The Simple Things

Oh, dear me, dear me. Sometimes I can’t help but be amazed at God’s sense of humor. The other day, a former teammate of mine accepted the head coaching position at a local high school and asked if I would be interested in doing some volunteer coaching in the spring. Of course, I said “yes” without missing a beat! Having had time now to reflect on what this means, I’m both extremely honored and extremely humbled. It seems that only last week I was a high school player, and now here I am with the opportunity to help raise up the next generation of athletes. *big gulp* That’s a lot of responsibility! Coaching always seemed so easy until I had to think about doing it myself!

           

I've always been convinced that every coach has their own particular coaching philosophy. Some can clearly articulate it and some don’t even know what the word “philosophy” means, but everyone has one. I've been thinking about mine, and it really relies on a mantra that’s been instilled in me by many of my coaches – “Do the simple things extraordinarily well, and do them all the time.” I've always been taught that, as a keeper, it’s not really about being able to make that upper 90 save or stopping the penalty kick. Of course, being able to do those things is good, but you don’t build your foundation as a player on them. It’s the simple things – communication, coming for cross balls, and being reliable in saving the shots that should be saved. Everything else is built on these basic abilities, and the trust your teammates have in you (and the trust you have in yourself) comes from you doing them all the time. So you train to do them over and over and over, until you literally do them in your dreams.

In a lot of ways, this a really good philosophy for life, and especially for life with POTS. There are a lot of simple things that need to be done in order to get healthy and stay healthy, and we just need to do them. Sodium. Hydration. Exercise. Taking your medication. None of those things is, by their nature, extraordinary. They’re not expensive. They’re not hard to do. And yet by taking care of these simple things all the time, we see extraordinary results. In the same way, when we neglect to do these simple things, the results can be devastating. These are the foundation of living a full and joyful life with POTS. If you work at doing them all the time, you’ll find yourself confident in your ability to cope with autonomic dysfunction. Houses built on solid foundations don’t crumble during earthquakes.

Matthew 7:24

On a more serious note, I’d like to thank everyone for keeping Meghan Herndon and her family in your prayers. Meghan was called home to the Lord a few days ago. Obviously, her family, friends, and teammates are still grieving their loss, and your continued prayers for their comfort and healing would be much appreciated. I know that at times like these it’s easy to ask, “Why God? Why didn’t you answer our prayers?” The truth is, He did answer them. He just said, “No. Today, my grace will be enough.” And the joy and comfort we receive comes from knowing that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him, and that even in the ultimate and inevitable result of the Fall - death – we see beauty and purpose. Through organ donation, Meghan has so far been able to save the lives of three people who were themselves at Death’s door. And most importantly, from what I’ve heard and read about Meghan, I have no doubt that she is now in the presence of God, fully healed and redeemed, filled with the joy that will come when the brokenness of this world passes away.

Meghan, may we meet in the place where Darkness flees.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.

Blessings

This life is hard. There’s no way around it. Today, I’m asking everyone reading this blog to say a prayer for a girl named Meghan Herndon and Meghan’s family. You don’t know her. Heck, I don’t even “know” her. But her story puts into perspective just how blessed we are, and just how precious life is – even when life is hard. The first and only time I ever saw Meghan, a senior from Southeast Missouri State University, was when she was playing on the field as my opponent two weeks ago. The next day, she was riding her scooter to work when she was t-boned by a pickup truck. She’s been in a coma since then, and doctors have told the family that the injuries to her brain are “devastating.” 

I’m the first to admit that in many ways, this tragedy has nothing to do with me. I never really met Meghan – the only time I saw her, my team was trying to destroy her team. I have no reason to care, and yet I’ve found myself following her CaringBridge updates online and praying for her. I can’t help it. It could have been my teammate. It could have been my sister. It could have been me. Yeah, I have POTS and it sucks. But I’m not in coma. My parents aren’t wondering if I’ll ever wake up. I get to tell my mom I love her and hug my dad. When the road seems unbearably long and the load unbearably heavy, we must not forget how truly blessed we are to have been given the gift of life. It’s true – this life is often painful, and we live in a world that is sinful and in a body that is broken.  But it is still a gift. And we rest in the promise that despite our unworthiness in the face of a holy God, what we have broken will once again be made perfect. There will be a day with no more tears, a day when you and I and Meghan will walk together, healed. Let us never forget the hope that we have.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I’m taking it back. 

Swinging Back

I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve dislocated my left ring finger. I’d probably have enough to retire on…ok that’s a slight exaggeration. I’d probably have about $20. But hey – that’s dinner and a movie! I could go on a date with myself and apologize to my body for the punishment I put it through every day.

Oh, wait, I have POTS. My body sucks. Never mind.

On a happy note, I got my first collegiate start last week, and we won, and Kerri Walsh was on our flight! If you’re like my mom and don’t know sports, Kerri Walsh is a three time Olympic gold medalist in beach volleyball. If you’re like my sister and don’t understand why that would matter, having three gold medals means that you’re awesome and I want a picture with you. So that was a good day. I feel  like I should have those days more often…seriously though, finally getting to start and play a full 90 minutes took a huge load off my shoulders, and I can’t even begin to describe the amount of confidence it gave me. Up until then, I hadn’t really had a lot of playing time since high school. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I could do it, and it wasn’t that I really thought anyone else didn’t think I could do it, either. But, when you haven’t actually done something before, there’s always that little doubt in the back of your mind that says, “What if I don’t even get the opportunity to see if I can?” Or worse, “What if I get the opportunity and blow it?”

In a lot of ways, our whole fight with POTS is like that. We know that we can beat this, we know that we are beating this, and yet there’s always that miserable voice in the back of your mind whispering, “What if you lose?”

Let me ask you something – what is losing? What does failure look like in POTS? 

Is it having a bad day? No. You can’t control that. No matter how fit you become or how much sodium you consume or how much water you drink, your body’s going to say, “Screw you,” some days. That doesn’t mean you’ve lost – it means you’re winning and POTS is fighting back. Is failure riding the struggle bus for a whole week of practice? No. You may have barely made it through the week, and you may have felt miserable, and you may be asking yourself why you ever bothered to roll yourself out of bed every day because the week was just that bad. But the fact is that you did drag yourself through the week, your body kicking and screaming the whole way. That’s not failure.

Failure is not when you’ve been beat down. It’s not when your eyes are swollen or your nose is bloodied. It’s not when your body aches or your soul is tired. It’s not when you’ve been suckered punched so hard by life that you’re lying face down in the ring with a metaphorically broken jaw and metaphorically cracked ribs. It isn’t even feeling like you’d rather stay down there, either. Failure is when you don’t get up and swing back anyway. 

So get up.

Swing back.

My name is Amy Swearer, and POTS stole my life. I'm taking it back.