Adjustments

Original image via Flickr Creative Commons courtesy of Vincent van der Pas

My parents' friend Gary Bulloch says this true thing--"Life is a series of adjustments."

We adjust from childhood to puberty, from young adulthood to marriage, from marriage to parenthood, from parenthood to empty nesting, and from empty nesting to the winter years of life with lots of adjusting in between. It seems like the moment we find our groove, the music changes and we have to adjust again. 

I hesitate to say I'd become comfortable with illness. (It's difficult to become comfortable with a disease which tries to kill you on a regular basis.) But being sick was my normal. 

A few weeks ago when I began to heal, Tim, a new friend of mine told me I wouldn't heal all at once because everyone around me had to adjust to the fact that their wife/daughter/mother/friend was getting better. And he's right. But they're not the only ones.

I'm adjusting, too.

It's kind of surreal that three months ago I was a shut in and now I'm going to events. 

Note: Project 41's White As Snow gala went very well, the most successful gala to date. We learned a lot, raised support for the ministry, and yes--I ate the food (!!!!!) Side effects were extremely mild. The night was a personal celebration for my family and me. 

Remember this poem I wrote a year ago?:

Some diseases are a death sentence.
Some are a life sentence.
Which is easier to bear?
A small cell or the chair?
A cage or a casket?
No one knows
and both are hard
on the sick one and the watchers.
Some of us die in here,
but I believe
there is a key
for me,
an early release.
Or so I've been told
by the Prison Ward
who is kind and good and wise and hard.
The door will open
when the cell has done its work
and the bars have made me free.
Or so I believe.
But all I see
are steel and concrete.
Spare walls and a lonely lock
mock my faith.
I smell sky and pine.
Sun shafts through the window.
Voices chuckle and cluck,
a murmur through stone,
a reminder of what I'm missing,
a promise of what's to come.
But the Warden visits me--
and this place has be-come
Home.
"For a while," He corrects.
So I believe.  

Well, the cell has done its work, apparently. The bars have made me free. The Warden has thrown open the prison gates, and while He hasn't exactly tossed me out, it's very clear He doesn't expect me to stay inside. Nor do I want to. I'm ready to bust outta here, yo!

But there's this very real rehabilitation period to contend with. 

I'm learning to live in the world again. (There are people out here!) I'm asking big questions. (i.e. "What now?") I'm doing things. Going places. It's weird.

And my body hasn't quite caught up with my to-do list. 

 

Original image via Flickr Creative Commons courtesy of Alan Bloom

These days I'm either enjoying my freedom or recovering from it.

Chronic fatigue, pain, and food sensitivities are still things as I pick up Micah from school, take Sara to her dance lesson, undertake my own housework, shop, go to church, visit with friends I haven't seen in forever, attend prayer meetings and events, and accept ministry opportunities. All in addition to what I was already doing.

Except I don't have much time to write. Not fiction anyway. My journal, however, sees lots of action. 

 I filled up this guy in two months!

Thus, my writing goals for the year may not be possible. 

I'm not complaining. I'm adjusting. 

It's difficult transitioning from a slow waltz (not that I've ever been that graceful) to a cha-cha. Even if the change is a blast. 

Moms, you know what I'm talking about. How great is it when your youngest transitions from two naps to one? But that free hour you had in the morning to drink coffee while it was still warm? Gone. Vamoose.

Or that moment you're done with diapers, but then you have to ask the kid whether or not she needs to pee every 15 minutes and haul her to the bathroom umpteen times a day whereas before you could change a diaper every three to four hours and you were good. (Yeah, I cried, too.)

C'est la vie. 

I LOVE the season I'm in, but it isn't easy. 

 

What do people expect of me now that I'm out and about? What does Brandon expect? What do the kids expect? What do I expect?

Does a writing career still fit into my life? I hope so. I want it to. But for now I feel that living real life is more important than writing made up life, and I don't have energy to do both. 

Most importantly, what does God expect of me? 

The Lord hasn't given me a copy of A Former Shut-In's Guide to Engaged Living in 5 Easy Steps. For now, I have only three hints to go on, and none of them are cut and dried:

1) "And she served them" (Mark 1:31). When Jesus healed Peter's mother-in-law, she didn't stay in bed. She got up and served Him. 

This is the word the Lord gave me in 2012 not long after my illness began to really present itself. This last chapter of my story was always going to end with my healing. I was given my marching orders three years before it happened. Service, not ease, is God's expectation of me. Of course, service can wear many hats. 

My family is the most important recipient. It's time to seize the things sickness stole from me. It's time to show up, take some of the enormous burden Superman has carried on his shoulders these long years, and clean my own bathrooms for goodness' sake. (God bless my mother in law for keeping my house from falling to chaos. Debbie Keaster, you are THE BEST.)

2) Limits. Everybody loves boundaries. Even kids. We think we don't, but we do. Limits make us feel safe. 

God has flung open the doors of my cage, and I'm so thankful. There's also a part of me that's glad I still have to count spoons. Because it reminds me--"I can do anything, but not everything."

When I was a prisoner, I talked about all the things I wanted to do when I was free. I wanted to sing in a choir again. I wanted to join that Flannery O'Conner short story class at Auburn Avenue. I wanted to be involved with this ministry and that ministry. Oh! And that one! I wanted to take Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu with Micah. I wanted to teach music lessons, offer cooking classes, and write novels. 

Yeah, right. 

I'm pretty sure the limits of 24 hours in a day and I don't know...SLEEP may disallow all that nonsense. Not that any of those things would be a bad way to spend time...unless I tried to do it all. 

Most days, I manage the things I was doing before I was better (child-rearing, cooking, dishes, laundry, homework, baths, bedtime routine, etc.), a little exercise, and maybe one outing before I'm ready to crash. 

Mondays are my rest days. On Monday, I. just. can't. (See monkey picture above.) I'm done. Stick a fork in me, and whatever you do, don't ask me to do anything extra.

3) A magic thread. In George MacDonald's fantasy for children, The Princess and the Goblin, Princess Irene is given a ring by her fairy godmother. Attached is a magic thread which is promised to always lead her safely back to her fairy godmother. 

One night, goblins enter little Irene's bedroom. She puts on the ring and follows the thread outside into the mountain wilderness, trusting it to guide her into the arms of her godmother. When it leads her into the dark caves, which are home to the goblins, she doubts and tries to feel her way backward. But behind her, the thread disappears. She can only go forward.

So onward she goes--through darkness, danger, and even a wall of rock--until she finds her friend Curdie who is held prisoner by the goblins. Irene rescues Curdie, and leads him out of the caves. At the end of her thread, she finds her godmother, as promised. 

God has given a magic thread to every believer. His name is the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit knows the mind of the Father, who has written my story. He leads me where I should go. Many times, I don't understand where He leads, but if I will hang on and press on, I'll find my way. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to lead a Curdie or two to the safety of God's arms along the way.

I appreciate your prayers as I adjust. 

I'm so happy right now. It may seem I don't need prayer. That assumption is incorrect.

I have so many questions. I don't know where the thread is taking me, and my feet are dragging half the time. I long to write, but can't manage it, which is kind of frustrating. As I'm able to focus less on myself, my eyes open to the devastation around me. While the miracle does my family good, the last four years have also left a mark. We're all kind of damaged, and now it's time to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Reconstruction is hard work.

So yeah...keep praying! And thank you for all the prayers that have come before. I hope you, too, are reveling in the miracle God has performed. You're part of it, after all. I hope it reveals an attribute of God you never noticed before, and leads you to marvel before His throne.

As I said to a friend this morning, prayer is never wasted time. And it's the perfect answer to every adjustment life throws at us.

There's a Place for Us

There are many facets of illness I find difficult. The loneliness. The uncertainty. My food sensitivities are always changing and growing in number. What will I eat tomorrow? A year from now? What if a wasp stings me while I'm alone with the kids? Would I survive the flu? Winter is coming, so freedom will be going. How bad will the depression be this time?

But nothing presses me quite like the question...

Where do I belong?

Before I was sick, I was a mom who did stuff with her kids. Brandon and I taught first graders at church. I sang for area congregations when asked. I gave music lessons to children. I traveled to Ruston once a week for one-on-one discipleship, and was part of a community group. I met one friend for playdates and another for prayer. I led a couple of choir things for our church. I had a place.

When I became ill, it all burned to the ground. Nothing survived, and nothing has revived. But my soul-razing has proven to be a very good thing.

My activity was aimless. 

 

Just because I did a lot of stuff, doesn't mean I was functioning as part of an organic whole. There's much more to life than just being busy. 

"A spiritual gift is given to each of us so we can help each other...It is the one and only Spirit who distributes all these gifts. He alone decides which gift each person should have. The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up one whole body. So it is with the body of Christ..and God has put each part just where he wants it."-1 Corinthians 12:7,11,12,18

I have friends who strongly disagree with me about this, but I believe God brought illness into my life. (Maybe that's not the best way to say it. Maybe I should say that when Satan asked to bring this illness to me, God agreed because He knew best.) I see it as mercy. Severe mercy, I grant you, but mercy nonetheless.

I'm where God wants me. Most days, I'm okay with that.

Based upon what I understand of my spiritual gifts now, I can say with 99.9% certainty I wasn't using them much prior to 2012. I may have had a place, but I had no function.

But how does one cut off from the body function as PART of the body?

 

This has been a question with which I've wrestled throughout. I still wrestle. Here are three ways God has answered it:

• A church outside of church. We live 45 minutes away from where we attend church. For a while, a few people helped us, but there was no way to sustain it. We were too needy and lived too far away. Besides that, we were absent. So my family became my church. Brandon, Mom, Dad, sister, brother-in-law, grandparents, and in-laws rallied around me. Not only did they offer Christian support, but it was within this tiny church that I discovered and began to exercise my true gifting.

• Christian friendships. I have several friends who live out of state. Others an hour away or a few miles down the road. By God's grace, we haven't lost touch. The encouragement these ladies have offered over the years has been essential to my spiritual health. They're champions to hang with me through all this craziness. I hope I've been half as good a friend to them.

• The invisible ministry of prayer. When I couldn't attend church myself, I prayed for the churches my people attended. For a while, Brandon and the kids went to church with my parents. So I prayed for Cedar Crest Baptist Church. My in-laws still attend the church Brandon and I married in. So I prayed for FBC Marion. My son attends Wednesday night services at my grandparents' church. I so I prayed for Faith Baptist Church. And God never released me from claiming The Bridge Community Church as my home. Through prayer, I went from feeling church-homeless to feeling like I had four churches. 

A word about invisible ministry...

I think we're all a little afraid of being invisible. But let me assure you, as someone who has been invisible for four years, it ain't so bad when you understand: The only Eyes that matter see you.

When Hagar was alone in the desert, the Angel of the Lord found her. He spoke to her. And then she called His name--You-Are-The-God-Who-Sees. That understanding was her lifeline.

And just because you aren't seen, doesn't mean you don't matter.

"In fact, some parts of the body that seem weakest and least important are actually the most necessary. And the parts we regard as less honorable are those we clothe with the greatest care. So we carefully protect those parts that should not be seen, while the more honorable parts do not require this special care. So God has put the body together such that extra honor and care are given to those parts that have less dignity. This makes for harmony among the members, so that all the members care for each other. If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad."--1 Corinthians 12:22-26

Paul says here that though I seem weak and unimportant, I'm actually pretty necessary. I may be hidden, but I'm vital. I require special care, but I'm part of what makes the body tick. I may have less dignity than others, but I'm not all that interested in dignity and frankly, I don't think God is either. If my ministry nosedives, people who will never meet me will feel it. And if God heals me or prospers me in any way, the entire body benefits.

Widows, young moms need your wisdom and helping hands. Come be a part of our families.

Young moms, your job is the most important in the world. God sees your sacrifice when no one else does.

Invalids, the way you worship God in suffering inspires us all. You are living proof of God's sustaining grace. We need that.

Shut-ins, maybe God sequestered you to be an intercessor, or a writer, or a messenger. Ask for grace to get past the self-pity and embrace your calling. It's necessary.

But YES The Hippopotamus

Much has changed for the hippopotamus over the course of a month. It is my utmost pleasure to report all changes have been good, encouraging and praiseworthy! Like the heat and humidity of this long, Louisiana summer, the intensity of my crucible has receded, and a new season has come.

Light breezes sometimes carry the scent of burning leaf piles to Jubilee Farm. Fall squashes and bitter greens grace our table almost daily. Blackeyed susans line our red clay road. A lone scarlet leaf skipped and tumbled past my feet on our last walk. Autumn has come quietly, but soon she will burst into robust song. As the season goes, so--I believe--will I.

All change requires a catalyst--even natural change and especially personal change. We people are resistant to the seam ripping and pinpricks that go into being tailored to fit our individually designed purposes. Autumn rides in on the breath of God, which tilts the planet just so. The new developments in my story were heralded by a similar wind. God has spoken. Through his Living Word, through dreams, in provisions and circumstances, He has delivered the same message over and over: "Come out of that cocoon, Little Coward, and trust me."

Two days before my last post, Jenny asked me to stand in her wedding. (She and her husband never had a wedding.) The evening after the post was published, my sister called to ask me to stand in hers. In a period of three days, I was asked to be present at two major life events belonging to two of the most important people in my life. I could not bear to miss either celebration--one of God's power, the other of His grace--and yet I was at a loss as to how I would manage. I barely ventured outdoors due to danger. How could I knowingly stand before a room full of people doused in all manner of harmful chemicals without upstaging the bride with a horrible reaction? My sardonic sense of humor replied with, "You could always be her something blue."

Fortunately, the Lord rescued me from unhelpful, dark humor, and offered me real, practical solutions. While on Facebook one day, I saw a post from a lady who had recommended a particular brand of mask which was effective at filtering fragrances. I searched for the old message, found the link and ordered one rather impulsively, knowing there was a high probability I would not be able to tolerate the mask. Sure enough, I muscle tested the mask when I received it in the mail, and no dice.

For weeks, Dr. Yakaboski had been urging me to call her chiropractor friend, Dr. Lynette Frieden. I put it off  because there was no money. With well over $2,000 in unpaid medical bills, it seemed irresponsible to seek the help of another doctor who may or may not be able to help me. The idea would not leave me alone, however. When I asked Brandon if we could possibly afford it, he said we would make it work somehow.

I am thrilled I went. Dr. Frieden does more than bone manipulation, which was surprisingly helpful in itself. She also performs a particular form of energy medicine called Total Body Modification (TBM). Dr. Frieden actually came to Dr. Yakaboski's office to perform TBM on me in May after my near deadly encounter with a pesticide. I respond so well to TBM that Dr. Yakaboski created a treatment program for me which includes basic TBM and BioSet. I receive this treatment weekly in her office, and we use it at home as a rescue remedy in lieu of Benadryl and epinephrine since I no longer tolerate either drug. It totally looks like voodoo, but it works. And it's not voodoo. It's science.

Anyway, I have seen Dr. Frieden three times. I now have more energy and less pain. I can tolerate the smells of essential oils, which I have wanted to use for medicinal purposes. My neuropathy has calmed way down so I no longer feel stinging sensations all over my body several times a day. My monthly discomfort is greatly reduced. I now tolerate the new "super mask." And in what may be the most exciting development of all, I am sleeping better.

To further support better sleeping habits, I stopped napping, opting for light exercise and a bath instead. Yoga has proven especially beneficial. Certain poses grant me pain relief and an energy boost. After only two weeks, I am stronger and less depressed.

Feeling better has made me braver. I have been intentionally doing (reasonable) things that scare me. I began small. For my first attempt, I set up a picnic for the kids on the back porch. The next step was a short walk down the road. Walks turned into swinging little red heads and looking on while they play in the sandbox. The fear fueled vigilance I kept on my first few outings ebbed little by little. I can now relax, notice smiling flowers and enjoy my children. Yesterday, I only startled once when something flew buzzing into my face.

In spite of my improvements, unless God had moved hearts other than my own, I would yet be a self-imposed prisoner in my home. My Nona has been inviting me over for Saturday afternoon coffee for weeks. Finally, my mother acted as chauffeur to ensure I actually went. That was almost two weeks ago. I did not return home perfectly well nor extremely sick, and I very much enjoyed the fresh faces, stimulating conversation and my herbal tea.

To build upon my motivation to get out and get going, a college friend and a family friend who attends the church in which I grew up both shared they had dreams about me last week. In the dream of my college friend, I was in the midst of a group of people smelling a wildflower. In the dream of the family friend, I was in my home mingling with a crowd. Lots of children were running around. I learned of both of these dreams within 36 hours. I think it is interesting to note that I have not seen either of these women in years. It seems random, but if you gaze at the situation in the right slant of light, you will see design. God has spoken to me several times through my own dreams. Now He is speaking to me through the dreams of others. How cool is that?

I was given a dream this summer which foreshadowed public humiliation, danger and survival. All three aspects were highly likely if I was to do the thing I was considering after learning of the dreams of my friends.

I attempted church on Sunday.

Yes, it was humiliating. Masks draw attention--more so than protective gloves, might I add. I would have preferred being invisible over the stares I received. Yes, it was dangerous. Even through my "super mask," the smells were too many and too strong. I reacted, and spent the remainder of the day in bed. And yes. I survived.


I am happy I went. But the best moment of worship on Sunday morning was not in a sanctuary. It was in my car on the way to the service.

You see, I am never aware of the depth of my suffering while I am in the middle of it. Contrary to all reason, I have never been abidingly unhappy in my pain. God has been too good to me in the dark moments. I have hurt. I have bled. I have wept. Yet I have never despaired because I know that Jesus knows and has been there Himself and is there when life becomes unbearable. It is only when God gives something back that I truly taste the bitterness of my cup. The feeling is something akin to a desperate breath searing my lungs after being underwater for too long. In those moments, I have learned to let myself grieve over what I lost. I loose hot tears and sloppy sobs from a deep, hidden vault in my soul. And then I let it go. When I do, tears of mourning become tears of unspeakable joy. My eyes open to what God has done, to the new paragraph He has written. I am struck with wonder. I sense my smallness, my unworthiness, God's enormity and His attention to detail. I am pulled into the cosmic riptide of God's infinite love. Gall transforms into the sweetest wine, and I become intoxicated with His goodness. The suffering is transformed into something glorious, something I can never regret or mourn again!

I think it is important to understand that my little trip to church is not about me. It is about God. To me, to my family, to all of you who have prayed so faithfully, He is saying, "Behold what I have done." He has all but slayed me, but He has brought me back to life. He has taken it all away, and now He is giving it back. He has heard you. He has heard us. And we have only begun to see what He will do.

Lord willing, this hippo will be at Jenny's wedding next weekend. Please pray for my safety and Brandon's peace.

I Am The Hippopotamus

Have you read But Not the Hippopotamus by Sandra Boynton?  I had not until last night, and my eyes unexpectedly filled with tears as I read it to the kids. Micah is a sensitive guy. He is always disturbed when I cry while reading, so I tried to hide my red eyes and swallow the lump in my throat.

Basically, all the animals are busy--having fun, doing life--"but not the hippopotamus." He is always observing, never participating. This hippo is living my life! Or I'm living his. Whichever.

Currently, being the observer is not my choice. Well, maybe it is my choice. I suppose I could choose to continually risk my life, feel horribly ill, impede my healing and burden my family, but I am fairly certain that would be a poor choice. Regardless, my separateness is necessary for my safety and well-being.

Having to stand on the outside looking in has been quite the refining fire for me. For starters, I've had to overcome jealousy. Yes--I get jealous.

I have struggled with jealousy since childhood. Of all the feelings I've ever felt, jealousy is the absolute worst. It eats the soul alive. I know it's wrong. I am aware of its ugliness. I hate it. I hate myself for feeling it. Jealousy is so bad we treat it with the same taboo we reserve for "the big ones" like adultery, thieving and murder. If we talk about it at all, we are usually referencing someone else's jealousy and never our own. It's embarrassing!

While my shame is yet incomplete, I will admit to being jealous over the stupidest things. I've been jealous of people who can eat pizza, of people who don't have to cook every night, of people who have all kinds of conveniences they take for granted, of people who can see movies at the theater, of people who can go to church, of people who can wear makeup, of people who have energy to clean the entire house in a day, of people who can take their kids to the zoo, of people who can go on vacation, of people who can pop a pill to get pain relief, of people who seem to have as many babies as they want while I dream of a house full and will not be able to have another.

Thankfully, jealousy has not beaten me. Some time ago, I discovered the cure! His name is Jesus.

Instead of merely willing myself to wish the object of my jealousy well and scolding myself upon every failure to do so, I look at Jesus and rest in His presence. I gaze upon His beauty, dwell upon His goodness to me, worship His person, speak aloud His Word, and am thereby made entirely content. I cannot help but wish the whole world well!

You with the Facebook photo of your steaming hot Johnny's pizza? Enjoy that cheesy goodness! God bless you!

You who just posted that you picked up curbside because you were too tired to cook? I am so thankful you had that option.

You who took that selfie, dressed to the nines for your hot date? You look gorgeous! Have fun!

You with the eight kids who just announced your next pregnancy? Praise God! Babies are glorious!

Other challenges of separateness include--

• learning to be alone without feeling lonely, learning that because I walk with Christ, I am never alone

• working through the frustration of not feeling useful

• feeling sad and guilty for not being able to "show up" for the important people in my life

I missed my sister's birthday party last Saturday, which disappointed us both. Jenny called me yesterday, and asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. She and her husband never had a wedding before, and they want to have one now. I think it's a glorious idea! I want to be there more than I want an entire Johnny's Sweep the Kitchen pizza to myself! I am asking God to make a way if He wills it. As of now, I cannot see one. And then the holidays are rapidly approaching. We will celebrate, but it will not be the same. Family gatherings and nostalgia are hard things for me to give up.

One might think that missing everything would get easier, that I would become accustomed to it and accept it as my norm. The hard truth is that though I do accept it and I can be happy in spite of it, it grows more painful with each missed event like a wound that opens again and again, never healing.

Living this life, it's easy to focus upon all the things I cannot do. There is an overwhelming number of them! But this negative focus impedes my walk with Christ, fills me with discontent and shrinks my ministry further. Discouragement is a cloud which affects everyone.

Of all the things I can't do, I must remember the most vital of them all--I cannot have my children growing up in a dreary, bleak environment. As wife, mother and homemaker, I set the tone of my home. I have a responsibility to myself and my family to be a person who takes joy in what I can do, surrendering all the "can'ts" to the authority and goodness of Christ.

I can read my Bible and memorize scripture. I can pray--for myself, my family, for friends, for people I have never met. I can be happy in the Lord. I can cook, wash dishes, clean and fold laundry. I can smile at my babies, kissing them as often as I like. I can listen to and answer the unending questions of a four year old and anticipate his desires--happy faces in his food, for instance.

I can sing hymns and songs for an audience of three (Micah, Sara and Jesus). On days when I am unable to put one foot in front of the other, I can read books until I lose my voice. On days when I do not struggle quite as much, I can scrub a bathtub or sweep the floor. I can read. I can write. I can hide love haikus in my husband's lunch, and greet him with a smile when he comes in from work. I can talk to my friends on the phone. I can help and encourage others who share similar health problems. Because I cannot expend any energy outside of the home, I can expend all of my energy inside it! What a blessing!

There is much for which to be thankful. I was starving to death in June, and look at me now! I'm scrubbing a toilet here and there. On Saturday, I vacuumed for the first time since March. I survived it, too. I need less help from others, which is also a significant improvement.

I am the hippopotamus. I have yet to join the world......but one day I will. Meanwhile, if I keep "looking unto Jesus" I can reflect His light into the hearts of my people. I can make this single-wide trailer the warmest, happiest place on the planet for them. 

My life is different but valuable, slow but effective, separate but full. And truly--I am very happy.

A FEW CLOSING TIDBITS:

Recommended reading: The Hidden Art of Homemaking: Creative Ideas for Enriching Everyday Life

by Edith Schaeffer

Admittedly, the title makes it sound like the target audience is Mennonites and old biddies, but this book is for everyone from the retired adventurer to the young mother to the career-driven bachelor. I have Brandon reading it, and he's not even human! The book is about discovering and cultivating one's creative talents in order to honor Christ, enrich one's own life and bless others.

A Fun Fact:

I had planned a version of this post yesterday afternoon before reading But Not The Hippopotamus, but as I read it, I knew I would include it in the post. I did not know it would make the title until I finished the rough draft.

Prayer requests:

• My allergies have my body on edge right now. Serious reactions are popping up here and there. This creates more stress for Brandon and more difficulty for me.

•  I get a weekly treatment on Tuesdays. As a result, I am sick on Wednesdays. If I come to mind on any given Wednesday, give me a shout out in your prayer time. 

• The kids are struggling with their allergies as well, Sara more so than Micah. It's difficult keeping up with everyone's individual sensitivities and needs!

A Fun Update:

I continue to work on my novel, and am having a wonderful time! Work is kind of slow, which can be frustrating, but I recently received the following word from the Lord:

"I am your life. Marriage and motherhood is your career. Healing is of utmost importance. Writing is your hobby."

I think that is a pretty clear outline of my priorities!

Thanks for reading! God bless!