People often ask me about my career. I usually say that I work for a company that provides custom and power wheelchairs. My title is Funding Specialist. I request and carefully review the required paperwork – progress notes, letters of medical necessity, and detailed prescriptions. Sometimes I have to request the paperwork several times before it meets the requirements of the insurance company. The process can take months. When the paperwork is satisfactory, I submit it for prior authorization.

My favorite moments are those that include an approval. That phone call, letting the client know that the wait is over, and the quality of their life will soon improve, is beyond rewarding. It’s exhilarating!

We have a little party, over the phone, to celebrate the great news!

Sometimes, I’m able to join the ATP for the delivery of the wheelchair.

Every time, the smiles and the gratitude we are met with are life changing.

A transformation takes place in my heart. I receive my reward in full.

I’m extremely grateful for a career that allows me to be a part of the process, and to be fulfilled.

I have processed several orders recently where the insurance company calls me, after I have submitted the prior authorization request for a custom wheelchair, to inform me that the client has been provided a standard manual wheelchair from another company.

The diagnosis is paraplegia, cerebral palsy, MS, or another long-term diagnosis that warrants a custom wheelchair.

I am passionate about how unethical this practice is (these other companies providing wheelchairs that are insufficient)! These clients are now STUCK with the wrong wheelchair for 5 years! This could have severely negative effects on the client!

My solution: Educate! Educate physicians who write the prescriptions. Educate them about the system, and the importance of the correct wheelchair order. Educate providers, and their employees, who are delivering standard wheelchairs to clients who desperately need the correct wheelchair. Educate insurance companies who are authorizing the incorrect wheelchair for clients with long term diagnoses.

Please share this post so that the education will spread. Thank you!

I sit, emotionally frozen, as the keyboard keys are pressed under my fingertips. My brain bypasses my soul. I stare through the monitor, as the necessary information enters, computes, and files itself away.

I am unaware of what my mind has processed. Days go by as I’m in this disconnected state of mind.

My contentment has been stolen.

I see myself running toward the finish line, and just as I reach it, the tape is gone. The banner disappears.

I remember the days when excitement woke me up every morning. I couldn’t wait to embrace every new challenge. I didn’t care about the finish line. I cherished every moment.

Pride.

My contentment was stolen by pride.

Somewhere along the way, the excitement dissolved. Challenges gave up on my unresponsive mind. I arrogantly rose above it all.

As soon as the invisible blindfold was removed, I confronted my pride. I had a talk with myself. Humbly, I drifted back.

Content, eager to cherish the moments, and ready for the next mission on this journey.

It’s impossible to describe the intense love that is felt for my children. It began the moment I knew I was carrying a human being in my womb. As my belly grew, so did my love for them.

The tender feelings I experienced when I initially held him/her in my arms and he/she looked up at me… were beyond comprehension. The experience is one that words cannot do justice in describing – wonder, amazement, and peace merely scratch the surface.

My heart swelled every time our eyes connected, every time a smile crept in, in every small or big accomplishment, and in every cherished moment.

As they grew, I transformed into their protector, nurturer, comforter, teacher, and provider.

My love for them grew beyond my imagination.

I adore them.

Recently, I’ve experienced a revelation about my Creator. He feels, and is, the same for us. His love for us began while he was “knitting us together.” It grew as he chose the parents He’d lend us to. He protects, nurtures, comforts, teaches, and provides for us.

He adores us.

I left my kids for the weekend. Every other weekend for a year during the divorce process. Their dad spent his parenting time with them while I left the house for the weekend.

I drove to Kalamazoo to meet up with an ex-boyfriend. Every other weekend for a year during the divorce process. I was looking for my feelings of worthlessness to be wiped away by him. I sought healing. I was so emotionally unhealthy that I thought the ex-boyfriend could erase the pain. I couldn’t wait to get there, so hopeful for that moment of erasing.

It never happened.

I realize now that in my state of emptiness and worthlessness I overlooked the blaring, flashing, warning crossing lights. I silenced the train’s deafening horn, warning me it was about to destroy me even more.

My soul died.

I spent the next two years walking around as the shell of who I once was.

Another failed relationship behind me, I sought healing again. I looked for the pain eraser. I thought another man might be the answer.

Relationships sought, found, left. No answers, still empty, still seeking.

Nine years went by.

I heard a whisper. I felt a tug.

I ran to the arms of the only One who can provide my every need.

I’ve found true healing from the God who created me. Uniquely in His image.

He erased the pain. He washed over me and through me like the roar of a raging river.

The love that I’ve received from God is immeasurable.

He gave me a new heart. Full. Repaired. Healed. Whole.

As the old soul that I am, I love old movies.  I love the idea of the simple life, and the connectedness that people seemed to have had back in the 1800s.

I watched “Little Women” tonight.

Surprisingly, my kids sat down and watched it with me.  One kid at a time, sat down, snickered, mimicked, watched a few more moments, and then walked away.

My oldest son sat down during the part where Marmee, the mother, was telling a discouraged Josephine March how much she loved who she was, and praised her for all of the great things she had to offer the world.  She gave her the pep talk of all pep talks, inspiring her to spread her wings and fly.

At that moment, my son looked right at me and said, “it would be nice if you’d hype me up like that sometime.”

His statement shook me.  We sat in silence for a while,  as I pondered his statement.

I mustered up enough courage to ask him why he felt that way.

He told me that I tend to only point out the negative, and that I can can be harsh.  Sadly, he was right.  I believe that in my effort to encourage him to do better, and succeed, my words have been too harsh, and my expectations too high.

Humbly, I apologized.

Then, I “hyped” him up.  I told him I was proud of him, and proud of the hard worker that he is, and for keeping a job.  I praised his efforts at school.

He smiled at me, in a way that I haven’t seen in far too long.

I didn’t realize how fragile his soul was, or how much he longed for me to proud of who he is.

I believe we all long for that.  Acceptance, praise, and affirmation.

A wise pastor recently taught me to “affirm your children exactly the way they’re looking to be affirmed.”

I’m glad I was given the opportunity to redeem my past mistakes.  I’m thankful that my son was comfortable enough to be honest with me.  I have much to learn, but my mind is open.

A friend of mine has created a podcast about healing.  http://newnormal.life/

As I listened to his story, I was struck by his honesty.  It was raw, real, and heartfelt.

I believe that when we share our pain, we heal. When we are bold enough to bare our broken souls to one another, we heal. When we leave the comfort of our safety nets in order to reach people who might relate to our painful stories in their lost state, we heal.  We are rewarded with a deeper healing when we are real, honest, and bold.

In an amazing, supernatural way, writing about healing has taken me to a deeper level.  My soul has opened doors that I didn’t even know were locked.

When I was newly divorced, I thought healing was a choice.  I wasn’t ready.  I placed it on an imaginary shelf, thinking I could open it up and wear it when I was ready.

In my broken state, I started dating.  Unknowingly, dating delayed the healing.  It moved further and further back on that shelf.  I sunk deeper and deeper into the unhealthy me, the me that forgot what healing even was.  Instead of oxygen, I needed affirmation.  It was suffocating. It wreaked havoc on the people I loved the most.  I lived in survival mode, with a limited ability to prepare for anything beyond what the next day might bring.

I lived as a victim.  A victim of adultery.  A victim of divorce.  A victim of single motherhood.

The victim mentality allowed me to hide. I hid from reality, life, friends, family, and God.

This identity hindered me from truly living.  It fed on the pursuit of desolation.

Thankfully, I wasn’t destined to remain there. Slowly, steadily, lovingly, I was yanked out.

I emerged with an angst, a hunger to be healthy again.  Each day presented a new opportunity to learn.  Each new lesson became a renewed step. Each new step uncovered  a layer that couldn’t wait to be shed.

The false identities were exposed, destroyed, annihilated.  Never to be seen again.

The journey outward, toward healing, required a journey inward.

I have a gift. I received it 20 years ago.

With this gift, I am able to do good things. Things I cannot do on my own.

This gift helps me to choose right from wrong, to help people, to love people even when they’re difficult.

This gift gives me sight. I see the good in people. I see the paths that I should take.

This gift is limitless.

When I received this gift I was overwhelmed with gratitude. I set out to to prove that I deserved it.

Unfortunately, I left it on the counter, in the back seat of my car, in my backpack, and elsewhere.

Eventually, somehow, I forgot about it. Placed it in a box on moving day and forgot it was there.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I didn’t deserve it.

Years later, when fear, doubt, and sadness were overtaking me, I remembered where it was. I pulled it out, held it close, and cherished it again.

I realized, when I truly cherished it this time, that I didn’t deserve it, and that is exactly why it was given to me.

Life without this gift is unbearable. A mess.

I’m going to do my very best never to forget…

The Gift

Strands of life weave themselves in.

All experiences find their way through the unknown.

Details are exposed.

Their strength seeks mending.

Intricately, precisely, with great care, they’re woven back in.

Each strand is as important as the last.

Each experience moves the final piece toward the next level.

Eventually, its impossible to tell the beginning from the end.

Lessons are learned.

Mistakes are made.

Character develops.

Each strand has a purpose. When it’s fulfilled, it becomes part of another strand’s beginning.

Each beginning leads to an end that becomes another strand’s beginning.

Intricate.