Dreams of Jubilee

On October 1st, 2012, my parents drove me to Baton Rouge for my first appointment with Dr. Stephanie Cave. My appointment fell on a Monday following a very frightening Sunday--the Sunday Brandon frantically drove the two of us home from Houston in the pouring rain while I struggled for breath and gripped my EpiPen tightly. It was the Sunday I forgot or maybe momentarily disbelieved God's word to me that I would be healed. It was the Sunday I planned my funeral. My dietary health had bottomed out, and I was living in a constant state of emergency thanks to the severity of my newly discovered latex allergy. So, I was in a strange place emotionally and spiritually for that road trip, to say the least.

Many memorable things took place on the first October Monday of 2012, most of which were answers to prayers that had been prayed by many people for a long time, but looking back I believe the most important event which transpired that day was almost entirely overshadowed by my new, fabulous doctor and the much-needed confirmation that we were finally on the right path. The weightiest, most significant moment of the day was as quiet as a whisper and as soft as an afterthought.

It happened in the car. Mom asked me if I had given much thought to naming the farm. I told her I had not. She offered her suggestion--Jubilee Farm. She said the name came from two sources--Sara Groves' song, "Eyes on the Prize" and Leviticus 25. The Year of Jubilee was a Sabbath of Sabbaths for the ancient Jews. The Hebrew word translated into the English "Jubilee" means something closer to "a trumpet blast of liberty." Every 50 years, the celebration began with a blast of a ram's horn. During this year, the people rested from working the land, Israelite slaves were freed by their owners and lost property was restored to those who had fallen on hard times.

"And you shall consecrate the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a Jubilee for you; and each of you shall return to his possession, and each of you shall return to his family. That fiftieth year shall be a Jubilee to you; in it you shall neither sow nor reap....You shall not oppress one another, but you shall fear your God; for I am the Lord your God."--Leviticus 25:10,17

Mom explained that she believed the upcoming year was going to be special. It was literally to be her "Year of Jubilee." She would turn 50 on January 21st, 2013. It was also likely to be the year she and Dad would join Brandon, my sister and me on the farm. She further explained how she saw Jubilee Farm as being a place of healing--for body and soul--for our family and others God would send our way. I readily agreed to the name for the farm, and carefully tucked away the tidbit about her birthday. I had no idea that my mother had spoken a specific prophecy over me.

In December, I began planning Mom's surprise Jubilee birthday party. I studied Leviticus 25 so I would have a firm grasp on the appropriate spirit for the celebration. I prayed for guidance about everything--the kind of party it should be, the decorations, the food, who to ask for help, the timing, the guest list. I prayed God would send the exact people He wanted to be in attendance. I invited Him to be present among us. I asked Him to prepare special blessings for my mother. He answered all of those requests, to be sure, but I had no idea He had something special for me in mind as well. To my surprise and inexplicable delight, God included Jenny on the guest list!

God didn't send Jenny just for me, but He did send her especially for me. She made the entire celebration sweeter and brighter with her presence, for the girl unabashedly spreads sunshine wherever she goes. She helped me prepare for the party, which turned out to be an absolute success--

 

 

After the festivities died down a bit, I stole Jenny away to my mother's sofa so we could talk privately. It was so good to talk with her face to face. I love watching her listen, think and process. I like watching her face when she laughs. I adore the radiance of Christ she carries. Just being with her was bliss.

And then she spoke into my life. She was actually talking about herself when she did it. I observed that she had lost weight. She confirmed my observation, and told me that she had bought new clothes recently. She explained that most of her old shirts were V-necks which exposed her chemo port. Upon her last shopping trip, she searched carefully for blouses that would hide it.

With a glowing smile and her quirky, lovely laugh, she began, "I used to want people to pity me....to feel sorry for me, but God has been too good to me for me to play the victim anymore. With buying new clothes, I am throwing off the sick rags!"

She had no clue, of course, but as she spoke, I felt the rod of the Lord give my soul a giant jab; or maybe what I felt were reverberations from the "trumpet blast of liberty." God's voice formed words in my soul which pierced my mind--"That's for you."

Jenny and I talked about all sorts of things after that, but it was those words that continued to resonate in my mind when she was gone. After she left, I shared them with the remaining party guests, Mrs. Dixie (my mentor) being one of them. Dixie threw her head back, sending a smile to the Lord, and said, "Isn't it beautiful how the Lord uses things like illness to humble us so that we disappear and He is glorified?"

With what was almost an electrical energy, the Holy Spirit made an important connection in my soul between what Jenny had said and what Dixie had said. As I have pondered and prayed over these words for the last two days, the Lord has fleshed out His message to me. I pray you are able to follow my thoughts.

God reminded me of the section in Embracing Obscurity in which the author reveals that we all possess subtitles by which we identify ourselves. For instance--Tom: The Adventurer or Stacy: The Creative Work-at-Home Mom or Charles: Youngest CEO in Corporation's History or Andrea: Pretty Girl. The subtitles aren't bad in and of themselves. They are only dangerous if we allow them to take precedence over our identity in Christ. When I read that chapter weeks ago, I didn't know my subtitle, but the Lord revealed it to me this weekend as I sought Him:

Melissa: Sick and Struggling Mother

How depressing is that?

Without realizing it, I have allowed my illness to become my identity. Facebook friends, think about it--how often do I air my woes for all of you to see? Pretty often, I'd say. Faithful readers, how many long lists of my various trials have you read on this blog? Too many. I have been "rehearsing [my] troubles [which] results in experiencing them many times....[This] multiplies [my] suffering!" (Sarah Young, Jesus Calling) While I'm being brutally and embarrassingly honest, I'll add that sometimes I'm more conservative about sharing God's goodness than I am my hardships because I can't let go of my new (though admittedly sad) identity. And I can't let go because....well, I have believed the lie that it's the only identity I have left. "Sick and Struggling Mother" is the only capacity in which I remain known in the world at all. I have been afraid to let this last thing go because if I do, I know I might disappear completely.

But the commandment is clear--I am to join my sweet friend, and throw off these sick rags! If my girl with Stage 4 cancer can do it, by golly--SO CAN I! Tossing these nasty things into the garbage is simultaneously an act of "embracing obscurity" and an act of jubilee! My sick rags have been wrapped around me like ancient grave cloths, holding me captive. Spiritually speaking, I probably resemble a bizarre mummy who isn't dead but dresses like she is. Jubilee is about freedom from oppression. Ironically, I have been oppressing myself! I have allowed my illness to take the spotlight. On Monday (the day Mom turned 50, beginning her Year of Jubilee), I vowed to the Lord that I was heading to the back of the stage, dragging my illness along with me. This whole thing isn't about my suffering or how well I carry it. It is about what the Lord wants to do with it and what He wants to reveal about Himself through it! My story is about displaying the spirit of this passage from Luke 4 in which Jesus reveals that He is the fulfillment of the Year of Jubilee--

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,

Because He has annointed Me

To preach the gospel to the poor;

He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,

To proclaim liberty to the captives

And recovery of sight to the blind,

To set at liberty those who are oppressed;

To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord."

Luke 4:18-19

Jesus Christ is Jubilee! Since offering my declarations to Him, I have felt so free, so light, but my work is not done here. Throwing off sick rags is a process. Thanks to Jenny, I have a good start by realizing that truly "God has been too good to me for me to play the victim anymore." At this time, I don't know fully what not playing the victim looks like all fleshed out. I do know that it doesn't mean being dishonest or arbitrary about my trials. I know that I will not wallow in them either. I am not a victim. I am not a victim. For now, only one thing is for certain--no more lists. (Your loud "amen" does not offend, my friend.)

Jenny Arlene--my precious, covenant friend--thank you. God bless you, Beloved! In my mind's eye, I see two girls peeling away the ugly, rotting rags they have been carrying about them for too long. They are smiling and laughing as they pull away each piece from themselves and occasionally from one another, tossing them away forever. When the rags are gone, there is only a glow of Heavenly Light about them. The Light is so bright that it becomes difficult to see the girls plainly and impossible to see them apart from the Light. The girls join hands and grin conspiratorially at one another before taking an unbridled, running leap and plunging into the vast, deep waters of endless Jubilee. 

Of Januarys and Whale Bellies

I hate January. My mother does, too, which would not be of note except for the fact that she was born in January. Upon our last meeting, mom and I decided that January, August and September are the stepsisters of the twelve month family, and January is unquestioningly the ugliest of the three. Poor January.

We have good reason to hate her though. Every year she heralds some kind of grief or hardship. To recap the last couple of years:

In 2011, I encountered teff flour, which was a major catalyst for the downward spiral of my health. I repeated the mistake of allowing this toxic (for me) substance in my body, and quickly thereafter was sick with a horrible stomach virus which was immediately followed by the flu.....all in January.

Last year, Sara was diagnosed with RSV on January 6. Days later, I became alarmingly allergic to sulfa/sulfur products, and almost died several times over the course of a few days.

January 2013 hasn't been particularly kind either. So far, I have suffered the worst burn of my life (the pain of which could easily be compared to the pain of natural childbirth), the death of my great aunt of whom I was very fond (also on January 6....what is up with this day?), a constantly sick infant, a troublesome little virus of my own and hard news concerning Jenny. And January is only halfway over. Sigh.

Also in January, there is always the depression. I would call it a battle, but it's more like a siren song.  Every year, the fanged wind sings its melancholy ballad, I am lulled into a sleepy stupor, and the grey drear swallows me whole before I know what is happening. Fortunately for me, I have learned something from experience which makes being eaten a great deal less frightening this January as opposed to last--God goes with me even to the belly of the whale.

Have you given much thought to the belly of the whale? Most people equate the whale with judgement. I have heard many times that having depression means that there is something wrong with me....that I have sinned somehow and my depression is my just deserts. This explanation is incongruent with what I know of scripture.....not to mention harsh.

David, a man after God's own heart, struggled with depression. The proof is in the psalms. I can't imagine Paul escaping its nasty clutches while under house arrest any more than I can imagine sweet Mary living completely untouched by the contempt and rejection of her friends and family when they discovered her pregnancy. And then there's Jesus--the perfect Man--who perspired blood in the garden and utterly despaired on the cross. I don't understand the why and how of depression, but the examples of the Bible and the Spirit inside of me agree on this--depression is not judgement. And truly, it reminds me a great deal of the fish which swallowed Jonah.

When Jonah was tossed from the boat into the waters of the deep, he was set to drown. As in the days of Noah, the water was the judgement. The fish was something else....something akin to mercy. The fish saved Jonah's life. I'm sure it was a dark, cold, miserable place to make camp for three days. I'm certain Jonah hated his accommodations, but the Lord had not given Jonah over to death (Psalm 118:18), which could only mean that He had plans other than judgement. In his slimy, smelly abode, Jonah waited--waiting was all he could possibly do--and in the waiting, God worked a miracle in Jonah's heart. When he was vomited onto dry land, he was no longer running from God in terror. He was walking determinedly toward Him.

January....depression....the fish--these all represent places you would never chose to sleep overnight. We human beings rush and run and do and sweat and are never still. We are ever anxious for the next event, achievement or pleasure. We crave light and merriment and frivolity and vanity upon vanity. I don't mean this as criticism. It is simply who we are. But Januarys and fish bellies are good for the soul in the same way that brussel sprouts and fermented cod liver oil are good for the body.

January lasts 31 days for most people. My January has stretched over seven months now. Much like Jonah, I despaired when I was first eaten, feeling like God had delivered me to a fate worse than death. (Hunger and physical misery are formidable foes.) But as it happened for Jonah during his three day January, something has changed inside of me while I have sat in the dark of a fish's insides.

One thing that has changed is that I have become more teachable. The Fish Belly Hotel doesn't offer room service, and eventually one becomes ravenous. I am hungry for even the hardest lessons of God. The most recent hard lesson has been that of "embracing obscurity." God has been working humility into my heart for awhile now. (You may remember my post about the death of Supermom.) In the first few days of this January, I released the dream of writing my novel to the Lord. It wasn't easy. I feel very real grief in my heart because dreams die violent deaths, you know. It hurts to say goodbye to something I have wanted to do so badly for so long.

On the other hand, I'm not saying I'll never write at all. Giving up the dream to write my novel had more to do with me giving up the desire to be known for something than giving up the act of writing a book. For the moment, God is calling me to find all of my significance in Him. He wants to show me how cooking meals, washing plates, changing diapers and raising children are dignified endeavors when I offer everything I do "as unto the Lord." He wants me to do small things that no one else sees, appreciates or respects because He is posturing my heart to live for an Audience of One. Furthermore, He wants me to give up "The Joseph Principle," which is the popular belief that God leads us into suffering to prepare us for bigger and better things. While that certainly happens for some people, "sometimes suffering only leads to our greater obscurity but God's greater glory.....God more often allows us to suffer to refine our own hearts....than to prepare us for 'greatness'.....Embracing obscurity allows us to relinquish our dreams for and to Him--to His timing and His ways. We prefer Him to the dream." (Embracing Obscurity, pp. 117-119)

He is also working love for people into my heart. Last June, the Lord showed me that I did not really love people which is essentially the same as not really loving Him (1 John 4:7-11). Because He knows I am unable to venture out much, He has brought opportunities to love others to my doorstep. I have been allowed to feel the sting of rejection, judgement, rudeness, purposeful misunderstanding, disrespect, and thoughtlessness, and have been expected to forgive and love the ones who have inflicted the pain. Forgiveness--real forgiveness (as opposed to fake forgiveness which is simply sweeping the wrong under the rug hoping and trying to forget about it)--is impossible. It is absolutely impossible to confront the wrong and the pain of the wrong and love that person anyway without the Lord's help. Forgiveness requires dependence, a class which always has an available seat at the University of January.

And then there is the lesson of waiting. I have known for awhile now that I have no idea how to "wait upon the Lord." I have asked saints wizened by age and long life lived with the Lord what it means to wait spiritually. Not one was able to give me a satisfying answer. There is no "Waiting for Dummies" offered at Barnes & Noble, and there is no "How To Wait Upon The Lord in Three Easy Steps" tutorial on Youtube. The only way one can learn to wait upon the Lord is to....well, wait upon the Lord.

I can't describe what I'm doing or how I'm doing it. It isn't simplistic at all. It is mysterious. It is something that God is working in me, not something I am working for God. But I can tell you that waiting is mostly quiet and still. It is working through the same mundane tasks every day, going nowhere, being nothing but in every way exposing yourself to the Lord as fully as a virgin bride to her new groom. It isn't safe. It isn't comfortable. But somehow it's so very right. Sometimes, it is simply enjoying the Lord for Himself and for no other reason. Sometimes, it is crying into His bosom because it's all too much and it hurts too badly. Sometimes, it is lying expectant and breathless, knowing you are on the cusp of something truly magnificent but realizing you aren't there yet. And it is knowing and accepting that the magnificence may be for your eyes only.

 "In waiting, we enter into the cosmic patience of God. At least in part. We begin picking up the deep rhythms of the Spirit, the heartbeat of God. We begin thinking in terms of years and decades rather than minutes and hours.....God's ways are like the rain and the snow that come down disappearing into the earth. No rush. No fanfare. No manipulation. Then when the time is right, up comes the life, 'giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater' (Isaiah 55:10). That is God's way." ("Waiting," Richard J. Foster, Heart to Heart, November 2007).

January is about as fun for me as a three night stay in the digestive tract of a gigantic fish was for Jonah. While I may always hate January, I know that good things happen in January.

Some of my favorite people were born in January, my mom being one of them.
I began a relationship with Brandon in January.
I was delivered from a lifelong sin last January.
I have learned to love Jesus more deeply every January I have been alive.

And I would not give up all the dismal January days I have suffered even if I could because it has given me the following gift--

"Life from the Center is a life of unhurried peace and power. It is simple. It is serene. It is amazing. It is triumphant. It is radiant. It takes no time, but it occupies all our time. And it makes our life programs new and overcoming. We need not get frantic. He is at the Helm. And when our little day is done we lie down quietly in peace, for all is well."--Thomas Kelly, A Testament of Devotion

I don't write this post only to give assurance that I am happy under hard circumstances. I offer this post to you in the hope that if you are living in January (or a whale belly), that the discomfort is well worth the reward. And if you have yet to find yourself in a whale belly (or in mid-January), I hope you will not be too dismayed when you find yourself there. Jesus resides with and within us whether we find ourselves at the gates of Heaven or make our beds in Hell. And truly, He is all we need (Psalm 139:8).

A Feast Followed by a Sock Party

For the past several years, New Year's Eve has been a time in which I have sought solitude over parties, contemplation over festivity. I like to use the final hours of the year to remember major events and evaluate the year.....or rather, evaluate myself over the course of it. This December 31st called for both solitude and a party, contemplation and festivity. 2012 was quite a year, and I am thrilled to see it go.

I began my morning by reviewing the resolutions I made on December 31st of 2011, alternating smiles and grimaces as I read a list I penned only days before a nightmarish chain of events were set in motion. I had written things like "take Micah on play dates," "read more," "waste less time on social networking sites," "work on my novel," "finish memorizing Ephesians," and "learn to cook healthier meals with more creativity without sacrificing taste." I may have accomplished 4 of 10 resolutions, and believe me when I say that it was quite by accident.

For the most part, I honestly think resolutions are silly. Why do we even call them resolutions? It seems strange for such a flighty race as we to say, "I am resolved to [insert achievement, accomplishment, whatever here]." We aren't privy to the events of the next day, much less to the events a full year may bring. If 2012 has taught me anything it is that we have very little control over what happens to us and what may seem important today is as likely as not to become obsolete tomorrow.

So why do it?

Last year, I wrote on Facebook something about the importance of measuring our personal growth. While I absolutely believe that it is important to give thought to our personal--especially spiritual--progress, one year later I would amend my words with the following: It is infinitely more important to reflect upon the faithfulness of God than to rehash the accomplishments of man. Each New Year's Eve, the Christian is invited to a grand feast--"Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness" (Psalm 37:3).

Recently, I was feeling impatient about a deep, aching longing of my heart that cannot be fulfilled at the present time or in the near future. I prayed with silent, hot tears and felt these precious words form in the slivers of my soul that only God can reach--"My dear child, My faithfulness is best measured over time."

I remember, in that moment, glancing over at the Christmas cards on my refrigerator that confirmed the truth of those words--the couple who struggled so long to have children whose beautiful boys (with a baby sister on the way) were beaming out from the photo like two rays of sunshine, my best friend with her family whose long held dreams were fulfilled in so many ways in 2012, the dear, young mother who just graduated nursing school in order to generate needed income for her family, new babies born, my Jenny looking beautiful and joyous in her family photos. There are many stories of God's faithfulness Scotch-taped to my refrigerator that can only be measured over time--some over the course of a decade, many over the course of a single year. A year is but a speck of dust in the grand scope of eternity, but it has much to offer at the banquet table of God's faithfulness.

Furthermore, I have found that the easiest way to obey the admonishment to "trust in the Lord" is to sit down at the feast. So pardon me while I gorge myself for a moment. While my personal accomplishments were few, I think you will see that GOD accomplished much on my behalf--

1) On January 6, we found out that Sara and Micah had RSV. We began a rigorous regimen of steroids and antibiotics that would last a couple of days for Micah and a couple of months for Sara. In the midst of my child's serious illness and her case of "Colic From Hell," the Lord gave me  inexplicable JOY. I was even happy during months that have always haunted me with depression--a miracle of miracles.

2) Also in January, I discovered I had an allergy to sulfa. I was not sure I would survive the year after this discovery. Things have worsened dramatically since then, and to my astonishment, I find myself still here.

3) Again in January, the Lord delivered me from a lifelong sinful addiction. I had tried to overcome this addiction for years. One night, lying with my sick, writhing infant in the guest bedroom, I cried out to the Lord for deliverance, and He delivered me. It was simple--anticlimactic even--but I have not struggled with that particular addiction since that night.

4) The morning of February 2nd, I had a prophetic dream that has flavored my entire year. God has revealed its meaning to me layer by layer. What once caused me great fear has brought me great peace.

5) During Sara's illness, my relationship with the Lord burst forth with new life. Routine was ripped away from me, so I sought after the Lord in every spare moment as if my life depended upon it. And my life did depend upon it.

6) I faced the unlikelihood that I would be able to have more children with heartbreak, and found healing in giving many items away to friends, family and a Christ-centered charity.

7) The "Colic From Hell" ended when I was forced to stop breastfeeding Sara. I had a deep freezer full of breast milk, but when I went to its stores out of need, I found all of the bags spoiled. I wept bitter tears over that milk, but knowing what I now know, I can see that the Lord intervened on the behalf of my child and myself by allowing that milk to spoil, for it was the milk itself that was making her sick. Sleep and sanity were restored to our household shortly thereafter.

8) Early in 2012, I read Timothy Keller's King's Cross, which prepared me for the storm to come and changed my life forever by changing the way I view the gospel. I recommend this book to Christians, to skeptics, to atheists, to seekers, to all.

9) On May 2nd, my health collapsed. Once again, I felt that death was imminent. It was scary. It was hard. Somehow, I have not only survived the collapse, but I have actually thrived in spite of it.

10) I went hungry for 5 months as I fumbled around for medical help and treatment. In the meantime, the Lord sustained me with His presence. Truly, I have "tasted and seen that the Lord is good."

11) I was ushered into the world of alternative medicine, a world of which I had always felt wary. God has brought me here against my will, heedless to my comfort, and I am very glad He did.

12) In June, our household experienced deliverance from a spirit of oppression and fear. Micah's anxiety attacks stopped, and my lifelong affair with anxiety ended.

13) For the first time in my life, I was asked about the hope that is in me. This is a Christ-follower's dream. Little did I know that I would have to venture into hell to be asked. By the grace of the Lord Jesus and with the help of many Timothy Keller sermons, I was ready to give an answer to a friend I dearly love and respect.

14) In September, I discovered a highly dangerous latex allergy that has deeply affected the way I live. Shortly after, I planned my funeral. There have been some dark moments since the discovery of this allergy, but the Lord has guided me through each one with the light of His presence.

15) God introduced me to Jenny, a new friend who has tremendously impacted my life. It is unlikely that either of us will correctly estimate the importance of our introduction on this side of Heaven.

16) Sara had a tube surgery in August at 8 months old. Praise be to God that we were able to wait so long! Praise be to God that there have been no ear infections since!

17) In 2012, I began to experience the death of ambition, awakening to the joy and freedom to be had in finding that Jesus, Himself alone, is enough.

I look at this list, completely overwhelmed by the Lord's accomplishments and completely underwhelmed by my own. I did nothing worthy of notoriety. A full year passed with my only accomplishments being utterly invisible to the world at large. I am learning that this is not only okay, but God's calling for most of His beloved, a belief which largely explains the weirdness of my resolution list for 2013--

1) Embrace obscurity (an idea based on my current read, which I highly recommend). I have always desired to be great. At something, at anything. And I have always fallen short. This year, I will endeavor to deny my desire to be great, and exchange it for a desire to be faithful in the small, invisible things that no one appreciates.....which brings me to "number two."

2) Do all things "as unto the Lord." I will strive to cook meals, wash dishes, change diapers, bathe children, sweep floors, and wash laundry "as unto the Lord" because--let's get real--no one sees or cares about these things except for an extreme few. Even if I manage to accomplish something remarkable to society, the majority of my life will not matter unless I do it "as unto the Lord." The beautiful turn-around is that when I cook, clean and change diapers for the Lord, these mundane tasks begin to bear eternal significance. I think I can handle that exchange.

3) Allow the love Christ has for me to be my significance. To be less--to be nothing-that He may be everything.

4) Seek to be more Spirit-led. (Seriously, should this one ever be taken off of my resolution list?)

5) Learn to fearlessly speak the truth in love. Love is key.

6) Love my family better.

7) Read more, Facebook less.

8) Begin homeschooling Micah.

9) Learn more about natural health and sustainable living.

10) Get better.

 As I type, fireworks boom across the highway, heralding the entrance of 2013. While I am infinitely grateful for the experiences of 2012, I am not sad to see this year put to bed. It was not a kind year to my family. Tonight, we celebrated its demise with a party.

 We celebrated with a feast--roast with carrots, cauliflower "rice," onion "gravy" and farm-fresh kale chips....

 dark chocolate chip macaroons.....

 and pumpkin custard.

 And thanks to the genius gift-giving of my Jenny, we had a New Year's Eve sock party...

 in which we danced.....

 and danced......

 and danced....

 and laughed.....

 and danced some more.....

 and laughed some more.....

 and took goofy pictures.....

 and pranced around in a little black dress for no reason.....

all in our awesome socks. 

Thank you, Jenny.

I have no idea what 2013 holds. I'm not even going to think the words--"It can't be as bad as 2012." The truth is that it can be....and worse. But I don't have to worry about tomorrow. I won't worry about tomorrow. Things change. Shoes drop. My life is but a vapor which is here today and gone tomorrow. As I wrote on September 30th, the day I planned my funeral--

"God is not 'a tame lion.' He is as wild as He is loving. And knowing that, I have no idea how far my illness is going to go. He is GOD. His ways are unsearchable, His plans are past finding out. He could take me or all that I love in an instant, and it would be His right."

God may not be tame, but He is good. He is kind. He is faithful. He is the same today as He was yesterday.....as He will be forever. Come what may in 2013, I will remain safe in my Lover's arms. And that is all I need to know. For now, I feast.

Join me at the table, will you? How has God proven His faithfulness to you in 2012? Let us be nourished together by His steadfast love and be better able to trust Him for all that 2013 holds in store.

Happy NEW Year!

Hope in the Midst of Suffering

Awhile back, a dear friend asked me why I would choose to faithfully serve a God who has allowed bad things to happen to me. One could rephrase the question this way--"Why do you choose to serve a God who claims to be all-powerful, loving and good when He has allowed you to suffer so much?" My friend is an atheist. She is intelligent and kind, and she would not have asked this question flippantly or with ill intent. She truly wanted to know. Instinctively, she knew that I had wrestled with the hard questions which suffering brings into the life of a person of faith, and she wanted to know what I had discovered. I felt she deserved a thorough and heartfelt response, a response I would give to anyone whom I love and respect. I doubt very much that my answer satisfied her because the answers we are given to these questions are never satisfying.

Recent events have me revisiting these questions. Why must Jenny suffer the horrors of Stage 4 cancer in the prime of her life, just as she was given everything she had dreamed of and hoped for? Why have things been so hard for my immediate and extended family lately? Why can't a single compartment of my life or the life of my husband go untouched by hardship? Why were 20 children and 6 adults mercilessly slaughtered right before Christmas? It all seems so preventable, so unnecessary.....

Timothy Keller places these questions and those like them under the umbrella of the "Questions of Suffering." I have extensively read and listened to his thoughts concerning these difficult questions. His insight has profoundly shaped my own, which will be obvious if you are familiar with his teaching. I am going to share with you what I wrote in response to my friend's question. I'm going to share this with you now because if you are like me, grieving and suffering in a myriad of different ways this holiday season, you need to be reminded that our existence yet contains the hope of joy because of Christmas and that the birth of Christ is something worth celebrating even if our hearts are not merry.

I wrote most of the following on August 15, 2012. I have edited a bit in order to clarify my thoughts and speak to recent events:

"[Friend], your question is not unique. I recently read somewhere that according to a nationwide survey, the issue of suffering is the number ONE reason many people reject Christianity. I am going to be very honest with you—you won’t be completely satisfied with my answer because I have not found the answer to why there is suffering ANYWHERE in the Bible. And I’ve looked! All we know is that the Bible tells us that once the world was perfect, but man chose to disobey God. Since that choice, evil, sin and suffering has been a part of the world in which we live, and these things are the result of our brokenness, sinful natures and the destructive schemes of Satan, the anti-God.

The best answer I have found to the “why” of suffering is located in Isaiah 55—“’For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,’ says 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.’” That’s not very satisfying, is it? 

For a moment, let’s pretend that the issue is a philosophical one. The problem so many people have generally boils down to this—“The presence of evil and suffering in the world must mean that God cannot be simultaneously all powerful and all good because if He can’t stop the evil, He isn’t all powerful, and if He can stop the evil and doesn’t, He can’t be all good.” This problem turns countless people away, people who have never believed and people who at one time said they did. But turning away from God doesn’t help anyone with the issue of evil and suffering because if one turns away from God how does one define suffering?

 Evil and suffering must be defined by some absolute moral code or who is to say "_____ is evil" or "____ is suffering"? If there is no God, there is no divine law. Nature rules, and we all know that nature rules by violence. So if there is no God, who is to say that violence is wrong? And if there is no God, who is to say that suffering is not natural? If there is no God, we are slaves to evolution, which means that the weak have to die so the strong can live and carry on. Suffering should and would still happen if there was no God. If there is no God, there are no moral absolutes, so “right” and “wrong” are just feelings, and who is to say that one person’s feelings about morality are more valid than those of another? So, while I have no real answer for why I am suffering, I realize that disbelief and anger get me nowhere.

I know you didn’t ask, but I want you to know how I get through my suffering with happiness and hope. We are friends, and I love you. It would be wrong to cut short my response at a philosophical level because the real issue you have isn’t one of philosophy, but one of faith. I don’t mean that in a condemning or condescending way at all. I hope you read this feeling the compassion and empathy I’m trying to communicate. 

I’ve been studying 1 Peter in the Bible, which could be otherwise titled, “Suffering for Dummies.” This dummy (me) has learned a lot from this letter to the suffering, Roman church. I’m going to quote a passage from Chapter 1 not because I’m trying to preach or whop you over the head with a Bible, but because God’s words have power that mine do not. Also, they have been my lifeline, so you can’t understand my attitude about my illness unless you know the source of my hope--

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again to a LIVING HOPE through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven for you who are kept by the power of God through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith, being much more precious than gold that perishes, though it is tested by fire, may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ, whom having not seen, you love. Though now you do not see Him, yet believing, you rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, receiving the goal of your faith—the salvation of your souls.”--1 Peter 1:3-9

In this passage, Peter likens suffering (trials) to a fire. I will give evidence of God’s goodness in a moment, but for now, I will tell you that God’s wrath (God is wrathful because He is just and righteous, and justice and righteousness can’t allow evil and suffering to go unpunished) is also likened to a fire, and it is the ultimate fire. No fire I will ever face [even the soul-burning fire of losing a child to a mass murderer] will be as great as the fire of God’s wrath. I include that tidbit because there is One who faced that fire. Christianity is the only religion in the world that boasts of a deity becoming a man in order to die for His subjects. Jesus willingly left Heaven, giving up His God-ness and all of the privileges thereof, knowing better than any human that ever lived what the fire of God’s wrath is like, and He PLUNGED Himself into that fire so that He could end evil and salvage us. The fact that He did that does not give me the answer to why there is suffering in the world, but it DOES tell me what the answer ISN’T. It isn’t that He does not care! 

 I firmly believe that my suffering is personal to Jesus because He felt everything on the cross that I am feeling now . . . . only much more profoundly. He was cast into utter darkness so that I could live in light. My mind is so blown by that! Though it is old knowledge, it rips my heart to shreds every time I think of it. I cannot think about the cross without tears. Jesus went to the greatest lengths imaginable to keep His promise He made in Isaiah 43—“Fear not for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name, You are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you . . . . . Fear not, for I am with you.”

In addition to the blazing emblem of God's love--the cross--1 Peter 1 tells me that I have this “living hope” thing to which I can look when all seems lost. I believe that because the living hope is “through the resurrection” of Jesus that I can bank on that hope being more than just some spiritual, ethereal Band-aid that will somehow make me feel better about my suffering. No. I believe it is going to be a restoration of everything I’ve lost—my health, my dreams, my happiness, and every cent I’ve given away believing that I am indeed laying up my treasure in Heaven. It’s going to be this life, this world made right! 1 Peter 5:10 says, “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will Himself RESTORE, confirm, strengthen and establish you.” (If everybody in the house wasn’t asleep right now, I would shout!)

I believe that everyone has to have a “living hope” to get through suffering without being ruined. So, I wonder, what was Jesus’ living hope? What did He NOT have in Heaven?  What could possibly make the ultimate suffering worth it for Him?

 It’s us. WE are His living hope. And knowing that I am His living hope, makes Him mine!

But none of that is philosophical. That’s faith. It boils down to Jesus, “whom having not seen [I] love. Though now [I] do not see Him, yet believing, [I] rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, receiving the end of [my] faith—the salvation of [my soul.]”   

God has given me the gift of faith, and I have accepted His lordship over my life. The Guy who jumped into the hottest fire in existence to save me is worthy of my submission. Once that decision is firmly made, the “problem” of suffering isn’t really a problem anymore. You asked specifically about Job. I will quote from a poem written about Job by John Piper. It is a sentiment to which I deeply relate—“Unkindly has He kindly shown me God.” 

The reason suffering isn’t a problem for me anymore is that I want to see God more than I want to live a life of ease, happiness or comfort. And the truly amazing thing about God is that He ALWAYS shows up in suffering." 

End entry.

This Christmas season, more than any other, I am thankful to serve a God who is "a Man of sorrows and well acquainted with grief." We need the suffering Savior this year. I need the suffering Savior this year. May we all find our solace in Him during this difficult Christmas season.

And if anyone from Newton, Connecticut happens upon my humble blog, I want you to know that I am crying real tears with you, my soul hurts with yours and I am lifting you before my great and awesome God, who will hold you in His very arms if only you will let Him. Grace and peace be with you.

Addressing the Elephant

I am NOT an "ignore the elephant in the room" kind of girl. If there is an elephant in the room, I believe it should be addressed. It is unnecessarily awkward for everyone to converse over or through an elephant. If someone tries to move around the elephant, that person will either:

A) Trip
B) Look ridiculous or
C) Find herself with a large mammalian rear end in her face.

So let's address the elephant!

In my quest for healing and health, medical doctors and Western medicine have failed me. I have baffled them at every turn. One such doctor, who specializes in allergies and immunology, basically told me to go home and starve to death. (I will admit, however, his exact words were a bit more diplomatic.) Because "modern medicine" failed to help me and because my symptoms were so severe that I had to choose between doing something radical or dying, I chose to do something radical. "Something radical" usually equates with "lifestyle change," and it has certainly meant that for me.

I have radically altered my diet, choosing only to eat "gut healing" foods. My diet does not resemble the standard American diet in the least. It doesn't even resemble diets that are widely considered to be "healthy" in our culture. If changing my diet wasn't enough, I'm also making as many personal care and household products as possible. I see multiple natural doctors, take supplements instead of medicine, drink herbs and regularly have this super shady "BioSet"/acupressure treatment done. I talk of "toxins" and "energy pathways," and I've traded my nice home for a trailer and the commune life so that I can help my parents begin an organic farm.

Most of you are probably thinking one of three things:

A) "Oh my word! She's crazy! I knew it!"
B)  "Oh, bless her heart. She must be so desperate!" (I hear this one in sweet, old-lady Southern drawl, don't you?)
C) "I am really worried about her. She's just going off the deep end with all of this new age hocus pocus. She'll be worshiping stars, hugging trees and practicing voodoo before we know it."

For those thinking choice "A," you are absolutely right. I follow an invisible God who asks me to die daily to my own desires, to store up invisible treasure in invisible places instead of seeking financial gain, and tells me that I have to love people who are absolutely awful to me, and to the best of my ability with the help of the Holy Spirit, I do it because I love Him. That's crazy.

For those thinking choice "B," you are also correct. I am desperate. I was looking at death in the eye on a daily basis. If the recurring anaphylaxsis didn't get me, I was going to starve to death. Starving isn't on my list of "Top 10 Preferred Ways To Die." (What? You don't have a list?) So yes, desperation drove me to take drastic measures.

And for those of you thinking choice "C," I honestly understand your objections (voiced or unvoiced) to my choices. I am not at all threatened by those objections because I once had them myself. I've had to be utterly convinced that what I'm dealing with is actual science and not some kind of crazy juju devil worship or worse--another "power of positive thinking" or "prosperity gospel" thing. I have read lots of good research done by renowned doctors who have nothing to gain by their findings. I am now satisfied that the science is real, and was surprised to find that it has been around a long time in the forms of ancient Chinese medicine and great-great-grandmother's home remedies. Today, we are simply able to better explain these seemingly mystical practices thanks to the scientific advances made over the course of the last several years.

For those who are still truly concerned, consider this--most of us do not know how cell phones work. We don't understand the science behind these little gadgets that we all carry around in our pockets and purses. But we do carry them. We also use computers, fax machines, and credit cards with little more than a vague idea of how they work. While most of the natural therapies I'm using aren't anymore infallible than prescription drugs, they are working for me. In small yet significant ways, I am better....without communing with the universe, dancing naked on hilltops, or other such nonsense. I hope you now feel free to think of me as only crazy and not as misled.

As I have learned new information that has helped my family and me, I have had a hard time keeping it to myself. I am so excited to find simple remedies to common ailments that do not include potentially harmful substances! So I share my discoveries on Facebook, on Pinterest, in emails and in face to face conversations. My doing so makes some of you feel very uncomfortable. Your reasons are your own, but I know that there is often an unspoken tension between two people who are making drastically different personal choices. I have felt this tension myself, so I know many of you are feeling it--this ambiguous, unsettled feeling. It's hard to give this feeling a name. Is it guilt? Is it the sense that we are being judged? Usually, the feeling is far too complex to label.

I have given this subject lots of thought, so allow me to suggest that the reason we feel so uncomfortable when another person's behavior sharply contrasts with our own is that we chronically seek validation from others. We need validation, and if you've lived ten years on this earth, you know that more times than not, people just don't give it to you. Here is hope--the Christian does not need validation from people. We continue to seek it, but we don't need it.

In his book, The Imitation of Christ, Thomas a Kempis writes, "He to whom the eternal Word speaketh, is set at liberty from a multitude of opinions," which basically means that it is okay if no one understands you and everyone thinks you're crazy. If you are following the Lord and hearing His voice, you do not need the approval of man. I do not mean to say that we should go out of our way to be weird for the heck of it. I simply mean that when the way of the cross leads you to strange places, you don't need the approval of others to know it is where you should be because all that matters is that God wants you to be there.

I also don't mean to say that we can live however we want without regard to the needs and feelings of others. The Bible discusses this topic generally and specifically as it applies to my situation. For general purposes, concerning liberty and the care of others, we are given Galatians 5:13-14--"For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'"

Specifically concerning diet, we are given Romans 14:14-23. Paul writes--

"I know and am convinced by the Lord Jesus that there is nothing unclean of itself; but to him who considers anything to be unclean, to him it is unclean. Yet if your brother is grieved because of your food, you are no longer walking in love. Do not destroy with your food the one for whom Christ died. Therefore do not let your good be spoken of as evil; for the kingdom of God is not eating and drinking, but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. For he who serves Christ in these things is acceptable to God and approved by men. Therefore let us pursue the things which make for peace and the things by which one may edify another. Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All things indeed are pure, but it is evil for the man who eats with offense. It is good neither to eat meat nor drink wine nor do anything by which your brother stumbles or is offended or is made weak. Do you have faith? Have it to yourself before God. Happy is he who does not condemn himself in what he approves. But he who doubts is condemned if he eats, because he does not eat from faith; for whatever is not from faith is sin."

I will confess now that when I read the words I placed in italics, I crumbled and wept. Without realizing it, I had become prideful in my heart about my new way of living. I had come to believe that the way I was eating and seeking health care was superior to that of others. I am wrong when I think like this for "all things indeed are pure." (Excepting deep fried Twinkies. I am sure deep friend Twinkies are not pure.) On the other hand, if a Christ-follower believes that natural health care is unclean, to her it is unclean. This is the case for my friend, Jenny. I have shared with her some of the natural alternatives available to her, but because she has a negative spiritual history with natural health care, it is unclean to her. God would not have her seek alternative medicine as I have.

However, because we love one another and because we trust that we both follow the Lord's leading, we are comfortable with our different approaches to healing. I even rejoice in it! Wouldn't it be a grand thing for the God to use Western medicine to heal my friend and alternative medicine to heal me? Wouldn't it be a glorious picture of how God can do whatever He wants, however He wants? Wouldn't it be a magnificent show of how it is not medicine that heals, but the hand of God?

Allow me to apologize now if anyone has felt the brunt of my superior thoughts. God has shown me the error of my ways. I now see clearly that what I am doing is not necessarily better, only different. Forgive my human weakness. As Thomas a Kempis further writes, "We are too much taken up with our own passions; and too solicitous about transitory things." I will likely continue to share some of the good information I discover, but I will understand completely if that information isn't for you. The last thing I desire to do is to "destroy with food the one for whom Christ died." I will strive to "pursue the things which make for peace and the things by which one may edify another." I promise you that Christ in me will not allow me to judge you for doing what you believe to be right for you and your family. I will remember that "the kingdom of God is not eating and drinking, but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit." It is one of my sincerest wishes to walk in love to you. I can promise these things because Christ has promised the complete the good work He began in me (Philippians 1:6). I can always bank on the promises of God, but I cannot promise to give you validation for your choices anymore than you can promise to give me validation for mine.

 The validation of others is worthless, anyway. The only validation anyone truly needs.....the only validation that will ever satisfy is the validation found in Jesus Christ. Real salvation begins by deciding to stop trying to save yourself, and looking to the sacrifice of Jesus Christ to save you. It has been accomplished for you, and you cannot earn it with any amount of money, talent, service, education or power. And once you invest yourself fully and completely in Him, nothing--not illness, not loss, not disapproval, not disappointment, not the cruelest persecutions, not even the largest elephant in the room--can touch you.

Like a Lake

About a month ago, I was at Toledo Bend, staying in a beautiful lake house with Jenny and her family. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen that weekend--cooking, eating and cleaning (as much as Brian and Jenny would allow). The open floor plan gave way to a spacious living area, which featured large bay windows displaying a wide expanse of water sprawled outward below an endless sky. I did most of the meal prep from the kitchen island so I could easily talk with my friend and keep an eye on the water.

 The lake called to me as if the white caps contained hidden messages. The tongues of its miniature waves sang secret songs as they tasted the earth of the shore. All weekend long, I kept looking to the water as if it would help me to gather my thoughts and steady my spirits.

It was a hard and beautiful weekend. Soon after writing about our God-ordained encounter, Jenny's doctor unexpectedly "timelined" her, giving her only a few months to live with or without treatment. Before that weekend, she had taken one round of chemo, which was awful for her. All I wanted in the world was to be there for my friend. Originally, I had intended to travel to Houston, to Jenny's home, and help her with household tasks, but she suggested we meet halfway at her father-in-law's lake house instead. Rather than cleaning, doing laundry and cooking meals, Brandon and I were on vacation with good friends. It would have been perfect had it not been for the huge, ugly elephant in the room. (If I did not passionately hate cancer before, I definitely do now.)

To our credit, we managed to talk of things unrelated to Jenny's health struggle. We learned a lot about one another, enjoyed the kids, shared old photos and ate really well. But when there is an elephant in the room, you occasionally bump into it whether you want to or not. There were sighs. There were tears. Then there were moments so perfectly bittersweet and glorious that they took my breath away. And the lake witnessed them all.

Against the magnificent backdrop of the water, I watched Brandon bond with Brian and Benjamin. What I witnessed bloom between them whispered tales of long friendship regardless of what the future holds. I have never been so thankful that God blessed me with a pretty singing voice as I was when I pulled out my hymnal given to me by my Grandmommy (who was taken by breast cancer in 2003), and sang my favorite hymn--"Be Still My Soul"--to Jenny out on the back porch against the uneven, rocking chair rhythm of Toledo Bend finding its end on the shore. On Saturday night, Jenny, the kids and I headed to the boat dock to get a front row seat to the spectacular sunset. The wind tossed and pulled at us as layers of clouds, each with distinct personality, danced among the rays. It lasted and lasted, taking on different shapes and hues--one moment the sun wore a brilliant halo, the next it wore a scarlet crown, angles of light vaulting off his brow like starbursts which the lake caught in her giant bosom. The colors glowed richer and warmer until the great ember rested his head on a bed of tall pines in the distance, and with a violet sigh, bid us goodnight. And I believe my favorite moment of the weekend took place on Sunday morning. Jenny and I prayed and took communion together. That day marks my most memorable communion experience to date.

 I led so awkwardly, but our hearts were so sincere. I had brought along rice crackers I had special ordered. For the first time in almost a decade, I took "the bread," and was momentarily taken off-guard by the sensation of crushing it with my teeth. 2 Corinthians 4:8-9 came to mind--"We are pressed on every side, but not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed." In the next thought, I recalled Isaiah 53:5--"He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities."Jesus was crushed, so we would never be more than pressed. He despaired so we would have hope. He was forsaken so we would always have God in our midst. He was destroyed so we could be salvaged.

In the shadow of cancer and timelines that are impossibly brief, it is easy to forget the victory Christ has won for us. It is easy to forget that we are not crushed, not forsaken, not destroyed. This is why Communion is such a gift--it reminds us of what was won for us and of the One who won it. If we could always keep the cross blazing at the center of our vision, we would never--for even a moment--despair.

In the spirit of honesty, I will confess that my weak little heart wanted to despair all weekend. It wanted to shield itself, fold inward like a cowardly rosebud afraid to face the open air, imagining itself to be safe in the hideaway of paper thin petals. My heart is frail, and it is also smart. While it still believes that Jenny will outlive her timeline and could very well beat this thing, it also knows it could be in for a mortal wound. (Our souls have been knit together, after all.) But taking that moment with my friend to remember the cross--to feast upon the sacrifice of Jesus--gave my yellow-bellied heart courage.....the courage Sara Groves musters in her song, "Like a Lake," which played on repeat in my mind all weekend as I took in the watery expanse of Toledo Bend--

"So much hurt and preservation
like a tendril round my soul;
So much painful information
no clear way on how to hold it.
When everything in me is tightening
curling in around this ache,
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake,
wide open like a lake.

Standing at this water's edge
looking in at God's own heart,
I've no idea where to begin,
to swallow up the way things are.
Everything in me is drawing in
closing in around this pain.
I will lay my heart wide open
like the surface of a lake,
wide open like a lake.

Bring the wind and bring the thunder;
bring the rain till I am tried.
When it's over bring me stillness.
Let my face reflect the sky,
and all the grace and all the wonder
of a peace that I can't fake--
wide open like a lake.

Everything in me is tightening,
curling in around this ache.
I am fighting to stay open.
I am fighting to stay open.
Open, open, oh wide open,
open like a lake."

In the last month, Jenny has undergone another chemo treatment, which was also terrible, and has chosen a new doctor at MD Anderson who specializes in her type of cancer. She begins a rigorous treatment schedule this week--she will receive chemo every two weeks until her body can't take anymore. As you can imagine, this will be extremely difficult for her and her family. Join me in prayer that the chemo will attack everything bad in her body, and leave all that is good. Pray that she will be given strength and courage and peace and all the things a person needs to face a trial this big. Pray for her sweet family--Brian, Benjamin and Juliet. Pray that she is able to have a joyous Christmas with her family. Ask the Lord to continue to give her hope. Hope is so very important.

I'm still holding out for a miracle--the big kind that ends with, "You're cured. Go home and enjoy life," but I do not know God's mind. He is far too knowledgeable, far too wild and unpredictable to guess at what He will do. However, I do know that He is good and that He has very specific purposes in mind which will ripple outward, extending far beyond our lifetimes. Trusting in His goodness, believing in His kindness and remembering His sacrifice which fulfilled every promise He ever made gives me the courage to fight--to pray from the vantage point of victory, to laugh with her about everyday life, to go to her with my comparatively miniscule trials without feeling petty, to encourage her in any way I can, and to hold my heart wide open.....

 

 Open like a lake.

Setback: A Brief(ish) Health Update

Well, I have good news and bad news.

For the past several days, I have believed myself to be sick with a virus. My symptoms have been a low grade fever, diarrhea, fatigue and a general feeling of "puniness." The weird thing is that I have been suffering from diarrhea for almost two weeks and a temp for almost that long. I have been doing all of my "hippy remedies" that worked for my last virus/infection, but I haven't been getting better.

 Last night, I felt led by the Lord to read further in my GAPS book. I read the chapter on supplementation in which Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride warns the reader that the GAPS patient is often too sensitive for supplements beyond probiotics and hydrochloric acid. The actual capsules can cause irritation of the gut lining. I had a major "aha" moment because my mind naturally went to all of the encapsulated supplements I've been taking.

However, I realized soon thereafter that the capsules were not likely my greatest offender. I started a powder supplement (which I mix with water and drink) called "OptiCleanse" a little over two weeks ago, beginning with a small dose and gradually increasing.

This is what I believe has happened as a result--the "cleanse" has inflamed my digestive tract, causing me to have diarrhea at least once a day (which is crazy because I have always had the opposite problem). The inflammation in my gut has triggered inflammation everywhere else, causing the fever, pains and aches I've been experiencing as well as the fatigue and bad case of the "blahs" which, in my opinion, should be reserved for January. In addition to these symptoms, I am more sensitive to allergenic substances. Last night, I had my first major food reaction in several weeks. Today, I had my first severe reaction to latex in awhile. (Praise the Lord, but awwww.....man!) My body (which has completely reprogrammed through diet, B.E.S.T. therapy and BioSet treatments) now HATES Benadryl, so I just waited out the symptoms, trusting a capable family member to administer Epi if needed.

The good news: I'm not sick with a virus.
The bad news: I'm not sick with a virus.

A virus would have likely compromised my immunity in the case of exposure to another illness. Granted, that is never fun, but I could have recovered fairly quickly from a measly little virus. Instead, I find myself set back almost two months in my efforts to heal my gut. That's two months I can't get back. I almost have to start over. Boooo!!!

Please pray for me. I am struggling emotionally with this because in addition to feeling the last two months have almost been all for naught, I also know that it means that I have to go back to eating mostly broths and soups for awhile. (In my best whiny, three-year-old voice)--I DON'T WANNA go back to broths and soups!!!!! Buuuuuuut, I need to.  I will likely live dangerously, and choose to splurge a bit around Christmas. I'm thinking maybe another Crockpot roasted chicken and a chocolate pudding made out of avocados and dates. (I know--I'm so wild.) But for now, I'm going to mind my "p"s and "q"s as well as I can manage so that "splurging" will be an option. I have also discontinued all of my supplements outside of probiotics, digestive enzymes and the ones I need to correct the problems caused by my genetic mutation.

 Also, I really hate feeling sick. It's hard doing everything I've come to expect of myself, and feeling like poo all the while. It's hard figuring out how I'm going to feed my family satisfying meals which will require much of my effort while having to pass on what I would like to eat, and eat something else much less satisfying. (Seriously, can I just act like a child and demand to be taken care of? Please?)

While I am not pleased at all by the turn of events or the timing of the turn, the Lord remains my strength. I no longer feel His arms quite so keenly as I did in those early days of questions and terror, but He has proven the reality of His presence every day. I am not physically stronger, but He has made me stronger in other ways. He is currently weeding out vices and problems with my heart, molding me into something more like Jesus and less like my old self. He is challenging me on new planes, and every part of my soul He has touched has breathed forth new life. He has allowed this setback for specific reasons, all of which must be good because HE is good.

So, I may be bummed, but I know where to go for JOY--the lasting kind that does not heed circumstances or feelings about those circumstances. On February 26, at I time in which I had no assurance I would live to see the next day, I wrote this little gem of a sentence in my journal-- "If I cannot take joy in anything else, I will look into the face of JOY Himself until it returns to me."

That's my plan, and I'm sticking to it.

The Perfect Storm

On November 13th, my parents and I met with Dr. Cave of Cypress Integrative Medicine in Baton Rouge, and received my highly-anticipated test-results. It was more information than my foggy brain could compute, but under my mom's supervision, I feel confident that I can adequately explain the information I was given.

First of all, I think it is worth stating that my allergies are neither the root of my illness nor my greatest problem. That is saying a lot considering that only a few weeks ago, I was popping Benadryl on a daily basis, pulling out my Epi Pens several times a week and wearing protective, non-latex gloves--even around the house--without reprieve. I have come to believe that like my fibromyalgia, dyspraxia, brain fog, chronic fatigue, eczema, IBS, and migraines, my allergies are symptoms of my illness and not the illness itself. While that statement may be confusing, it is also empowering. With the understanding that my allergies are symptoms comes the logic that if I can heal my illness at its root, my allergies, along with my other unpleasant symptoms, could disappear. This is BIG and wonderful news!

So, what is my illness? Well, it's complicated.

I was not offered a simple, gift-wrapped diagnosis, encompassing my list of symptoms in its entirety. And I think that is a good thing. I do not want to identify myself with a diagnosis because I have no plans to remain ill forever. Besides, I have more than one thing going on--severe allergies, IBS, fibromyalgia. Thus, I have come to think of my illness as "the perfect storm." The wrong set of conditions mixed with ignorance and poor choices plunked my little boat in the middle of a category-strength hurricane.

Extensive tests were run back in October in order to get a clearer picture of my problems. The results revealed several things including a genetic mutation, a bacterial infection, contaminants in my blood, nutrient absorption issues, several vitamin and mineral deficiencies, high levels of toxicity, and poor detoxification function.

My genetic mutation is the MTHFR mutation A1298C, and it is a homozygous mutation, which means that it comes from both parents. My mutation prevents folic acid from methylating properly. In order for folic acid (which is essential in cellular metabolism) to be utilized, it must have methionine attached to it. This little mutation is not as well-researched as its more problematic sibling, C677T which is known to cause cancer and heart attacks, but it likely contributes to my fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, IBS and brain fog. The mutation was a pretty big find, and getting the right kind of supplementation should help me.

The bacteria Pseudomonas aeruginosa is a common bacteria. What is uncommon about it is that it was found in my intestinal wall. Weird. This stuff has to go away because it is keeping me from growing good bacteria in my intestines, which is admittedly kind of gross, but also vital if my health is to improve. I am a bit perturbed to discover that I've been pumping my digestive system full of expensive probiotics to no avail. The recommended treatment is to annihilate the infection with (gasp!) an antibiotic. There is a time and a place for western medicine, even for the emerging hippy.

While genetic mutations and bacterial infections are absolutely no fun, I believe my biggest problem is intestinal permeability, which is also known as "Leaky Gut Syndrome." Leaky gut is not a disease. It is more of a digestive dysfunction that can cause a lot of trouble. It can cause fibromyalgia, arthritis, chronic fatigue syndrome, and food allergies gone wild. Sound familiar? Basically, so much damage has been done to my digestive tract (by a combination of bad choices and events completely outside of my control) that the cells of my intestinal wall have pulled apart, creating large gaps which allow undigested food molecules, toxins and bacteria to leak into my blood. I now believe that I have had leaky gut for years, and probably experienced my first set of symptoms almost a decade ago when my allergies first set in. Since then, my condition has only worsened.

You may be asking, "How did this happen?" (If you aren't asking, skip the next few paragraphs.) Well, I have no way of knowing for sure, but based upon what I've read in the book, Gut and Psychology Syndrome, it was the result of a (you guessed it) perfect storm. I was born to parents who both have food allergies and intestinal issues which are less severe than mine. Children inherit the intestinal health of their mothers at birth, creating a vicious cycle in which every generation becomes increasingly unhealthy. As an infant, I struggled with allergies and ear infections, and was flamblasted with antibiotics, which is still the accepted protocol for ear infections. As a child, my allergy problems continued, which brought on sinus infections. Boom! More antibiotics! I also kept a terrible diet. My mom tried to keep me on the "straight and narrow" to better health, but when not at home, I was known to eat an entire pizza just because I could. All-you-can-eat bars were this inner fat girl's favorite places to eat. I would sometimes help myself to thirds on desserts. I was feeding the bad and opportunistic microorganisms in my gut with sugars while killing the good stuff with antibiotics, creating something called gut dysbiosis (microbial imbalance in the gut). My poor dietary habits lasted well into adulthood. Candida albicans, an opportunistic yeast normally found in the gut, can overgrow and create many problems. It thrives on sugar, and causes the body to crave it more and more. Months before my health collapse, I was eating something sweet for breakfast, having something sweet at midday, and eating a dessert every night. I should have known something wasn't right because I was quickly losing weight in spite of my sugar addiction. No one should be able to do that.

My diet has not been the only poor health choice I have made. As a teen, I had horrible menstrual pain which sometimes kept me from attending school. Per the recommendation of my OBGYN, I began birth control at age 16 for those problems. Birth control is bad news on about one-hundred counts. One of its many pitfalls is that it damages the intestines. As my intestinal health worsened, so did my immunity. (Eighty percent of the human immune system lies in the digestive tract.) I became ill more often for longer periods of time. Antibiotics proved less and less effective, but I kept taking them anyway. At age 17, I began having serious problems with acid reflux. I was put on an acid inhibitor (Protonix, Nexium, Aciphex, etc.), which is extremely damaging to the digestive system. Acid inhibitors pull the cells of the intestines apart, and keep the stomach from producing hydrochloric acid, preventing the proper digestion of food. It was three years after beginning Protonix that I had my first experience with food allergies.

In my early twenties, my environmental allergies (grass, pollen, pet dander, etc.) also went berserk. I decided to give allergy shots a try. This decision turned out to be a monumental mistake. Each week, I had a reaction to the shots, each reaction progressively getting worse. My life began to revolve around those appointments. I would receive two allergy shots on one day, have a strong reaction within 24 hours, receive a steroid shot to treat the reaction, feel jittery and revved for a day or two, and then feel like crap for the rest of the week....just in time to do it all over again. I twice received epinephrine in the office. The second time around, I asked the nurse, "Is this normal?" She told me that some patients had to receive Epi every week with their shots. Upon hearing that, I did not return to the doctor's office.

During the two years I received shots, my health suffered tremendously. I became allergic to more foods, and I began having anaphylactic reactions to food and environmental triggers for the first time. I could no longer be outdoors while someone was mowing for fear of an attack. Restaurants became extremely dangerous. And the steroids I had received to treat my reactions to the shots didn't do me any favors as they also have ill effects on the digestive tract.

I worsened after having Micah, but the nail in the coffin was my encounter with teff flour in January 2011. That stuff rocked. my. world. My body reacted to it as if I had swallowed poison. I still shudder when I see it on the shelves of my local health food store. I was still very sick when Sara was conceived. Although I eventually made my way out of the slump, the small improvement was short lived. A traumatic birth and recovery coupled with the stress of a sick and colicky newborn gave momentum to my rapid, downward descent until my bucket finally tipped over at the first of May.

My children's colic now makes perfect sense to me. As a breastfeeding mom, I had believed it impossible for food molecules to pass into the bloodstream, meaning that I did not believe that my diet had an impact on their health. If I had been healthy, I would have been correct. I now understand that Sara's colic was so much worse than Micah's case because I was so much worse. I understand now why her colic mysteriously vanished when we switched her to a goat milk formula. I wish I could go back and make things better by beginning with goat milk. I wish I could go back and decide against allergy shots, Protonix and birth control. I wish I had known all along about the pitfalls of all of those antibiotics.

The truth is that I can shoulda, coulda, woulda all day long, but it does little good. It is impossible to answer the question of why this happened to me. It could have happened to anyone. Lots of people have taken less care with their health than I have. Lots of people eat what they want and do what they want with seemingly few repercussions. There were contributing factors outside of my control like genetics and environmental contaminants (my BioSet practitioner discovered that contact with particular metals, plastics, vaccines, various toxins, negative emotions, and even leather of all things contributed to my health problems), but no one is immune to bad genes or poor environment these days. Even having a clearer understanding of how this happened doesn't really help me understand how or why this happened to me. Fortunately, God does not require me to understand....only trust Him.

The above tangent set me a little off point. I apologize. Back to "leaky gut!" The recommended treatment is probiotics (to improve the population of good gut flora) and digestive enzymes (to assist in the digestion of food). I am taking my treatment one step further by following the GAPS diet. Healing leaky gut takes time.....a lot of time. After two months of doing the diet, I continue to react to everything I eat. The reactions are small. Only a very sensitive person, such as myself, would notice. I'll have a sudden drop of energy, a hot flash or a migraine after I eat. Because I am an adult (children heal much faster) and am very sick, I may not see significant improvement until the Spring of next year. I am looking at a minimum of a two year recovery according to the author of the diet, Dr. Natasha Campbell McBride, and I will never again be able to eat like the average American.....unless I want to relapse. The good news is that I am already two months into the diet!

Another aspect of healing my intestines is that I must....ahem....purge. We are crossing way into TMI territory here, but I think all of you faithful readers should know that I am quite literally full of crap. I cannot remember a time in my life in which I had regular bowel movements. Every other day is about the best I've ever done. As I was getting sicker, it was not uncommon to go 4 or 5 days between bowel movements. After my health collapse, I began going only once a week. I've had people say in response to that information, "It must be because you are eating so little." First of all, during the times I've been able to eat, I have eaten plenty. Second, even if I wasn't eating plenty, I still should have been going to the bathroom every day. Weekly bowel movements are just not normal. I likely have years and years of compacted sludge stuck to the walls of my colon that really needs to be cleaned out. (I know you wanted to know that about me.) While it's gross and kind of funny to hear about someone literally being full of it, it is a serious problem. It is said that during John Wayne's autopsy, forty pounds of fecal matter was removed from his colon. I just can't leave behind that kind of legacy, especially considering that I lack the cool factor that John Wayne possessed. To treat my....er....condition, I am taking a cleansing supplement, a magnesium supplement and having regular colonic treatments. In the most basic sense, a colonic is pretty much a ten gallon enema. For more information and a chuckle, check out the short video commercial below which was sent to me by a friend who shares my sense of humor:

My large intestines aren't the only malfunctioning portion of my digestive tract. My small intestines are also damaged. I do not absorb nutrients properly. My now-visible rib cage isn't the only red flag. Dr. Cave has a neat, little machine that gives a score based on how well a person absorbs nutrients. Mostly-healthy individuals score over 50,000. My score was 18,000. Yeah....not good. Anyway, poor absorption leads to lots and lots of vitamin and mineral deficiencies. I am deficient in some really important ones, too, like Vitamin D, B vitamins and Magnesium. The current treatment is supplementation. Hopefully, my digestive health will eventually improve enough that I can receive most of my vitamins and minerals from food.

Finally, leaking yuck into your blood leads to toxicity. So does living in the modern world. Water contaminants, food contaminants, air pollution, vaccines, drugs and the harmful waves emitted from modern technology are collectively wreaking a lot of havoc on modern people. We see the fallout all around us in the forms of cancer, auto-immune disease, allergies, autism, etc. I am exceptionally toxic, and my liver and adrenals are underactive, which prevents me from being able to detoxify as I should. To treat this issue, I am taking supplements to stimulate my organ systems in charge of detoxification. I also take detox baths daily, and am now the proud owner and wearer of a Q-Link to keep all of the bad ju-ju (harmful energy waves) away. And yes, the ju-ju necklace works. I believe it is partly responsible for the fact that I'm no longer reacting to latex every day, and I feel a difference in my level of energy when I wear it correctly.

As you may have surmised, I am taking a lot of supplements. Keeping them straight and on time is a full-time job within itself. Brain fog is not my friend when trying to remember everything I should take when I should take it. The photo below shows almost everything I am currently taking.

At the end of my consult that day, Dr. Cave said, "We have a long way to go, but at least we are getting there." She's right. I am no longer on a downward spiral. Things became very scary at the end of September when my new latex allergy reared its ugly head. For awhile there, I didn't know how far I would sink. I even planned my funeral on one dark day. I have been making teeny tiny baby steps in the right direction for a few weeks now. I am no longer having strong reactions every day. I have the energy to spend 4-5 hours a day in the kitchen. (GAPS is a commitment, y'all.) I even make it out of the house every once in awhile now. I am getting better. I just have a long, long way to go.

The Lord impressed upon my spirit a couple of months ago that He was going to heal me, but that it was going to take a long time and a lot of hard work. Healing is definitely requiring hard work, and I have been given two years as my projected timeline for healing twice from two different sources now. I continue to need your prayers. The daily tasks are still so difficult. Some days, I just want to throw in the towel and let the cards fall where they may. But I am not allowed to do that. I have been called to heal myself. And when I am finished healing myself, the Lord has impressed upon me that I will immediately be put to work serving and healing others. There is no respite in my future! So please, continue in your prayers for me that I will be delivered from this trial. Pray so that "you also helping together in prayer for [me], that thanks may be given by many persons on [my] behalf for the gift granted to [me] through many [you]" (2 Corinthians 1:11).

Grace and peace to you all. And Happy Thanksgiving.

 

Lord of the Sauerkraut

Lately, my thoughts have been consumed by food--making grocery lists, figuring out how to get the items needed for my special diet, researching said special diet, meal planning, and then actually preparing the food. I cook an average of two meals a day. When I say cook, I don't mean that I throw chicken breasts, a can of cream of whatever soup and a cup of rice in the crock pot (although boy, do I wish I could). I mean that I gather fresh onions, garlic, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers, squashes, greens, etc., wash them, peel them, chop them, configure them in a way that I can get my family to eat them and sweat over a hot stove and busy oven while they sizzle. From prep to table, I usually budget 90 minutes to 2 hours for dinner. Granted, I'm slow-moving, but still. And that doesn't include clean-up! In addition to those two meals, I have to make little extras like bone broths, ghee (to which I am apparently allergic), and probiotic food. (Can you believe that the woman writing this post is the same woman who complained about cooking every day in a week just a couple of months ago? These days, all I do is cook! My, how we can change . . . .) Sauerkraut is currently the only probiotic food I've attempted because it's relatively fast, easy, allergen-friendly and cheap. And surprisingly, I find it to be absolutely delicious! As you can see, I mean it when I say that I am CONSUMED.

Awhile ago before I began the GAPS diet or knew what it would entail, the Lord impressed upon me that I would indeed be healed of my sickness but that my healing was going to take a long time and it would require a lot of hard work. Not long after receiving that encouraging and slightly scary word, I began my research into GAPS. As I read, I remember thinking, "Lord, how on earth am I going to manage this task feeling so fatigued all of the time? I don't have the energy for this!"

"And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.' " (2 Corinthians 12:9)

He has certainly proven Himself in this word to me. I have no idea how I have managed to do it, but I have managed to produce the required amount of wholesome, gut-healing food without fail every. single. day. Feel free to view this fact as a miracle. I certainly do.

Another concern I had about beginning this diet was related to my time with the Lord. I knew that I would be busy. In the past, busyness often meant that I would miss a day or more of reading my Bible and spending time in prayer. I have come to view God's Word as my lifeline and prayer as my strength, and I cannot imagine surviving the day without those things.

I remember studying John 6 several weeks ago. Jesus warned his listeners, "Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to everlasting life, which the Son of Man will give you because God the Father has set His seal on Him." While studying the GAPS diet, the danger of laboring only for the food that perishes (daily bread . . . . or in my case, broth and vegetables) became a very literal concern for me. I feared that all of the work I was to put into healing and nourishing my body would rob me of the time I needed to spend nourishing my soul. However, God has answered my concerns by building two new activities into my daily schedule that have rendered this danger impossible--Sara takes a nap two hours after waking and two hours after Sara wakes, I collapse from exhaustion. Sara naps, Micah plays, I sip my tea and read my Bible for I simply cannot do one more thing without taking a rest.

If rearranging my schedule wasn't enough, God has also been doing this cool little thing in which He opens my eyes to His presence during the most mundane, everyday tasks--while pulling a shirt over Micah's red head, while observing and deciding how to respond to Sara's temper tantrums, while chopping vegetables, etc. These revelations come out of thin air, simultaneously knocking me over the head like a frying pan and sweetly warming my soul like a ray of sunshine.

My favorite head-knocking, soul-warming experience is my most recent. On Saturday, I made sauerkraut, the very important probiotic food mentioned above. (I will delve into the reasons that probiotics are so important for me in a future post.) In an effort to invite you into the metaphor, I need to share a bit about the process--

To make sauerkraut, one must take a head of cabbage, wash it, peel away the bruised and wilted outer leaves, cut it into quarters, pull out the core, and shred the leaves with a knife or food-processor. The shreds must then be tightly packed into glass containers along with filtered water and a tablespoon of all-natural, unprocessed sea salt. The containers should sit upon the counter for an hour or so until the shreds begin to soften and wilt. At the end of the hour, the containers are emptied into a bowl, one by one, and the shreds are smashed so they will release juices important to the fermenting process. The smashed, shredded cabbage and juices are placed back into the container, which must sit upon the counter for 3-7 days.

My frying pan/sunshine moment occurred as I stood smashing my cabbage. My eyes suddenly opened and instead of cabbage, I saw myself. I saw myself pruned and washed, cored and chopped, salted and smashed--all to serve a higher purpose far beyond my raw, unregenerate state. Raw cabbage would reek havoc upon my seriously impaired digestive system. It has to be transformed if it is to be helpful to me. Likewise, I cannot reach my full potential without my own season of "smash and wait." Oh, how my eyes opened! Oh, how I saw! I have been asking, "Why me? Why me?" with wist instead of wonder! I should be asking with wonder! Isn't it wonderful that the Lord would think upon me, poor and needy and raw and cabbage-like as I am? Isn't it wonderful that He would take the time to pick up the shreds in which my circumstances have left me, place me into a bowl and carefully, lovingly press me until I become something else, something more? 

This is what God's power does--it makes my weakness my strength! Truly, this illness is a "messenger of Satan" (2 Cor. 12:7). Satan had his purposes in this trial, but those purposes are nothing so noble as transformation. He is out to destroy me, but God is over-ruling him in every domain of my life in which he threatens to enter. My body has been attacked, yet it serves as a portrait of grace because it is doing things it should not be doing. I'm SICK, y'all! I should NOT be able to spend 4-5 hours in the kitchen every day! My mind has been attacked. It is a miracle that I haven't given up by now, yet when the dark, depressing thoughts come, the Lord brings through the "brain fog" His words I have hidden not in my mind, but in my heart. His words defeat Satan every time. My spirit has been attacked. There are times I want to run away, but the presence of the Lord is my anchor, my strength, my stay. His presence is also my joy, which is the reason I can smile when I have run out of reasons to do so . . . . because He is always near. Not that I smile all of the time or even half of the time. Let's get real, here. Life totally sucks for me right now. But joy does remain, and a single smile in a day is pretty miraculous.

A few weeks ago, my friend Jenny mailed me a copy of this beautiful poem of which I was reminded as I stood at my counter smashing sauerkraut on Saturday--

Broken Lilies

 by Alice Hansche Mortenson

"While working in my garden,

I one day leaned too low

And rudely broke two lily buds

That I had cherished so;

Regret and consternation

Across my spirit stole,

But tenderly I gathered them

And placed them in a bowl.

And to my joy they did not die,

Their fragrance filled our home;

They seemed to open lovelier,

Thus set apart alone.

Oh, I shall never doubt again

The Gardener Divine,

Who breaks His buds, not carelessly,

But with the wise design

That He may draw them close to Him

Through sorrow set apart,

Their fragrance breathing sweeter in 

The garden of His heart."

To some, God speaks in the garden; to others, in the kitchen or the schoolroom or the office. He is God of both big and small. He is Lord of the whole earth and Lord of the sauerkraut. He is the King of my heart. And I am so glad that my illness has opened my eyes to His worth!

"It is in life's common experiences, that Christ usually reveals Himself to us. One of His disciples asked Him to show them the Father--he wanted some remarkable revealing, a great glory, like the Sinai splendor. Jesus said, 'Have I been with you these three years--and have you never known Me? I have been showing you the Father all the while!' He had been doing this in sweet, gentle living, in patience, in kindness, in thoughtfulness, in purity and simplicity of life. The disciples had seen all these beautiful things in their Master, day after day--but they had not dreamed that these were divine revealings; that in them, He was revealing God!"---J. R. Miller, "The Life of Jesus"

Sometimes, Kismet Happens

"The soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." 1 Samuel 18:1

God is a God of relationship--among the Trinity, between Himself and humankind--so it makes sense that relationships between people would be a matter of import to Him, especially considering the fact that He designed we humans with a need to be in relationship with Him and others. I have been blessed with many deep and lasting relationships comprised of both family members and friends. Each relationship carries a unique flavor, enriching my life, giving it more complexity and depth. I recognize these relationships as gifts from the Lord, each one divinely ordained and valuable. I would not be the person I am today without them. These precious people have all become a part of me, and I would like to think that I have become a part of them.

When I allow someone in my life, I give my heart away. Therefore, I am never haphazard about my relationships. I take my time in selecting my friends. I observe. I study. And when I commit, I do so with long-term intent. I can't love without loving wholly. When a person loves like that, it is dangerous for her to enter into short-term relationships because she usually ends up hurt or broken--sometimes irreparably--which is why I wasn't much of a dater in high school. I have been hurt. I have been broken. I don't like pain, so the self-preservation instinct within has taught me to only invest in "safe" relationships.

 The problem with that way of thinking, of course, is that no relationship is safe because LOVE is not safe. Love--real love--is wild. Love is free. Love does not play by the rules. Love is exquisite, and love is painful. Love requires sacrifice. Love is the reason for the cross of Jesus Christ, after all, and nothing about the cross was safe. Safety in relationships is an illusion, but it is one that I have subconsciously believed. That belief is expressed in the fact that I rarely invest in people for the moment, and when I do, I don't share anything with them that I would miss. It costs me nothing to share a smile or a simple service, but God forbid I that bare my soul to anyone that won't be my friend for the next 30 years.

While this is normal behavior in our culture, I don't think it is Christ-centered behavior. Christ "poured out His soul unto death" (Isaiah 53:12). I'm fairly certain we are called to at least pour out our souls unto possible pain. The Lord began convicting my heart of its selfishness a few months ago, and put His work to the test on a Sunday morning in late August.

I was having a rough morning, but I needed to get out of the house, and wanted to attend church. I was not surprised or overly-dismayed when Sara began competing for attention with the speaker, prompting me to scoop her up and leave the auditorium. I decided that I would enjoy my daughter in the sunny foyer, and be happy to be out of the house.

And then, kismet happened.

A young mother with a baby born a few weeks after Sara stepped into the foyer, sat down across from me, and with a sweet grin, she cheerily stated, "I guess this is where the loud ones sit." I smiled, and replied with something forgettable.

Common ground could not be ignored as we sat across from one another with baby girls close to the same age. We small-talked. I noticed she offered a good bit of personal information about herself upon the first meeting. The information had a refreshingly honest quality about it. She crossed over, sitting beside me, commenting that she wanted to see me better as she was not wearing her glasses. I would never have been so forward with a stranger, but I was not threatened at all by her. I liked her and her honesty and her disregard for Ruston social protocol.

I allowed myself to notice things about her--the color of her eyes, the color of her child's eyes, the small freckles on her skin, the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed. And then kismet struck again.

My friend, Ellie, whom I hadn't seen in several weeks walked up, and engaged me in conversation. The girl returned to the couch across from me, allowing us to talk. Ellie asked about our progress in the move, and about my health. I answered honestly, not fretting over giving out personal information in the presence of a stranger. When Ellie walked away, the girl asked me straightforwardly about what I had said. I can't remember the exact wording of her question, but it was worded in such a way that I knew she was asking because she wanted to know. (Many people ask how a person is doing, but they don't really want to hear anything more complicated than a "fine." I mention that little tidbit without judgement because I have certainly been among that lot in the past.) I looked at her, gulping down my instinct to white-wash my suffering that I might prevent myself from treading on the minefield of soul-baring, and gave a synopsis of what I had been through in the previous four months.

As I talked, I measured the interest in her eyes so that I would know how much to tell. She stayed with me, so I did a pretty good job of telling enough without telling too much. When I was finished, I saw something strange in her posture which I now recognize as the weight of compassion. The observant eye will notice that when a person feels compassion for another, the shoulders sag, the head bows, the brow furrows, the lips purse, and the eyes squint as if the sufferer's pain was their own. Here's the thing about compassion--it is only bred through suffering of your own. So, when she launched into her own tale--a tale about how she found out three days after birthing the baby I saw in her arms that she had advanced cancer of the esophagus and liver and was in the hospital for a month after the birth of her baby girl rather than getting to go home and be that baby's mother--I wasn't shocked, only horrified.

After exchanging stories about our personal road trips to hell and back, we shared with one another how we managed to get through it. Our identical answers gave us more common ground upon which to stand. We agreed that only Jesus Christ and His love, mercy and grace could have provided the light needed to walk such dark, treacherous paths.

And then I did something I never do--I wept without reserve in the presence of a person whose name I did not yet know. And she wept with me. The tears shed were not only for our own pain, but for the pain of the other. We did not KNOW each other! I found an unexpected emotion in my heart as I heard the service closing inside the sanctuary. Love. I never love so easily, so freely, but I knew the events of that morning had nothing to do with my comfort zone or selfish tendencies. I had been seeking the Lord, so I was able to acknowledge that the two of us were being offered a gift, a gift that shouldn't have even been a possibility.

 I finally learned that her name was Jenny. Jenny was from Houston, and was at church with her in-laws because she and her husband were in town visiting. I learned that she almost did not go to church that morning because she was still feeling fatigued and unwell from recent chemotherapy, which had been very aggressive. We never would have met one another if our girls hadn't forced us out of the service. I never would have shared my story had Ellie not asked me about my health, leading Jenny to ask a direct question which brought forth a true and thorough response from me. As awful of a truth this is to reveal, I feel it should be said--left to myself, I never would have chosen a friend who was in the midst of a battle with cancer. I never would set myself up for that level of possible heartache. The friendly attraction I felt with her spirit was not a natural byproduct of my disposition. Clearly, something larger than either of us was at work, and had brought us together. I asked for her number, promising I would text her. I was taking a real risk because I didn't know if she would be as interested in friendship with me.

I texted her as we left the parking lot of the church that morning. Her response was quick, not giving me long to worry about whether or not I had freaked her out. And we have been blowing up each other's phones ever since. We have sent prayers, encouragement, and favorite Bible verses. We have shared several phone conversations, none of which manage to be long enough for our liking due to the nature of our lives. We have exchanged care packages containing favorite music and notes. And I have already been to her and her husband's home in Houston. I even let her cook for me, which is not something I allow anyone to do for me anymore. She didn't think me strange when I brought my own salt, and I was perfectly healthy when I left her home for our concert.

We've been friends for only 8 or 9 weeks now, but I'm fairly certain she would agree with me when I say that we love each other like sisters. As He did hundreds of years ago with Jonathan and David, the Lord has knit our souls together for a beautiful and very unique friendship. We would so like to be physically present for one another, but that is not what God had in mind when He planned our relationship. We are purposed to be spiritually present for one another. She cannot travel to my home, and care for me as she would wish. I could not attend her appointment last Tuesday as I would have liked. I would have if I could have so that I would have been there when they told her that her liver tumors had grown, that she now has Stage 4 liver cancer and that she would have to begin chemotherapy again this Monday. I couldn't be there any more than she can be here, but I can grieve with her, cry with her, pray with her, encourage her, route her on, rally her up, and help her to face this absolute monster of a thing currently blocking her passage to the life she would like to live. God gave us the gift of this friendship, so it is within His rights to shape it as He wishes. We will rest ourselves in His good design.

Jenny is precious to me. Will you please pray for her as she begins chemo on Monday? This stuff is ROUGH. She needs strength, hope, and faith to face the challenges ahead. She needs the cross to be the blazing center of her vision if she is to run this race with endurance. Will you pray for her husband, her soon-to-be five-year-old son, and her nine-month-old daughter? Will you pray that all of their needs are met according to the riches in Christ Jesus?

As I have requested prayer for Jenny from individuals, I have been asked more than once if I believe that Jenny will live. The answer is that I absolutely do. I believe that she is going to live as much as I believe that I'm going to live. I believe that it's going to be hard. The circumstances are very bleak. But I believe in the deepest recesses of my heart that the Lord is going to bring her through the cancer, and give her enough time to see her kids grow up. I am no optimist, nor am I naive. This isn't me employing the power of positive thinking, hoping that somehow I can twist God's arm into doing what I want Him to do. My belief that she is going to live is something else entirely. I have believed that she will live for several weeks now, but on Wednesday morning, the day after I heard her heartbreaking news, I was led to Psalm 118 where I found this verse--

"I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord."--verse 17

I read those words like a promise. For Jenny. For me. We are going to live through our dangers, and when they are over, we are going to throw huge parties. I am certain that I will attend her party and that she will attend mine. At those parties, we are going to lift high the name of Jesus Christ who is carrying us through our thorny paths! And after those parties, I plan to whisk her and our families away to The Island with my dear friends, the Dorey's, and spend a week in the closest place to Heaven I have visited on this earth, where we will stay up late eating good food, drinking Kurt Pendergrass's homemade vanilla lattes and talking about the healing power and awesome goodness of our God!

Just so you know, Jenny's attitude about all of this is reflected in something she said on the day that I met her--"I would love to be a healing story, a story that displays the Lord's healing power, but I know that not everyone gets that story. I have already gotten a miracle in being healed of my esophageal cancer. I may not get another. Either way, I trust Him."

Let us pray that her trust remains firm, and let us pray that she gets that second miracle.

S.O.S. Prayer Request ANSWERS

Long time, no post. After nearly a month of living at the new place, we were finally connected to the internet today. I had originally intended to write a bit over the past month in order to have several posts ready to go when we reached this point, but the past month has proven to be . . . . overwhelming, and that's a nice adjective to use. Before going into all of that, I would love to share how God has answered your prayers on our behalf.

1) My Cymbalta withdrawal symptoms passed a few days after writing the post requesting prayer, making the following week manageable, which was important because the night after posting the prayer requests, I had a severe allergic/chemical reaction to butter, which was the first blow of many that the final two weeks of September had to offer.

2) My pain went on somewhat of a reprieve the week before the move. After the move, my body went into post traumatic stress mode, but none of my pain has been impossible. With the exception of a couple of days, I have not been bound to a bed.Praise the Lord!

3) Hours after posting our prayer requests, I was contacted by three friends that I had not seen since HIGH SCHOOL, all offering their help. One friend came on Monday, another came on Tuesday, and another came on Thursday. Their presence in my home was very refreshing. My loneliness was cured, I had help packing boxes, my children had playmates and my spirits were lifted. God's ways are sooooo interesting. Who knew that help would come from people I haven't seen in nearly a decade? Ladies, if you are reading--catching up was very sweet for me. Thank you.

4) Sara has been SLEEPING!!!! Since my last post, Sara has slept through the night EVERY night. Miraculous! The night after the move, she didn't miss a beat. This is CLEARLY an act of the Lord on our . . . . especially my . . . . behalf.

5) Sara remains a demanding, fussy baby. Evenings are still rough, but the Lord has helped me to figure things out. As she becomes fussy and I become busy with dinner preparations, I simply put her in her bed, and close the door. Sometimes she wails. Oftentimes she sleeps. It's just how I have to cope at present, and it works.

6)  Brandon's stress level has not altered much. The stressors have simply changed. He continues to face pressures everywhere he turns, but he has been able to hunt a couple of times in the past week, which has helped. I am so thankful that the Lord sustains me enough to allow this. I'm even more thankful for a husband who cares enough to stay home when I need him. Please continue to pray for my man. We still have things to move from the old house. He has much work to do out here on the new property. He did not get the job promotion we believed he would get. His wife is sicker than ever. Our financial status is the most strained it has ever been. The man has A LOT on his mind.

7) God has chosen to relieve my loneliness, but not in the way I had in mind. As mentioned above, my health has taken a turn for the worse over the past month, requiring me to seek and receive much more help at home. There has been such a parade of fun helpers through here that every morning, Micah asks expectantly, "Who we gonna see today?" I have had friends, parents (in-laws included), aunts, and grandmothers show up day after day to help me with daily tasks and offer me a rest. Their presence has been a tremendous blessing. I'm incredibly thankful for them. But my Type-A personality resists receiving help. I find it a difficult thing. I realize that I have a problem, which is why the Lord had to very clearly impress upon my heart to receive help when it is offered.

8) I do believe that my photosensitivity is a thing of the past, meaning that it was a side-effect of the Cymbalta. I have not had an opportunity to sun-bathe for I have lacked the energy required to dress myself and the two children and venture outdoors with them for an extended period of time. I plan to put my theory to the test at my first opportunity and burst of energy.

9) Please pray that our house sells quickly. The medical expenses continue to compile. Selling the house would be very helpful. Until then, we will trust the Lord to be faithful to His word, supplying all of our needs in Christ Jesus. We have someone looking at the house this evening, and we would love her to love it enough to make a serious offer!

10) Get this--Micah's anxiety has DISAPPEARED. He has not had one INSTANT of anxiety in our new home. He has slept peacefully every night, including our first. He has hit a difficult stage, but he's THREE for goodness sake. And anxiety is not a part of the stage. Hallelujah! What a Savior! Feel free to shout with me!

11) I realize that I skipped this number, and only had 11 requests on the last post. Impaired mental function is a humbling part of my illness as I have always depended upon and valued my intelligence . . . . probably more than I should. Sooooo . . . . . our faith. Our faith has remained firm. It has remained firm because it HAS to. There have been moments that I've doubted my ability to handle my circumstances. There have been moments that I've doubted that I would live. But I have not for a moment doubted my God, and this is His gift to me--giving me the faith required to face the trial. Even in the instances when I've felt that He has forgotten me, I have known in the deepest recesses of my soul that He has not and cannot. I am treasured, and the cross of Christ is continually before me to remind me of how MUCH I am treasured. In the darkest moments, He has sent clear evidence that I continue on in His thoughts and work. I am looking forward to sharing some of those with you over the next few weeks as I try to catch you up on the details of our lives.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for praying. And for those of you who don't pray, thank you for helping us and wishing us well.

Sincerest love to EVERY one of you,

The Keasters

S.O.S Prayer Requests

 Dear Friends, Family Members and Readers I may never have the privilege of meeting,

A post with honesty more brutal than anything previously stated is forthcoming, but for now, our little family needs some intense prayer. Whether you would like to take a moment to bring our needs before the Father as you read, upon remembrance of someone in our family, or every day for the next two weeks is up to you. Brandon and I agree--we are both completely overwhelmed, and we need your help!

If I could paint a picture symbolizing how we feel, it would resemble Brandon and I on a beach during a hurricane, being tossed and torn by harsh and heavy winds, pelting rain, raging surge and flying debris. We are in trouble. We need a rescue of supernatural proportions. Fortunately, that is one of our God's areas of expertise. Would you pray with us?  I have listed our needs below:

1) I am having an incredibly difficult time coming off of Cymbalta. I was only on the medication for two weeks, but coming off of it has been a nightmare. I have experienced horrible, uncontrollable nausea, dizziness, headache, blood pressure problems, and depression. My depression is severe. I will offer details at a later time, but for now simply ask that Satan will not be allowed to take advantage of my weakness.

2) My pain has returned, which worsens my depression. Today was especially bad pain-wise.

3) We begin moving one week from today. We will be moving September 21-23, and I have not been well enough to pack boxes, much less do the de-cluttering, downsizing work that must be done. I'm running out of time, I'm hurting, I'm hungry, I'm sleep-deprived, and I am depressed. Do you see how this poses a problem?

4) Brandon and I are horribly sleep-deprived. Sara wakes every night, usually more than once, and sometimes stays awake for hours at a time. My children do not often nap, much less at the same time. My mom stayed last night, and Sara magically slept through the night as she usually does when we call in reinforcements. I fully expect to get up with her at least once tonight, and I will be up for at least half an hour if the current trend continues.

5) Sara has been incredibly fussy. She may be teething. She may be sick. And even at 10 months old, she may still have colic. We don't know what's up, but her sleep has been more disturbed than usual, she isn't eating as well and she is terribly fussy in the evenings. She basically cries from the time she wakes from her afternoon nap until we put her to bed. Her cry is loud and angry, and it completely stresses me out while I'm trying to prepare dinner and tend to Micah, who is always revved up by dinnertime.

6) Brandon is stretched to the max, which stretches me to the max. In addition to his incredibly long hours at work, he has spent every day he has off working at the property, getting the land and trailer ready for our move. It has been a LOT of VERY. HARD. LABOR. Imagine working a high-stress job in which you hold the lives of patients in your hands for 10 hours a day, several days a week, then spending all of your "off" time bush-hogging land, digging holes and trenches, building porches, laying flooring, painting rooms, etc. And that's just half of it. Then imagine having a sick wife, an ornery infant, financial concerns and health concerns of your own to worry about. Yeah, the man has a lot on him.

7) I am lonely and exhausted with Brandon being away so much. I have difficulty getting out of the house because if you don't have the energy to pack boxes, chances are you don't have energy to pack children and their necessary paraphernalia to go anywhere.

8) I have become photosensitive. We believe this is a side-effect of the Cymbalta, which is why I have discontinued using it. I am PRAYING that it's a side-effect of the Cymbalta because if it's an allergy, I think I may literally fall apart. Please pray that the photosensitivity disappears as the medication passes from my system. If it is unrelated to the Cymbalta, I will begin to seek a referral to John Hopkins or some other out of state facility that can help me.

9) Please pray that our house sells quickly. We are under a bit of financial strain. We aren't going to starve, but we need the house to sell before I begin my diet. My diet is going to cost more money than we currently have to spend on groceries. I need to begin the diet as soon as possible. 

10) Micah is feeling the effects of not being as high on the priority list as he once was. Pray that the Lord will provide me with creative ways to make him feel special. He also continues to struggle with anxiety. While his anxiety has improved recently, we expect him to experience some with the move.

12) Brandon and I desperately need the Lord to fortify and grow our faith. We believe. We have tasted and seen that the Lord is good. We don't doubt God's love or kindness. However, this season has been unbelievably long and arduous, and it seems to be getting harder without the end anywhere in sight. We are human and frail. Our faith needs prayer.

So, here I am, attempting to rally the troops. YOU are the troops! We need our brothers and sisters in Christ to engage in battle with us. The enemy is real and powerful, and the stakes are high . . . . . higher than they've ever been. The good news is that our God is as powerful as He's ever been, and He is ready and able to do what needs doing! Thank you in advance for your love and prayers. We NEED you, and we appreciate your part in our story! I can't WAIT to tell you what God does in response to your prayers!

Love,
The Keaster Family

Before the Dawn

A few weeks ago, I was at a friend's house listening to the story of her illness, recovery and the Lord's presence and work in both. As she finished telling her tale, she said, "It's a cheesy saying, but it was true for me--'It's always darkest before the dawn.'"

The character of Harvey Dent in The Dark Knight and singer Florence Welch of Florence + The Machine both have shared this old adage (which has been around since the 17th century) with the world in new ways it won't soon forget ("Shake It Out," anyone?), but I required my friend's account of her illness before I could embrace the truth of it. Scientifically, the phrase doesn't play out. But it's not about science. It's about perspective.

Imagine being cast into the suffocating dark of the longest night you have known. Imagine the dawn to be one of the deepest longings of your heart. Imagine believing with all your soul that the dawn approaches. Imagine what it feels like when the dawn seems late. Imagine what it feels like when the moon sinks into bed, resting its luminous head behind the horizon as the stars blink out sleepily as if their work is done. Their work is not done! The light is gone and the dawn is late! Your hopes sink with the moon. Your faith fades with the stars. Truly, the hour is the darkest you have known.

Anybody feel that?

Thus was the state of my soul yesterday and this morning when I woke.

I had been doing well. My still-new medication was masking my pain so effectively that I was feeling able, competent. When new allergies to chicken, fish and shellfish developed last week, I took the news and the evidence thereof in stride. "At least I don't hurt," I thought. "I can cope with hunger and the discomfort of an over-stimulated immune system as long as I don't feel pain." I didn't cry. I didn't mourn. I accepted, and moved on. And then there was Sunday.

Over the weekend, humid, oppressively hot Louisiana received the gift of a "cold" front, which I could enjoy freely thanks to Cymbalta, my little miracle drug. The soaring temperatures dipped down into the 60s and 70s. The sun beamed in celebration and the trees applauded Autumn's breezy approach. A lovely prelude to my favorite season beckoned me outdoors. I could not help but comply.

I carried baby and bottle along with me, and reclined in my lounge chair. I pulled up the legs of my yoga pants, rolled up the sleeves of my t-shirt and arranged my limbs just so to receive the full effect of the sun. I basked in its healing rays for only a few moments before my mother-in-law drove up our drive. She had come to grant me a short reprieve from the-girl-who-does-not-sleep so that I might get some rest. We chatted while I shamelessly bathed in sunbeams. She took Sara to her swing. I looked on as my baby grinned happily. For a moment, I was euphoric, watching my girl, drinking in the day, anticipating my much-needed nap. And then the sun, my long-time friend, betrayed me unexpectedly.

Rather than causing my skin to tingle with warmth and happiness, the sun's rays began to sear me as if they were white-hot branding irons. I half-expected to burst into flame. I voiced my alarm to my mother-in-law. "If I'm burning, we need to get Sara out of the sun." You see, I didn't yet understand. But it did not take me long. I came inside to find that my feet were scarlet red and swollen twice their size. I inspected my legs and arms. I had a suspiciously allergic-looking rash spreading. I began to feel a tightness in my chest and an itching in my ears.

"No!" my inner voice cried in distress. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!"

I had been outside for less than 15 minutes, and what I was experiencing was clearly an allergic reaction to the sun. I took 100 mg of Benadryl, rubbed on some aloe vera gel, which did nothing to alleviate the burn, and sobbed. I was crushed, and I simply could not understand. I had believed that everything that was not a breathing, living being had been taken away from me already. I had believed myself to have been completely stripped down to the core of my soul. And to my surprise, here was something else I had to lose, and the implications of such a loss were severe.

The sun had always been there to help me feel better. It had relieved me from pain, from depression, from grief. I had always romanticized my time in the sun, as if the act of sunbathing itself was poetry. It had always felt like poetry. It didn't take me long to realize that with a sun allergy, I could no longer take my children outdoors without being fully clothed and wearing a hat. Sunscreen was an unlikely option. With my track record, I can only assume that I'm allergic to that as well. My aspirations of taking Micah to the zoo fizzled. My hopes to enjoy a ride on Brandon's new boat sunk. And I had thought I was going to learn to farm . . . . I was spiraling.

I called my mom, crying. Before I hung up, she suggested I do a little research to see if the reaction could have been caused by my drug. This is what I found: 39,138 people reported to have side effects when taking Cymbalta. Among them, 37 people (0.09%) have Photosensitivity Reaction. Of those 37 people, only 5.5% are my age. Most people affected by this reaction are 50 years and older. I also read that while the recommended treatment is to discontinue use of the drug, photosensitivity can remain as a life-long problem.

So here it is--less than 1 in 1,000 people who experience side effects when taking Cymbalta have a photosensitivity reaction. I'm the 1. Not only am I the one, but of that 1 in 1,000, only 1 in 20 are my age. In addition to these fun facts, I read that I can continue to be sensitive to the sun for the rest of my life. Well, crap. Brandon recommended that I purchase a lottery ticket, but that isn't the way my "luck" works. If fortune is my master, then I could have a share in a lottery of 1,000 people with 999 winners, and I would be the one loser.

Fortunately, fortune is not my master.

I did not take my medicine yesterday. With that decision, I made another--I will not seek the assistance of another pharmaceutical drug designed to mask my pain for the duration of my illness. My body seems to reject anything that messes with my brain chemistry. Yesterday, pain from randomly firing nerves, which gives the sensation of being bitten in various places, returned along with some of my carpal tunnel pains. Today, I woke with aching, shooting, burning pains in all four quadrants of my body and the knowledge that I can't seek any relief from the sun, which glows gloriously from my view. One thing is for certain--I will know when I am better.

Broken and bleeding in soul, I went to the one place I can find a spark of hope, no matter how dark the night. I was led to Lamentations 3. Lamentations felt appropriate.

"Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed,

Because His compassions fail not.

They are new every morning;

Great is Your faithfulness.

'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul,

'Therefore I hope in Him.'

The Lord is good to those who wait for Him

to the soul who seeks Him.

It is good that one should hope and wait quietly

for the salvation of the Lord.

It is good for a man to bear 

the yoke in his youth.

Let him sit alone and keep silent,

Because God has laid it on him;

Let him put his mouth in the dust--

There may yet be hope."

(3:22-29)

From His word in Lamentations, His word in various other places in the Bible I have recently studied, and the conversations I have recently shared with various people, the Lord spoke to me thus--

"My beloved, do not fear the darkness of your night (Psalm 27:1). I AM the Light by which you see light (Psalm 36:9). In your darkness, I AM your Morning, and every morning when you wake, you will receive fresh mercies to meet the challenges of the day. No matter how bad things seem, your circumstances will not consume you. I AM faithful. I have proven myself faithful. Feed on my faithfulness (Psalm 37:3). I AM your Portion, the real food you need. Wait on me. Commit your way to me. I will act. (Psalm 37:5). Wait when all seems lost. Wait for my timing. I AM never late. Healing is not your hope. Remember, I AM your Hope, your Living Hope (1 Peter 1:3). Your were saved for a hope greater than physical healing. You were saved in the hope of full redemption for your body (Romans 8:23). Everything you have lost, I will restore to you one-thousand fold, so do not worry about the apparent misfortune of being one "loser" in the midst of 1,000 "winners." Remember, hope that is seen is not hope. Why would you still hope for what you can see (Romans 8:24-25)? Persevere, my love. Wait for me. Wait. Be still before me. Cry, but do not clamor. Weep, but do not fret (Psalm 37:7-8). Remember, I AM near to the broken heart, the dependent soul (Psalm 34:18). Your pain makes you dependent. It draws you near to me. I AM faithful. I will draw near to you (James 4:8). Your pain brings my nearness. Your pain is your good (Lamentations 3:25). It is good to take upon my yoke in your youth (Lamentations 3:27). Learn from me. Submit to me. Trust me. My yoke is easy. Slip it on. My burden is light. I will lead, only follow. There is rest in submission to me (Matthew 11:28-20). Even in the darkest night, there is hope. The dawn is coming, my dear. You will be well. Heed your mother's words--'Brace yourself for a two year recovery.' I am willing to heal you, Darling, but not as I healed the deaf man (Mark 1:40-44), for I intend that your testimony will be different in character from that of the deaf man, but no less powerful. Your healing will be difficult and drawn out. He received the sweeping brush of the Painter. You are destined for the shaping pressure and fiery oven of the Potter. Your dawn is not as nigh as you would have it. You will want to give up. Wait. I will strengthen your heart (Psalm 27:14). I will feed you from the abundance of my house. As you sit in the midst of sorrow, you will sip the coming joy (Psalm 36:8). Why is your soul cast down, My Sweet? Why are you disquieted? (Psalm 42:5) Let me quiet you with my love, for it is vaster than you can fathom (Zephaniah 3:17). Press on. Press on because I have made you My Own (Philippians 3:12). Press on, and hope in me. I will help you with my Presence (Psalm 42:5). Value Me more than health. Treasure Me above wealth. Make Me your God, and not your belly (Philippians 3:19). Desire the comfort of your soul above the comfort of your body. Lay down your career, and I will give you great and glorious work which I have prepared for you before the foundation of the world (Ephesians 2:10). Lay down your imagined rights, and you shall gain true rights to the Kingdom. Lay down your preferences, and I will give you the desires of your heart (Psalm 37:4). Give up fun, and I will give you pleasure. Give up leisure, and I will give you rest. Surrender your dreams, and I will give you purpose. Die to everything you are, and I will transform your lowly, sickly little body, and conform it to My glorious body (Philippians 3:21). In whatever circumstances I allot to you, find your contentment in Me. You can do all things in my strength (Philippians 4:11-12). Above all, remember that your hope is not in the dawn, but in the Bright and Morning Star, whom outshines the sun and gives light to the whole world (Revelation 22:16). I AM your Hope! And I will bring you into a light more brilliant and glorious than any dawn you can imagine!"

The darkness yet gathers, heaping black against black. Life is not getting easier as I would wish. There is no faint glimmer of hope on the horizon, yet Hope is in my heart. For my hope is not in the dawn, and being assured of that brings a beauty to even the darkest hour of my night. But the dawn is coming, and I will give such a shout that the clouds themselves will flee when it finally arrives.

The Chicken versus The Wasps

I woke this morning feeling fragile. I took a new medication last night to help with my pain. I broke consciousness, and found that I was experiencing several common side effects of the drug--nausea, drowsiness, dizziness, blurred vision, headache and dry mouth. That list would normally dissuade me from any medication, but the pill was doing its job. I could point out the places on my body where I should have been feeling pain, but I either did not feel it or it was very dull. I may have almost puked bile into my dirty toilet this morning, but it was worth it.

I took phenergan (gel) to help me eat a little rice cereal for breakfast. I napped in the recliner while Sara took her morning snooze and Micah watched a Baby Einstein DVD. (Feel free to judge if you must, but take my advice--when judging, proceed with caution.) The gel and nap helped a little, but they did not eliminate my problems. As I folded laundry in the utility room, I prayed for help--

"Lord, today I am set up for failure. I feel miserable, but better pain-wise, which means I'll be tempted to overdo. I'm nauseated. My head is spinning. I have a weird headache. It's almost certain that I'll do something I regret like raising my voice at the children or making a selfish choice. I confess my weaknesses to you. All of them--those of my mind, body and spirit. I boast in those weaknesses so the power of Christ will rest on me. When I am weak, I can be strong in you. Help me today to abide in you, so you can abide in me."

I read my Bible, fed the children a snack, and finally noticed the beauty of the day. We have a tropical storm creeping in our direction, and the days before us will remain beautiful, but in a grey, windy and very wet kind of way. Today is beautiful in a bright, happy, and very hot kind of way. Micah asked to go outside and swing. I agreed.

As I dressed the kids for outdoor play, I chose a hat for Sara. Naturally, Micah had to have a hat, as well. He searched his drawer, but could not find the hat he wanted. I told him that I knew where the desired hat was located and that I would retrieve it for him as soon as I had him dressed. Protruding his bottom lip, he complained, "But . . . . I want it now." He continued to search for his hat, begrudgingly willing to settle for any hat that would fit.

I stopped him, saying, "Micah, I know exactly where the hat you want is hiding. I will get it for you in just a moment, but for now you must trust me." On a Spirit-led whim, I added, "It's kind of like trusting God. He tells us that He is real and that He loves us, but we can't see Him. We just have to believe that He is real and that He loves us, and know that one day we will see Him because He promises that we will. Will you trust me, Micah?"

He gave a mournful nod. I smiled. "Good."

I dressed him, then asked, "What am I about to do?"

He grinned. "Find my hat."

"Yes," I affirmed. "Follow me." And I took him to his hat, which was wedged between two pieces of furniture on the floor of my bedroom.

We then ventured outside. I carried Sara, thanking Jesus for allowing me to do so painlessly. We headed for the swing set. Before setting Sara in her swing, I thought to check for wasps. I knew from experience that they like to build nests in the hollow underside of infant swings. I gave the swing a gentle bump, and an orange wasp flew out. A miracle--I managed to choke back a scream.

Before I progress, I must make a confession--wasps frighten me more than just about anything. I am afraid of many things--spiders, heights, needles, snakes, latex gloves and horror movies, to name a few. However, I think I would rather sleep with a spider, jump out of a perfectly good plane, submit myself to full-body acupuncture, be bitten by a poisonous snake, be in a room full of doctors simultaneously snapping on latex gloves and attend a horror movie festival, all in one day, than take on a wasp.

I am disproportionally afraid of wasps because I perceive them to be life-threatening. I have very little data upon which to base my hypothesis--only that I was stung once as a young child and therefore could have antibodies built up against the venom and that my body is known to be ridiculously allergic to the world in general. In my mind, if I get stung by a wasp, I'm dead, and my death will be quick . . . . too quick for a run back into the house for Epi Pens. And then my children are left only-the-Lord-knows-where with a dead mother and no idea what to do. I cannot imagine anything worse, and imagining worse case scenarios is a particular talent of mine.

Earlier this year, my fear took me over. I could not enjoy being outside because I was always on the lookout for wasps, as if I expected them to fly out of nowhere and attack me. (Feel free to laugh. I am admittedly ridiculous.) A couple of times, this actually happened, but being the chicken I am, instead of swatting them away, I flapped about in true poultry fashion, turned toward the house and ran for it. To my credit, I had the children in tow. One afternoon in April or May, I had taken a can of wasp spray outside just in case it was needed. This is so embarrassing to admit, but that day I came dangerously close to spraying the kids while aiming for a passing wasp. After that, I told myself that I was no longer allowed to carry wasp spray. My fear made me wild and irrational and likely to do more damage than good.

Today, when the wasp flew out, I told Micah to run, and I jogged with Sara to a safe distance. I watched the wasp. He was angry, but unlikely to attack us where we stood. I tried to see if we were dealing with a nest. Micah has learned my fear, so I distracted him with a patch of mushrooms that desperately needed to be kicked over while I checked the back of the swing from a safe distance. I couldn't see a nest, but the swing had many blind spots. Deciding that swinging was an unsafe activity, I told Micah that he would have to be happy with a walk up and down the driveway.

As we walked, I told him that wasps weren't really bad and that God has a plan and a purpose for wasps, too. They are only dangerous if we get close to their houses. That is why we can't swing . . . . because there might be a wasp house in the swing. He absorbed my lesson quietly.

After a few moments of silence, I decided to change the subject. I reminded him of the Bible verse I have been teaching him to help him with his anxiety--"When I am afraid, I will trust in God." I told him that it is okay to be afraid for a moment, but that we must trust God to keep us safe and give our fears to Him. I told Him that God does not promise to never let bad things happen, but that He promises to take those bad things and turn them into good things . . . . . so bad things like bo-bos and sad things and wasps can become good things if we trust in God.

He listened quietly. When he was sure I had finished flapping my jaws, he said softly, "Momma? I wanna swing."

Here I was, spouting platitudes about fear and trust, and I was so afraid of the wasps that we were going to neglect the main thing we had come outside to do. In that moment, I realized that I could tell Micah all day long about trusting God and he would never get it, but I had before me a unique opportunity to show him which is far more powerful. I prayed silently for courage and a plan.

Once I had decided upon a course of action, I told Micah, "Micah, Mommy is going to trust God to keep her safe. I'm going to kill the wasps so we can swing, but I want you and Sara to stay under the carport. I will come get you when it's safe."

His pleased grin exposed his dimple. "Okay, Momma."

I went inside to do what I had told myself I would never do again. I grabbed the wasp spray for offense and my new Shutterfly book for defense. Reminding Micah to stay put, I walked around the corner, and located my targets. One wasp perched on the side of Micah's fort. The other swirled around the perimeter of the swing set. I took a deep breath to steady my shaking limbs. I took aim at the stationary target first. My aim was true. He fled to the forest, mortally wounded. The swirling wasp flew in my direction. With the speed and precision of a fearless warrior, I shot him out of the sky. And again when he hit the ground. And again when he tried to get up.

When I was sure the first two were no longer a threat, I gave the swing a kick, ready for another wasp to make my day with its demise. Nothing flew out. I kicked again, harder this time. Nothing. I was almost disappointed. Almost.

I had taken on not one but two wasps! Nothing but Micah's need to see my faith in action could have given me the incentive. Nothing but the Lord Himself could have given me the courage. It may not sound like a big deal to you, but through today's victory, God proved to me that He had delivered me from the fear that had threatened to eat me alive. The primal rush of adrenaline in the moment of perceived danger is more than just a habit. It's human instinct. My chicken dance is second nature to me. The only explanation for today's success is that God answered my prayer. He helped me to abide with Him, and He was faithful to abide with me.

I listened to Him as He prompted me to teach Micah about fear and trust in word. I obeyed Him when He prompted me to teach Micah about fear and trust in deed. This was so not my victory . . . . not really . . . . even though God definitely allowed me to share in it. I was drowsy, dizzy, nauseated, blurry eyed, cotton-mouthed and pee-in-your-pants afraid. In my flesh, I would have excused myself from obedience--"I'm in no shape to fight a wasp today. I can't even see straight. We can swing another day." Without trust, my attempt would have failed, I would have gotten stung and Micah would have learned the wrong lesson. Thankfully, I had already made up my mind to obey God during my prayer time that morning. His command was not a welcome one. Who wants to act out a memory verse by facing the thing she fears the most? But I received my reward--

two smiling red-heads . . . . . 

and a lesson Micah won't soon forget. 

Finite--The Tale of the Death of Supermom

The house is quiet. I hear only the hum of the dishwasher and the occasional pant from our overweight rat-terrier. These rare, peaceful moments afford me a few moments to take stock of my surroundings, the week behind me, the week before me and the state of my life in general.

I see dirty floors and an embarrassing layer of dust resting lazily on the darker furniture. Pockets of clutter sit proud and ugly, daring me to expend energy pulling them apart and tucking them away, rather than taking a needed beat to sit, think and write. Empty boxes cry out to be filled with non-essentials in preparation for the impending move. Dirty towels coil like snakes, ready and willing to take over the bathroom if ignored for too long. But hey, the dishwasher is running.

My precious reds slumber peacefully after a short night and an early morning at my parents' house. Pain and exhaustion drove me to send out an S.O.S. The thin wire upon which I balance so precariously snapped Friday evening, sending me to that dark and scary place of pain, fatigue and the inability to even take care of myself. In that place, I face a moment by moment fight to put one foot in front of the other and not allow the discouragement of it all to swallow me whole. Brandon desperately needed a break from being Atlas. The world is heavy thing to carry on your shoulders. Reinforcements were summoned. Praise God for a broad network of love that catches the crazy tightrope walker and man of steel when they topple and collapse.

Depending upon whether you like me or not, you will either laugh or cry when I tell you what sent me off of the edge. It wasn't all that much, really. Appointments on Monday and Friday and a couple of social calls Friday afternoon were the only departures from home. At home, I struggled to keep the dishes and laundry under control, feed the family, and spend a little quality time with the Lord, my husband and children. That is all. Micah and Sara spent more time in front of the television than I care to admit. I failed to pack even one box. And I attempted three times to vacuum, yet the floors remain filthy. Granted, we are dealing with a defiant three year old who enjoys tatooing my sofa with ink pen and who is also having regular late night anxiety attacks along with an infant spoiled to the ends of her strawberry-blonde ringlets, something which is bound to happen to a child born with colic, reflux, allergies, insomnia and a poor immune system. Granted, my Superman has been out and about, saving the world, requiring a bit more of me on the home front. Granted, I am still navigating the current of a life-altering illness, but when I consider the fact that basic mothering and housekeeping sent me to my wit's end, I feel a little . . . . irked.

Once upon a time, I envisioned my life as a homemaker looking like some awe-inspiring combination of Martha Stewart, Michelle Duggar, Renee Fleming, J.K. Rowling and Mother Theresa. I wanted to do it all--have more children than fingers, all perfectly behaved and home-educated, have a beautiful, clean, organized home, primed for entertaining, serve a new and delicious home-cooked meal every night, have a blossoming musical career, encompassing both teaching and performing, write a best-selling young adult fiction series, all the while being involved in ministry and community outreach. (Naturally, I envisioned all of this before the sobering reality of  real children.)

Obviously, my life as it is sits in sharp contrast to the fairy tale I planned to write. I had written myself as the hero, but I was a poor, insufficient choice for such a role. One by one, I have had to unfurl my fingers from the edges of each dream, and watch quietly as they floated away and out of my reach. My musical career has been non-existent for almost a full year. I have accepted that two children fill my quiver. My novel may never be written. (A novel requires time, energy and mental clarity, and carpal tunnel syndrome does not help matters.) My house may never be perfectly clean, organized or tidy again, and Martha Stewart certainly wouldn't approve of my toilet rings or of my decision to move into a trailer. Instead of being Mother Theresa, I must settle for taking her advice--"What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family." I have been a hard case. I didn't let go of those dreams easily, and when I did, it was with an aching sobriety that usually accompanies news of death. And truly, things I held as sacred and precious did die.

I'm about to make a big statement with which many of you will disagree, but here goes--I believe that God appoints hardships and trials, and I believe that He appoints them for our good. Let that sink in for just a moment. I'm saying that God sent sickness into my life. I'm saying that He has killed my dreams. I'm saying that He has sent me to the brink of death and pulled me back again, back into pain, hunger and heartbreak. And I'm also saying that it has been good.

What is "good?" The American Dream defines good as "health, wealth and prosperity." The Bible defines "good" this way--"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God and to those who have been called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, these He also predestined to be conformed into the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren." (Romans 8:28-29)

Thus, "good" means "being conformed into the image of Jesus." My dreams? They didn't look like Jesus. They looked like a Pharisee, stinking with pretty perfume to cover the reeking stench of pride and death. I had to be freed from the bondage of performance and the Supermom image I was so desperate to create. I am NOT called to be Supermom. I am called to be like Jesus. And you can't be like Jesus until you die. It may not sound like God is qualified to write fairy tales if He kills off His damsel (notice I am no longer the hero, but the damsel), but I can assure you that He writes better fairy tales than you, me or the Brothers Grimm.

In the story God is writing, I, the damsel, am thrown into a fire. I don't believe that God did the tossing, but I think He gave the "okay," and I am certain that Satan was pleased when he received permission to throw me to the flames. In my mind's eye, I see him rubbing his hands together, scheming the demise of the faith which threatens to save me from ultimate destruction. But you know what? What Satan meant for evil, GOD meant for good. The flames indeed rise around me, but instead of being consumed by the fire, I am being purified. I am melted, and it hurts and it burns, but the dross--my dreams, sin and failures--separate from my faith, rising in empty bubbles to the top. And because Christ has already faced the only fire that could ever really destroy me, the essence of who I am remains, and I am better and more beautiful than I once was. Supermom could not defeat the lifelong sin that had a choke-hold on my relationship with Christ, but the fire that turned Supermom to ash ate that sin for breakfast. I no longer struggle with it. Submission to my husband and my role as a help-meet are no longer thorns in my side, but joys to my soul. The anxiety that once threatened to drown me has evaporated in the heat. The sense of entitlement I once felt toward things like food, sleep, and fun is long gone. In its place is a deep knowing that my needs for sustenance, rest and enjoyment can only be met in Christ. (Is this story epic or what?)

So, with Paul, I indeed "count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For His sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ,  and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law [or seemingly nice and innocent dreams], but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith, that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead." (Philippians 3:8-11)

(That passage is my new memory project, by the way. )

The fire has cleared my vision. I am beginning to understand that God is bigger, wilder, more fearsome, more uncontrollable and more infinite than I can possibly imagine. I can see my smallness. I embrace my smallness. The fact that I come to the end of myself so easily still makes me want to cry, but I take those tears to Jesus, even the ones shed over stupid things like dirty floors and unpacked boxes and frazzled hair that tells true tales about my frailty.

In the words of my favorite singer/songwriter, Sara Groves, from her song "Finite"--"I'm not every woman. It's not all in me." And you know what? It doesn't have to be. The tyranny of Supermom has ended. Now I can be exactly who God wants me to be. I can be finite. I can be limited. I can be the damsel. And I can let Him be God, the Hero, the One who slays my dragons, the One who saves me from the Wicked Witch, the One who kisses me awake from the sinister slumber of false dreams, the One who lays down His life for me and somehow rises again to live for me, the One who says, "I AM WHO I AM," which means He has the authority to send whatever fire He wants into my life, the right to expect my devotion and obedience in the midst of that fire, and the loving-kindness to work that fire for my good and save my life in the end. The most awesome thing about this fairy tale is that He does this all not only for me, but for everyone who trusts in Jesus . . . . and we all get to live happily ever after.

Last Week

Last week was eventful. On Monday, our trailer was moved out to the property.

 

Brandon finished his outdoor work on Saturday evening. In addition to his full-time job and taking care of me, he has been working extremely hard out there. He has done a ton of prep work for everyone, so my parents are paying him in land. I think that's a pretty sweet deal, and he does, too!

Before we are ready to move, we (and by we, I mean Brandon) must paint one hideously bright yellow room a tamer shade, put in a ceramic flat surface stove (I'm spoiled, what can I say?), put in a deeper sink (once again . . . . spoiled), install a pantry, rip out the carpet, lay laminate flooring, move our outdoor building from our current property to our future one, order another building which we will use for storage, and order a parking overhang. When the paperwork for the building permit goes through next week, we will have electricity. Eventually, we will have grass and a gravel drive. I have a lot of packing to do, so we may or may not be moving Labor Day weekend. Nonetheless, that weekend remains our target date.

Early last week, Micah had a couple of bad anxiety attacks. The poor guy has suffered a lot of upheaval over the last several months. I'm certain the two are related, which is concerning considering the fact that he is about to experience a move. We are praying for guidance, sensitivity and wisdom. We are also trying to do what we know to do. He has laid eyes on his home-to-be four times this week. The first time he saw it, I told him that we would be living there soon and that we would not be living in the home we live in now. He was incredulous. "We're gonna live in that box?" he asked. Brandon and I chuckled all the way home.

On Saturday evening, I took my mother-in-law and the kids to see the place, and observe the work Brandon had done. It had rained most of the day, so I decided to dress Micah in his rain boots. As I bent down, working Micah's feet into the boots, he reached over, patted my head and said in the high-pitched tone adults commonly use with animals and babies, "You're a good momma." Sweet, hilarious boy.

 

We met Grandma and Pops at the property this evening. We stomped around, explored and enjoyed the peace of the place. I am looking forward to calling it home.

On Tuesday, Brandon and I celebrated our 8th anniversary. I was relieved to reach this milestone. I don't know if it's the seventh year or year seven, but statistics show that the "Seven Year Itch" can be difficult, if not deadly, for marriage. Last year was difficult enough, but our marriage has been the sweetest and richest it has ever been. Most of that has to do with Brandon. Over the past year, I have witnessed him grow tremendously in his faith. Along with his growth in the Lord, he has grown in love for me. Without a hint of irony, I can tell you that this man loves me as he is called to love me. He loves me as every woman wants to be loved. He loves me fully, wholly and sacrificially. He loves me like Christ loves the Church, and that is a love from which I never want to part. I am deeply thankful to be his wife.

On Thursday, I had my endoscopy. I was nervous the night before the procedure. I prayed that the Lord would give me peace in the morning, and He was faithful to answer! Normally, I would have been a ball of nerves, but I was as placid as could be. When I was called to the procedure room, alone and without my Superman, I remained calm. As gloves were snapped on, oxygen tubes shoved into my nostrils and the impending threat of a large needle drew near, my heart beat steadily and I was able to control my breathing. I prayed and remembered Philippians 4:6-7. The needle was no big deal! Is God cool, or what?

 What was kind of a big deal is that I found out that I would not be able to have the nice "twilight" anesthesia that allows one to wake up quickly and dance out the door if so desired. The "twilight" stuff is soy and egg based, and therefore dangerous for me. I was tempted to tell them not to put me under, but the nurse told me that it is a difficult procedure to do while the patient is conscious. I hold to the fact that if I survived an induced 18 hour, practically natural childbirth, I could handle being conscious for a simple procedure. That option wasn't presented to me. They asked if I could take Fentanyl. Fentanyl was suspect because it was a part of the epidural cocktail (which failed me in the 11th hour) that caused me to have an allergic reaction. Finally, they decided upon Demerol. I had never had Demerol, so I didn't know to be less than thrilled.

The doctor walked in and said hello. I didn't understand why a simple greeting would make me feel warm and fuzzy until I realized that the warm fuzzies weren't natural. Valium. They could have amputated my arm, and I would have laughed. I heard his voice again. He was saying something about the number fifty--probably the measurement for the Demerol. The next thing I knew, I was in the car on the way home. I have no recollection whatsoever of leaving the Endoscopy Center.

Brandon tells me that I would wake, tell him that I had been given Demerol, pass out again, and repeat the cycle. He tells me I did this six times. Eventually, I was coherent enough to retain the findings from the procedure. The doctor had found a polyp and a bit of mild gastritis. Both were biopsied. He also found that my acid reflux was non-corrosive, which is great news for a singer. He did not find anything to explain my pain.

After sleeping off the drug for the entire afternoon, Brandon and I discussed the findings. We speculate that the pain I'm experiencing could be nerve pain. This explanation fits with my symptoms. My nerves are firing painful, false alarms throughout my body all the time. It makes sense that the stabbing pain I feel between my shoulder blades as I eat could be a nerve going haywire. It's always fun to pay out $900 to find that your body is crazier than you could believe, but at least we know.

There remains much to be said of last week, but the hour is late and I am emotionally spent. I have to get up early to get the kids and myself ready and out the door for my physical therapy appointment in Bossier. For now, know that God continues to work and prove Himself faithful and powerful all the time. Know that your prayers on Thursday were answered. Know that new blessings are coming. Know that God still provides. And know that my family continues to value your prayers.

Taste and See

In the beginning, when my illness was so severe, new and scary, it was difficult to decide which part of it was the most problematic. My allergies were frightening, and they could have ended my life at any time. My digestive system was traumatized to the point that I had difficulty drinking water. My fatigue was discouraging. The pain was depressing. Now that my symptoms have plateaued and I've had some time to process and deal with the fallout, I have decided what the worst part of my illness is not. The worst part is not my food limitations, which is weird because I have always REALLY loved food, and I am now super limited and am becoming more limited all the time.

These days, my entire menu is chicken, beef, venison, turkey, tilapia, tuna, grapeseed, canola or sunflower oil, eggs, greens, green beans, broccoli, cauliflower, avocados, asparagus, carrots, squashes, pears, rice, tea, honey, potatoes, and sweet potatoes . . . . all on careful rotation.That's it, and I still have phantom reactions. Salt is the only seasoning I can use without unpleasant consequences. (Thank you, GOD, for salt!)

I did not arrive at the conclusion that my life was not finished overnight. I have grieved with real shock, real guilt, real anger, real depression, and real tears over the loss of many, many foods I once enjoyed. It took awhile for me to become accustomed to cooking a meal every night, something I never imagined I would do, but I have gotten the hang of it. Brandon helps by cooking breakfast most mornings, and I occasionally assign him grilling duty. For lunch, I eat rice cereal or leftovers when I'm feeling frisky. I have eaten at a restaurant only once since May. I trust very few people with my life, so I rarely eat from other people's kitchens. Our social events aren't often centered around food anymore, but I have found that it isn't that bad. As would anyone, I sometimes sigh with longing for a favorite food--chocolate, peanut butter, bananas, goat milk, popcorn, pizza--but not long enough to make me unhappy . . . . not even when food is being passed around and praised and the pleasant scent of whatever is being served wafts in my direction. It has taken several months, but I have worked through my losses. I won't say that I "have arrived," but I have learned to accept and even embrace my food limitations.

This is not my work, but the work of GOD in me. Nothing in me wants to lay down my imagined right to eat what I want to eat. Nothing in me is able to look on contentedly with goodwill as people exclaim over foods I would very much like to eat. [Aside: No one is allowed to feel guilty. You hear me? NO ONE (Dad)! I do not begrudge anyone the enjoyment good food.] Nothing in me is able to be hungry and happy. And yet, by some miracle, it is happening. I'm cheerfully laying down my rights one by one, most of which truly are imagined. The pleasure others find in food brings me pleasure. I can feel hungry and smile anyway. I won't claim to be able to be hungry for long and still be able to smile. Ha! I'm no super saint! However, left to myself, I would be a bitter, jealous mess of a woman with whom no one would care to associate.

What's my secret? I'm so glad you asked because I've been dying to share! I'm feeding, just not on food . . . . in the traditional sense, that is. I'm satisfied and sustained, but my satisfaction and sustenance reach beyond physical implications. I'm experiencing pleasure, and it is a pleasure that surpasses the likes of chocolate molten lava cake, creamy pasta dishes, ice cold Coca-Cola, and even PIZZA.

You may recall the Timothy Keller quote I cited in my first post about my illness--"This is the real food I need--Christ's unconditional commitment to me." This quote has been on the chalkboard hanging in our kitchen since May 3rd. I see it every day, multiple times a day. It is a part of me now, and was the diving board that catapulted me into a deep pool, brimming with instruction and encouragement. The "deep pool" of which I speak is actually only one verse in the Bible--

"Taste and see that the Lord is good. Blessed is the man who trusts in Him."--Psalm 34:8

I have meditated on this verse for several weeks. As I have done so, the Lord has brought me to many scriptures, familiar and new, that have given me greater insight into what tasting and seeing means. These verses have also been instrumental in my healing and emancipation from my idolatry of food. Below, I have typed out my hand-written journal entry, which gives shape to my thoughts about food. I tremble a little to share something so personal so publicly, but it is my deepest wish to be able to encourage others with the same encouragement with which I have been encouraged. If you followed that last sentence, you will probably be able to follow my entry--

"Immediately after Jesus taught a crowd of disciples that He is the Bread of Life and that believers must eat His flesh, many disciples turned away because the lesson was difficult to understand and even harder to accept. Jesus then looked to the Twelve, and asked, "Do you also want to go away?" John 6:68-69 records Peter's passionate, heartfelt response, which seems to parallel the exhortation to "taste and see" in Psalm 34--"Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. Also we have come to believe [taste] and know [see] that You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God."

I hypothesize that Peter knew and loved Psalm 34 all of his life. He extensively references and quotes Psalm 34 in 1 Peter. The most obvious reference is one to verse 8--"as newborn babes, desire the pure milk of the word, that you may grow thereby, if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good." (1 Peter 2:2-3) Sara is now nine months old, but as a newborn, she would screech until she was given food. She demanded food every hour on the hour. Girlfriend was hungry. That is the hunger I should cultivate for the word of God, which points to the Word of God.

I believe when Jesus was teaching us to pray that we would be given "our daily bread," He was not speaking of actual bread. (Matthew 6:11) I believe Jesus was instructing us to request and seek out the daily strength and sustenance of the soul. In the same sermon, Jesus teaches, "Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?" (Matthew 6:25) He goes on to say that the Father knows what we need. If He takes care of the sparrows, He will take care of His prized creation--mankind. I know that there is poverty in the world so severe that people starve to death and die in the elements. What about those people? That question causes me to believe that the bread spoken of in each passage isn't bread at all. I believe that Jesus is referring to Himself--the Real Bread, the Living Bread. I believe when He told us to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread," He was instructing us to seek our daily Sustenance in the Word--Jesus Christ.

My Bible cross-references Matthew 6:11 with a favorite passage from Job--

"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." (Job 28:8-12)

In Deuteronomy, Moses reminds Israel that God humbled them, allowed them to hunger, and fed them with manna "that He might make [them] know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord." (Deuteronomy 8:3) This lesson tastes familiar to me.

If we feed on the True Bread, we "are abundantly satisfied with the fullness of [His] house, and [He] gives [us] drink from the river of [His] pleasures." (Psalm 36:8) We are promised that "there is no want to those who fear Him. The young lions lack and suffer hunger; but those who seek the Lord shall not lack any good thing." (Psalm. 34:9-10) Jesus is the True Bread, the Bread of Life. He tells us, "Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to everlasting life, which the Son of Man will give you . . . ." (John 6:27) The Son of Man has given me Himself, and I need Him more than food. He is the True Manna. God the Father fed the Israelites with manna from Heaven, but Jesus is the fulfillment and embodiment of the symbol. By giving us Jesus, God the Father has fed the entire world (John 6:31-33) I am awed by the perfect beauty, clarity and symmetry in the Bible. All things point to Jesus Christ, the fulfillment of all things!

And Jesus says it Himself--"I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me shall never hunger, and he who believes in Me shall never thirst," meaning that I can starve to death, but if I have Jesus, I have all I need. I have everything. (John 6:35) If I come to Him for sustenance, He will not cast me out. He will satisfy me. (John 6:37)

 Life and the enjoyment thereof does not lie in earthly pleasures, even pleasures so keen as coffee and dessert. The ultimate pleasure is the fullness of life that Jesus gives--the Bread of Life, Himself. When I am in doubt, I will "feed on His faithfulness." (Psalm 37:3) When I sigh with longing for chips and salsa, I will delight in the Living Bread, and He will grant the real desires of my heart. (Psalm 37:4) When my heart is set upon monster cookies, I will reset it upon the Word of God, which is no empty word for me, but my very life. (Deuteronomy 32:46-47) When I am ravenous and my stomach cannot tolerate food, I will remember that my Shepherd stands ready to feed me, keeping me from being "consumed with hunger." (Ezekiel 34:11-16, 29) He feeds the birds of the air and the beasts of the field. (Matthew 6:26; Psalm 136:25) He will certainly feed me--body and soul."

(End entry.)

The journey has been messy and difficult, and continues to be. The hunger and cravings don't go away. I don't always maintain the proper attitude, but Jesus, the True Bread, is my home base and resting place. In Him, I find my center. The True Bread does not kill me, but gives me life. The True Bread does not deprive me of oxygen, but gives me clean, fresh air to breathe. He does not upset my stomach, but gives me nourishment. He does not make me itch, but provides balm for my wounds.

You may not have the food restrictions I have. Nonetheless, I invite you to join me in the most satisfying feast in this life! Let us feast on Jesus! He is everything we need and more than we could ever dream! Once you get a real taste of this Bread, you will see that everything else in this life becomes bland and pales in comparison.

Water, Water Everywhere

A miracle: It's been raining now for a full seven months, and we haven't drowned yet.

Friends and family sometimes look at Sara, and remark upon how much she has grown since they last saw her. They cannot believe that she is almost 9 months old. They say, "It flies by so quickly!" I smile and nod, but I always feel a little disoriented when I consider the recent passage of time. So much life has been lived that it seems impossible to fit it all into nine brief months, yet it has gone by in such a blur that when I access the memories, it is as if I'm viewing them underwater with muffled sound and obscured clarity. Fitting in this flood, don't you think?

Sara's birth and the following complications come back to me in flashes--pain, blood, gasps, sweat, tears, and euphoria. I slept so little during Sara's first few weeks of life that I am grasping to remember them at all. I am not sure Christmas happened in 2011. Photos are the only evidence. On January 6, 2012, we were told that our children had RSV. Micah was well within a couple of days. Sara was very sick for two months. She has had ear infections almost continually since, and finally had a successful tube surgery last Thursday. In January, I dreamed a prophetic dream in which Death promised to come for me over and over again; also in which God promised to protect me every time it came. Since then, I have survived six cases of anaphylaxsis, too many new food allergies to count, two complete shut downs of my digestive system, dehydration, and pain explained and unexplained all over my body. Over the course of the last three months, I have seen my general practitioner, a naturopathic doctor, an immunologist, a rheumatologist, a gastrointerologist, and a physical therapist. Brandon has suffered as well. It turns out that every superman has his own version of kryptonite. Brandon's is gluten, and he is now on a gluten-free diet. (I am exceedingly proud of his good attitude.) And then there is my Micah Man, who has gotten a little lost in the chaos, a fact that brings wistful tears to my eyes. Tears don't help our water problem.

Medical bills sit in neat, little piles waiting to be paid. I have never known another time in my life when there were so many medical bills. On the table they sit, opened and read, from the emergency room, urgent care, Sara's ENT, a medical laboratory, and our pediatrician's office. Bills from Sara's recent surgery and my upcoming endoscopy will find a resting place in our bed of intimidating mail. Maybe the waves will carry them away.

In addition to our concerns about health, family dynamics and finances, change has come in with the tide. I can only mention one major change at the moment--we're moving! To answer the first question we are always asked upon that announcement--we aren't moving far. Our new residence will be about 10 miles southeast of our current homestead in a small community called Crossroads, located just north of Rocky Branch."Why?" you may ask, "would anyone who needs to reduce stress choose to move?"

I will tell you--at first, I was against it. We had attempted a move back in the Spring, and it fell through. I felt like God had prevented us from moving because He knew that I would become ill and that we wouldn't be able to physically or financially sustain a larger, two-story home requiring renovations. Little did I know that He had something better for us up His sleeve. It is difficult to imagine anything being better than the charming country house, updated to our taste and specifications on eight acres of timber property, but the word"better" doesn't always mean what we think it means. For us, "better" means selling our nice, newly renovated home of two years, downsizing to a used, single-wide trailer, selling several newly acquired possessions, and settling on the property my parents recently purchased to which they will be moving, along with my sister, this fall. Sometime over the course of the next several months, we will begin a farm at this new location, complete with chickens, goats, a large vegetable garden, and the Lord only knows what else.

Our decision to move went something like this: A couple of months ago, Brandon went with my dad to explore my parents' new property. When he came home that afternoon, he asked me, "Babe, how would you feel about getting a trailer, and moving out to your parents' place?"

Stunned for a moment, I said, "I would need a really good reason to move anywhere right now."

Brandon replied, "Okay. How about being debt free in two years?"

I gulped. "That would be a very good reason." And I promised to consider the idea.

I wondered what it would be like to live beside my parents. I didn't know for sure, but I was already very sick and realized that I may need to live close to them. Once upon a time, I was upset to be moving out of their home. It could really be fun to live close to them again! I wondered how my relationship with my sister might change if we were neighbors. Since I moved out of my parents' home, our relationship has been pretty good. Some people need a little distance to have healthy relationships, and I have always thought of us as some of those people. But Hannah is becoming a different person these days. Our relationships with the Lord have changed us both, and given us much more in common. It could be a wonderful, beautiful thing to have my sister close by and watch our children grow up together. The idea touches my heart so profoundly that I can't think about it without tears gathering in my eyes.

 I could clearly see the practicality of the move. Brandon and I have desired to live in financial freedom for years. We want to be able to buy what we want to buy, do what we want to do, and give what we want to give without having to worry whether or not our finances will allow it. Debt free living would have come in handy this year considering all of the medical bills flowing in. We also had discussed starting a farm in a few years. It would be extremely beneficial to learn first hand how to care for the animals and tend the vegetables before starting a place for ourselves. Micah would soon be able to be a real help to my dad, and would receive a valuable, practical education in return. I am currently planning to homeschool my kids. Living on the farm, they would have access to real life learning situations, and benefit from three highly knowledgeable and skilled teachers of various subjects while living there. The only con to the situation I could see is that it would take us 10 miles further away from Ruston and away from our church. My conclusion was that our church is worth 10 extra miles. In less than 24 hours of thought and prayer, I told Brandon that I was fully supportive of this move.

Within a few days of the decision, we found a gently-used, single-wide trailer with a great layout for $20,000. Brandon decided to mortgage the mobile home, and thought to take out a home equity loan to pay for our expenses--preparing the property for housing, moving and medical bills. It seems that we are creating more debt, but a plan is in place to eliminate it. It appears as if we creating more stress, but the idea is to simplify. This decision reminds me of organizing a closet--in order to create order, there must first be chaos.

Every part of our lives, massive and miniscule, has been torn out of their respective places and thrown into a messy pile. A neurotic, OCD personality like myself could easily become overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed, but I came to the end of myself a long time ago. There is no way I could handle all of this craziness on my own. I would drown in it! I am actually handling it all like a child--with blind trust. I blindly trust that the Lord is working this out. It seems to be the sort of thing He does. It feels right--not in a sense it feels right because I want it to be right, but in a sense that I know it is right to my very core. God has initiated all of these changes. They have quite literally happened to us. The only decision we have made is to say "yes" to the move. What God initiates, He executes. I believe that I will have enough good days to do what I must. I believe that every hiccup in the process is according to plan. I believe that every dollar saved in preparations is a gift. I believe that we will have all of the help we will need to see it through.

So bring on the rain, and let the waves come. I will not worry. My Lifeguard walks on water.


UPDATES AND PRAYER REQUESTS:

Sara's surgery went very well. I was a typical nervous mommy, but I held it together without embarrassing myself or my husband. The first half hour after surgery was bad, but months of colic prepared us for the inconsolable crying. By the time we arrived at the house, she was happy and ready to play.

I had my first physical therapy session on Monday. My therapist believes my PGD can be corrected if I will be faithful to my exercises and stretches. I will be faithful, but my word, they hurt! I will go back on Monday, August 20 to be re-evaluated and learn some core strengthening exercises that should help my PGD to remain corrected.

I continue to have good days and bad days. The last few have been bad days. Today, I am suffering from widespread pain throughout my body, a migraine, fatigue and nausea. Our Honey came today. She took care of the kiddos while I took a nap. The Lord always provides what is needed. My bad days came after an entire week of good days. I was even able to clean my own house last week. It took several days, but it was the first time I was physically able to clean since I became ill!

I have an endoscopy scheduled for Thursday, August 16. My stomach continues to be very angry, and my new gastroenterologist intends to find out why. I have to have an IV for the procedure. I'm a baby when it comes to needles, so say a prayer for me if I come to mind.

I plan to put off the GAPS diet until after we are settled in our new home. I can't imagine another change right now any more than I can imagine drinking hot bone broths in this heat. I will begin my allergy cure therapy when I begin the diet.

Thank you again for your prayers and encouragement! May God bless you all ten-fold!

Answers and Metaphors

I woke early Friday morning before the alarm went off. As I waited for the signal that 5:30 had arrived and that it was time to get moving, I allowed my emotions free reign. I was too sleepy for coherent thought, but emotion after emotion--excitement, anxiety, hope, cynicism--crashed over my insides like waves onto a beach. The waves were gentle, but they still carried weight. I sifted through them all, deciding which ones to to throw back to the deeps and which ones to hold on to. Excitement was okay because no matter what would happen at the appointment, I would have an enjoyable day with Brandon afterward. Anxiety wasn't helpful. Hope was alright as long as it was well placed. I could hope in what I knew for certain--that Jesus would be there with me and would not let me go. The presence of cynicism was telling--I needed to adjust my hope. There is no room for cynicism when hope is in its proper place.

Much like Christ does for His Church, Brandon knew my needs that morning, and met all that he was able to meet. He cooked me a good breakfast, he packed what we would need for the day and he provided me with fun, distracting conversation. He let me control the music, and listened happily to what I chose. I was perfectly calm by the time we pulled into the parking lot.

I remained calm until we were told that because we had not met our deductible, the office required $500 from us before I could see the doctor. We were caught off guard by this information. They apologized for not calling us about it before we arrived, and asked if we wanted to proceed. I looked to Brandon. He nodded.  We've stayed afloat just fine, but the last year has been the most financially demanding season of our marriage. I think we both grimaced inwardly as they swiped our credit card.

Within ten minutes, the medical assistant called us back. From that point, we were at the office for 3 1/2 hours. I saw a medical assistant, a nurse practitioner, a radiologist and the doctor. They were all friendly and excellent at their jobs. These people treat people who are in pain in varying degrees everyday. They meet lots of frowns, little patience and a good bit of attitude, I'm sure, but they were all perfectly friendly (as in friendly, but not overly so, which can be annoying to people who are hurting) and compassionate. In case you haven't been sick or hospitalized lately, that is a rare, rare thing. And these people? Yeah, they made my day.

The nurse practitioner came in first. She read my paperwork I had filled out, asked extensive questions and listened without once looking at me like I was crazy . . . even when I told her that I suspected that my allergies were somehow connected to my pain! Already, things were going better than expected. After doing a physical examination, she handed me four pamphlets to read while I waited for x-rays--"Carpal Tunnel Syndrome," "Pelvic Girdle Dysfunction," "Osteoarthritis," and "Fibromyalgia."

 I read until the radiologist called me back. She was a young black woman named Melanie. She was excellent, but was a little distracted that day. Her distraction did not take anything away from my experience, but rather enhanced it. You see, she was planning a wedding that would take place in a week's time. She and her fiance had decided two weeks prior that they were just going to get it done! She was trying to make the decisions brides make over the course of several months to a year in only a couple weeks of time. She knew her colors, but couldn't decide what to do about the cake, program design and bridesmaid dresses. To my delight, she asked me for my opinion, and I think I was able to help! (In one of my wilder daydreams, I would love to be a stylist--for family photos, for home design and especially for weddings.) Who knew I would encounter a bit of fun on a day that could have been quite frightening?

After being ushered back to my room, I waited only a few moments before Dr. Larry Broadwell entered the room along with the nurse practitioner who had been with me before. He was an older gentleman, with blue eyes which where somehow simultaneously piercing and gentle. He was compassionate, authoritative, and mentally sharp. It did not take long for me to realize that this man was more than a doctor. He was a teacher. In terms I could easily understand, he explained that I had several different things going on in my body--

(A) The pain in my hands were due to carpal tunnel syndrome, probably something I had had for years due to so much time at the piano and computer keyboard. The stress of the last several months had probably caused my already existing problem to rear its ugly head. While this can be unpleasant news for a pianist/want-to-be writer who will always find some reason to be stressed, I was actually a bit relieved. CTS sounds better to me than say, rheumatoid arthritis.

(B) He told me that my limp as well as my hip and knee pain on my right side were likely the result of Pelvic Girdle Dysfunction, a condition that may be due to a variety of causes. My case was caused by childbirth. At the end of pregnancy, the hips separate to allow the birth to take place. When my hips fused back together, they did so unevenly, placing one hip higher than the other. Thus, my right leg is slightly longer, forcing it to carry 60% of my weight, causing my limp and my pain. My condition may or may not be able to be corrected, but it can significantly improve with physical therapy.

(C) He further explained that the nature of my other body aches and pains made me appear to be a fibromyalgia patient. I have all the right ingredients for the recipe--a Type A personality, a long period of stress in my life, anxiety, sleep disturbance, and hyper-extending joints (my joints are apparently more flexible than what is natural). He told me that he was hesitant to slap a label on me because my condition had only just developed. To help me understand, he used this metaphor--When we celebrated my son's first birthday, we could not possibly anticipate what he would look like as a 3-year-old, much less as a 20-year-old. As with my son, it is impossible to know what I will look like in a few months or a year. I could be a fibromyalgia patient, or I could have something like osteoarthritis (a degenerative joint disease). There is no way to tell yet. (If given the choice, I would prefer to have fibromyalgia. I don't want anything degenerative.)

(D) After going through my x-rays,  he told me there were currently no signs of rheumatoid or osteoarthritis. What he did find was the PGD (although this was discovered during the physical examination), and problems with my neck, which I knew I had. My neck is absolutely straight and stiff as a board. Necks are supposed to have natural curvature. Numerous incidents of whiplash are probably at fault. He recommended physical therapy for this issue as well.

After being thoroughly evaluated, I was given a prescription for physical therapy 1 to 2 times a week for 3 to 4 weeks for my PGD and neck problem. My PT sessions will be in Bossier. It won't be easy to manage the drive and childcare, but I will call on Monday morning to make my first appointment. Anything for some relief! I was also given informative pamphlets, which describe how to manage fibromyalgia and CTS pain. I was told to make an appointment in 4-6 weeks with my general practitioner in order to decide whether or not medication is necessary. I will see Dr. Broadwell again on October 18.

I was not expecting this level of care. I was not prepared to hear terms like "stress management" and "hesitate" and "holistic care." I was not prepared to meet friendly, compassionate people who would listen to me, and not tell me how crazy or wrong I was when I voiced my concerns about the link between my food allergies and pain. I certainly didn't expect to leave without a prescription for some drug I couldn't take as a mother of children who regularly wake up in the middle of the night. I am a pretty decent actress, which is a good thing. Otherwise, I would have left with my mouth hanging open.

The beautiful thing about that appointment is that it didn't leave me frustrated with a ton of questions I wished I had asked. I was able to tuck it away, and freely enjoy my afternoon with Brandon. We had a blast--from the car ride to the better-than-expected appointment to the steak lunch at Saltgrass to the overly loud IMAX feature of The Dark Knight Rises.

The day exhausted me, and I've been spending the weekend enjoying my kids and recuperating. My pain has been significant . . . . possibly due to exhaustion . . . . but I've been peaceful. I did have to check myself: why did I feel peaceful? Answers and solutions are nice, but they are not a substitute for the presence of God. After reminding myself of this fact on Saturday, I was prepared to experience Him in a new way on this journey. After three months of questions, it is easy to value answers more than I value God. I was momentarily guilty of doing just that. But I confessed this weakness, and declared that answers were no good compared to the joy of His nearness. Even an instantaneous, miraculous healing is only a pretty piece of garbage compared to Jesus!

I am going to continue on the path to wherever it leads. I want it to lead to recovery, but we will see. Next stop--physical therapy! It's good to know that I will be provided with everything I need for the journey . . . . something of which I can be certain because I'm road-tripping with Jesus . . . . and Superman always has my back.

Prayer Requests:

Sara has a tubes surgery scheduled for Thursday, August 2nd first thing in the morning. Please be in prayer for her and for her nervous parents! We are happy to be getting this done, but we wouldn't be normal if we didn't feel some kind of concern.

I will have to have a driver and a babysitter for each PT appointment. Please pray that this won't be a nightmare.

We are moving next month! (*screams into pillow*) Please pray that things go smoothly, that the stress of it all won't put me in the hospital and that Brandon will keep his cape on. We will need our Superman next month. (Details to come in a future post.)

When you remember me, pray specifically that the stress of it all won't overpower me. I am supposed to be eliminating stress as it is a major trigger for my pain, and I am practically signing up for it! Between moving, a surgery, several physical therapy sessions and the start of a new diet, my plate will be very full next month. I have no idea how it will all get done and in what condition we'll be in when it's over, but I trust the Lord to bring us through it. Just pray that the Enemy doesn't get the better of me and my family in the midst of it!

Thank you for praying me through thus far. Please don't forget me. I am still fragile and finding my way and very much in need of prayer. Love to you all.

Breakthrough

I'm not sure when it happened exactly. It happened subconsciously . . . . a gift from God in my sleep, maybe . . . . or perhaps through a series of small choices toward a common end. Regardless of how, the decision was made without my knowing it was made until after it was made that I was not going to allow my illness to define me. I would not allow it to consume me. I would not allow it to rob me of the joy of living. I would not be denied the pleasure of putting a puzzle together on the floor with my son--even if doing so left me stiff and sore. I would not miss an opportunity to gather with friends in my home--even if it left me tired and in need of a day of recovery. I would not let the sometimes searing pain shooting downwards from my shoulders into my fingertips keep me from enjoying the simple happiness of rocking my baby, holding a book, baking a cake or writing in my journal. I would not even allow myself to grow petulant or bitter about my very restrictive menu. I would live, and I would do it with joy.

I first noticed the shift in mentality the week before last as I was trying to decide how I was going to get the vegetables I needed to do my rice and vegetable fast for three days. I didn't really want the half-rate grocery store produce knowing that good quality produce could be attained at a local farmer's market. I did not feel like getting the kids out, driving half an hour and trying to keep kids happy while I shopped in the heat and humidity, but I decided to do it anyway. I had no delusions of grandeur. I knew I would need help, so I called my grandmother. She helped me get kids in and out of the car, helped me manage them as we walked around the Ruston Farmer's Market, sat with them as I grabbed a few things at The Olde Wheat Barn and distracted me with adult conversation as Sara screamed her head off on the car ride back to Farmerville.

I realized again several times over that something had changed within me as I did things like roll my eyes in annoyance at the pain in my hip and knees as I played in the floor with the children, ignore my fatigue as I priced items and shopped the children's consignment sale in Ruston, and grit my teeth at the pain in my shoulder and elbow as I mixed the batter for another, slightly better-looking, gluten-free apple cake (sans the cinnamon as I have discovered that I'm allergic to that, too). I found myself smiling instead of fretting about the fatigue and pain that was sure to follow a sleepless night of holding a sleepless Sara. (I will not pretend that I was not frustrated to be awake during perfectly good sleeping hours, but I had moments in which I could enjoy the fact that I was cuddling my baby, something I don't have much longer to enjoy as Sara's first birthday is quickly approaching and as we do not plan to have anymore children.) One rare hour in which Sara napped in her bed on her own, I chose to play with Micah in his room instead of rest in my chair. His pleased and satisfied grin was a far greater reward than any period of rest can produce.

Beyond discovering that I don't have to say "no" to all of life's pleasures, my heart has learned to embrace the yeses that my illness brings. I cannot be constantly busy anymore, so I can joyfully say "yes" to slow days at home with the children. I must take time to "sit on my laurels;" therefore, I can say "yes" to unscheduled time with the Lord. I have time to read, to think, to pray, to call my friends who live all over the continental U.S. and are still spreading, to listen to Timothy Keller's sermon podcasts (available for free on Itunes). And to my astonishment, I find myself once again dreaming about the future! You can't quite know the importance and beauty of dreaming until you are unable to do it. The abruptness and severity with which my apparently long-term illness came made me afraid to dream for awhile because I couldn't see a future without my illness in it, and that terrified me. Now I realize that I can live joyfully with my illness (thanks to the goodness and nearness of my Savior), and I am no longer afraid. I can dream as big and wide as I did before. My dreams are just . . . . different. In some cases, I would say that they are better . . . . improved upon by the refining work of a loving God.

It may have taken almost three months, but I'm finally happy in my new reality. I won't lie--there is a tension in this new reality. The tension stems from the belief that I shouldn't be and won't be in this place forever, and that I should try everything I can to get better. My next (and hopefully last!) course of action is another diet plan. You may ask, "Why another diet? The others did not work." I would agree with your assessment, and answer, "The other diets did not work because I had the wrong goal in mind." The other diets I have tried were intended to increase my tolerance of food, but only served to make me aware that I am a hot mess who is allergic to almost everything and can tolerate almost nothing. Thus, I was ushered to this very important question--"Why?" The conclusion I came to was a fact of which I had already been aware--"My digestive tract is so damaged that it is leaking undigested food molecules into my bloodstream, causing me to react to everything I eat." (This conclusion was made possible by reading lots and lots of research done by people far more intelligent and knowledgeable than me.)

I alluded earlier to the suspicion that God gives me new thoughts (and sometimes helps me connect old thoughts) in my sleep. Well, I believe that He may have helped me to FINALLY make this connection while I dreamed one night--"If the severity of my allergies stems from problems with my digestive tract, maybe I should begin the healing process by treating my digestion problems FIRST rather than my allergies." (I know . . . . DUH! Right?) The GAPS diet does just that. (For more information about the GAPS diet, click here.) The goal is to heal the digestive system using nutrition, supplementation and detoxification/life-style changes. My mom ordered some books about the diet on Monday. Once they come in, we have to do our reading. This diet isn't one you can just begin. You have to plan, gather food and products and prepare, and then you begin the multi-phase diet. I don't know what kind of timeline that puts me on for improvement, but for the first time since all of this stuff began, I feel confident that a new approach to nutrition will help me. Maybe it's because my mom and I decided this is what I needed separately, and then talked about it. Maybe it's because a product we tried earlier in this journey led us to this information. I don't know. I just feel like this diet is going to work!

My hope is that the diet/lifestyle will heal my digestive system, which will improve my allergies, which will then decrease or eliminate my pain. I say "improve" my allergies and not "cure" because my allergies existed long before my body went berserk. I expect to still have them on the other side of this health crisis. I don't believe that out of hopelessness, but rather out of logic and realism. Besides, I was okay with my allergies before all of this began. I will be completely okay with a few lingering food allergies after it passes.

 However, if my pain persists after I get a handle on my nutritional health, I am certain I will be okay with that, too. I have had the privilege of knowing and valuing the Lord in ways I had only dreamed of before this year began. I understand that God is enough--even when pleasurable foods, the thrill of success and carefree, good times are stripped away. I know that I can possess very little and still have joy because joy is not an emotion dependent upon pleasure and good times. Joy is a Person, a Person who is near to the brokenhearted (Ps. 34:18), a Person who satisfies from the fullness of His house (Ps. 36:8), a Person who has blessed me with an illness because His love knows no depths. This illness will prove to be one of the greatest goods He will ever work for me and my family. And that conclusion is the ultimate breakthrough because it just doesn't get better than that.

Prayer Requests:

I am currently struggling. I have pretty severe stomach and intestinal pain when I eat. So sometimes, I don't eat. But then I struggle with hunger pain and low energy, which is difficult when taking care of small children. So, I eat again, and the cycle continues. I also eat because I'm afraid to go into the GAPS diet too skinny. My Grandmommy believed that everyone should have a little extra weight on reserve. I don't want to lose my reserve. I am heavily considering a visit to a GI specialist in Monroe, but I am concerned about spending unnecessary money and doing more harm than good. On another note, my arthritis pain has also been pretty intense for the past several days.

Sara has her first ENT appointment tomorrow. I am hoping that our doctor can help our girl, which will help us all. I expect a tube surgery in our near future, but we will see.

My appointment with the rheumatologist is on Friday! I have no idea what to expect. I do kind of expect them to think I'm crazy. (Sometimes, I feel like I'm going crazy.) My hope is that he can offer me some insight and guidance about how to manage my arthritis pain until I am better.

Please continue to pray for my Superman. Brandon has so much on his plate right now. An explanation is coming, but know that we are in the middle of multiple major family changes. Due to my health, Brandon is required to handle the brunt of the stress. Pray for his strength, his health and his relationship with the Lord--that it would continue to grow, strengthen and thrive.

Thank you for your continued prayers. It is a blessing I do not take for granted to have a large prayer support system. Grace and peace to you all in the Lord Jesus Christ!