, when this verse stood out to me this morning, I respected it, a LOT.

 SO THAT...

 We are comforted, we find comfort, we are given comfort, SO THAT we can know how to give it.
 That is breathtaking.
 Every single pain, every single one, can serve a purpose.
 WILL serve a purpose.
 Every comfort we receive, we now know how to give.
 Some are easy to share-

Andy bought me donut holes, small enough bites that I could handle through the pain. 

I can share that joy, the excitement of that simple joy, with others who desire that tiny, easy joy. 

 That tiny, easy, reminder. 

Joy can be found in little tiny bites. 

EEG’S leave you sticky and gross, but with much more annoyance than pain. 

I can share that comfort with others. The simple joy of a shower that you have taken for granted and then suddenly have great respect for. 

I still can’t wash my head, but my body is clean and fresh and oh so appreciated. 

Simple comfort. 

The SEEG leaves some blood behind, 

and some ugly staples, 

but they come out, go away.

A few scars in the skin, soon hidden by hair and smiles. 

Comfort I am now experiencing and will know how to share. 

This picture won’t change direction.

Technology isn’t my friend today...but that seems fitting to go with the theme. 

I have experienced the comfort of an amazing man, who is my teammate. 

Team. 

Together.  

Different strengths and different weaknesses, but a team. 

My team, given as such an inspiring gift. 

Comfort given. 

Comfort I can hopefully know how to properly share.

He sat and held a pager like this twice. Once as they put wires in, and once as they pulled them out. 

And the comfort given during both those times is indescribable, by amazing people who visibly showed love during my entire week in the hospital.

(But a special thank you to Carrie, who knew how to let him be a “manly man” during a time of fear and yet also how to show him love)

Leaving us with this fascinating pile of wires that at one point were screwed into my head. 

And now aren’t. 

Healing is still occurring.

Knowledge is still needed, from more testing, before we have answers about what comes next and what my future holds. Whether seizures can be “beaten”.

 But I have experienced so much comfort, and now will have the experience to share it with others.

If that is the only thing I ever get from this, that is enough. 

I will ask for more. 

I will pray that God gives us knowledge from this and that doctors have ideas of how to use it for repair of my brain and body. 

But...

Comfort to share with others is enough. 

“So that...When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort.”

Every single pain, every single one, can serve a purpose. 

 WILL serve a purpose. 

Think on that, my friends. Feel the amazing comfort that you have received, from many different experiences, and choose to remember the gift that it is. 

 Then turn around and give it. 

Give comfort.

Be blessed!