Waking Up

For the better part of this year, I've lived in isolation.

A large part of that is necessary for my health. If I leave my house, I can bank on returning at least a little bit sick.

By "a little bit sick," I mean I have to crawl into bed for a while, my energy is zapped, and I experience a variety of discomforts, which may include swelling, asthma, severe headache, joint and tissue pain, dizziness, loss of balance, blood pressure drops, fainting, insomnia, and/or fever.

And then, there's always the risk of returning home "very sick," which means death and I brushed shoulders along the way. I'm happy to report that hasn't happened in a while, but there's always the risk.

You see why I don't get out much.

Another part of my isolation was self-imposed. I withdrew from social media because I felt doing so was in the interests of myself and my family.

I was right.

January, February, and March leeched the life out of me. It was a difficult time for all of us, and the scant energy I had needed to go to Brandon and my kids.

My memory blocks seasons of extreme difficulty. All I remember from that time is anger, hollowness, and a weariness so deep death sounded good.

Also, God. The grappling, the crying, the fight for grateful living. Exhilarating answers to prayer. Growth. Painful, excruciating growth.

Oh! And Gilmore Girls. God bless Gilmore Girls.

The final part of the isolation was inevitable. God gave me a book to write, and guess what--you have to write in isolation. There's no other way. Without going bonkers, anyway.

Those lonely months with nothing but God, my family, my characters and their story restored my strength. Solitude was just what I needed. Funny, isn't it, how the Great Physician never gets the prescription wrong?

On July 15, I completed a typed draft of my novel. Woohoo!

I frolicked about in post-writing afterglow for a week or two. I traveled to Baton Rouge to see my friend/mentor. I watched television. I read Blake Snyder's Save the Cat!, grinning like a Cheshire cat each time I realized I had followed pro-writer advice without even knowing it. Cha-ching! I basked in having written something Mom and Brandon really liked. I took naps. 

And then I woke up. 

If you ever have the misfortune of running out of water in the middle of the desert, you will begin to feel sleepy after a time. You will sleep, and for the length of that sleep, you will feel nothing as you edge closer and closer to death. 

But when you wake, you'll experience a thirst unlike anything you can imagine. You'll be mad with it. You'll drink anything--urine, antifreeze, bleach.

Waking up to isolation was a bit like that. A bit.

For months, I slept through the pain of loneliness. To heal. To write. It was good and it was necessary and I don't regret it. 

But now...

Facebook would've been an easy fix, but I know enough of myself to realize that going to Facebook with a need like that would've been the soul equivalent to drinking antifreeze. So I waited...

In the meantime, what was I supposed to do with this desire and no clear way to quench it?

The purpose of desire, I believe, is to keep us alive and point us to God. Granted, we can warp desires into bad things when we fashion them into idols, but for the most part, God gives us desires to meet them. He's good like that, yo.

C. S. Lewis puts it like this: 

A man's physical hunger does not prove that that man will get any bread; he may die of starvation on a raft in the Atlantic. But surely a man's hunger does prove that he comes of a race which repairs its body by eating and inhabits a world where eatable substances exist. In the same way, though I do not believe (I wish I did) that my desire for Paradise proves that I shall enjoy it, I think it a pretty good indication that such a thing exists and that some men will. A man may love a woman and not win her; but it would be very odd if the phenomenon called "falling in love" occurred in a sexless world.

Thus, I conclude that if I desire community, community exists. Even for shut-ins. Even for me. And based on what I know of God and the Bible, community is good and necessary. We are built to need each other. So I don't have to worry about whether or not the desire is right.

But what does community look like for someone like me?

I don't believe God would awaken me to thirst just to let me die. I'm thirsty so I'll drink.

So the question isn't "Can I attain community?" but "How will I attain community?"

Which is something I'm figuring out as I go.

Another Kind of Miracle

In my previous post, I shared how I have experienced a better miracle than physical healing. It seemed to encourage those of you who have prayed me through the ups and downs of my struggle over the past couple of years, but I began to feel concerned for those just tuning in. I can see how someone new to my blog may be left with questions, confusion, or discouragement due to thoughts not quite complete. I can't have that.

God forbid I preach a false gospel or make the sufferer's road more treacherous than it already is. I do not want to perpetuate hurtful falsehoods spoken by well-meaning non-sufferers, and I do not want to add new doubts you have not previously considered. Please allow me to clarify my thinking.

First, your suffering is not necessarily a direct consequence of some moral failure.

I become very impatient when people suggest all suffering comes from lack of faith or a particular sin or whatever. Such statements are neither true nor helpful. While it's true some suffering is the consequence of sin, our suffering is never in proportion to our sin.

The best of us may suffer much.
The worst of us may suffer little.
And none of us suffer as we deserve.


The God of the Bible is not a tit-for-tat God. No. He's a God who, through infinite condescension, entered into our suffering and brokenness, and carried it all to the cross. Where it stayed.

Neither is God naive. He knows we are spiritual whores who run after other lovers time and again, yet He says, "I have seen [her] ways, and will heal [her]" (Isaiah 57:18).

Through His pain and suffering, we are healed (Isaiah 53:5). For those who receive Him, there is no debt left to be paid. God is satisfied (Isaiah 53:11).

Your suffering is not the price for your sin. You could never pay it anyway. God requires nothing from the guilty sinner when "Jesus" is the plea of her heart.

The cross was enough.
I will say it again: The cross was enough.

If suffering isn't cosmic payback, what is it?

Most suffering is an opportunity to walk in His steps (1 Peter 2:21), an invitation into the "high and holy place" where God dwells (Isaiah 57:15), and the thing which entitles us to all Christ will inherit--"if indeed we suffer with Him" (Romans 8:17).

Thus, suffering is a gift.

If your suffering is hard, if it doesn't feel like a gift, if it is breaking your heart, you are not "less than" spiritually.

The sufferer's road to joy is long, hard, and fraught with bumps, stumbles, and pits of self-pity, and don't let anyone tell you differently.

When a sufferer pastes on a smile and tells you they are fine, their words are lies and make-up covering an ugly truth: they are still trying to save themselves. 

They are trying desperately to stay strong because denial is easier than facing the darkness and walking through it. This is a great sadness because the darkness isn't such a terrible place. Not really.

"Who walks in darkness and has no light?
Let him trust in the name of the Lord and rely upon his God.
Look, all you who kindle a fire,
who encircle yourselves with sparks:
Walk in the light of your fire and in the sparks you have kindled--
This you shall have from My hand:
you shall lie down in torment."
-Isaiah 50:10-11

The night of suffering reveals the truth of our spiritual poverty. It serves to show us there is no way to save ourselves. Not even with our little religious fires like Bible study, prayer, church going, and service. We can't strong arm God into rewarding our feeble attempts at morality.

The fires we build to keep ourselves warm are only tiny sparks in the cold, dark world of suffering, and they lead us to torment, which is just another way of saying "a place without God."

 

There are no steps A, B, and C to joy.  

Those who claim otherwise are selling something--probably a book based on a false gospel that will make them rich and leave you bankrupt. 

There is nothing you can do for yourself other than seek the face of God. No one ever obtained real joy by seeking joy. The only way to obtain joy is through seeking God. Bible study and prayer are essential, but don't confuse holy pursuits with tasks on a checklist.

Just go on--give into it. Give into your need. Rely upon your God. He came "to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace" (Luke 1:79).

Take His hand, and walk the way of the cross. It will beat you bloody, but it leads Home. 

Honesty is key.

 

If you read my posts from the last couple of years, they are full of lament. I did not win my fight for joy overnight.

It has taken more than two years of carrying my pain to the feet of Jesus over and over and over again. Two years of prayer, weeping, and waiting and things getting much, much worse before they got better. Two years of trustful determination to experience the sweet promises of God.

As in the parable of the widow and judge, I "pray[ed] and did not lose heart" (Luke 18:1). I kept asking for joy--a promise, a command of the Bible--until He gave it.

Believe those promises, Sister. God is faithful and able to fulfill them.
Ask for them, Brother. They were written for you. 

James tells us to "count it all joy when [we] fall into various trials" (James 1:2). We are to "rejoice always....and in everything give thanks" (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18). 

These are commands. Commands we cannot obey on our own. Like faith, joy is a gift of God (Ephesians 2:8), a gift He delights to give. Ask for it.

Ask, and be prepared to wait. But don't be afraid to wait. "For they shall not be ashamed who wait for Me" (Isaiah 49:23).

 --Mike Pilavachi

Remember: "He who promised is faithful" (Hebrews 10:23), and His faithfulness is not contingent upon our own: "If we are faithless, He remains faithful; He cannot deny Himself" (2 Timothy 2:13).

 

In the waiting, God works another kind of miracle.

This other kind of miracle is meek in appearance but holds a quiet power. It's a miracle that can only be measured over time--

Growth.

Growth in faith. Growth in trust. Growth in grace. Growth in valor.


It's in the valley of the shadow of death we learn to conquer our fear, not on the mountain top.
It's in the pit we learn to reach for the only Hand strong enough to pull us out. 
It's in the ocean of grief we learn who commands the tempest without and within, who keeps our souls from drowning.
It's in the dead of night we hear our Savior's song.
It's in the wilderness we taste the sweetness of manna.
It's in the fire we find we are more than the sum of our successes, failures, lesser loves, and short-sighted dreams, all which burn away like dross.

It's at the gates of hell we learn God really is with us wherever we go.

Out of the whirlwind, He speaks (Job 38-41).
Unkindly, He kindly shows us God (Piper, "Job"). 
And when we see Him, all we can do is cry, "Woe is me! I am unclean!," and repent in dust and ashes.

So, if you are suffering and wondering what is wrong with you that you are empty and wounded and just not strong enough to smile--hold on, dear one.

Hold on. 

Hold onto Jesus.
Ask for joy.
Feast upon His promises.
Wait for His timing.
Believe in His infinite goodness, wisdom, and power.
Rest in His sovereignty.


Don't give up.


Thank Him for everything, even your pain. Not because pain is good, but because He is good, and He is allowing this pain for good and glory your brain is too weak and fractured to comprehend. 

There is purpose in it all. Some He may let you see, some you will never know this side of eternity. 

Seek Him. Trust Him.

One day, in the midst of your pain, there it will be--joy!

The Better Miracle

I am doing very well.

There, I said it.

I've been afraid to, you see, because every time I share how well I'm doing, something unpleasant this way comes. Inevitably, there will be a freak trigger exposure or a virus that lays me low for a week.

But I will not be bullied by circumstances! I will not be a slave to fear! I'm going to say it loud and proud and expect the best, trusting the Rock beneath my feet to steady me in the face of the worst--God has granted me an increased measure of health, and I am doing very well. 

Bless the Lord, O trembling soul.
Bravely bless His name.

My energy is up, I've gained weight, my pain is more manageable, I'm sleeping better, and I recently returned from a five day anniversary trip to San Antonio where upon I actually left the resort to do things, and had not one episode of anaphylaxsis.

Believe me when I say this is a miracle. 

Dr. Yakaboski checked my adrenal and thyroid function last week. For the first time since I began seeing her, my adrenals are functioning properly, and my thyroid isn't looking too shabby, either. Dr. Frieden reports I no longer harbor an overabundance of candida albicans in my belly. So that's good. Detox reactions are not the problem they once were.

I am doing very well.

Last week, I masked up and went to two appointments, Micah's school orientation, and church on Sunday morning. Not one emergency.

Micah began kindergarten this week. My days are longer, fuller, and more demanding. I'm feeding people all day long. (School apparently requires an additional meal per day. For both children. That's five meals per day for them. Help me.) I see Micah off every morning and pick him up every afternoon (so far). I assist him with homework. Though exhausted, I made it to the end of the school week, and am still functioning. A blog post is happening. Miraculous!

 

I am doing very well.

I would keep it to myself for the sake of my safety, but some things are more important than safety--like you knowing that God hears your prayers. He is listening to you, and He is acting because you ask Him to. Take heart: you are heard and loved.

So let the sky fall. Let it fall because there is a better miracle pulsing beneath the obvious one, the visible one telling the invisible story. There is a better miracle working health in my soul as my cells dump poison into my blood and my body pushes back against a supposedly degenerative disease.

The physical healing taking place is only a parable of the real, unshakeable healing which cannot be maimed by degranulating mast cells.

The parable whispers a secret--feasting works the healing.

Nutritional therapy for the sick person is essentially eating lots and lots of nutrient-dense calories to encourage the mitochondria of the cells to wake up and work life and healing in the body. Junk food just doesn't have that kind of power.

Nutritional therapy for the soul isn't all that different.

"And you who seek God, your souls shall live."--Psalm 69:32

I may follow Autoimmune Paleo protocol, but I daily feast upon the Bread of Life and drink deep of Living Water, thereby awakening the mitochondria of my inner being, the little powerhouses which produce joy and delight on a plane more real than flesh and bone.

My daily coffee enema and detox bath require a total of two hours per day. Until this summer, I squandered away that time with the distractions of Netflix and Facebook--junk food for the soul. A few months ago, I finally heard God's invitation to something better. There is nothing wrong with a little junk food, but why choose a processed snack cake while a perfectly cooked steak sits before you? One leaves you empty and sugar-crashed after a very short while. The other satisfies.

Now that I've thrown out the junk food, I have two entire hours built into my day for Jesus alone! What a blessing!

While nutritional therapy for the body is taking in calories targeted for biological healing and support, nutritional therapy for the soul is taking time to feast at my Savior's table and rest my sin-diseased and broken spirit in the Healer's arms. I couldn't have dreamed more poignant imagery to illustrate "mortality [being] swallowed up by life" than spending my sick-person-to-do-list with the Source of Life Himself (2 Corinthians 5:4).

Before I felt better, I was able to say, "I am the happiest I've ever been." Singing, dancing, smiling-like-a-love-struck-school-girl happy.

Before I felt better, I confessed, "Sometimes, I forget I'm sick," which really means this--"Sometimes I forget myself."

Self-forgetfulness is healing. It's life to the dead, rest to the weary, and freedom to the shut-in.

When we are continually looking at Jesus, we forget to check the mirror. When we forget to check the mirror, we begin to see the pain of others. Thus self-forgetfulness often means more tears because you aren't just shedding them for yourself anymore. Yet all the while, God magically, mysteriously invites us into the miracles He's working in their lives through prayer and service, rendering smiles through the tears and joy in the mourning. 

Miracles for everyone!

Self-forgetfulness is an awesome place to live. I just wish I knew how to stay. 

"Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, Lord, take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above."

Though I have learned to live above my disease, I still want complete physical healing. I'll want it until I get it. In the meantime, there is a better miracle beneath it all.

There is a happiness to be had when the sky falls and health fails and dreams die and people wound us. There is a strong current of peace flowing beneath the tumultuous waves of our stormy seas. When life spontaneously combusts, there is One like the Son of God who stands with us in the fire.

You can do better than survive your suffering. You can thrive there. I've seen it. I've lived it. But there is only one Way, one Truth, one Life.

You'll find Him at the cross--arms open wide, bearing your sin and pain, forgiving your unbelief, loving you and wanting you in spite of your filth, foolishness, and propensity toward the junk food of the world.

I hope you'll seek Him because if you do, you'll find Him. And your soul will live. 


(If this post leaves you with unanswered questions about finding joy in suffering, please read my amendment post here.)

Growth: A Health Update

Growth is gradual.

Real, organic growth can only be measured over time. The mixed greens Dad planted in the Autumn were young, tender sprouts the first time I went out to the small patch. The next time they were a little taller, fuller, darker. The next time a little more so. If I had gone out every day, the changes may have escaped me entirely. Even when I am very observant, I cannot see my children grow. I only realize they have grown when Micah's pants are suddenly too short or when I fail to snap the buttons of Sara's onesie.

Invisible types of growth are even more difficult to spot.

A friend gave me a copy of a delightful little book entitled Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches by Rachel Jankovic. Rachel is the mother of five children, and experience along with her love of the Lord have granted her much wisdom concerning little ones. In the chapter, "Fruit of the Spirit Speed Quiz," she discusses the importance of observing and commenting upon the personal growth in our children. She writes--

"It is very easy for us to forget about the progress they make and to ignore the problems that they no longer wrestle with. If you have been faithfully disciplining your children, I guarantee you that there are many, many problems that they no longer struggle with....As a parent it is very easy to demean their progress by demeaning the struggle. Instead of praising them and pointing to their progress to encourage them, we ignore it.....Try to notice these little mile markers on the path of sanctification."

Commence domino effect in the brain.

The first thing I realized is, "Wow. I seriously fail at this." I'm pretty good about telling Micah that I'm proud of him, but I'm very general in my praise. For example, I may say something like, "Micah, I am proud of you because you are kind" or "Micah, you are so smart! I am proud of you!" Rachel encourages her readers to be more specific. So during bath time the other night, I told my son, "Micah, I am so proud of you! You used to cry every time I washed your hair, but you hardly ever cry about that anymore. You are such a big boy!" I wish you could have seen the smile of pleasure on his sweet little freckle-nosed face. He was delighted that I had acknowledged his progress!

Our little moment gave birth to other productive thoughts such as "Wow. Look at how far Brandon and I have come! We used to fret over the smallest things. Now we live under a ton of pressure and are granted just enough resources for daily bread, and we are doing really well. Praise God!" and "Wow. Sara may still have fussy moments, but look at how far we've come in a year. We've come from 6 hours or more a day of weeping and wailing to an occasional temper tantrum. Praise God!"

Finally, I directed my course of thinking inward and pondered my own progress. "Just a couple of months ago, I was having daily meltdowns. I can't remember the last time I lost control of myself. WOW! Praise God!" With that thought, I stumbled upon a realization that may be obvious to onlookers, but it's one I have missed almost entirely until that moment because I am constantly caught up in day to day survival mode--"Oh my gosh, I'm better! I'm much better."

And there it is--growth.

My meltdowns were a symptom I never got around to blogging much about. Mostly because it was my most embarrassing one, which is saying something as many of my symptoms have to do with poop. I have a condition called "pyroluria" which is caused by a group of chemicals called "kryptopyrroles." Pyroluria causes "irritability, anger, poor memory, impaired intellectual function, poor immunity and inability to deal with stress" (Gut and Psychology Syndrome, p. 44). I didn't exactly want to broadcast to the entire world that I was yelling at the kids every night and literally pulling my hair out when Sara would cry (girlfriend is LOUD) and occasionally daydreaming about tossing the screaming infant, the rambunctious boy, and the annoying dog out the window all at once and letting them fend for themselves while I cooked dinner. But I am unable to remember the last time I felt this way.

 It's not that I've become more patient or that I'm suddenly a better mother. No. I still feel very stressed when I'm chopping vegetables with a sharp knife that has been known to fly out of my hands due to my clumsiness and trying to check the food in the oven without burning the crying baby clinging to my pants leg so tightly that the pants actually fall off and simultaneously trying to ignore the redheaded boy literally bouncing off the walls of the living room who for all the world looks like a bizarre pinball in a machine while the dog barks loudly and annoyingly at the wind or the birds or the grass or at her own shadow. I still feel the stress that pandemonium brings and I often feel anger. I just no longer lose myself in it. I am now well enough to stop, breathe, pray and move on.

Other little mile markers on the road to restored health:

--I am reading again. I have always loved to read, but for awhile, my brain was so cloudy that I could not read. It was too much work and the words wouldn't stick anyway. The only book worth putting that much effort into was the Bible. I am now reading five books in addition to the Bible. Wow! Praise God!

--I am able to enjoy my kids! A few months ago, I was in a place where I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Taking care of children felt impossible all the time. It feels like I've suddenly woken from an 8 month long coma, and I'm getting to know two amazing little strangers. It's absolutely blissful. Wow! Praise God!

--Getting the kids ready to go outside doesn't leave me breathless or exhausted anymore. Wow! Praise God!

--My kitchen is beginning to look like a science lab with all the weird concoctions I've been making in the name of health. A few months ago, I was doing well to provide enough food for everyone. There was no time for experiments! Wow! Praise God!

--I am now able to take walks. It may not seem like much to you, but it's a pretty big deal to me. And not only am I taking walks, I am carrying Sara in the ErgoBaby, walking uphill and through the woods, lasting for 20 minutes at a time. Walking used to deplete my stores of energy, but now it often replenishes them. Oh, how I have enjoyed these walks! They are always a good time for the kids and me, and I love being outside and feeling strength in my body, a strength I didn't have a couple of months ago. Wow! Praise God!

--While I continue to suffer from dyspraxia, I am having fewer accidents.  Wow! Praise God!

--Getting out of the house no longer feels impossible. It's still hard, but not impossible. And I want to get out! Wow! Praise God!

--My smallest blue jeans are finally beginning to fit again. My smallest pair of pants are snug! I'm absorbing nutrition! Wow! Praise God!

--I have as much trouble remembering my last life-threatening allergic reaction as I do remembering my last emotional blow-up. I continue to react to all kinds of things, but I haven't felt like I was dying in months. Wow! Praise God!

--I no longer feel like I'm suffering. There are still many foods that I cannot eat, but I can eat so many more than I could last summer. I enjoy eating again! I have favorite foods! I'm not hungry all the time anymore. I continue to have pain, but I usually don't notice it. From time to time, I still run into a wall of fatigue (exhaustion you just can't push through), but it's a rare occurrence these days. I have lots of little complaints, but compared to how I was feeling in September, I just can't say that I'm suffering anymore. Wow! Praise God!

 I have a long road to hoe yet.

But God (don't you love those two words when put together side by side?) began peeling away my sick rags last week, and He began with the ones that were covering my eyes. Suddenly, I can see the growth! I can measure the progress!

It would be easy to attribute my improvement to my diet and lifestyle changes, but God removed that possibility a couple of weeks ago when I read this sentence from The Imitation of Christ--

"Neither canst thou be delivered or eased by any remedy or comfort, but as long as it shall please God thou must bear it."

When I read that, I felt the Lord speaking to me as clearly as I hear the hundreds of questions Micah asks me on any given day--"It will not be your diet that heals you. Forget your two year timeline. I AM going to heal you, and I alone will determine the time frame."

Those words were humbling, encouraging, frightening and freeing all at the same time.

Humbling because I am always humbled when the Lord of the Universe speaks to my heart, revealing His watchcare over my tiny existence.
Encouraging because I know healing is coming! It is already happening!
Frightening because God may extend my illness longer than my estimated two years. It could go on indefinitely, and I don't particularly like being ill.
And freeing because I now know that my healing doesn't depend on me following the GAPS diet to the letter. It is simply a tool in the hand of God. I cannot mess this up! That's freedom!

I think I hear the echoes of a trumpet blast of liberty!

Thank you for your prayers! They are being answered! Thank you for continuing to bear witness to my adventure. It hasn't always been fun, but it has most definitely been good. And God's just getting warmed up!

 Up, up, up the hill. One of the hills we climb on our walks.

 Micah likes to say, "Momma, I beat you!"

 Me and my girl on one of our walks.

 Playing in the creek that flows through our farm.

 Sara likes to cook. She's made me a pumpkin soup in this picture.

She also likes to feed me. Good to know she has some nurturing characteristics.

 Her disinterest in baby dolls had me thinking she was all tomboy.

 Being silly!

 

Beet kvass, a blood and liver detox drink

My Master Tonic to fight flu, colds, viruses and bacterial infections.

 Here it is before "brewing" for two weeks.

Here is the Master Tonic post brewing and bottling. I got over half a gallon of medicine and several baggies of prepped veggies for soups, stews, etc.

A true word about growth: "So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase."--1 Corinthians 3:7

Everything Changed

Winter has settled in for its three month long stay. In Louisiana, that means that the temperatures will shift between comfortable and cold, the weathermen will falsely predict snow a half dozen times, and the locusts will fall silent until the arrival of spring in March. The trees have lost much or most of their brilliantly fall-hued foliage. Their bare arms are reaching for the sky in the hope they can catch the illusive sun, or flag it down, and convince it to stay another hour. As winter arrives, Christmas awaits just around the bend! I love this time of year for many reasons. I love the generosity that spreads around like the flu. I love gathering with my family over and over and over again--as long as we all manage to behave ourselves. I love the music, the lights, the parties and the food. This year has been especially enjoyable, and it has almost everything to do with Micah.

This year, I was able to watch Micah help his Daddy decorate the Christmas tree.I have enjoyed taking out Micah's nativity set almost every day. It thrills my heart to hear him call Mary, "Momma," Joseph, "Daddy," and the Baby, "Jesus."
I love the fact that Micah prances around the house wielding wrapping paper rolls like swords, ready to challenge anyone--man, woman or black and white spotted dog--to a duel. I have to warn you--he cheats. He always uses two, like Antonio Banderas in Zorro, as opposed to my one and Daisy's . . . . none. I enjoy hearing him quasi-sing "Jingle Bells" and trip over the lyrics of "Hallelujah." The boy loves some Handel, and who can blame him?

I love Christmas pictures made in Christmas outfits put on Christmas cards, which are then sent out to friends and family.

Most of all, I enjoy this time of year because it reminds me of the reason I hope for a better tomorrow. It reminds me of the vast lovingkindness and compassion of our Awesome Creator God who doesn't owe us a thing, yet is on a continual rescue mission on our behalf. It is for this reason that I would like to cordially invite you to the Christmas Eve service at Crossroads Church in Ruston, LA at 5 p.m. on December 24th. I helped plan the program and prepare the choir. I know that you will be blessed by the music, the fellowship and the worship of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

The Christmas Eve worship service at Crossroads is special to me because it is the service that drew me to Crossroads three years ago. The week of Christmas in 2007 was one of the worst weeks of my life. The events of that week left me reeling and broken for months. Had God not been especially good and gracious to me in the days, weeks and months that followed, I might not have darkened the door of a church of any kind ever again. That sounds dramatic, but it is no stretch to the truth. Three years ago, my good friend, Erica Kordsmeier, invited me to the Christmas Eve service, knowing that I would enjoy the music, but having no idea how God would use that event to change my life in ways that I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams.

My friend, Erica

Brandon and I sat in the back. I didn't know many people, which made me feel a little better about quietly crying through most of the service. I cried because my heart was broken. I cried because the music was beautiful. I cried because I could feel the love of the believers in the room. Most of all, I cried because in that gathering, I felt the presence of the Lord more strongly than I had felt it in years. In a room of strangers, my famished soul found nourishment. I lapped it up with the grace of a starving dog. I probably looked like I had attended a funeral when I left, but the time had acted like balm to my invisible wounds. Okay, okay, enough with the cliche metaphors.

The service didn't fix me--let's be clear; Jesus fixed me--but it made me hungry for more of the Spirit at Crossroads. It began a domino reaction which led to the following: More crying through services. Healing. Forgiveness. Church membership. Christian friends. Spiritual revival. Discipleship (I found two women to disciple me). Spiritual growth. Service. Discipleship (I began discipling others). Joy in the Lord! Helping to plan and prepare the Christmas Eve service in the hope that it will draw someone else to the greatest adventure of his/her life.

While at Crossroads, God has changed everything. In a time of hurt and rebellion, this service wooed me right into His hand. This God, the Highest Being of the universe, humbled Himself by coming into this world in the vulnerability of an infant's body. He did this to show that He is not only for the great in this world, but for the lowest of the low, the poorest of the poor--the group of which I consider myself a part. That God, was born to die so that we could have life in Him. I was dead without Him, and now I am alive! He brought me to life, healed my brokenness and replaced my tears with laughter. Every quest and desire for happiness is met in Him. I have seen many miracles in the past three years. Yes, many. But, one of the greatest miracles I have witnessed is how He has turned one of my greatest heartbreaks into the greatest good in my life. When I allow my heart to venture back into the hurt of three years ago, I can only smile. I remember my hurt as if through a haze. What I feel today is gratitude and joy. Only God does that, and He can do it for anyone.

Funny how something as simple as a single service . . . or the birth of a Baby changes everything.

Merry Christmas.