Back to Square One

In an unfortunate turn of events, I am back to square one. Well, not really. I know much more information than I did two months ago. I have dealt with my demons--figuratively and literally. I have experienced emotional healing in the hidden corners of my heart into which I had swept hurts of long ago. I have learned to accept current limitations while maintaining hope that I will not always be in this state. I have embraced the good that has accompanied the bad with a strength that is not my own. So, I'm really not back at square one . . . . It's just hard not to feel like I'm back at square one feeling like I'm feeling and knowing what I will have to endure for the next three days.

It is necessary to confess that I have been naughty. As I was explaining to Micah this afternoon, naughtiness, though not as serious as an offense as disobedience, can still earn us some hard knocks and stern corrections. I corrected Micah's naughtiness. My body is correcting mine. Here's my naughtiness--I really enjoy eating pigs. I like pork roast, pork chops, ham and my favorite cut of pork is a tie between ribs and bacon. It all depends on which one I'm eating at the time. (Yes, I eat like a man . . . let's move on.) Well, on Wednesday morning, I ate bacon with my breakfast. On Wednesday night, Brandon made ribs. Let me tell you about this man's ribs. They are the BEST ribs IN. THE. WORLD. They are tender, fall-off-the-bone, juicy morsels, and he makes this gluten-free, corn-free sauce that is 100% tangy amazingness. Is your mouth watering yet? It should be. I am embarrassed to admit that even though I felt less than great after celebrating my independence by eating what I wanted, I ate the leftovers the next day. (I know . . . shame!) And of course, my body was not very forgiving.

As a result of my naughtiness, I became very ill yesterday afternoon. I had burning in my stomach, asthma symptoms, itching, hotflashes, a migraine and my arthritis pain worsened quickly and significantly. Yesterday, it was easy to speculate that the unexpected rain was the cause, but I am quite sure that was not the case based on today's events. Today, I began reacting to everything I ate as I did two months ago. I had an immediate systemic reaction with each meal and snack--rice cereal and egg yolks, chicken and rice with broccoli, a handful of blueberries. All in all, these are very unoffensive foods. Yet, here I sit in a Benadryl stupor, scratching the insides of my ears like a dog, hotflashing like a menopausal woman and burning throughout my digestive tract like a 50 year old man who has eaten too many chili dogs. I was able to catch a rare nap while holding a sleeping Sara in the recliner this afternoon. I woke to pretty severe arthritis pain . . . . the debilitating kind. It hasn't rained today that I know of.

The facts: I ate pork at three meals within less than 36 hours. Pork is not really good for anyone, and is one of the most allergenic meats out there. The theory: The pork has re-ulcerated my entire digestive tract, allowing everything I'm eating into my bloodstream in too-large particles. My body is attacking these particles as if they were a flu virus, causing me to feel like poo. The best solution would be a water fast. I won't go there again unless I must. As a compromise, I will be eating five very safe foods only for the next three days: rice cereal, broccoli, zucchini, yellow squash and sweet potatoes. The effects will be hunger, toddler-like grouchiness and (hopefully) full, life-giving dependence upon my Savior and Sustainer.

As I begin this Daniel-esque fast, I plan to begin the BioSet program outlined in Ellen Cutler's book, The Food Allergy Cure. This is the program promoted by my naturopathic doctor. At first, I won't be able to do the program as it should be done because my food list will be too short to space desensitization cycles 25 hours apart. However, I think I can reap some benefit from the program even if I cannot follow it perfectly.

I ask you to put in a little extra prayer for me for the next three days. Please pray that I will be given grace, energy, rest, patience with my family, gratitude in my circumstances, joy in the trial, and perseverance in seeking the Lord for every need. Please pray that the Lord would guard me from the attacks of the wicked one as he is always seeking an opportunity to destroy me in my weakness. Instead, may my weaknesses usher me into God's sweet presence!

I am so thankful for the prayer support that the internet allows. I have people praying for me in several Louisiana churches and towns, in many states and even overseas! This is a marvel to me! A humbling, tear-inducing marvel! I cannot say it enough--thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! May the Lord bless you for your ministry.

A Good Week

Because I've so frankly written about my difficult days over the past couple of months, I feel that I would be remiss if I failed to share a few details of last week, which was, as the post title suggests, a good week. Today marks two months since that fateful afternoon snack of a coconut macaroon, which was the final crescendo of the prelude to the demise of life as I once knew it. On May 3rd, I woke to pain, and have felt pain in degrees every day since. The week before last was especially bad, and last week was especially good.

The weekend before last, the debilitating pain of the previous week was beginning to recede. By Monday morning, I felt almost normal. I wasn't hyper-aware of every major joint in my body. The pain in my hip was gone, allowing me to walk like a healthy 28-year-old. My hands and feet were functional. The only reminders of my illness were a dull ache in my right shoulder, a slight headache, a mild allergic reaction to something I had eaten the day before and fatigue, with which I have been living for a year and a half at this point.  For me, I felt great! And I continued to feel great throughout the week.

I have provided an overview of the week's accomplishments below:

I made it to the health food store in Ruston with Sara in tow . . . in 104 degree heat. Make no mistake, the Lord is responsible for getting me through the task, but it was an unusual feat nonetheless. And I was able to cook dinner, and give both children a bath that evening!

I cooked 7 meals in 6 days. I am still astonished at this record. I also have begun to realize that I was never thankful enough for convenience foods. Even when cooking simply, cooking from scratch several times a week is a task!

I am usually unable to keep up with the laundry. Last week, the laundry couldn't keep up with me!

My spunk and fire returned for the first time in several weeks. Mom said she could tell I felt better by my Facebook posts alone. Ha!

I was able to go shopping with Brandon for a couple of hours in the heat. I did not buy anything as we were shopping for mobile homes, but I survived looking at several of these non-air-conditioned heat traps. For those of you who are confused, a further explanation will be given in a future post. Or you can just call.

I baked a cake! A simple, apple bundt cake made with rice flour. At least, that was the intent. It actually ended up looking like this:

 

I used the wrong baking dish, and tried to shorten the two hour time commitment by baking it in the microwave. Lesson learned: Not all cakes should be baked in the microwave. Half of the batter boiled over while baking, leaving a sunken, crumbly mess that stuck to the pan. I was ready to count it as a loss, but Brandon suggested alternative marketing.

I placed the "cake" in a different dish, topped it with a clumpy glaze and voila!--

"Apple Crumb Cake"

 And it was delicious.

The most astounding accomplishment for the week was a photo session for me and the kids on Tuesday morning. My talented cousin/family photographer, Morgan Tucker, and I decided upon a 7am shoot in order to avoid the heat. The morning could have very well been a disaster. We had no extra set of hands to help with the children, which is nice to have even if you aren't at odds with your body. We did not have the chair we planned to bring for me to be able to sit comfortably. I woke late. The kids slept until I woke them up for the first time in their lives. (They are usually awake around 6:30.) We were running almost a half hour late when we left the house, and Sara had not had her daily poopsplosion which promised disaster if it occurred during the shoot as it usually means a huge mess, a bath and a twenty minute cleanup. Morgan later told me that she was very concerned about that morning, as well, but did not burden me with her concerns. However, what could have been a catastrophe, ended up being an amazing morning.

Once upon a time, I used to think (and sometimes say aloud) that God does not care about the mundane, inconsequential details of our lives. That morning, I found out I had been wrong. As it turns out, God enjoys proving Himself faithful to His children. I prayed that God would bless this trivial event, and He delivered. He so delivered! We arrived at the field that would serve as our location before 8am. The field was completely encircled and shaded by tall trees which blew soft, cool kisses our way all morning long. Sara saved her poopslosion for later in the day after we were home. Micah's protests were appeased by promises of ice cream before lunch. 

And maybe the biggest evidence of answered prayers--A few weeks ago, I would have been very uneasy about blindly traipsing through tall grass. Allow me to rephrase that--"I would have been scared outta my mind!" My imagination would have taken me to images of snakes, yellow jacket nests, fire ant beds, red bug bites from head to toe, and ticks in sensitive areas to name a few. I would have been afraid for myself, but more so for my children. Yet all I felt was a huge, gaping absence of fear. I was a bit taken off guard because I had been in this sad state of almost constant fear since my dream in January. I expected to be afraid that morning. I expected to have to wage war on my fear with my newly memorized Psalm 27. Instead, I had to go looking for the fear, and when I did, I couldn't find it! Can I tell you that I almost wept for joy? I didn't because I didn't want Morgan to think I was crazy and I didn't want to mess up my makeup, but I did weep from the well of joy and gratitude in my heart when I was at home later that afternoon. 

I have lived the words of the psalmist--"I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears" (Psalm 34:4)! I had been asking almost daily for the Lord to take away, deliver me from, and heal me of my fears. I do not know when it happened or how, but the fear that had grown into a monster I could not control . . . . a monster who threatened to eat me alive . . . . has suddenly vanished. And God brought his absence to my notice right before this photo shoot I had asked Him to bless.

I will tell you that shoot was not perfect. The children fussed and whined. They were not perfectly happy. But they were able to be distracted and made happy in intervals. Morgan was astoundingly patient, helpful and encouraging. Let me say here that a photographer like this girl is a rare find. She will work with you, your kids and everyone's needs without giving any hint of impatience or frustration. Morgan is also chronically ill, but you would never know it from her joy, kindness and consideration for the needs of others. She is a trooper and a saint . . . . and an absolute artist.

 (Click here to book your session with Morgan or to find out more about Jolly Tucker Photography.)

I don't know why I've never understood that God cares about the small things. It's plainly explained in scripture--

"Are not two sparrows sold for a copper coin? And not one of them falls to the ground apart from your Father's will. But the very hairs of your head are numbered. Do not fear therefore, you are of more value than many sparrows." 

Matthew 10:29-31

I can't say that I fully understand it, but I am thankful that He thinks of me enough and loves me enough to care about grocery trips and mobile home shopping in the heat. I'm glad that He is good enough to give me a good laugh over a baking failure. I am encouraged that He cares about details like shade and breezes and happy children during photo shoots. I could dance in exultation that He, without my immediate notice, took away my fear and decided to show me right before happy photos were taken! And today, as pain riddles my hands as I type out this tribute to the glorious faithfulness and lovingkindness of God with every joint screaming for my attention, I cannot let go of the gratitude I feel for a good week. 

Oh, Lord, "what is man that you are mindful of him,

and the son of man that you care for him?

Yet you have made him a little lower than the heavenly beings

and crowned him with glory and honor."

Psalm 8:4-5

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Life is undoubtedly a gift. But lately, it has felt more like a task--a climbing uphill, an every step is a victory, an "I'm not sure I want to do this" kind of task. I've been in this state of constant pain for less than two months. I may have decades to go, and I already want out. I only have to think for a moment of all the people I know who have suffered patiently for years to realize what a pansy I am. Maybe over time, I will learn some of their strength, but for now I am thankful for any encouragement or inspiration I can get, especially when it comes to me in the sage wisdom of three-year-old speak.

I have been in a flare for over a week while caring for a sick infant, and it's been getting to me mentally and emotionally. Yesterday, I wanted to lock myself in my bedroom, and have a pity party for one. That, of course, was not possible. The Lord knew I needed some extra "umph" to make it through the day, so Micah became His very effective mouthpiece and my personal cheerleader.

Micah quietly walked along beside me as I pushed Sara in the stroller up and down the driveway. When he is quiet, he is thoughtful. I can almost hear the little guy think. He finally said, "You know what, Momma? God made the trees. And God made the sky. And God made the grass and the spiders and the wasps and the ants and the flowers, and God made you, too, Momma."

To most, this little outburst may sound like the cute ramblings of a toddler. As his Momma, I'm here to tell you that it's quite profound. You see, Micah likes trees, grass, flowers, the sky and me, but the little dude could completely do without the spiders, wasps and ants. He has very little love for bugs of any kind. They freak him out. Yet, he acknowledges that God made it all--the things he likes as well as the things he doesn't like. What Micah knows that he didn't say here is that God is in control, and has a purpose for everything. I have taught him that wasps, ants and spiders have jobs--important jobs--to accomplish even if we don't always like how they accomplish them . . . even if they hurt us. In a precious way, God reminded me that nothing concerning me was outside the reach of His control even though I am hurting. He created me just as I am, and has a plan for all that concerns me . . . even my pain.

Lest I forget that His plan is for my good, Micah also reminded me of not only how much God loves me, but also how much He likes me. At the lunch table, he looked at me, smiling with those big, brown eyes. "Momma, I like you. I like your hair and your eyes and your mouf and your face." God loves me far too much to allow any harm come my way that is not for my benefit. He loves me. He likes me. He is rooting for me. When you have the most powerful Being in the universe rooting for you, you don't have to worry about how things will turn out or about how you will make it in the meantime.

I apparently needed one more little kick in the pants because Micah had one more nugget for me as I folded laundry that afternoon.

 "Momma?" he began.

I looked at him questioningly.

 "Momma, you need be happy."

"I am happy, Micah," I assured him.

"No, Momma. You need be happy on your face."

Without realizing it, I had been frowning. I think I've probably been frowning a lot. It's unintentional, but when I'm in pain, my brow furrows as I unsuccessfully attempt to focus on something besides my discomfort. And Micah was taking it personally. I shifted my countenance for the sake of my son. I smiled at him, feeling an inexplicable rush of love and pride.

His final message of the day was this--while it is good to accept my pain and press on, I am called to take a more active position. I am called to joy. The call to joy is complicated because it isn't something I can contrive by my own effort, and it isn't something that magically happens. Rather, it is a byproduct of the presence of the Holy Spirit. The key to joy is moment by moment friendship with God. Micah's simplistic call to joy was actually a call to God Himself. (I named him after a prophet for a reason.) I can be happy when I have no reason to be if I will only center on Jesus.

"Out of the mouth of babes and nursing infants

You have perfected praise"

(Matthew 21:16)

That little boy . . . Oh, how I love him! He is himself a precious reminder that life is indeed a gift.

It's Going to be Alright

Several people have recently asked how I am doing, so I thought I would take a moment to answer that question for all of you who have prayed, encouraged and ministered on my behalf.  (May the Lord be extravagant in His blessings to each of you.)

The short answer is, "I believe that I am going to be alright." Thanks to some shared wisdom of a family friend, this is what I will tell people who ask in passing conversation until I am better. Most people want a short answer, and they want that answer to be positive. I can't honestly say that I'm "better" yet in the way the word is meant, and honesty is important to me. A comfortable compromise, the above answer meets my need for honesty and the need of the one asking for brevity and hope. From time to time, I may add, "Continue to pray for me as you think of me," for I certainly still need prayer.

I can say that in regard to my nutritional health, I am better. When my body grew sensitive to goat milk, I scrapped my elimination diet plan because my caloric needs simply could not be met by eating rice cereal and vegetables alone. I was growing weaker by the day eating that way, so I feel that by becoming sensitive to the milk, God was just looking out. I miss the milk, but I am deeply grateful to be able to eat meat. I could never be a vegetarian. My metabolism requires meat, and my body was becoming increasingly cranky in its absence.

In addition to meat, I am eating most vegetables, some fruits (apples, pears, avocados, grapes, and blueberries), select oils (canola, grapeseed and sunflower only), egg yolks, potatoes and rice. Nothing I eat is processed.  My mom (God bless her) has been baking zucchini cakes for me made with rice flour, zucchini, eggs, oil and sugar, so that has been my major indulgence. I will be sad when zucchinis go out of season. If I want to try something new, Brandon performs a simple physical test that has without fail tipped me off to new allergies. My naturopathic doctor showed us this neat little trick. At first, with nothing in my hands, I hold my thumb and middle finger together as tightly as I am able. Brandon tries (without excessive force) to pull my fingers apart to establish my finger strength. I then take the food in question in my opposite hand as he performs the test again. If I am able to hold my fingers together, I am not allergic to the food. If he easily pulls my fingers apart, I avoid the food. The test does not detect all of my sensitivities, so I sometimes still "react" to foods, but it does keep me alive.

Even with the increase in calories, I am still underweight. I have lost around 15 pounds since my health crisis began, and that's 15 pounds after I had lost my baby weight. I am the thinnest I have been since I was 17, and I was borderline anorexic at the time. I don't look terrible, but I don't look healthy either. I am hoping that I will have a breakthrough with my nutritional health soon. I plan to begin reading The Food Allergy Cure by Ellen Cutler this weekend. The book, recommended by my naturopathic doctor, is supposed to offer me the information I need to desensitize my body to various foods. I doubt that I will ever be able to eat wheat, nuts, corn or soy again (which is no huge loss, really . . . . except for corn chips and popcorn . . . I'm really going to miss corn chips and popcorn), but I do hope to be able to eat chocolate, peanut butter, bananas, goat milk products and maybe even dairy products again. I would love to put on some weight, and have fun doing it!

Meeting my dietary needs has been important in helping me better manage my pain. I have found that my pain has not gone away or lessened, but my pain tolerance increased when I was no longer starving. Hunger is a formidable foe, making all other battles far more difficult. Since I've started eating again, I have been able to ignore and push through my pain with the exception of this week. (The change in weather threw my body into a flare, which means that I cannot function normally.) I have slowly gained independence over the past few weeks, and am now able to keep the kids by myself during the day, give Sara a bath, take the kids outside for a few minutes daily so I can do my physical therapy (pushing Sara in the stroller up and down the driveway for about 10 minutes) and get some sunshine, (mostly) keep the kitchen clean and usable, keep the laundry from eating us alive and cook simple dinners. It may not sound like much, but it's a far cry from the state I was in a few weeks ago. As an added bonus, I was able to take Micah out on a mother-son date last Saturday, which is something I've wanted to do for awhile now.

The pain is my constant companion, but I've learned to be thankful for it. The pain in my limbs means that I still have use of them. The discomfort I feel means than I'm still alive with my husband and children. (It's not that I would be very opposed to being brought fully alive through death by my Eternal Love and Savior. Rather, I believe that I am where I am most useful and where I am meant to be for the present time.) I have much for which to be grateful.

In addition to pain, I suffer from depression. I have bad days and better days. I am feeding on God's Word as if it were actual food. I am praying as if my life depended upon it. I am fighting for joy, clinging to song. I am practicing gratitude. (See my blooming "Gratitude Wall" below.)

I am actively seeking emotional health, but like the pain, the depression is my constant companion. Also like the pain, while the depression is there, it does not ruin me. It has not taken me over, although I would let it if I didn't have the children to tend to. Thank God for Micah and Sara! My kids are supposed to need me as their parent. Instead, I find myself needing them. Their needs call me out of bed every morning when I honestly would prefer to stay there, hiding from the world under thin covers that have no power to protect me or take away my problems. When I have a particularly hard day, I spend a little time doing laundry in the utility room, reading over my gratitude wall. Each post-it warms and energizes the cold emptiness inside. It's like coffee for the soul . . . which reminds me--I really miss coffee.

The improvement I am most happy to share with you is that regarding my spiritual health. I have never experienced the Lord like I am experiencing Him these days. I have set before Him my full heart, and in return He has faithfully exposed some of its dark and nasty places, giving me an opportunity to heal in ways that I did not expect when I first began asking for healing. With His presence, He is bringing to light long-lived sinful patterns that have been holding me captive--patterns of which I was not aware. The bondage of bitterness I didn't know was there is falling away, freeing me up to love. Deep-seated fears I've harbored all my life are melting in the Light of His glorious presence. Pain and depression are not my only companions. These last few weeks, I have also walked with peace unlike anything I've ever known. I have danced with joy, which is able to extend far beyond the feebleness and frailty of momentary happiness. My heart is slowly beginning to unfurl into the blossom of genuine love for others that the Apostle John so passionately calls us to in his first short letter. The Creator Himself is my friend! God is making all things new, and I am so glad that His first order of business is my spirit! What good would this sickness be if I were only to be made physically well?

There is much more to say that cannot be said on a public blog, but know that God is working observable miracles in my life, my family and my household. And because of this, I know that no matter if I live with allergies, pain and depression for the rest of my life, however long that may be, it's going to be alright.

In closing, allow me to share the lyrics of a favorite song by a favorite songwriter who happens to be my daughter's namesake--

"It's Going To Be Alright"

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

I can tell by your eyes that you're not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you're sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

I believe you'll outlive this pain in your heart
And you'll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,

I believe
I believe

I did not come here to offer you clichés

 I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

--Sara Groves, from her album Add to the Beauty

I don't know what pain or hardships you are experiencing, Dear Reader, but in Christ Jesus, I can promise you that it will indeed be alright.

Little Miracles

God rarely seems to do things the way I expect or want Him to.

The prophet Isaiah once wrote, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

The reason we are often surprised or baffled by the ways of God is because He is not like us. Rather, we are like Him; only we are created, finite and made of dust instead of eternal, infinite and consisting of glory, righteousness, justice, truth, power and love. God is other. He is higher. He is greater. So, it makes sense that He would do things differently . . . . better and far more efficiently than we would do them. I find that it's when I think I've figured out His plan that He blindsides me with something wonderful or something hard that will become wonderful.


For instance, a few months ago when Sara was so ill with RSV and an ear infection that would not budge, I was certain that a tube surgery was in our very near future. So was our doctor. Instead, the Lord impressed it upon my heart to fast from lunch and snacks every day for a week, and seek Him while asking for a miraculous healing. I had never fasted from food for any period of time. Taken a little off guard, I trusted and obeyed, and one week later, her ears were clear and have mostly remained clear since. I thought at the time that the whole process was for Sara's benefit alone. It turns out that it was for mine, too. I subconsciously limited God to doing one thing at a time, a habit that needs breaking. The action of fasting, denying myself physical food in faith that God would provide much more important spiritual food and experiencing His faithfulness to do it, was as vital to me as was Sara's healing. I had planned for a surgery, and to my astonishment, received a miraculous healing and what I would need to face the weeks ahead. Here, I was blindsided with something as wonderful in foretaste as it was in aftertaste. But it doesn't always happen that way.

Sometimes, in the middle of a happy, exciting time in life, people get sick, and we just don't understand. Sometimes, it's someone you know or someone you love. And sometimes, it's you. It's all hard, and it's impossible to understand how something so awful could actually be for good, but you trust, you hope. And sometimes, you can see some of the good--for you and/or others.


If you've been reading awhile, you may remember me writing about the elders of our church coming  to pray for me. They came at the end of a difficult day, and I would have loved to have been miraculously healed before they left. That is not what happened at all. You may also remember me asking for prayer for my husband, Brandon, who had been having strange, allergic-esque symptoms to we-had-no-idea-what, and was feeling very ill himself. As Randy, one of the elders prayed specifically for him, Brandon said that he felt a physical weight lift off of his shoulders. He got the miraculous healing, and it has proved out over the last three weeks. He has been perfectly healthy (sleep deprivation aside) since that night.


Sara was the other benefactor from that night. Since then, she has adjusted quickly and beautifully to every change we've thrown at her. She took a bottle much easier than I had imagined. When she began taking a bottle, her six month long bout of colic DISAPPEARED. She switched to the strange goat milk formula I'm making daily for her (strange because it includes goat milk, water, prune juice, blackstrap molasses, orange flavored cod liver oil, raspberry flavored B vitamin and folic acid supplements, bitter-tasting Vitamin D, extra virgin olive oil . . . . it's strange, I tell you) without a hitch. She began sleeping for most of the night in her bed when we began requiring her to so I could get more restful sleep, and then began sleeping all night in her bed all on her own, and THEN began taking two hour naps out of the blue.

 In case you aren't familiar with my littlest's former habits, allow me to elaborate. This child DID. NOT. SLEEP. the first two weeks of life. She took 20 minute cat naps every 3-4 hours, but would stay awake all night long. She was colicky to boot, so there was no sleeping for me until I decided to sleep with her in the guest bed in her nursery. That sleep wasn't very high quality as she ate 2-3 times a night and had tummy issues from about 1am until we got up, but it was some sleep as opposed to no sleep, which can quite literally kill you. When she began "sleeping" at night, she stopped taking naps in the day. I occasionally would luck up and get a half hour snooze, but it was rare. Evenings were, for lack of a better metaphor, hell. She began wailing (she cries louder than any toddler I've met . . . I think we have a future Wagnerian soprano on our hands) at 5pm every day and would often carry on until 1 am. Over time, the screaming fits became shorter, but they never went away . . . . until after the elders prayed for her.

The elders had come to pray for me, but my husband and daughter were the ones who got the miracles. And I am so, TOTALLY okay with that. It wasn't what I had expected. It wasn't what I had hoped for. Instead, it was exactly what was needed, and I am incredibly grateful that my husband and daughter are doing so well! (I believe my time is coming!) Our family as a whole is doing better because I am sick. My illness was the impetus for this goodness and for much more goodness that I don't have time to recount at the moment.


It's hard to be sick. It's hard to hurt physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. However, I wouldn't trade my situation with anyone. I'm getting to experience the Lord work on my behalf in the most tender, intimate ways. I'm getting to know parts of His character I never knew before. I'm falling in love with Him all over again. So yes, this has been hard, but it's been wonderful, too. Thank you, Jesus, for these "little miracles," and thank you for being enough for me while I wait on my "big miracle," a miracle I can honestly say I could do without if that was what you wanted, but a miracle I believe is coming . . . . maybe just around the corner.




Prayer Request Update:


Tomorrow, I will be seeing Dr. Yakaboski, a naturopathic doctor in West Monroe, who specializes in nutrition. Please pray that the Lord will give her keen insight into my situation, and that we can come up with a plan for me to get the nutrition I need to get well.


The kids have been sick for over a week now. It's nothing serious, but they are miserable. Unsurprisingly, I caught it, as well. Micah had an anaphylactic attack while eating a snack on Sunday, and Sara choked on mashed avocado this morning. I did the Heimlich maneuver for babies on her. Liquid avocado shot out of her mouth (no bits, though . . . . weird, no?) after a couple of forceful pats on the back, and all was well. I think the devil is messing with my kids, and I don't like it. Please pray for our family's protection from the wicked one. I don't want to be protected from God's glory, but I do want to be protected from Satan's schemes. I hesitate to say this next sentence because some of you will think it's crazy or impossible, while others will think it's kind of cool--it's neither, by the way. We have experienced some very evident activity from evil spirits lately. Please pray with us against this!


I've begun a healing regimen called The Healing Codes. Please pray with me that God would use this regimen to bring swift healing to my body. If you are interested in reading more about The Healing Codes, you can check out this website: http://thehealingcodes.com/. Dr. Yak bases much of her practice on The Healing Codes. Incredulous, I decided to buy the book so that I would be prepared for whatever new age voodoo crap she was going to pull on me. As it turns out, The Healing Codes is based on Christian principles and good science, so I'm totally comfortable with it after reading through the book with much prayer, scripture referencing and discernment. I don't think The Healing Codes are the answer to all of my problems. With the authors, I agree that God can use them as a tool to heal me, and it is my prayer that they do.


Thank you all for your kindness, love and support through prayer, service and encouragement. May God bless you all with more of Himself!

A Change of Plans

 "A man's heart plans his way,

But the Lord directs his steps."

-Proverbs 16:9

Plans. We plan our daily schedule, our menus, our leisure time. We make plans within plans, and plans to see those plans through. In spite of an unpredictable world, where the best of plans often go awry, we still make them every day. When our plans are broken, we all respond differently. These responses have much to do with our personalities, our histories and the value we place upon those plans. I'm not naturally very flexible about changes in plans, but over the years, I've learned to better handle my disappointment when things don't work out the way I want them to. I've gotten pretty good at changing my meal plans at the last minute when I don't have the needed ingredients. I don't enjoy missing scheduled social functions, but I don't let it bother me anymore when a family member gets sick and we have to stay home. It's not my favorite thing to change date plans when Brandon and I are running late to our movie, but I have learned to enjoy an impromptu stroll through a favorite store when the stars fail to align. My children have been my greatest teachers in the classroom of flexibility. (Can I get an amen?) However, when my latest plan for physical restoration and healing exploded in my face with the energy of a grenade, I did not handle it well.

For several days, I had been suspecting what I considered to be the worst. When you eat sparingly, especially after a fast, you notice every tiny change in your body after you eat. You can feel the slightest tingle of your lips, the smallest itchy bumps on your skin, the faintest flash of heat wash over your body, the tiniest swelling of your tongue or throat. I knew, but I was in denial. I couldn't yet admit it because the stuff was my lifeline, my best source of nourishment. I even began saying aloud, "I don't know what I will do if I begin having reactions to this."

 I had gone through about $200 trying various nutritional supplements, each one causing allergic reactions, some of which were severe. I tested digestive enzymes, probiotic cultures, and amino acid supplements. I thought I had found the answer to my need for protein on Mt. Capra's website. Mt. Capra is a company that specializes in health and wellness products derived from goat milk. I ordered the colostrum supplements and the protein powder. The way in which I responded to these supplements confirmed my worst fears. My body (or rather, my antibodies) were attacking goat milk, a substance that had always been safe. After my evening helping of protein powder mixed with my rice cereal, I had an obvious reaction. I wanted to believe that it was something in the powder, the vanilla flavoring maybe. Anything but the goat milk itself. So, that is what I told myself--I can't take the powder, but I can still drink the milk.

To put things succinctly, I drank my nightly glass of goat milk before bed, became very ill, dropped my head in my hands and wept as if someone had died. I called my mom, and we agreed that our plan--the plan I had been depending on, banking on to get me well--had to be scrapped. Without the goat milk, I would quite literally starve to death. It would take time, but that's what would happen. And mom and I both agree, anaphylaxsis is preferable to starvation every day of the week.

So, we have formulated Plan C . . . . or D, E or F . . . . we have lost count. While it's riskier in some ways, I actually like it much better because I'm finally eating real food! We have decided to try food rotation. Because my list of safe foods is so short, I can't do much better than avoid eating the same thing twice in one day and avoid eating the same food two days in a row. Here's how it works--

Yesterday, I ate three egg yolks and my rice cereal for breakfast. For lunch, I had some very simple homemade chicken soup (Hanna Peshoff, God bless you!). For dinner, I made hamburger patties seasoned with salt and pepper alone and some broccoli. Today, I ate rice cereal for breakfast, peanut butter and an apple for lunch and a pork roast with potatoes and green beans seasoned with salt and pepper alone. The peanut butter and apple at lunch was a HUGE mistake for which I have paid dearly all day long, a mistake I have no plans to repeat. Tomorrow, I will probably repeat the egg yolk breakfast, eat a vegetarian lunch and have chicken for dinner. There will be no grains (excepting rice), no nuts, no butter, no olive oil, no strange gluten free additives such as tapioca or gums, few fruits, no goat milk, no processed food whatsoever. This may sound terrible to some of you, but I am absolutely delighted! I only hope it works!

After being so hungry for so long, chicken soup, hamburger patties and pork roast is the BEST. FOOD. EVER. I am thanking God for the animals, the farmers who raise the animals, the people who kill the animals (so sorry, PETA), the people who prepare and package the meat and the cashier who sold it to us.

All of that being said, this sudden influx of food is indeed a risky business (although no riskier than throwing in the towel and allowing myself to starve). To help reduce the risk, I am going to see a natural doctor on Wednesday of next week who specializes in bio-nutrition. She also claims to have success in helping people overcome their food allergies and sensitivities. She will be addressing my other symptoms using a "whole-person" approach, which means she will see me as more than a list of symptoms that need to be alleviated. Rather, she will address me as a physical, emotional and spiritual being, and will try to help me in each respect. Honestly, I'm a little skeptical because I'm skeptical about everything, but I plan to go with an open (yet discerning) mind.

 I really hope she can help me because I'm seeing clearly now that what I need is a miracle. I need a miraculous intervention from the Lord, and I am open to whatever venue He would like to use. I'll accept a miraculous healing in my sleep, from a doctor, from a drug, from a diet, from a supplement, and/or from a lifestyle. I will accept whatever He is willing to give however He is willing to give it (whenever He is willing to give it) because if I insist upon it coming to me in a particular way, I may end up dead rather than well.

And I don't think the plan is for me to end up dead. I don't believe that God is penning a tragedy here. I believe that He is instead scripting an adventure that ends in restoration and a happily ever after. Yet, I find that I can be happy today in spite of the uncertainty of tomorrow. My new plan may fail like all of the rest of my seemingly well-conceived plans, but I can always be happy in Jesus and trust that if this plan fails, the Lord is working something out here that is too wonderful for me to comprehend, and I can trust Him to guide me safely to the next course of action. I can be happy in sickness and in health. I can be happy in plenty or in poverty. I can be happy hungry or full. I can be happy because Jesus Himself is my satisfaction, and He is enough.

I think this latest change of plan is a gift. Goat milk may not be an option for awhile, but after three weeks of being truly hungry, I am enjoying feeling satisfied, and the food is absolutely delicious! I hope and pray my body doesn't betray me further by rejecting this new effort. I hope healing is just around the corner. I hope that this time next year, I can look back smiling and reflecting on how far I've come. But most of all, I hope that God's purposes and plans are accomplished in this--every last one. All of the purposes He has for me, for my family, for my friends, for my church, for the strangers who hear of or read my story are worth it. The hunger, the pain, the grief, the fear, even my life is a worthy price if it works for your good, Reader, and the greatest good I know is God's glory. Beautifully, mysteriously, He has intertwined His glory with our good and happiness so tightly that one does not exist without the other. How cool is that?

John Piper, one of the greatest Christian teachers of our time, puts it like this--"God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him." I hope you take time to revel in the person, the grace and beauty of our Lord Jesus Christ as you so kindly beseech Him on my behalf, for He is the key to "happily ever after" for all in this life and the next.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

It's very late on a Saturday night as I begin to type. Louisiana isn't far from the earliest bits of Sunday morning, actually. I'm sitting in the green recliner I bought for Brandon a few years ago, which I have claimed for over half the time we've owned it for one reason or another, and a snoozing baby rests against my chest because she inexplicably finds my now-protruding clavicle more comfortable than her crib. Sara sighs sweetly as she sleeps, and her chubby cheeks beckon the pucker of my lips. Yes, I'm tired. Yes, I should be sleeping. But I'm not frustrated or upset about not being in bed tonight.

I've been thinking a lot today about the fact that I have not been able to really enjoy Sara's babyhood. Honestly, I feel a little robbed. When Micah was a baby, I had the time and energy to record his milestones, take more photos than should be devoted to one child, and make cute, multimedia videos perfectly timed to the perfect song. Every day, we spent time reading and playing on the floor, and this was in addition to teaching piano and voice lessons, managing the household and having a full and fun schedule. I'm a little concerned that Sara will one day notice and challenge the disparity in evidence of happy parenting, but mostly I'm sad that I haven't really had an opportunity to provide it.

From the beginning, the odds were stacked against us. Sara didn't sleep until we began co-sleeping when she was two weeks old. At three weeks, she came down with a cold that she kept until RSV hit us like a hurricane at the first of January. She was sick with RSV and ear infections for over two months. Utterly consumed by the needs of my frighteningly sick infant and the lesser, yet significant needs of my now three-year-old son, I didn't notice the first obvious signs that my health was slipping. I thought I was tired because Sara wasn't sleeping. I thought my allergies were heightened because we never had winter. I thought my migraines were the byproduct of my postpartum hormones. And now, I live in a reality where I have little energy because of the nature of whatever auto-immune thing I have and because I can't get enough food. I live in a reality in which pain is becoming so commonplace that I'm beginning to ignore the lesser aches and only give pause when those aches become debilitating pain. I live in a reality that could end with the next food I try.

I can honestly say that I don't feel afraid much anymore. God is really keeping my fear under control. However, it would be vilely pretentious of me to lead you to believe that I'm not depressed . . . and worse. For those of you who have experienced depression, you know what I mean when I say that the aches I feel go deeper than my bones. There's an emptiness, a hollow space that reverberates uncomfortably each time I think about not having the energy to savor Sara's babyhood as I would like or wonder if I'll be able to teach Micah to play basketball or consider the fact that it would be dangerous to have anymore babies.

And then there is the food thing . . . . I am so meat hungry, live cattle make me salivate. Rice cereal and vegetables are an absolute gift, and many people in the world would be overjoyed to eat what I'm eating, but when I'm smelling Hannah Peshoff's roast warming in the microwave, Death by Roast doesn't seem that bad of a way to go, if you catch my meaning. (Allow me to interject here that I am thrilled that my family is eating well while I am adjusting and finding my feet. I do not begrudge them good food. I only wish that I could have something fabulous to eat, too.) I feel a lot like the Israelites, wandering around in the wilderness, complaining about the manna they had to eat day in and day out without variation instead of being grateful for God's miraculous provision. I have to remind myself what a gift it is to eat! I have to remember how far I've come in just a little over a week.

 It's funny--and excruciatingly humbling--to realize that I'm identifying with qualities I've never liked or respected in others. I lack gratitude. I have difficulty overseeing the affairs of my household. I have little desire to rise above my circumstances. I have moments of jealousy when I consider how easy things seem for other people and moments of cynicism when those people don't realize what a miracle it is that they feel energized enough to spend a day at the park or at the zoo with their kids.

I've always felt that it is important to call a spade, a spade, and let's face it--my attitude is sin and it's ugly. A friend of mine once put it something like this--God owes me nothing. Actually, the only thing I am owed is Hell. Anything I am given beyond eternal damnation is something I don't deserve. While I am a human being, created and allowed to feel raw, complex emotions, I must always land back in the realization that I am owed nothing. The breath in my lungs, the food (however bland) in my belly, the clothes on my back, the pain in my legs (a beautiful sign that my legs still work), is a gift--a gift I DON'T deserve! The mommy moments that I think I'm missing? I only really miss them if I'm too distracted by my discontentment to enjoy what I'm given. And beyond all of these things, I have been given Jesus, who has ushered me into the presence of God by the merit of His blood alone, who allows me to enjoy these gifts freely without them being an indictment against my rebel's heart. And one of these days . . . . one of these days . . . .I'm going to learn that His presence is ENOUGH! God, You are ENOUGH!

I am going to have to be intentional if I am to pluck out the weeds of discontentment in my heart. I am praying that the Lord would truly be enough for me. I am asking that when I want a bite of what my husband is eating badly enough to consider endangering myself that I would instead choose to feast on Him. Please, please, pray with me. Also, I have found that gratitude is one of the most potent weed-killers out there, and I am going to devote myself to being grateful to the Lord every day. I'm thinking of beginning a Post-It Wall of Gratitude somewhere in the house to look at and add to each day. I will begin my prayers with a "thank you" rather than a "please, Lord." And I think I'm going to start right here, right now with this precious, sleeping baby on my chest. What a grand, grand gift.


What is something big or small for which you are grateful?

Joy, Unexpected

I feel like I'm breaking the surface of the deep, paralyzingly cold waters of shock I've been trapped under for the past twelve days. I've taken a couple of life-giving gulps of oxygen, taken a quick look around and have accepted the fact that the shore--complete with a diagnosis and restored health--is nowhere in sight. I'm beginning to relax and trying to give myself to the current's flow, trusting that God is going to bring me safely to my destination, wherever that may be. I'm not going to lie--fighting the pull of fear and uncertainty is difficult--but if I can keep my eyes on Christ, I can stay afloat and even appreciate the sights along the way.

So far, my body has accepted three foods--rice cereal, goat milk and zucchini. I season with salt alone. I have also tried olive oil and avocado, but my body rejected them both. The diet plan I'm following explains that hypersensitive "patients" must advance their diets very slowly. I may eventually be able to eat these foods again, but I must wait. For now, it's easy to be patient. My stomach still protests a little each time I eat, so my food is prepared to be as digestible as possible, as if I were making it for an infant. The result is that Sara and I are sharing meals!

I haven't been exactly quiet about how much I loved to nurse my baby and how sad I was when I decided to give it up. Being able to share my food with my girl has been therapeutic in light of that loss. Usually, Sara sits in her Bumbo, and watches me eat. Sometimes, she wants a bite or two of my meal, and I am happy and able to share! We talk, laugh, play and eat our rice cereal and vegetable mash--it's really fun! Our mini meals are becoming a sweet, special time that makes me smile about my plate of baby food in spite of the fact that I would rather be eating steak and potatoes. It may be easy to be patient now, but give it a few weeks. I'll be needing this precious little drop of sunshine.

Each day I've eaten, I've grown a little stronger. I can manage a little laundry, a few dishes, giving Sara a bath and basic care for the kids, but not much more. I'm still unable to cook, keep the house clean (or even tidy, for that matter), stay caught up with the laundry or play very much with the kids. Eight to nine hundred daily calories just don't go very far, especially on days that the pain is severe.

Last Saturday afternoon, a flare-up was building in my bones. My grandmother came over to play with Micah, and took him outside. I peered through the french door glass at the smiling red-head playing chase with his great-grandmother. For a moment, my breath caught and I felt a pang in my chest. I would so love to be able to play chase with my boy, but I haven't been able to do that in months. It's been a long time since I was healthy enough to run around much. And there I sat in a dining chair, still in my twenties and aching all over, watching a woman in her seventies chase my child. As the tears were forming in my eyes, God slanted my perspective. I realized what a gift it was that my boy was outside running around like all little boys should. I realized what an amazing thing I had in a grandmother willing and healthy enough, even after breast cancer, to run around with him. It may not be the exact picture I had in mind when imagining parenthood several years ago, but it's not any less beautiful. For now, I will focus on what I can do--feed, hold, cuddle, kiss, read to, love my children--and pray that the Lord will meet the rest of their needs how He sees fit.

I also have to depend on God and others to meet some of my needs. I went to bed Saturday night in a good bit of pain, and woke up Sunday morning to more. We had Sara's baby dedication that morning, and I was hurting so badly, I couldn't even fix my own hair. I told Brandon that I didn't think we were going to make it, so he volunteered to fix my hair.

 You are now all mortified. The women are all mortified because they can't imagine what they would look like if their husbands or significant others fixed their hair and the men because they wouldn't know where to begin. I was never worried. You all forget that I'm married to Superman. A typical Lois Lane, I was only humiliated and frustrated that I couldn't fix my own hair. However, I'm finding that humility, though difficult and disgusting to swallow, is healthy for the soul. The ten minutes that Brandon spent styling my hair were actually very precious. How many women are married to a man that wants to go to their child's dedication so badly that he would offer to fix their hair? How many women are married to men who could actually do it? Brandon and I bonded on a new level Sunday morning, and I think he did a pretty good job! (You can add that to your "job skills" list, Babe!)

Dependence doesn't come easy to me. I have always enjoyed the feeling of being capable, but I find myself in a set of circumstances where I am just not capable. Every task requires dependence, whether on the Lord or someone else. Getting out of bed in the morning is proving difficult. I'm stiff and sore, tired and depressed, and if I didn't have children who were counting on me--physically and emotionally--to get out of bed, I would be tempted to just stay there and wallow. But I have to get up! So in a practice I think everyone should adopt, I daily acknowledge the fact that I can't even get out of bed in the morning without God's help, and I ask Him to help me. And He proves Himself faithful every morning.

I never thought I would find myself in such dire straights, and I certainly never thought I could find real, genuine joy in these types of circumstances. I'm not a glass-half-full kind of girl. I've always been of the mindset that everyone could take their "power of positive thinking" and shove it. (I'm still of that mindset.) No offense to those who like to think positively, but no amount of positive thinking is going to make me better physically or able to eat a doughnut ever again. My joy does not flow from the way I think about things; but to my absolute astonishment, there it is, present in every moment . . . . even the sad ones--joy, unexpected. And  that joy flows from the ever-constant, sustaining presence of Jesus Christ.

"Satisfy us in the morning with Your steadfast love,

that we may rejoice and be glad all our days."

(Psalm 90:14)

Amen and amen.

Jots and Tittles

When I woke yesterday morning, I felt like I was dying. I realize that sounds melodramatic, but if you've ever been dehydrated, malnourished, nauseated and hurting all over at the same, you understand. My stomach had been very upset with me for days, especially after drinking this gosh-awful stuff.

My nutrition supplement a.k.a The Drink of Torture

It was difficult even swallowing water. The smallest sip would make my stomach roll and burn, and without really thinking about it, I just stopped drinking. It wasn't intentional, but it happened. And Thursday morning, I reaped the consequences. 

I dragged myself out of bed for a moment, only to get right back in. And there I stayed, wondering how long I would feel like I was on death's door. I sipped on a water bottle, but it was painful and slow. As I fought the urge to throw up the little water I had taken, my husband and mother decided I needed IV fluids. My doctor was called, and later that morning, I arrived at the Quick Care Clinic in Ruston. 

Under normal circumstances, I would have been shaking in my boots at the prospect of an IV needle, but I was so miserable, I didn't care . . . much. I may have stopped breathing once or twice. I knew they were going to have a hard time sticking me because my veins tend to run and hide when a needle comes out. Add dehydration to the mix, and you have yourself a problem. I went back to the verse that had been my lifeline the last time I had visited an ER.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God, and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds through Christ Jesus." --Philippians 4:6-7

I prayed through the verse, willing myself to obey through a haze of fear and pain. And you know what? God is faithful. I was flooded with peace, even though I had two nurses worried about getting the needle in my "dry" arm. Once it was in, it had to be wiggled around--something that should have sent me off the cliff of sanity. Instead, I was fine. I was able to tell both nurses helping me about my verse, which was fun. I hope it will help them sometime in the future, too.

I was given two liters of saline, and afterward felt much better. I was allowed to go home under strict instructions to drink with prescriptions for nausea to help. 

I drank and rested for most of the afternoon until it was time to move to the living room to receive visitors. Our small group leaders from church were coming to the house with two of our elders. They came bearing gifts--three meals cooked by three sweet ladies in our church. You ladies who have been ill or recovering from surgery know how reassuring it is to know that your family is being taken care of when you cannot take care of them. A huge burden was lifted as the meals were tucked away in our fridge. 

Our visitors cheered us up significantly after a hard day. They talked with us, encouraged us, and most importantly, prayed for us. Brandon later told me that as the elders prayed for him, he could physically feel his anxieties and burdens lift from his body. 

We had never done this before, but we asked for the elders to come to our home because of the verse found in James 5:14, which states, "Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord." In addition to being prayed for, I was also anointed with oil, and while I was a bit afraid it would be an awkward experience, it was instead a precious, encouraging time for my family and for those who came. I encourage you to consider doing this if the situation ever applies, especially in light of the triumphs of today.

Last night, Sara slept in her own bed and went without drinking a bottle for the second night in a row. She woke once both nights, but was easily rocked back to sleep by my mom. If it had only happened once, I would have thought it was a fluke, but it happened TWICE! After she began taking a bottle on Wednesday, her colic DISAPPEARED! If you are my friend on Facebook, you know what a HUGE deal this is. Because I've been sick, she hasn't been given any Prevacid for her acid reflux, but she has not spit up. Like, at all. We are astounded and thrilled! I cannot begin to tell you what a relief and an answer to prayer these changes have been. 

In addition to Sara's progress, I have had a couple of successes of my own. My pain has receded without medication. It's still there, but only as a shadow of what I woke to eight days ago. I can manage that. And I am so happy to report that I have eaten one and a half servings of Cream of Rice today. It may be baby food. It may not be much. But it's food. I had minimal discomfort as I ate--just a little burning and pain--and the nausea has been controlled today by Phenergan, Zantac and Protonix. Tomorrow, I will try peeled and boiled zucchini if I continue to improve. I know you're jealous.

Today, has been a day of small but significant victories. They are gifts from the Lord, and I am so thankful. If I continue to gain strength, we may even make it to Sara's baby dedication on Sunday, which I in no way expected to be a possibility. 

I want to close with a few thank you's and an excerpt sent to me by my dear friend, mentor and spiritual mom.

First, thank you to my mom, Melanie Chapman, and mother-in-law, Debbie Keaster who have tirelessly taken care of my husband, my children and myself this week. They have cleaned, cooked, nursed, encouraged, prayed, and fed, bathed and played with children day and night. And thanks to the men who have lent them out. Thanks also to my Nona, Sue Saunders, and our Honey, Sue Binford, who have taken me and my kids where we have needed to go, and have allowed me to get some rest this week.Without these ladies, things would have fallen apart here at the Keaster household. Most of all, thanks to my Superman. Brandon Keaster, you have been the perfect husband, friend, helper, rock and spiritual leader this week. I am the luckiest woman alive to have you for my husband.

And now for the timely and poignant passage sent to me by my Mrs. Dixie, who has been praying tirelessly for me--

"The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised!" Job 1:21

O my Father, let me feel, even amid the troublous changes of life, that what I am apt to call painful vicissitudes--are the sovereign decrees and allotments of Your infinite wisdom!

Let me rejoice that every bitter drop in the 'cup of life'--is appointed by my Heavenly Father! May I submissively drink it, saying, "May Your will be done!"

What I cannot now comprehend--be it mine to wait the disclosures of that blessed morning when, standing at the luminous portals of Heaven, I shall joyfully acknowledge that, "You have done all things well!"

I look forward to that time when all Your inscrutable dealings will be unfolded, when inner meanings and purposes now undiscerned by the eye of sense--will be brought to light, and all discovered to be full of infinite love! Other refuges may fail--but I am as secure in You, as everlasting love and wisdom and power can make me!

Blessed Jesus! I would seek to cleave closer and closer to Your cross! May I follow You, O Lamb of God--wherever You see fit to lead me. May I never feel as if I would wish one jot or tittle regarding me to be altered--when the reins of universal empire are in Your hands!

--John MacDuff, "Evening Incense," 1859

Yes, Lord. "May I never feel as if I would wish one jot or tittle regarding me to be altered," for You truly do all things well even when I just cannot understand. 

The Plan

I desperately wish I had only sunshine and rainbows to report this morning. I earnestly want to tell you all that I've been miraculously healed. Instead, I will offer you honesty. In light of all of your sweet comments and prayers, you deserve it. And allow me to interject here that I believe that at moments your prayers are a large component of the glue that is holding our family together. I can't say this sincerely or heartfelt enough--thank you.

The last couple of days have been tough. Monday, I saw an immunologist in Monroe, hoping he could shed a little light on my crazy situation or give me some good advice. About halfway through the appointment, I realized he wasn't going to be able to help me in either way. Basically, he told me that he couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know. I needed to avoid the foods that I wasn't tolerating, and continue to carry my Epi Pen, Benadryl and inhaler. He told me he thought my allergy issues are unrelated to my inflammation issues, and that I needed to see a rheumatologist. In short, I confounded him. He offered to refer me to a rheumatologist in Shreveport. We payed him our $60 co-pay, and left.

I don't know what I had expected, but I could barely bar the floodgates as I walked out of the clinic. Fortunately, I made it to the car before I started sobbing. Brandon, who had driven me, patted my hand, and said it was going to be alright. I listened to music on the way home, and tried to begin making peace with the fact that what was wrong with me is beyond the scope of quick fixes--a difficult, but necessary thing to do.

I'm usually a woman with a plan. I see a problem, I decide upon a plan to solve said problem, and I execute it. Monday, I felt naked because I had a problem . . . . a HUGE problem . . . . and no plan whatsoever. Fortunately, I was pretty exhausted after my long day and sleepless night on Sunday night, so I was able to go to bed at 8:30, and forget my discomforts and frustrations for awhile.

I woke to the hungry cries of my baby girl around 5:15am yesterday morning. My mother had come in the night before while I was asleep to keep her so I could rest. While I fed Sara, mom sat with me, and offered me a plan. It felt like a lifeline. I mentioned before that my mom suffered from adult onset allergies a few years before. She had NO IDEA what was wrong with her then. She researched and prayed, and by divine guidance, stumbled upon the Alpha Nutrition Program. Through reading their book about healing through diet revision, she was able to get better when she was seriously ill. She had been doing her homework and re-reading, and offered it to me. We had begun discussing the method Sunday night, which begins with a fast or "food holiday," as the author calls it. We had tried to decide how I was going to get basic nutrition. I couldn't take the site's offered nutrient formulas because they contained ingredients to which I was showing sensitivity. We did some looking for something even more hypoallergenic, thought we'd found it on another site, and I had it shipped overnight to the house.

As I waited for my amino acid/nutrition supplement to get in yesterday, I noticed that my stomach was burning each time I put any food on it. The only food I was taking in was rice and goat milk, which are the two foods I go to after a stomach bug, as dry crackers are out of the realm of possibility for me. They are very gentle foods. But each time I drank a glass of milk or ate a little rice, I would become nauseated and my stomach would start burning uncomfortably.

When I returned from a visit to my family doctor yesterday afternoon--she gave me a physical exam, prescribed me something for my nerve pain and began the labs to rule out quick, easy fixes--my supplement was waiting on the doorstep. Later that evening, Brandon opened it and mixed it up for me. I was barely able to choke it down. I have eaten and drunk some nasty things in the name of health, but I think this drink may win the award for number of gags and almost-pukes. When I had gotten some of it down, my ears started to burn and my tongue began to swell. Not a good sign. I kept going back to the fact that I should not be reacting to anything in it, and somehow managed to get the rest of it down. After a few minutes, the weird allergic feeling went away, and I felt okay . . . until the intense nausea set it.

I sat on the bathroom floor, praying I wouldn't start vomiting. I hate to be sick because it's always so violent and painful for me, and I didn't want to have to go to the hospital. Mom, Brandon and I have all agreed that they wouldn't know what to do with me anyway, and they could very well kill me accidentally. I called my mother before heading to bed, and we decided that I should do a water only fast for as long as I could tolerate it. The goal is set for 3 days. After that, I will attempt the Alpha Nutrition Program sans supplements.

I am not very enthusiastic about starting a fast like this already hungry, but my digestive system needs a complete rest. It is not tolerating anything of sustenance. In light of the lack of nutrition and my new nerve meds, I have decided to stop nursing cold turkey. My last feeding was around 7:30pm last night. As I sit here in the early morning typing, my sweet mother in law is trying to get our Sara to take a bottle. She is spitting, sputtering and crying. I don't know what we're going to do with that one. A will of iron, she has.

Anyway, back to last night . . . . I laid in bed itching, hurting and hungry, and I just could not get to sleep. I prayed and cried and finally realized something. I've been looking desperately for answers and a miracle healing, but I haven't been seeking the real source of my help. I've been looking for God's hands, and all the while completely missing His face.

God brought to mind Proverbs 3:5-6--"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." I have been leaning on my very limited understanding of my situation, trying to come up with a plan for self-healing. Sure, I've been asking God to heal, strengthen, encourage, but you can be asking for all of those things without really putting your value in Him.

I came to this realization broken and feeling foolish. The good thing about our God is that He doesn't put us in a corner and force us to think about the bad thing we've done, or in my case, not done. He just wants us to come right back into friendship with Him.

My prayers changed last night. I continued to ask for direction, healing and endurance, but I realigned my desire for the person of Christ rather than what He could do for me. I prayed for His presence, which is far more important than food at this point. It is, in fact, the only food my body can currently accept! He alone will be my sustenance over the next few days, and that is not such a terrible thing, really. I am going to use this forced fast as an opportunity to seek the Lord.

After 40 days of fasting (Jesus is THE MAN, by the way), Satan tempted Jesus with food. Jesus' answer? " “It is written, “‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”(Matthew 4:3-5) These are words to remember.

I've also settled in this passage for the past couple of days:

"O Lord, You are my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; Yes, I have a good inheritance.
I will bless the Lord who has given me counsel; My heart also instructs me in the night seasons.
I have set the Lord always before me; Because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure.
For You will not leave my soul in Sheol, nor will You allow Your Holy One to see corruption.
You will show me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy;
At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore."
(Psalm 16:5-11)

It's almost as if David wrote that prophetically for my situation.

As you pray for us for the next couple of days, we have some specific needs:

Me--That I will seek the Lord, and that He would provide all I need in Himself. I need to be able to take care of both children alone some. I'm still hurting. I think the pain was receding, but the reaction last night brought some of it back. I'm tired, but I can't sleep well for long. I made it five hours last night, but couldn't manage anymore, and I'm having trouble napping. I'm also hungry, and will continue to be for awhile. Mothering is difficult in the best of situations, and I have a lot going against me right now. Pray for extra grace for me and the littles. We all need it.

Sara--That this child will PLEASE take a bottle without putting herself or her parents in the hospital. I'm probably going to have a hungry baby on my hands today who expects to nurse. I am glad that I didn't take my nerve meds last night because that means I can nurse her today after her scheduled shots, if necessary, but I think it would be best to not, if possible. Sara also needs to start sleeping by herself in her crib soon. This poor child has a lot of changes to undergo in a short amount of time. Pray for her, and pray for us.

Micah--He is beginning to understand that something isn't right. He's frustrated that mommy can't play and do everything he likes. He is acting out a bit, and we don't want to be hard on him. Pray that we will give him the grace he needs while still being good parents, and that Jesus would help him cope. Micah also gets a shot today, poor guy, so if you think of us around lunch, pray that it's as painless as possible.

Brandon--Brandon is having some strange symptoms that we are getting checked out today. He is taking Humira every two weeks for his Crohn's. On Thursday, he began having allergic symptoms. Thursday is also the day my pain began. We are unsure of whether he's having an adverse reaction to his medication or his body just can't tolerate all of the stress he is feeling right now. Pray that we and his doctors will have insight into the problem and the wisdom to alleviate his symptoms.

Thank you for all of your prayers thus far. Please don't stop. And as you pray, remember to seek the Lord's face before you seek His hand. Jesus Himself is far more valuable as a person than any miracle He can accomplish. All of this is in His power, and He's working something bigger and better than we can understand. I trust Him. I hope you do, too.

"When You said, 'Seek My face,'
My heart said to You, 'Your face, Lord, I will seek.'"
(Psalm 27:8)

The Fire and The Moon

Yesterday, I woke to unbearable pain. The pain in my joints had spread to all of my limbs. I felt like I had been beaten up and set on fire. Nerve pain shot from my shoulder to my hands, from my hips to my feet. And then I began reacting to everything I ate.

 Yesterday, I wondered if I was going to die. I sat in the antique rocking chair in Sara's room, the most uncomfortable chair in the house, and held my daughter in my arms, whispering soft prayers and leaking tears into the soft, strawberry-blonde down of her baby head while fixing my eyes on the photo of my little family hanging in the hall.

Yesterday, I prayed the prayers of a dying wife and mother. I was peaceful, but I was very unsure whether or not I would live. Today, I prayed the prayers of a woman who is going to get better. And this is even in spite of the fact that today I had a severe allergic reaction to a supplement which almost forced me to use my Epi Pen and surrender myself to a hospital. (I'm not ready for that upheaval quite yet.) Here's what changed:

I sought the Lord yesterday. I drew near to Him, and He faithfully, lovingly drew near to me. He gave me promises, sweet promises, that assured me I would live.

When going through a hard time, The Book of Psalms is an excellent resting place, so I opened it from the beginning with the plan to read five chapters. Here, I was given Psalm 3:5--"I lay down and slept; I awoke, for the Lord sustained me."

One of my biggest fears yesterday was going to sleep. What if my throat closed up, and I died quietly there in the bed? How awful would that be for my family? God took that fear away with this verse, and I haven't been afraid to sleep today at all. Not even after my scary allergic reaction.

I also remembered one of my favorite verses from Zechariah--"I will bring the one-third THROUGH the fire, will refine them as silver is refined, and test them as gold is tested. They will call on My name, and I will answer them. I will say, 'This is My people'; and each one will say, 'The Lord is my God.'"--Zechariah 13:9

The fire (literal and figurative) I am experiencing is not to destroy me, but to refine me. I'm going to make it THROUGH the flames better than I was before.

I also went back, and read my post, "Concerning Death and Dreams," I had written back in February after my many close encounters with sulfa/sulfur/sulfite products. I remembered my dream. I had been told that death would be coming for me again and again as it has, but I was also told that God is going to protect me. My blue force field shelters me still. Also from yesterday, Psalm 3:3--"But You, O Lord, are a shield for me, My glory and the One who lifts up my head."

I feel certain that the part of Philippians 1:21 meant for me in this moment is "to live is Christ." Dying will be gain . . . . only later.

Finally, last night I was given a gift. The whole world received it, but God has a way of making you feel like His favorite kid every now and then and making the gifts He gives to all seem as if they were personally gift-wrapped for you. After the children had been whisked away by family so I could get rest, my man whisked me away for a quick peek at the moon before bed. We couldn't see it over the tree line at our home. He drove me to the Brookshire's parking lot and let me marvel for a moment. I thought, "This moon is as I should be." I thought about how the moon is it's most beautiful and glorious when it is fully facing the light of the sun. Sure, we notice it when it's only partially alight, but when it sits full and radiant in the midnight sky, it takes our breath away.

We, as Christians, often want to hold pieces of ourselves back from the Light. Light can be painful and blinding. It changes us. But we are meant to be more than faint slivers in the sky. Those cold and dark places we hold back are actually crying out for the Light, and the darkness of this world desperately needs to see true reflection of that Light.

I may not be able to do much for awhile--I can't cook, mother or volunteer at the local soup kitchen in this shape. But like the moon, I can follow the path set for me. I can turn myself fully to His radiant face, and take in all of Him I can. I have been lovingly put in this place of "being still" before God. I always wondered what that was all about. Now, as I settle into my new orbit, I get to find out. I get to just sit and bask in the Light of the Son. What a gift.

Here is how you can pray:

I need healing. I've started taking prednisone, which has helped significantly with my pain. I am able to type today! Yay! I'm going to stop eating food for awhile, taking only amino acid dietary supplements. After several days of this, I will add one food at a time back to my diet, evaluating my tolerance to each food. I'm not going to lie--this doesn't sound like much fun, but I think it's my best move. Also, I'll be making appointments with specialists early this week. I need to get in as quickly as possible.

My husband is wearing the world on his shoulders. He's afraid for me. He thought he was going to have to get me to Shreveport today by himself with nothing but liquid Benadryl, two Epi Pens and a very sick wife for company, so he's struggling with anxiety in addition to being husband, nurse, mother and father. Please keep him in your thoughts.

My children . . . my sweet, sweet babies. I am so sad that I can't be what I want to be for them right now. This is one of my most difficult personal struggles, and they are feeling the distance, too.

My support system is amazing, but they need wisdom in knowing their limitations, and they need health, energy and strength as they take care of us.

Finally,it is my hope that the Lord would be glorified in all of this and that His people would be encouraged. May His name be high and lifted up in my suffering that it may not be in vain! May everyone who prays and ponders due to my situation find new joy and delight in God! I love my Jesus, and I want to suffer well for Him. I want all of His perfect purposes for my trials to bloom fully and gloriously! May we all turn our faces fully to the Son that His Light might radiate from us in such a way that last night's moon which held us captive in its beams would be put to shame!

 In Jesus' name. Amen.

The Journey and A Rough Landing

Once upon a time, I was as normal as an introverted, nerdy, book-loving, Jesus-following, formerly homeschooled, unpopular, unfashionable, walk-to-the-beat-of-her-own-drum kind of girl can be. I may have been a bit punier than other kids my age, but I would get sick and get well again. My habits and patterns were at least similar to those of everyone else I knew. I liked fun. I had a place in which I felt I fit somehow. I had dreams and hopes and no reason at all to think they may not come true.

Between Christmas and the New Year in 2004, I had my first immediate allergic reaction to a food. I had been allergic to dairy all my life, but not allergic enough to quit enjoying it. As I popped pistachios in my mouth while my family and I enjoyed a quiet evening on vacation in Branson, MO, my lips, mouth and Eustachian tubes began itching. I took some Benadryl and didn't think about this event again until 6 months later.

During the spring season of 2005, I was on a health kick, trying to eat sprouted grains, nuts, veggies, fruits and limit my sugar intake to a little honey and an occasional dessert (aka, I was eating healthier than I had ever eaten). Sitting in a night class at Louisiana Tech that met once a week through dinner time, I was eating a favorite snack of organic cashews when my tongue started to swell. My mother had been suffering from adult on-set food allergies for about a year at this point, and I had been carrying Benadryl with me as a safety precaution. I took two Benadryl, and was fine. I made a mental note to not eat anymore cashews.

A few months later, I began reacting to other tree nuts, including almonds. I stopped eating them. A few months later, I began reacting to soy products. So I avoided those, which is quite difficult to do if you are used to eating processed food like I was and like most of America is. If you think avoiding soy is as easy as staying out of Asian restaurants, just go read the nutrition facts on the packaging of your favorite snacks. At a friend's wedding in December 2005, I became very sick after her reception. It took me a few more months to realize the cause was the delicious cake I had consumed. By late spring 2006, I had cut almost all wheat out of my diet.

At this time, I also began suffering severely from seasonal allergies. My eyes burned and watered constantly, I couldn't see straight, I was sneezing, coughing and wheezing all the time, my head was swimming, I started having migraines and was depressed. In early June 2006, I made a horrible mistake--I went to an allergist for help. I'm not saying this is a mistake for everyone. It was just a mistake for me. I underwent skin testing for all common allergens. He chose not to test the foods to which I was already reacting to systemically. He discovered that I was allergic to grasses, pollens, molds and dust mites (surprise, surprise), and I began receiving shots weekly. After a couple of months, I began having severe local reactions to the shots. I would receive a shot, my arm would swell and hurt for days, and by the time I was normal again, I would have to get another shot. It didn't take long before I was having systemic reactions to them. I would almost weekly get my allergy shots, then get a follow up steroid shot. I was often put on oral steroids to boot. Twice, I had an anaphylactic reaction to my shots in the office. I once asked if this was normal. I was told that this doctor had patients who had to receive Epi every week with their shots. I didn't like the sound of that, and it wasn't long before I realized that my shots were making me worse. My asthma was worse. I had a new food allergy to corn. My seasonal allergies had not improved. I stopped seeing the doctor, and quit paying the man for making me sicker.

I continued carrying my Epi pen, Benadryl and inhaler. I continued taking my daily antihistamine, Singulair and nasal spray. I avoided wheat, tree nuts, soy, corn, dairy, active lawnmowers and moldy leaf piles. I learned how to eat well in spite of the numerous foods I had to avoid. Sometimes, it seemed that the severity of my allergies would recede, and I might be able to enjoy corn and dairy more often, but they would always advance again.

After Micah was born, I got worse. I had a little brush with death in June 2009, but thanks to 100mg of Benadryl, two Epi Pens, a husband who isn't afraid to drive fast and furiously and the questionable care of a local ER, I survived. If you are my friend on Facebook or if you've been reading for awhile, you know that things got hairy for me in January 2011 when I encountered teff flour, a gluten-free grain that may not have killed me, but made me wish I was dead more than once. Let's just say the encounter was . . . violent. That encounter left me with poor general health for the greater part of 2011. After teff, I swore off all grains minus rice and the occasional bag of popcorn and bowl of oatmeal.

If you read the blog series I posted in February, you know that I am now dangerously allergic to sulfa/sulfur/sulfites. Since then, my other food allergies have worsened drastically. I once could occasionally cheat with a few allergens without reaping any consequences. These days, corn is just as deadly as wheat, and dairy and oats are just not worth the trouble. My seasonal allergies are worse than they have ever been. I am chronically suffering from fatigue, asthma, dry, itchy eyes (I can no longer wear contacts), migraines, skin rashes, and hives.

 I began to suspect that my problems extended beyond mere food allergies well before this last Wednesday, but I received confirmation by Thursday (yesterday) morning. Wednesday night,  I had a severe allergic reaction to coconut, an extremely uncommon allergen. It made me very sick, but I decided not to use my Epi Pen. A breastfed infant makes that action complicated for several reasons. I grieved with real tears that night over my new food allergy. Not that I eat coconut every day, but it was just that one more thing, you know? I went to sleep with the scared little thought of, "Will I just eventually starve to death because I've become allergic to everything?"

Thursday morning began like every other morning, only I knew that I would be taking Sara to the doctor for an ear infection and would subsequently be taking care of a sick infant. I did feel strange and very itchy from my reaction the night before, but it wasn't until I was up walking around that I noticed something different. Pain. Pain in every joint and hot spot in my body. I had a horrible headache, neck pain, shoulder pain, upper back pain, lower back pain, elbow pain, wrist pain, hip pain, knee pain, ankle pain. I could feel pain in every joint in every finger, every toe. It hurt to hold a fork, chew my breakfast, and change Sara's diaper. And suddenly, I knew. For months, I had wondered, but now I was sure. My aunt has rheumatoid arthritis. My husband has Crohn's disease. I have friends with MS, lupus, IBS, etc. I know the common telltale signs.

My name is Melissa Keaster. I am not yet 28 years old, and I have an undiagnosed auto-immune disease that will be less than simple to treat. Until I get treatment, I will likely suffer every time I have an allergic reaction (which is often) and every time the weather changes (it's spring in Louisiana). I have a 21 pound, needy infant who constantly needs comfort from her own pains and illnesses. I have a 3 year old who desperately misses his fun-loving, carefree mommy who was once game for daily adventures. I have a husband who is suffering from food allergies for the first time in his life. He needs me at my best. My kids need me at my best. And I find that I am at my worst.

Yesterday was a day of tears and heartbreak, working through the day and praying it would end. It was a day of facing harsh realities and wondering why it was all necessary. However, I did not despair. My hope is not in my health.

I've just begun processing this new information. I was actually going to wait to post about this new struggle, but I needed to "write it out" to help begin the processing . . . er . . . process. I don't know how I feel about all of this. I know I feel sad. I don't know what I'm going to do yet other than seek a rheumatologist in the Shreveport area. Right now, I'm disoriented, sobered and kind of horrified. Simply put, I'm in shock. I have no arc of thought on the subject. My thoughts are scattered and scrambled, but I keep coming back to these--

"This is the real food I need--Christ's unconditional commitment to me."--Timothy Keller

"And all things work together for the good of those who love God, who have been called according to His purpose."--Romans 8:28

"I believe in a blessing I don't understand.
I've seen rain fall on the wicked and the just.
Rain is no measure of His faithfulness.
He withholds no good thing from us . . .
I believe in a peace that flows deeper than pain;
that broken find healing in love.
Pain is no measure of His faithfulness.
He withholds no good thing from us . . .
I will open my hands, will open my heart . . .
I am nodding my head an emphatic yes to all that you have for me."
--Sara Groves, "Open My Hands" from her new album, Invisible Empires

"But He knows the way that I take;
When He has tested me, I shall come forth as gold.
My foot has held fast to His steps;
I have kept His way and not turned aside.
I have not departed from the commandment of His lips;
I have treasured the words of His mouth
more than my necessary food [emphasis mine]. . .
For He performs what is appointed for me,
and many such things are with Him."
 --Job 23:10-12, 14

"Whom have I in heaven but You?
And there is none upon the earth that I desire besides You.
My flesh and my heart fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."
--Psalm 73:25-26

 I don't know where this road leads, but in my mind, it has already led to some dark and scary places, places I can't bear to look into for long. I don't know the answer to "why me?" And believe me, I've asked it. I have no idea what God is thinking, planning, doing.

Here is what I do know--

God is still in control. Mine is not a situation beyond His reach.

God HAS a plan, and that plan is for my good. (Romans 8:28, Jeremiah 29:11)

My purpose in this life has not changed. I exist for the glory of God and to spread the glory of His name in the world. Apparently, He deems that the best way for me to accomplish this purpose is without my health.

God isn't going to throw me out sick and helpless to fend for myself. He loves me. He will strengthen me and help me. He is with me always.

As I process, adapt and seek medical attention, I could really use your prayers, your encouragement, your favorite scriptures, etc. I'm scared, ya'll. I can't even begin to tell you of all the things I fear. I don't even know them myself. So, when you think of me, lift me to the Father, who has given me this illness not in spite of His love for me, but because of it.

Superman

When I married this man 7 1/2 years ago, I thought I knew him. As it turns out, I didn't know him, I didn't know myself and I didn't know anything about marriage. All I really knew is that I loved him and would always love him. As it also turns out, love . . . . real love . . . . is enough.

I was a child when I married Brandon Keith Keaster on a mild Saturday evening in Louisiana on August 14, 2004. I had much yet to learn about life, this man, and myself. With the faith of a child, I pledged the rest of my existence to this one, flawed man, and next to my decision to take up my cross daily and follow Christ, this is the best decision I've made in my 27 years.

If you read my four part blog post, "Weight," you know that life has been a little crazy, mixed with equal parts scary and wonderful. Mostly, I restricted my disclosure to my personal response to experiencing a birth, a medical emergency, a child being seriously ill and being seriously ill myself, but now it's time to give credit where it is seriously due--I would NOT. HAVE. MADE. IT. without this extraordinary human being that is Brandon Keith Keaster.

Over the years, I have learned that my husband can do pretty much everything except sing and fly. (Seriously, the guy couldn't carry a tune if his life depended on it.) I remember when we were first married, I was constantly in trouble with him for things like letting the Wal-Mart car serviceman put in a new filter or suggesting we hire a handy man to fix the washing machine. If my car filter needed replacing, he could do it! If the washing machine was broken, he could do it! Over time, I found that Brandon can put up vinyl siding, put up new ceilings, build amazing built-in bookshelves, lay flooring, do electrical wiring, hook up appliances of all sorts, knock down walls, build new ones, put in doors, shingle roofs, fabricate metal work, and build pretty much anything I can dream up. The dude also cooks, cleans, launders and sews better than I do, he would just usually rather not. If the world as we know it comes to an end, I am set. Brandon is thoroughly capable of making us a dwelling out of sticks and mud, growing and hunting our food, and hand-sewing our clothing from animal skins. Regardless of the fact that he can't fly, he has, without irony, earned the nickname, "Superman," among my family members and myself.

Now, it would be enough for him to be able to do it all, but throughout our marriage, Brandon has been a rock--faithful and steady. For a person like me, who experiences a series of high highs and low lows, this is an important quality. He is also compassionate, loyal, helpful, generous and romantic. He makes beautiful babies, and gives really good gifts. Every time. Furthermore, he loves Jesus, and because he loves Jesus, he is constantly improving.

Throughout the last three months, Brandon has been my best friend. Most days, he is the only adult I see. It is a massive relief to hear his truck pull up in the driveway. He has been my main social interaction, and has been amazingly satisfactory in this role. He has served as both my husband and my girl friend, listening to my every feeling, every thought and sometimes, even what I ate. He has been the shoulder I have cried on. He's been almost supernatural in his ability to sense the difference between when I just need to cry and when I need him to "fix it." In case you are not familiar with the male sex, this is a highly unusual quality. Men want to listen only as long as it takes to figure out how to fix it. Brandon is special because even as the most capable person I have ever known, he understands that our circumstances are beyond his fix-it capabilities, and he has been content to just listen. Like I said, supernatural. Upon a single plea for help, he took it upon himself to take care of Micah in the morning, cook breakfast and feed the dog before he leaves for work. He has stuffed and folded cloth diapers. Night after night, he holds a screaming infant so I can get 15 minutes of peace in the shower. He has been doing the grocery shopping since 2 weeks before Sara was born even though he hates to grocery shop. He has cooked dinners for us when I ran out of the time or energy to do so myself. He has worked his behind off to support the four of us, and when the doctor bills are piled as high as ours, that is an intense task. And he has done all of this without one word or physical expression of complaint. He has loved us through this tumultuous time. Never once did I or the kids feel resented or burdensome.

I am thankful for the troubles that have assailed us the last three months because without them, I would not know or appreciate my God or my Superman, as I do today. I have been brought uncomfortably, fabulously close to the two men in my life who save me every day, and I wouldn't trade it for one hundred Disney happily ever afters.

I love this man. I'm so glad he's mine.

Happy Valentine's Day/Half Anniversary, Babe. I'm the happiest, luckiest girl alive to be able to spend it with you.

Weight: Part 4 of 4--Concerning Death and Dreams

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory . . . . " --2 Corinthians 4:16-17

Have you ever thought about what the glory of God must be like? Paul describes it here in a physical sense. He describes it as heavy, far heavier than any pressure we can experience in this life. I imagine it to be unbearable, a pleasure so strong that it's excruciating. Even believers, being redeemed by Christ's blood, cannot look into the face of God and live. It would entirely sweep us away. So how will we be prepared to enjoy an encounter with a power beyond anything we can comprehend or stand . . . even in the next life? Hopefully, we will be given the great honor of experiencing the excruciating glory of God in life through the excruciating experience of suffering.

You may ask, "Why on earth would anyone hope to experience suffering?" That's a good question. In his book, Don't Waste Your Life, John Piper answers this way--

" . . . suffering with Jesus on the Calvary road of love is not merely the result of magnifying Christ; it is also the means. He is made supreme when we are so satisfied in him that we can 'let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also' and suffer for the sake of love. His beauty shines most brightly when treasured above health and wealth and life itself. He knew that suffering (whether small discomforts or dreadful torture) would be the path in this age for making him most visibly supreme. That is why he calls us to this. He loves us. And love does not mean making much of us or making life easy. It means making us able to enjoy making much of him forever--no matter what it costs." (p. 61-62)

As a long-distance runner begins by running short distances before running a marathon and as a body-builder must begin by lifting light weights before he becomes a champion, we are given a shadow of a taste of the exceeding weight of glory we will experience in eternity by walking with Jesus on the Calvary road of suffering in this life. We are building the muscle, if you will, that we need to bear this unbearable weight of glory,"to enjoy making much of him forever," which is what heaven is really all about. We should hope to suffer with Jesus so we can hope to enjoy the sensation of being knocked flat on our faces before an eternal, all-powerful God.

Of course, it is not natural for man to hope to suffer, but suffering comes in a fallen world whether or not we hope for it. Suffering will come, and when it does, we can either embitter ourselves against a holy, loving God, which is the natural bent of man, or we can lean into Him with all of our might, which is supernatural--the work of God in us. When we lean into Him rather than "jerking away" (if you are confused by the quotations here, read Part 1), He gives us everything we could possibly need. We, like the Apostle Paul, can live "as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything" (2 Corinthians 6:10).

But what do I know of this? Honestly, not much. But I do have a story to tell about the small portion of the Calvary road I have walked.

Those of you who know me personally are privy to the fact that I am basically allergic to the world in which I live. I have the normal allergies to grasses, pollens, molds and dust mites that a lot of people have, but I have several strange and obscure allergies, too--wheat, tree nuts, soy, dairy, corn, watermelon, kiwi, tapioca starch, guar gum, xanthum gum, teff flour (an encounter that negatively affected my health for the greater part of 2011), and pretty much all grains with the exception of rice. I bet you haven't even heard of some of that stuff, much less would know how to avoid it. When most people think of allergies, they think of stuffy or runny noses, coughing, watery and itchy eyes, etc. My allergies are more of the hives, full-body itching, hot flashing, inability to breathe variety, especially when it comes to wheat, nuts and certain types of grass. I've carried an Epi-Pen for 5 years now, and I know how to use it.

I wasn't born like this. I was born with allergies, sure, but not with this excessively long list of food allergies. When I was 20 years old, I began to react to one food right after the other. I had to completely change the way I ate and lived. I made several mistakes while I was learning, and these mistakes weren't very forgiving. Benadryl has been a life-saver multiple times. I've been known to drink a significant portion of Children's Benadryl to avoid using my Epi-Pen so I could thereby avoid the hospital. An account of my closest brush with death can be found here.

I had gotten pretty good at protecting myself. I had learned which foods were safe at which restaurants. I had learned not to eat at social functions. I had learned not to even have wheat flour in the house. My last severe mistake was in January 2011. I was doing pretty darn good. And then, a new allergen presented itself.

I can't know for sure, but I think the first severe manifestation of this new allergy occurred during labor. I believe the reaction I suffered after being given my epidural was my first big reaction to sulfa/sulphites. Some of you may know that sulphites can be found in wine, which is easy enough to live without, and sulfa is easily enough avoided if you have a sharp doctor and pharmacist (which I have). But as the most extraordinary thing about me is the extraordinary way I react to allergens, I have proven to be far more sensitive to the stuff than others I know who share this allergy.

One Friday in January, in the midst of Sara's bout with RSV, I had an unique opportunity to do some pampering. Brandon had taken Micah out of the house. Sara was sleeping soundly in her swing. I took a long, hot shower, and then decided to use a facial mask I had been wanting try out. I caked it on, nice and thick, not bothering to be conservative with my use. When I had my face and neck covered, my skin began to tingle. I thought it was probably normal, just an effect of the mask. Then, my skin began to burn unpleasantly. Hmmm . . . . I didn't think a mask should burn. And then, I couldn't get the thing off fast enough. I scrubbed quickly, my face and neck feeling like they had been splashed with acid. When I got all of it off, I kept dousing my face with cold water. It didn't help. I applied a facial lotion, aloe vera gel, a calming lotion . . . nothing was easing the burning sensation. I did finally read that the facial mask contained sulfur, and decided to take a couple of Benadryl tablets for good measure. A few minutes later, I noticed that my chest was tightening and my tongue was swelling. The Benadryl wasn't working! After quickly checking with my Aunt Suzonne who is a nurse, I took 50mg more Benadryl. The next step was my Epi Pen, and I had no one but a dependent infant within half an hour of me to haul my butt to the hospital. God heard my pleas, and the 100mg of Benadryl in my system eased my breathing and reduced the size of my tongue.

This incident was the first time I found that I could not make skin contact with the allergen at hand. I can make my son a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with whole wheat bread, but the sulfa cream prescribed for Sara's diaper rash proved to be life threatening. I wore protective gloves, and still had a violent reaction while using it. I'm using cloth diapers with cloth liners for Sara. The other day, I saw a clean cloth liner on the floor in the laundry room. I picked it up, and threw it in the laundry basket with the other clean cloths. It had been contaminated with the sulfa cream, but it had been washed and dried. The single second that my fingertips touched the liner was enough contact to tighten my airways. That's it! A second. And then, there is the extensive list of foods and pharmaceutical drugs I must completely avoid. I had only thought that learning to live without wheat was difficult. I hate to use words like this, but avoiding everything I must in order to live safely is going to be impossible. The list is far too long with far too many possibilities for error to avoid everything completely. I must read every label of everything I put into my mouth or touch. If I eat food someone else has prepared for me, I'll be taking a major risk. A night out on the town could easily prove to be the last night of my life. That sounds dramatic and ridiculous, especially to me who prefers to avoid the dramatic and ridiculous outside of books and off the stage, but it's true. This is my new reality. And to be honest, for the first time in my allergic life, I am terrified.

I have begun to understand that my life is in danger. This one is bad. My dreams of raising my children and having a long, full life with my husband are under terrible threat. I look into the faces of my babies and begin to cry because I'm afraid I won't be allowed to look at them long enough to satisfy me. My soul tears in two when I think of the worst. My children need me. No one else can love them like I do. When Brandon talks of the future, I feel uncomfortable because I know that I might not be in it. These are the best years of my life. I don't want to die.

It was with these thoughts I went to bed the night I reacted to the sulfa cream while wearing my protective gloves. I was awash in despair. I prayed and cried myself to sleep that night, hugging Sara tighter to my chest than usual. And that night, God gave me a dream. Before I relate the dream, I want you to understand that I am not special in any way. I have never before been given a dream, much less the ability to understand it. Normally, I'm just like everyone else and I just have dreams, but this one was different.

The dream began with unimportant prologue. All I can remember early in the dream is that I was running from something, but I didn't know what it was. The important part of the dream began with me, hiding in a safe house, with white, blank walls and empty spaces. I had two protectors with me--one felt like Brandon, the other felt much less important, but the faces were hazy. I was getting dressed for some unknown reason. I wasn't going anywhere, but I was looking especially pretty. I was sitting on a bed, putting on a pair of red ballet flats when two figures passed by an open window outside the next room, into which I could clearly see. I saw one of the figures stop abruptly. I'm not sure how, but I knew that he had smelled me. He turned to face me through the window. I can't quite say that we made eye contact because he didn't have eyes, but we were trapped in each other's gaze nonetheless. He was huge, a towering giant of a man. But he wasn't a man. His head was like that of a bison or a wildebeest or something of that nature. (Think The Chronicles of Narnia here, but we aren't talking about a good animal.) He was dressed in all black, and he radiated all things terrible. He left the space of the open window, and I knew he was coming for me. My protectors knew he was coming, too. The one who did not feel like Brandon ran to the front door. He tried to stop him, but after The Beast knocked down the door, he flung my first protector aside as if he were nothing at all. His footsteps thundered slow and deliberate toward me. The Brandon-ish protector said, "Don't be afraid. I'll protect you." I believed he would try. I just didn't believe that he actually could. The Beast now stood before me. I was on the ground, scooting away from him in fear. I was covered in a cold sweat. He raised his huge fist into the air. I knew he was about to deliver a blow, and when he did, it would kill me. I was seconds from my death, and the protector in the room with me would only be able to stand there and watch. As the creature's fist swung toward me, a magical, blue force field appeared out of nowhere in front of me, deflecting The Beast's blow entirely. The Beast stared without eyes at the force field in a wild rage. Suddenly powerless to hurt me, he walked back to the broken front door. Before he walked out, he turned back and caught me once again in his cruel gaze. He did not speak, but his message was burned into my brain--"You escaped this time, but I'll be back again and again until I get you." With that, he left. I realized that I was no longer safe, even in hiding. I decided to leave my safe house. I was leaving my protectors behind, and about to walk as far I could into the wide, open horizon that stretched before me, but my protectors followed. One plead, "Let us go with you! We will find a way to protect you." I said, "No. No one can protect me." The protector replied, "What about the force field?"

I gave some response that is muddy in my brain because this is the point at which I began to wake up.

Later that morning, I couldn't get the dream off of my brain. I was consumed with morbid thoughts, taking the dream as a bad omen--an omen that meant I didn't have many days left. But in my sadness, I reached out to the Lord. I prayed. I combated fear with scripture I had memorized. I worshiped. As I did these things, God impressed upon my spirit that I needed to write out the dream in my journal.

I put Micah down for his nap, and I did so. As I wrote out the dream, God gave me its meaning!

I looked pretty in the dream because the time frame represented the best years of my life---the years I'm living now. I was in a safe house because I was trying to hide away, but the blank walls spoke of an empty life. My two protectors were Benadryl and Epi Pen. The one that felt like Brandon was the Epi Pen. These protectors are ultimately unable to protect my life. The Beast figure is, of course, death. Death is pursuing me. It is coming after me. It won't stop. It will smell me out again and again and again. But as the protector asked, "What about the blue force field?" Well, it was God. God turned death away. He turned it away because He, and no one else, gets to decide the number of my days.

After the dream interpretation, this is what I recorded in my journal:

"'He knows the days of the upright, and their inheritance shall be forever.' --Psalm 37:18

[God] can turn away death or send it at His will. I have not been given the knowledge of my life's length. Each breath is a gift from the Lord, and I am as likely to die in a car crash as I am of anaphylaxis. Just because I am weaker than the next person doesn't mean that my life will be shorter. I am weak because God wants me to know that His grace is sufficient for me; His strength is made perfect in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). So, I can boast gladly in my infirmities that the power of Christ may rest on me.

And there is the possibility that I could die. Soon. From a reaction. From an accident. From a murder, even. And what of it?

'Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?' --Job 2:10

And what about this?: 'And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.' --Romans 8:28

If this verse is true, it must also be true that for the Christian, death is good.

'For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard-pressed between the two, having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better.'--Philippians 1:21-23

So why the fear? Why the heartbreak? Why the agony of feeling my chest ripped open at the thought of dying? It's because I don't want to leave my man. It's because I want to raise my kids. It's because I am convinced that no one can love them like I can. Because I want to witness their lives in all their stages. Mostly, it's that I know I can never drink in enough of their sweet, baby faces to ever be satisfied. But why do I think Jesus' face would be any less sweet? His would be 1,000 times sweeter! Why do I think no one else could care for my little loves like me? Jesus cares 1,000 times more than I ever could! A long life with my husband would be a grand gift, but nothing compared to the eternity I will have with my Ultimate Groom.

This dream is not to be a thing that haunts me, although it will. It is a reminder of who is really in control of my destiny. It is a reminder that each breath is a gift. It is a reminder that death, though scary, is gain. So, let The Beast find me, again and again and again. I won't be leaving this earth until God's preordained time, and then I will be with Him, safe and completely satisfied in Him.

Funny, I guess, that I just wrote the ending to my dream--I am going to live my life, not in fear or in hiding, but out in the open and full to the hilt until the blue force fields come to my rescue no more, and I wake from death's final blow in the arms of my Savior."

I ended my entry here.

Here's the thing--we all live in a place of uncertainty. I'm just hyper-aware of that fact right now. Sometimes, while I'm holding Sara or playing with Micah or kissing Brandon, I take a deep drag of oxygen, and silently thank God for that one, special breath. I take a little more joy in the fact that I have almost no alone time because who would want to spend their last day or moment alone? I'm enjoying one on one time with my children more because I feel the pressure of getting the housework done much less. I'm leaning on God moment by moment, because in reality, He orders their number anyway. I have nothing to fear because nothing can separate me from his love (Romans 8:38-39), not allergens, not anaphylaxsis, not pain, not car crashes, not murder, not anything. And I can fulfill my purpose in life or death.

The purpose for my existence is to be glad in God and help as many others to be glad in God as possible. I hope this post encourages you in some way toward that gladness, the greatest gladness to be had in this life and the next. To know that gladness, you have to know my Jesus, and the only way to do that is to accept Him for who He says He is--He claimed to be the God of the Universe and the, meaning the only, Savior of our souls. He is not merely a good teacher. He is more! It comes down to this--believing Jesus, which is the only faith that has any value. If you can't believe this, but want to, don't worry. You don't have to contrive faith of your own, on your own. Faith is a gift! Ask God for it, and He will give it to you! If you have any questions about a life lived for Jesus, I want to talk to you. Email me at keastemom@live.com. We'll talk.

If you have a relationship with Christ, but aren't in a place where death seems to be gain, that's also okay. I have some recommended reading for you:

1) The Gospels of The Bible. Jesus is the key to death being gain. Start there, then move to the letters of Paul. The Apostle and Saint understood what it meant for death to be gain more than anyone else ever has.

2) Don't Waste Your Life by John Piper.

3) King's Cross by Timothy Keller.

These books have been great encouragements to me in the last few months through trial after trial.

Let me tell you this--it is a struggle to stay in the mindset of death being gain. It is a work of the Holy Spirit. The devil loves to come around, stirring up fear and anxiety when he can, so I need your prayers. Please pray for my peace, first and foremost. I also need God's protection as I navigate this major life change. I cannot avoid every mistake, but it would be nice to avoid some.

Also, I am not suicidal. If you see me out cold on the pavement and not breathing, please find my mini purse inside my diaper bag at the top, get out my Epi Pen and stab me in the leg. Do it for me, for my husband and for my kids. Thank you.

Finally, I want you to know that as bad as this is (and everything else in the last three months has been), I am thankful that this bad thing has happened. It is being worked for my eternal good and hopefully, for the eternal good of others, as well. This horrible, scary, light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for me a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. And that is a very, very good thing.

Weight: Part 3 of 4--Sara Elizabeth

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(Photos courtesy of Jolly Tucker Photography.)

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory . . . . " --2 Corinthians 4:16-17

You may not be able to tell from the photos, but Sara Elizabeth has been a rather demanding infant. For the first few days after her birth, I thought maybe, just maybe, I would have a placid, flexible baby who would soon be sleeping on her own through the night. I thought I deserved one like that after Micah, the child who didn't sleep for 8 months. What I thought I deserved and what I got were two very different things. Little did I know, Girlfriend was just making sure I wouldn't give her back before revealing her true colors.

The week after I lost half of my weight in blood, I began to notice some troublesome patterns forming. First of all, she liked to eat every 60 to 90 minutes, which roughly translates into a schedule of eat, burp, diaper change, eat, etc. I was doing almost nothing but feeding this child! When Micah needed to eat or use the bathroom, I would often have to lug Sara with me, managing my tasks with one arm. As if her outrageous feeding demands weren't exhausting enough, she refused to sleep at night. For two weeks straight, my sleeping hours were from 8:30 to 11:30 pm and from 6:30 to 8:00 am. Two naps do not equal the rest of a good night's sleep. When she was three weeks old, I gave up the dream of a baby who would miraculously start sleeping at night, and we began to co-sleep in the bed in her nursery. Sleep transformed me into a new woman. More than two months later, the two of us are still in that bed, leaving the master bed (because it is a water bed and therefore unsafe for young babies) to Brandon and Daisy. And then there was the colic . . . Micah had colic, so I was hoping we could manage to escape it a second time. It turns out that I'm very good at guessing wrongly. When Micah was a baby, his screaming hours were reasonable . . . . textbook even--3 to 6pm. From week two, she screamed every single night from about 5 or 6pm until around midnight. No lie. Everyone in the house was suffering from anxiety. Micah would have full out anxiety attacks most nights of the week. He would wake, crying out in a panicked wail until someone went to him. Often, I would spend the evening with Sara, and Brandon would tend to our son. It was seven kinds of awful. Car rides in the evening were hellish. A thirty minute trip could take 2 hours because we would have to stop several times to console our children, one the cause of the other's inconsolation. These things continued for weeks.

Sara was three weeks old when she had her first bout of illness. She caught a cold from Micah. She was horribly congested, which affected her eating and sleeping. There isn't much one can do medication wise for an infant of three weeks, so we just suffered through it.

As bad as these things were, they were manageable. We survived. Miraculously, I was even happy. I say that my happiness has been miraculous for several reasons. Having a baby can often throw a woman into a deep depression, especially someone like me who struggles with depression anyway. I almost always have seasonal depression. It had come to be "that time of year." I had three strikes against me with the fairly difficult circumstances with which I was contending, but I was inexplicably content. Sure, I was loving being a full-time stay at home mom, taking care of my babies without interruption, but that couldn't be the reason I was doing so well. Something wonderful and mysterious was happening. My happiness shared a strange correlative relationship with the difficulty of my circumstances. Here's the thing, though--while my happiness seemed to share a relationship with my circumstances, my circumstances had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Little by little, day by day, my relationship with the Lord was blooming. I had been craving a special quiet time to hide away and pray each day. I wasn't getting it, of course, so I started to pray while I was doing housework. I prayed out loud so Micah would know that I was talking to Jesus, and that he wasn't to interrupt unless he needed something or had something very important to say. I wanted a quiet half hour to devote to Bible study, but sacrificing the sleep wasn't really an option. I was too sleep deprived as it was. Instead, I slowly learned to make the most of the sitting time I had during Sara's feedings to read, meditate, study or memorize God's word. My time with the Lord was no longer under the structure or stricture of a rushed half hour where I would hurriedly try to check off all the intended items on my nice, neat, Christian girl, to-do list. Instead, my time with the Lord was becoming my entire day.

And then, a grueling gut-check came: a test to see whether or not I was all in with this God thing or if I was just happy to do it while things were "manageable."

Sara began to have a troubling cough after the start of the New Year. She also began projectile vomiting at several feedings. I knew it couldn't be allergies because she was a breastfed baby. Nothing had changed in my diet, so I knew the problem must have had something to do with her. Brandon and I decided she should go to the doctor.

Every winter, a few passed around illnesses strike fear in the hearts of mothers of very young children everywhere, and Sara had caught one of them--RSV. I knew of several young infants who had to be hospitalized for this virus, so I was rightly afraid. In addition to RSV, Sara had a double ear infection. On January 6th, we began a medication routine that included an antibiotic, a probiotic, and an at-home breathing treatment. Micah was also sick with a sinus infection. I had to take care of two sick babies during Brandon's busiest time of year at work. I was worried. I was stressed. But I took my cares to the Lord, and He took care of me.

For awhile, Sara seemed to get better. Out of sheer stupidity and ignorance, we stopped her breathing treatments, thinking she was well. We got out of the house for a couple of days one week in the middle of January, just long enough to soak in a little bit of much-needed social interaction and to spread our illness to another child. Then, the RSV came back with a vengeance. I took Sara to the doctor for a third time in the span of a few days. She was much worse. She was put on round-the-clock breathing treatments of two kinds, which required me to get up at 3am every night. She was also put on a third round of antibiotics, an oral steriod, an antihistamine and two prescription creams for the terrible diaper rash she had developed from all of the antibiotics. This time, I was truly alarmed. I prayed desperately that God would keep us out of the hospital.

For days and days, I spent most of my time giving medications that were spit out or puked up, administering treatments, changing diarrhea diapers, cleaning up vomit after each of Sara's feedings, and consoling and crying with my baby girl whose stomach was cramping violently due to the antibiotic. I was also trying to give Micah some much-needed attention, keep the laundry going, make sure we had clean dishes and food to eat. From the moment my feet hit the floor each morning, I was running all day long.

During this time, I felt completely overwhelmed. I was exhausted. I was grumpy. I was stressed out. I was lonely. I was anxious about my daughter. Rather than let these feelings slowly drive me bonkers, I turned these feelings into prayers.

There is a passage from the Psalms that I memorized when Micah was a baby.

"Trust in the Lord, and do good.
Dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness.
Delight yourself also in the Lord,
and He will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the Lord,
and He will act."
--Psalm 37: 3-5

I made a conscious decision to completely trust Him, whatever happened. I could rest in the fact that God is faithful and good. If we were to go to the hospital, He wouldn't leave us to go through it alone. I recalled all of the times He had proven Himself faithful in the past, and memory by memory, my fears were put to rest. The word "commit" in verse 5 actually means to "roll your cares upon" or "repose in." I visualized a physical rolling of my cares upon my God, my Rock, and as I did so, God filled me with peace and joy. While I very much desired for my child to be well, my chief desire came to be constant fellowship with Him, and boy, did He DELIVER!!!! I find it almost amusing that what David was telling me to delight in became the desire of my heart. It also became clear to me that while, yes, I desperately needed my child to be well, my greatest need was His constant presence in my life. This, my greatest need, He tended to first. And I am so abundantly grateful that He did.

My days have been long and difficult, but also full of joy and peace. I haven't been getting much sleep, but I am being given rest. As the pressure has increased, I have leaned harder into Jesus. And God has been good. He has practically pummeled me with encouragement.

A couple of weeks ago, I began following two blogs by two sisters in Christ who were undergoing their own suffering. One is facing an undiagnosed illness that will probably affect the rest of her life. This girl PREACHES, and she speaks my language! Check her out, and be encouraged! The other blog is authored by a girl who became a widow at the age of 21, about a year after she and her husband were married. She is incredibly transparent and genuine. You should also check out her testimony here. God has also sent me scriptures, songs and books to speak truth and comfort into my life. My biggest source of comfort has been the old hymn, "Be Still My Soul--"

"Be still my soul, the Lord is on your side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide,
Through every change, He faithful will remain.
Be still my soul, thy best and heavenly Friend
through thorny ways leads to a joyful end . . .
Be still my soul, the winds and waves still know
the voice who ruled them when He dwelt below."

I just love that, especially the last line.

One month into Sara's illness, she is much better. She finished up her antibiotic yesterday. We probably have another month of breathing treatments. We are still in the thick of it, but no longer in any danger of an extended hospital stay. For now, we are staying in, trying to keep the germs to ourselves and avoid any new ones. The other day, I noticed that somewhere in the middle of our RSV saga, Sara outgrew her colicky stage. Praise the Lord! In a few weeks, she will be old enough to sleep train. Sometimes, she makes it 2 hours or more between feedings. Things are getting better, but in no way do I plan to let go of what I have gained. It is simply too good.

Not that I could let go, anyway. Now, more than ever, I am having to to cling to Jesus. Sara hasn't been the only one fighting for her health, and she is now doing much better than I am.

Happy 3 Month Birthday to my sweet baby girl!

. . . . to be continued in Part 4: Concerning Death and Dreams

Weight: Part 2 of 4--Provision

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory . . . . " --2 Corinthians 4:16-17

Blood.

My blood.

It was everywhere . . . . on the floor, on the walls, on the dog's bed, on my clothes, on my legs, on my feet, filling up the toilet.

My brain was shooting shock waves of alarm into my limbs, and I was trembling all over. When I had started bleeding the day before, I knew it might come to this. Brandon was already moving when I said, "It's time to go!"

Only four days out of the hospital since we left with our new bundle of joy, and I was going back just in time to celebrate the beginning of her second week of life.

For those of you who don't know, bleeding after childbirth is natural. It's the pouring, gushing, passing of super-sized blood clots that make an audible whooshing sound loud enough for my husband to hear that isn't natural. This is what I was experiencing.

I barked orders to Brandon, telling him what to do, who to call, what to say. I had to think of something . . . anything . . . but the bright red splatter. When there was nothing left to say to Brandon, I made single word panicked pleas to Jesus, asking Him to help me keep it together and be with me no matter what horrors awaited me at the hospital that day.

You see, I may have just had my second child and experienced the worst pain I had ever felt in my life, but the fact remains that I am (always have been and always will be) the biggest chicken who ever lived on this earth. I hate needles. I hate blood. I hate pain. The very snap of a latex glove against a doctor's wrist sends shivers up and down my spine. I didn't know for sure what was wrong with me, and the internet is a scary place to seek medical advice. Three fearsome letters kept flashing across my vision in the bright red I was already seeing all over the bathroom floor--DNC. More immediately, I was afraid of passing out. I wouldn't be much good to anyone, especially my breastfed infant, out cold on the floor. In the blood. I had to stop imagining the worst scenario, which is my bent, and pray. So, that's what I did.

My Nona came to the house in the early morning to get Micah. I get my chicken tendencies pretty honestly from her (even though she is WAY tougher than me), and she had been battling breast cancer since September, so she understood what I was feeling. Before Brandon, Sara and I left for the hospital, she prayed for me, and reminded me of the Bible passage that had given her the courage she needed to get through each procedure--

"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus." --Philippians 4:6-7

Mom met us at the ER. I was so weak, I could barely stand on my own. I was frightened bringing my young infant to such a place, but I didn't know what else to do. I prayed for her safety. I prayed for courage. I prayed for toughness. But mostly, I just told Jesus not to leave me because I could do whatever I had to do as long as He was with me, but I couldn't do a thing a without Him. I prayed while they drew my blood. I didn't like to part with it as I wasn't sure how much I had lost already. My laboratory scientist mother assured me that I had plenty left. (Thanks, Mom.) I quoted the Philippians passage as my IV was started. It really did help.

A lot of waiting had to be done that day because my doctor was steeped in surgeries. I was eventually admitted to the hospital, and brought to my own room, where I waited some more. After a uterine massage, which I personally find to be somewhere between extremely uncomfortable and painful, and the passage of time, my bleeding slowed. It began to look like my fear of having a DNC may not be realized. I had texted several friends asking them to pray for as much.

My doctor came to see me after 5pm. She explained that she believed, based upon my two blood counts and the fact my bleeding had slowed, that a large blood clot had been left behind in my womb. She explained that she had checked my placenta to be sure no pieces had been left behind. After passing that clot, it was only a matter of time before the bleeding would have stopped on its own. She saw no reason to keep me at the hospital overnight. I was told to walk the halls a few times to be sure the bleeding wouldn't start back up. If it didn't, I could go home.

I felt several things---relieved, thankful and a little silly. But there was no way I could have known I wasn't going to slowly bleed to death without medical attention, especially considering the amount of blood I had lost. There had just been so much of it. After a day of being treated like a pincushion and losing what I thought must have been at least half of my blood supply (it wasn't, by the way), I was able to leave.

On the way home, I was still a little afraid that I would start bleeding again. I tried not to think about that. Instead, I thought about how God had answered my prayers, and what it had felt like to spend a day with Him, leaning on Him entirely for each experience. I hadn't experienced many days where God was my constant rock, and I was constantly leaning on Him. I had been praying for awhile that God would teach me to walk with Him moment by moment, and I guess that day was the beginning of an answer to that prayer. In obedience to the passage from Philippians I had quoted earlier that day, I thanked God--for taking care of me, for allowing this thing to happen to me.

Sleep deprived, weak from blood loss, still recovering from an intense labor, a little down from the drop in pregnancy hormones, and still a little fearful that I could start bleeding again, I went to bed in pretty bad physical and emotional shape. But I knew something for sure-I wasn't alone, and I did not have to operate alone. I remembered the words of the anesthesiologist--"When you feel the pressure, don't jerk away. Lean into me." I had definitely felt pressure that day, but instead of jerking away from the Lord, I leaned into Him. And He had provided everything I had needed.

One week after the incident, I recorded this in my journal:

"The Lord is faithful.
The Lord is good.
And I trust Him more today because of what happened a week ago."

That, in and of itself, makes all the blood, fear and needles worth it.

This day was the beginning of a habit that would become very important to my survival in the days that followed: exercise . . . . of my spiritual muscles. And God was good. He allowed me to start slow so that I wouldn't be crushed or obliterated by the weight of my troubles.

. . . . to be continued in Part 3 of 4: Sara Elizabeth

Weight: Part 1 of 4--A Birth Story

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory . . . . " --2 Corinthians 4:16-17

I last wrote three months ago. Since then, much has changed. My family has changed. A bright and beautiful new soul is with us. Micah is no longer an only child, but a very important big brother. Brandon is now responsible for the living of four. This responsibility has not been easy, which will be explained in a later post. He and I both are learning how to be good parents to two children, each child unique in personality and needs, each one dear and precious to our hearts and in the sight of God. My own life has taken several drastic changes, but I will get to that. My four part story begins with joyous circumstances, filled with hope, happiness and invaluable blessing! And yet, something was missing . . . . something I did not know was missing. Something I could not miss until I needed it in order to survive.

11/7/11

I was a bundle of nerves as Brandon and I approached the hospital. I hadn't slept well the night before, and had only managed a short nap that afternoon. It was midnight, and I knew my chances of being able to sleep on the stiff hospital bed to which I was soon to be strapped were slim. In my mind, it didn't matter terribly, for I was certain I would have this baby by early morning, and I could rest then. Boy, was I wrong . . . .

I was chained to my prison (I really hate those beds) by 12:45 a.m., and put on Pitocin at 1:30. I calculated that I should be in heavy labor by 5:00 a.m., and finished by 9. I was too excited to sleep. Brandon and Mom had no trouble snoozing away. I watched from the bed of torture a little enviously.
The night slowly dragged by, highlighted by an occasional visit from the nurse, the horrid blood pressure cuff going off every 15 minutes and contractions that were becoming increasingly regular, but not strong enough to do any good. I finally became bored with the monotony, and managed a brief snooze around 6:30 a.m. I awoke less than an hour later, feeling annoyed. I was behind schedule! I hate being behind schedule!

At 8:00 a.m., my OB came and broke my water, and gave me some highly undesirable news--I had not progressed all night long. She tweaked a few things for me so I could get going, told me I was good to get my epidural, and left. Remembering my labor with Micah, I immediately requested my epidural. I am not a fan of pain. During the hour I waited for the anesthesiologist, I became agitated. I felt that I couldn't stay on that bed a moment longer, much less on a heap of wet, chafing towels until the baby came . . . but I had to. I was no longer allowed to get up. My sweet Aunt Suzonne, a former OB nurse, came to my rescue. She changed out my towels, trying to get me comfortable. Even after this, I still wanted to call the whole thing off, and try again later. If only that had been an option. My contractions were getting stronger, I was soaking my towels again, and I really just wanted to scream from the irritation of it all. Instead, I prayed, remembering the Source of my help, and somehow managed to stay where I was without losing my mind.

Finally, the anesthesiologist came. I told him that he was a very welcome sight. He went through his list of questions, which must be the most annoying questions ever asked to a woman. I just wanted my blankety-blank epidural! He noticed my impatience, and smiled knowingly. "Let's get to it, then," he said.

Here, I think I made my mistake. I didn't know it was a mistake at the time, and I don't think my anesthesiologist knew the consequences of it. When I felt the pressure of the needle, my body instinctively jerked away from the needle. Then, the anesthesiologist said something that has reverberated in my brain over and over again for the last three months, "When you feel the pressure, don't jerk away. Lean into me." Too late. Damage done. But I wouldn't know it until a little later. For the moment, I enjoyed the sensation of pain and agitation leaving my body. I relaxed, asked the nurse to tell my family to return, and closed my eyes. I slept. Can I get an amen?

I'm not sure how much time lapsed, but when my eyes opened at the creak of my room's door, I noticed that I was still alone. After the nurse checked me out, I asked her to find my family. A few minutes later, they returned, all a little anxious about me. They had been waiting over an hour to hear from the nurse.

Around 11 a.m., a troubling sensation began on my chest, spreading to my arms, stomach, legs and lips. I was itching. I told Brandon, Mom and Aunt Suzonne what was going on. As I am the queen of allergies, we decided to notify the nurse so I could get something for it. Now this reaction seemed like a bad thing at the time. I was miserable for a bit. Based on my allergic history, I was a little afraid the itching could progress to something worse. But the Benadryl I was given took care of my symptoms, and I slept deeply for over an hour. That sleep was a gift, let me tell you, because it helped me get through what was coming. Once again, my strange allergies saved the day! Thank you, Jesus!

I awoke when a nurse I hadn't yet seen came bustling in, telling me that my OB wanted me to get things going. After checking me, I was still only 4.5 centimeters dilated and only 70% effaced. It was 12:45 p.m. at this point. I was way behind schedule. The nurse sat me straight up in the bed of torture, but I was okay with it. I had rested, and was ready to get things rolling.

After a short while, I began feeling things I didn't think I should be feeling. Pressure. Light pressure became heavy pressure, which became pain. It wasn't long before I was feeling everything. I punched my magic epidural button, but nothing happened. I called for the anesthesiologist. I watched the clock closely until he arrived, punching my useless magic button every 15 minutes. He finally came and gave me a bolas, but after a very brief period of relief, the pain came back, and naturally, was worsening.

I cried, prayed and puffed. I had NOT signed up to do this naturally. I had nothing to prove, no strange desire to "feel everything." I hate pain. I am NOT a fan, I tell you! Have you ever felt so much pain that you couldn't even make a coherent sentence? All I could do was breathe deeply, in and out, and cry, "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!" During a brief break in between contractions, I managed one thought--"If Jesus could suffer so much worse for His children, I can suffer this little bit for my child." And so I determined that I would bear the pain, no matter how bad it became.

Finally, I found that I could not help but push--my body was just doing it on its own. At 4:50 p.m. (again, way behind schedule), they had me ready to go with an audience of uncomfortable size. There were at least 7 people in that room. It may as well have been one hundred the way it felt, but I was too distracted by the pain to worry too much about it.

You know the women in movies who cry out, wringing wet with sweat? That was me. I had heard you get relief when you push, and maybe you do get a little bit of relief from the contractions, but I'm here to tell you, I did not feel relieved. Maybe relief is reserved for women who deliver small babies with small heads. I knew I had to do this quick, or I was going to run out of energy, so I threw everything I had into it. The nurse told me in code to quit making noise. Had I had any extra effort to give her, she probably would have gotten a piece of my mind, not at all in code, but I had to focus or I wasn't going to make it, and I didn't want a C-section.

I felt it when she crowned, but I needed a breather to prepare me for that last push. Then, with a ripping sensation I had never wanted to feel and never want to feel again, out she came to the accompaniment of my cries, "Ow! Ow! Ow!"

And then I heard her cry. Gravity shifted, centering on her little being. She was placed in my arms which brought a little relief to my pain. I cried as I held her, feeling equal parts joy and desire for the repair work to be done. I felt everything. I tried to focus now on the sweetness of holding my daughter, and not on what was happening below.

She was different than Micah, covered in a white, waxy coat. Her legs had the most scrumptious rolls of baby fat. Her face was round and beautiful, her lips a perfectly shaped rosy pout. Her eyes were wide pools of endless happiness. I did not know I had been incomplete until I held her. I did not know that I needed this baby girl until I took her in with every sense I had. My heart expanded to make room for this tiny soul, and for the hour I was given with her right after birth, I utterly lost myself. It was wonderful.Sara Elizabeth Keaster was born November 7, 2011 at 5:07 p.m. weighing 8 lbs., 4 oz., measuring 21 inches long.

Later that night, my little family gathered together for the first time. My Nona and Papaw brought Micah to meet his baby sister, and we all waited eagerly for the nurse to deliver her to our room.

(Photo courtesy of Jolly Tucker Photography.)

The moment we came together as a family of four was one of the most beautiful moments in my life, something I will treasure in my heart forever. My sweet cousin, Morgan Tucker, was there to capture a few images that can better explain the sheer rapture of the moment than any words I can write. Enjoy!--


I am abundantly grateful for the glorious sweetness of that time, for dark and dangerous clouds were gathering, and rain was on the horizon. It was the calm before the storm, and what a storm it has been.

. . . . to be continued in Part 2 of 4: Provision

Seasons

With every change of the season, I am filled with bright expectation and excitement. The transition from autumn to winter brings along an anticipation of the Christmas holidays. I annually fall in love with the segue from winter to spring--the stark, beautiful nakedness of an oak beginning to bear it's light green spring robe; the pretty blooms resting on the branches of redbuds, dogwoods and peach trees. I enjoy the life and hum of summer out here on the lake, in the woods. But my favorite is the often dramatic entrance of fall.

A cozy kind of happiness washes over me when the light shifts angles and cooler temperatures sweep in. I get excited over the first brightly hued leaf I discover in the backyard. I daydream about pumpkin bread, candy-hungry children, and my family gathering together and reflecting on our many blessings before sitting down to my favorite meal of the year. Now that I have a child and another one who will very soon be appearing, this time of year has become even more sentimental to me, and I am thrilled that Baby Sara will be born in the glorious autumn season. It feels like a tip of my hat to my favorite time of year.

I've been thinking a lot about the shifting seasons--not just of those we are blessed with if we live far enough from the equator, but the shifting seasons of life. Last night, I told Brandon how much I've enjoyed every stage in our marriage, even the parts that have held their own various kinds of heartbreak. From dating to being engaged, from being engaged to being newlyweds, from being alone to owning a dog, from owning a dog to having our first child, from being a family of three to expecting our second child, these transitions have all been challenging, but they have all held remarkable blessings. And now, as I have less than 24 hours left of the final season on the short list above, I am mentally savoring each one, as I've been doing subconsciously for the past few weeks, made evident by the following photos--

Micah on the first cool, fallish day--our first day in months to play outside

Micah helping me with our first pumpkin bread of the season

Brandon and me at a wedding of friends

Micah and Emory, enjoying the pumpkin patch at Curry Farms

Micah playing at Curry Farms

Micah feeding a goat at Curry Farms

Micah painting pumpkins

New play dough

Micah enjoying a cupcake at the Fall Festival at my Nona's church

Trick-or-treating . . . er . . . . hunting on Halloween in Mom's neighborhood

There isn't enough memory storage on my photo card to capture all the kisses and cuddles I've stolen from my red-headed firstborn in the past few days.

I have worn myself out trying eke the most out of our final days as a family of 3, and you know what? It's been worth it. This last chapter has been wonderful, covering Micah's birth, a personal rebirth in my walk with Christ, a new closeness with Brandon, the growth of community with my extended family. It's been a really good chapter, one that I wouldn't be able to leave if I didn't know that by turning the next page, even more blessings await.

Tonight, Brandon and I head to the hospital. I will be induced into to labor, and tomorrow morning, we will have a baby girl. After so many months, it feels a little surreal, but really, really good. I will actually be holding the heartbeat I heard in March, the tiny smudge on the screen. Sara Elizabeth will become more to me than a thought, a hope, a movement in my belly. She will be my daughter, and she will be her own person.


I will close by sharing a funny little post I put on Facebook this morning--

Dear Sara,

This may come as a shock, but as of tomorrow morning, I'm kicking you out . . . . cutting the cord, so to speak. I've enjoyed our time together, living within such close quarters, but it is time for you to find your own place in the world. Once you're gone, I may find that I miss our closeness, but I'm sure it's for the best. And believe me when I say, the transition will be a lot more painful for me than it is for you. I'm looking forward to witnessing and sharing the next chapter of your life!

Love and blessings,

Mom

Panning for Gold

"Gratitude is an art of of painting an adversity into a lovely picture." Kak Sri

Kak Sri and I speak two different languages. We live on different continents. We don't share the same religion, culture or skin-tone, and we don't like the same foods. I can't even properly pronounce his name, but in this statement, we agree. You don't have to have much in common with a person to learn from them, or appreciate the eloquence with which they are able to state an idea that has been buzzing in and around your head for awhile.

I think I'll add "the ability to learn from others regardless of our differences" to my list.

Yesterday, I began compiling a list of 1,000 gifts because I read a book that dared me to do so, written by an ordinary woman, only a bit more like me than Kak Sri, who was dared to do the same. I've mentioned One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are in my last two posts, so if you read regularly, you may already be weary of reading my rants about it. But believe me, it's worth ranting about.

While reading the book, I learned that gratitude actually equals a great many things. Kak Sri mentions one in his quote, but this book states many equivalents--clear sight, purpose, joy, intimacy with God--all of which, I desperately desire.

Last week, like much of life, was difficult. I won't give details, but you know how difficulties seem to come in sets of three? Well, I am a witness to the phenomenon. Yesterday morning, I told Brandon, my husband, "I really hope this week isn't like last week." By yesterday evening, my hopes weren't looking too good.

Yesterday was a grey day with scattered rains and impressive wind gusts that seemed to only feed my melancholy. While Micah napped, I made a choice. I couldn't change my circumstances, but I could change my hopes. Instead of hoping for a different week, I decided to hope that I would be distracted from my troubles by offering my thanks to the Giver of Gifts. Without yet knowing of Kak Sri's words, I put them into action.

It may seem short-sighted and childish to look to gratitude as only a distraction, but at the moment, that is what I need. In my quest to be distracted, I am completely, by a God who loves me and gave Himself for me. Yesterday, my list was distraction, an today, my list is joy. We all have to start somewhere.

1) Small hands, stained by bright blue sidewalk chalk
2) The peaceful sound of the wind rolling through the trees, reminding me of ocean waves meeting their end on the shore
3) A soft, soaking rain
4) A crisp, Fall pear fresh from the tree
5) An unexpected meeting with a friend (I so needed her smile and happy spirit yesterday.)
6) Three unsolicited kisses from an adorable red-head--one on each cheek and one on the mouth
7) A black-spotted dog rolling in the grass, basking in the sunshine
8) A mild, beautiful day in early September
9) The caress of a steady, cool breeze on my face; the gentle kiss of a sun ray on my shoulders
10) A two-year-old's belly laugh
11) The ability to learn from others regardless of our differences

Who cares that my only aim was to sift through the sand and muck so I could only see gold? The point is to see Gold. I believe that God is transforming my desire to be distracted from trouble to being distracted by Him, a work that will only continue as I add to my list.

Before I sign off, I want to direct you once again to Ann Voskamp's website. I encourage you to go there, and be blessed. If you are so inspired, order the book. $10 is a bargain price for a good wake-up call. http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/01/its-all-for-you-one-thousand-gifts-and-trailer/

I also want to share my new favorite song. I can't think of a song that more aptly describes the current state of my heart. You can't yet find it on Youtube, and I can't yet add it to my playlist, but it's worth the trouble of clicking on this link and scrolling down to play the song for free, and/or reading the beautiful lyrics below--

"I go to the riverbed, shoes on the shore
I’m shaking a little bit, hardly know what for
Oh, and the water’s cloudy as the sky
I’m looking for answers in the riverbed of life

I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Until I have all my heart can hold

I go to the pages handed down and worn
I’m hearing the sages with the Truth on their tongues
Sifting beauty from the layers of ash
I’m tracing the universe with my fingers in the sand

I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Until I have all my heart can hold

It’s there in the city, where the nations converge
It’s in the graffiti and the shapes of the earth
Choir lofts and kitchens, where voices ring loud
Reflections of grace, shining glory over doubt

I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Until I have all my heart can hold
I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Take all I can hold

I go to the riverbed
I go to the riverbed"


May I meet you all at the Riverbed, pans ready and eyes wide open. There is Gold to be found by all who would see.

The Magic of a Thunderstorm and a Sleepy Red-Head

This afternoon, a thunderstorm swept in during the early afternoon, and decided to stay awhile. The weather never became treacherous. Rather, the sky turned an almost friendly shade of grey, the wind tugged gently on the trees, thunder rumbled low and comfortably, and the rain drizzled more than drilled over our parched little patch of earth. The weather called me to bed for awhile, and kept Micah happily dreaming longer than usual.

I rolled out of bed in the late afternoon, and peeked my head into Micah's room to see if he was awake. He blinked sleepily, only half-awake, and reached his arms toward me. I pulled him out of bed and into my arms, and settled into the squeaky glider in the corner. He nestled his head against the blanket I had thrown over my shoulder. I cradled him awkwardly, draping him along the left side of my growing belly, and began to rock.

The room was darkened by the cloudy day, and there in the dark, I had one of those precious "Mommy Moments." I held my son as I had many, many times when he was a baby, chest to chest. He so rarely allows me to hold him this way now . . . I breathed in the faint scent of his baby shampoo which still clung to his auburn-red strands from last night's bath. I listened to his rhythmic breathing against the shrieks and groans of the glider as I moved it back and forth. I kissed his hair, his forehead, his neck, his shoulder. I closed my eyes, and enjoyed the weight of him in my arms and the kicks and rolls of my unborn baby girl.

I thought about how important moments like these really are. These moments are fleeting, and they are meaningful. Every moment in which you say to your child with your actions, "There is nothing more important than sharing this moment with you," you tell your kids that you love them far louder than if you only spoke the words. They need to be sure of that love for so many reasons. They aren't whole without it. How can a child comprehend the love of God without experiencing anything with which it can compare, however dimly? And oh, how good it feels to give that love. It makes me whole, too.

I then began to think of myself in the reverse role--as the child nestled on the chest of the loving Parent. Micah and I weren't talking, reading or doing anything other than being present with one another, and both of us were perfectly content with our state of do-nothingness. Why do I always feel that I have to be talking, reading or studying when I meet with God? What am I missing that keeps me from only being present with Him, enjoying Him in quiet and stillness?

I kissed Micah's head again, smiling when he sighed and murmured something unintelligible, yet contented.

"Bliss. This is bliss," I thought. And while I am hungry for more moments like these with my son and my daughter on the way, I am starving for them with God, my Father. It is my prayer that in the months to come, I will learn the art of quietly resting in His arms, silently enjoying Him. Only Him. Give me Jesus.