Worship in the Wreckage
Tom and I are sitting in the L.A. airport now, waiting for our flight to board. I’ve practically lost track of every day since my last entry. On the 9th, I had just woken up from a two-hour nap and still felt tired, sluggish, and full. I had no idea why I was so exhausted—though I assumed it was just the result of all the packing, moving, and stress. But apparently, there was more to it than that.
That Wednesday night, D took us to Houston’s in Manhattan Beach. The more I stood there looking at and smelling the food, the less I wanted to eat. I told D I didn’t think I could eat anything, so I just drank chamomile tea while they enjoyed salmon appetizers and full-course meals. My body continued to decline. I began shaking—like a low rumble deep in my core—and it wouldn’t stop. I had on two sweaters, but Tom and D, bare-armed, were perfectly comfortable with the temperature. Clearly, something was wrong. On the way home, D gave me a blanket and turned the heater on in my part of the car. Only then did I finally stop shivering.
I think I slept fairly well that night, but I still didn’t feel well the next day. I decided I needed to rest and recover, but that day also happened to be Tom’s birthday. I managed to get out of bed long enough to wish him a happy birthday and sit with him for about a half hour before I started to fade again and returned to bed. I slept off and on all day, missing his birthday dinner and the play the family went to. When they returned, I got up and sat with D for a little while. She was worried and brought me some toast so I could take an Advil PM—since all I’d had that day was some juice and a bit of chicken broth.
That night, I woke up hot and sweaty. I opened the bedroom door to let a cross-breeze in and crawled back into bed. The next time I woke up, I was freezing. I grabbed another blanket, but it wasn’t enough. I needed more warmth, so I forced myself up, shaking uncontrollably, and put on a sweatshirt. I closed the door, added another blanket, and finally stopped shaking enough to fall asleep again. Throughout the night, I gradually shed the layers as I began sweating profusely.
Friday was another moving day, so I had to push through: shower, pack, and get ready. D took Tom and me to lunch at Mimi’s Café before dropping us off at M and L’s. I ordered French onion soup—something gentle, something with broth—but could only manage a few bites. Everything tasted bitter and metallic. At M and L’s, I napped on the couch. Their daughter, S, had invited us for dinner at her apartment. P dropped off E to join us, and though I didn’t know how much I could eat, I felt well enough to go. S had made Mom’s enchilada casserole and fruit salad. I could only nibble on the chicken, but the fruit salad tasted good and I ate all of that over time. I started to feel bad again, so we left around 10 and picked up juice and Tylenol PM at the drugstore.
That night mirrored the one before: hot flashes, shaking, and night sweats. In the morning, I started having intense, stabbing pains in my left temple—so severe they caused my whole body to jerk. M and L had planned to take us to “Fort MacArthur Days” in San Pedro, but I stayed home. My body felt like it was fighting off an infection, but I couldn’t figure out what. Before they left, I broke down and cried—just sobbed. I was so tired of being sick. The headache pushed me past my breaking point. But after crying, I felt a release. I iced my neck, took Excedrin and Ibuprofen, and settled in.
I slept most of the day, but when they came home, I still felt puny. My dreams were strange—disco-era scenes with big sunglasses, bell bottoms, and stretchy, surreal movements. I even saw colored lines dancing through their blinds. It all felt… drug-like and bizarre. I soaked through my clothes and sheets again.
Everyone was so concerned. L brought me applesauce and said she thought my illness might be connected to emotional suppression from everything we’ve been through. As she spoke, I cried again. A part of me related—emotional suppression is my usual MO—but deep down I knew this was different. Something was really wrong. I was achy, feverish, short of breath, bloated—yet nothing hurt to the touch. I poked around trying to find tenderness but found none. After that talk, I showered to get out of my sweaty clothes and spent some time visiting.
L encouraged me to eat more applesauce. I warmed a few bites of eggs and ham, but couldn’t finish them. I took more medicine and we all went to bed, but I couldn’t stay down. The food and pills sat like a rock in my stomach. I got up, drank water, stretched, and walked around. Around 4:30 a.m., the pain finally subsided and I laid down on the couch. I woke up an hour later drenched again, then joined Tom in bed.
When Tom got up for church, I still felt awful and tried to rest. That’s when I heard the Lord clearly:
“Get up, Linda. Get the computer and worship Me.”
I realized I hadn’t worshiped Him in nearly a month. I hadn’t spent any real time with Him at all during the trip. I had prayed a lot—especially during the sickness—but not worshiped. So I obeyed. I dragged my trembling body out of bed, got the computer, and started worshiping. As soon as the music began, I broke down sobbing. I missed Him so much. I sang out loud with a dry mouth, constantly sipping water to stay hydrated. I heard the Lord say to drink His living water too. As I worshiped, the shaking stopped. My body warmed. I felt better—just from that simple act of obedience and connection.
After worship, the Lord told me again:
“Now go spend time with M and L. Stop isolating. You’ll be leaving soon—be present.”
So I did. It was 12:30 p.m. when I went downstairs to join them on the porch. We talked about how bad I’d been feeling, and I asked them their thoughts on my journal. They love us deeply, but they struggle with our season of not working. They don’t understand how we can live by faith and trust God to provide. To them, a pastor earns offerings through service, and they don’t see us as qualified. We've had this conversation before, but it always makes me question again: Did we miss God somewhere? Did we mess up?
The whole time, my head was pounding. L brought me chicken broth, and I kept drinking water. M mentioned a seminary friend was coming over that evening to talk to us about where we may be off-track. That surprised me—but I knew they were trying to help in the only way they knew how.
Tom came home around 3 p.m., and we moved the conversation inside. My head was hurting so badly I had to take something. L gave me half a nectarine so I could take Excedrin with food. The nectarine was delicious. M wrapped a towel tightly around my head, hoping to ease the pain. But it got worse, and soon I was sweating again and my stomach began cramping. I went upstairs to lie down. While they ate tri-tip and yams, I was battling chills and the shakes again.
Eventually, Tom came up and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I said yes. I was so ready. We got there around 9 p.m. M and L followed us, and they called Mom and Dad, who met us in the waiting room. I’d never taken my temperature, but at the hospital it was 103°. If I wasn’t as hot as I had been earlier, then I must have been peaking at 105° at some point. They gave me Motrin, and I waited—weak, shaky, drenched.
At 11:30, they called me back. No rooms, so they put me in a hallway bed. I gave a urine sample, got hooked up to IV fluids, then the doctor gave me Vicodin and drew blood. Just before midnight, I told Tom to send everyone home. I was finally pain-free and relaxed. I told Tom that Vicodin was my new best friend. We spent the next few hours waiting for test results.
At one point, Tom said, “I have a feeling the bill’s going to be $500—the exact amount R and L gave me for my 50th birthday.” I laughed and said I hoped that it was only $500! A little while later, a staff member handed Tom a paper saying they needed a $500 deposit since we had no insurance. Unbelievable!
Eventually, the results came in: I had a urinary tract infection. Part of me was relieved. The other part thought, Really? I went through hell for a UTI? But in my heart, I knew it would be something treatable with antibiotics. The doctor explained that the infection wasn’t “normal” anymore—it had spread systemically, which is why my fever was so high. My sample lit up the entire panel. He said, “When you do something, you do it well.” So, technically, it was a kidney infection.
We left the hospital at 4:30 a.m. and went to Norms for breakfast. I hadn’t been that hungry in days. After that, we went home and crashed. I’ve never been that sick in my entire life—and I pray I never am again!
After a few hours of rest, I got up around noon (Tom had gone out earlier to get my prescription). I ate a little, we packed, and got ready to head to Mom and Dad’s for our last night. M and L were out running errands, so we called to let them know we were okay.
I feel so much better now—more like myself than I have in a long time. It’s taken all day to write this, but I’m finally done, sitting here at R and E’s house in North Carolina. I’m home—praise God! It’s nearly 2 a.m., so I’d better shut this down and get to bed.
Thank You, Jesus, for Your strength when I am weak. Thank You for taking care of all our needs. Amen.
