MCAD

Just Say "No" to Self-Pity

With over a decade of experience under my belt, I know about diet restriction--both the good kind and the harmful kind. (Note: I do not advocate calorie restrictive diets.)

I understand the feelings of deprivation and the fear of change. I know what it's like to starve in a land of plenty. I've been so sick I could only tolerate a handful of foods. There have been times I could not eat at all. Thanks to God and an amazing health team, I am no longer in that place. Through lots of grace and support, I have survived and learned a few things along the way.

Check out a snippet of my journey at 20 Something Allergies, the blog of nutritional therapist, research enthusiast, friend and witch doctor extraordinaire, Jennifer Nervo.

Mixed Bag--An Update

I've been home from my mountain-top experience at Mayo for a little over a month. Things have not gone exactly as I had hoped. The last few weeks have been hard and good, beautiful and heartrending.
  • I turned 30.
I had always imagined turning thirty would be a difficult thing. To my surprise, it was no big deal. It was pleasant even. I had both a good birthday and a lovely birthday party. On June 3, I posted this story to Facebook:

When I opened my eyes this morning, I asked the Lord to be present in every moment of the day. That would be gift enough. I did not expect a literal gift from Him--

I went outside to hang Sara's diapers to dry in the sun. Brandon's trailer seemed like a good spot. Out flew an angry wasp feeling threatened by my close proximity to his home hidden below the wheel. My peripheral vision caught him coming in for the sting, but suddenly he deflected away from me, as if he had bounced off a surface I couldn't see. I think it was my "blue shield" I dreamed about almost 3 years ago. "Happy birthday to me, from God," I thought.

I shared the story with Mom who reminded me of Psalm 91. I have
lived the truth of these verses for years, but it was the promise God makes to the psalmist at the end which brought me to tears--

“Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high, because he has known My name.
He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.”

And almost a whisper in my ear, "Happy birthday to you, from Me."


See? Good.

A week later, I hosted an (herbal) tea party in my own honor. You get to do that when you turn thirty, are too sick to go out, and are kind of eccentric.



 Kids' table

 The menu included three herbal teas-- Rhubarb and Strawberry Hibiscus Iced Tea,
Peppermint and Raspberry Leaf, and Nettle and Rosehip--
gluten free zucchini cake, and Melissa-friendly Paleo treats.

 Most of the guests.

 Morgan and I reunited after our respective adventures, which the Lord saw us through. It was a kind of celebration of His generosity to us. Please continue to pray for Morgan. 
She is still suffering from surgery complications.

 My beautiful Mom.

 The smallest guests. Love them!

  • I have settled back into my routine.
The Mayo experience was more of a spiritual retreat than a medical trip for my mom and me. It was glorious to be home, but it took a few days and lots of grace to find my legs again.
  •  I have finally begun the first draft of my novel.
Until a couple of weeks ago, it had been a long time since I had accomplished any serious work with my novel. I lost my drive in the midst of health struggles, grief, and preparations for Mayo. I also lost interest in writing back story. I was yearning to write the real story, and that is just what I have been doing. I am writing it longhand, which I find to be extremely satisfying. Something about it summons the muse, and it definitely reduces distractions. When I am writing longhand, that is all I'm doing. No peeks at Facebook or Pinterest. Just writing. And it feels like a real craft.
  • I began my prescribed medications. Kind of. 
Upon returning home, Brandon and I discovered pretty quickly that I could not take the Zantac, Zyrtec, and Singulair in their marketed forms. They contain too many fillers. That's right. I'm allergic to antihistamines. But honestly, this is not uncommon for people with MCAD. Brandon checked into using a compounding pharmacy to obtain pure forms of the drugs, but this route proved to be cost prohibitive. In the end, we asked Dr. Carolyne Yakaboski to create a homeopathic form of the drugs. These are not as potent as the actual drugs, but I have found that a little goes a long way with just about anything. I do notice some relief when I remember all of my doses, which is good.

I began Gastrocrom two weeks ago. This drug only contains cromolyn sodium and water. I have had no adverse reactions thus far. Praise God! If it works for me, my GI pain and swelling will begin to resolve in about a week or so.

  • I am failing my dietary protocol. Which I still need to blog about.
I cannot stay out of the tomatoes. I try. I really try. Yet I fail. They make me sick. They make me hurt. They cause me misery. And still I am lured in by their beauty and promise of palatable rapture. Le sigh.

  • I'm getting "grounded." Explanation here.
An earthing kit has been on my wish list for quite some time. Brandon bought me one for my birthday. We began using the sheet right after I returned home, and it immediately improved my quality of sleep.
  • I have added castor oil packs to my health routine. Explanation here
These. are. awesome. I began about two weeks ago. They bring on the sleepies, and reduce the ill effects of my tomato lust. I feel a certain amount of histamine relief after doing them, which calms the flushing and "tired and wired" feeling enough to induce sleep. I put it on every night for about an hour and a half--just long enough for Brandon and I to watch two episodes of BBC Robin Hood on Netflix. Then I go to sleep. Like it's no big deal. Like falling asleep wasn't the hardest thing ever just a couple of months ago. Praise God for earthing sheets and castor oil and heating pads! Praise God for sleep!
  •  I've been using my unique skill set to serve my sister.
Since becoming pregnant, my sister has experienced serious health problems similar to my own. We think the shift in hormones has upset her system, and she has been having allergic reactions to foods, animals, and bug bites. I have been able to direct her to safe, nutritious foods, treat her reactions with TBM and BioSet, and offer her gentle, pregnancy-safe home remedies like poultices, herbs, and essential oils. I am loathed to see my sister suffer, but thankful I can help.

  • Grief continues to rock my boat.
In many ways, I feel Jenny's loss more profoundly today than I did when it was fresh. There is so much I want to tell her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her unique perspective and the artful way she crafts her sentences. I want the light in her blue eyes and her hearty "hallelujahs" in response to every good God has sent. A memory sparked by a conversation or activity will initiate a tiny, seismic shift, sending an unexpected tidal wave to my shore. In these moments, I am thankful for the "hope we have as an anchor of the soul" (Hebrews 6:19). Without it, I would be reduced to rubble every time.

  • There have been two episodes of anaphylaxsis, one of which resulted in shock.
Until about three weeks ago, I had not had an anaphylactic reaction in a record length of time. Since then, there have been two episodes. The first occurred following my tea party, after which I felt uncommonly unwell. I thought my body was rebuking me for the almond flour treats I had eaten. But I really hadn't eaten that much, so I was confused. The next night, my mother-in-law and I shared a warmed cup of left over peppermint and raspberry leaf tea.

BAM! I was struggling for air. I knew it wasn't the raspberry leaf, which exposed the peppermint as the culprit. I had drunk so. much. of this particular blend the day before it is no wonder I was so ill after the party. Bummer. It was a good blend.

And then there was the freak peanut exposure this past Sunday night. Brandon and the kids wanted an Eskimoe's treat after completing a little errand in town. We went through the drive-thru. The window was on Brandon's side of the car. I detected a shift in my body during the transaction, but I had to do the whole self denial routine.

"You're not sick," I told myself. "That would be crazy. You are fine. You are fine. The swelling will subside. You are fine." I continued like this for the 15 minute ride home. I eventually believed myself, so I didn't understand when my blood pressure went on the fritz upon getting out of the car.

When things got bad, Brandon was outside talking to my parents. I was inside with the kids. I was able to take my rescue homeopathics and get a text to him before I was useless. By the time he began performing our tried and true rescue treatment, I was exiting reality--a cold place where it was painful and difficult to breathe, think, move, and obey--and entering the floaty space where it's warm and pleasant and everything is peaceful.

Shock is a siren song. Unless someone tethers you to the ship, you will bail. You cannot help yourself. B wasn't having it though. He says he yelled at me. I was vaguely aware of it, but it came to my consciousness rather muffled, as if I was hearing him from underwater. He demanded I come back, so I did. I am thankful the Lord spared me once again. I must have more to do! Praise God!
Brandon and I have agreed--
In some ways, I am better than I was last summer.
In some ways, I am sicker than I was last summer.

Last summer was nothing short of miraculous. I was knocking on death's door, and then God just turned it around. I went from eating nothing to eating baby food to eating anything I wanted. Eggs? Every day. Tomatoes? No problem. Watermelon? For the first time in years. I could eat any food, any time as long as it came from our garden.

And the garden itself was a miracle. Dad and Brandon were first time gardeners. They only kinda sorta knew what they were doing. Everything planted thrived. Rain came at just the right times. June and July were just mild enough. The bugs were a minor nuisance, and were well-controlled without the use of any substance, organic or otherwise.

This year? Squash bugs destroyed our crop. Tomato worms are having a hey day. We even have bugs in our kale, which is weird. Dad is using an organic, essential oil-based spray to repel them, but it doesn't seem to be working. And with the exception of kale and the now gone broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, and yellow squash, I am not tolerating anything very well.

I do not understand why the foods God used to bring me back to life last summer are now my enemies. I do not understand the complexities of why one crop is blessed and another is not blessed in the same way. I am not wise enough to guess the purpose of all this waiting, circling, cycling, and disappointment.

Why have I not been healed? I am doing everything right. With the exception of my tomato addiction, I eat perfectly. Well, except when I eat a bit of dark chocolate or have an almond flour treat for my birthday, but still! I detox, rest, sleep, exercise, get sunshine, manage my stress, and avoid triggers. I seek the Lord with all my heart. I pray, meditate, memorize scripture, and make my mind to dwell on things above. I want to be healed. I expect to be healed.

I am doing everything right, and I am still not well. Not even close.

Dear friend, this is life. We can do all the right things, and still not achieve the desired outcome. That is why we must desire a Person more than a circumstance. Someone who cannot change. An anchor for the soul.

Because here's the truth--
You can parent perfectly and your adult child may self-destruct.
You can make good health choices and your body may malfunction.
You can study hard and fail the class.
You can work hard and not land the job.
You can pray hard and not receive the desired answer.
You can do aaaaaaaall the things and miss the Whole Thing.

Now this doesn't mean we throw up our hands and refuse to invest. All things of worth require faithfulness. Laziness is not allowed. We have many seeds to sow. Marriage, motherhood, friendships, nourishment, health, career, craft, and our walks with the Lord all demand that we show up, game on, every day.

This week, Micah and I sat on the back porch and watched an afternoon storm roll in while Sara napped late.

"God brings the rain and makes it stop and makes the garden grow," he observed sagely as we listened to heavy drops pound the tin roof like a drum.

"That's right," I affirmed. "He brings rain and sunshine and gives growth to the seeds we plant. He makes all gardens grow, even the ones hidden inside of us." I touched the center of his chest.

"What kind of garden is inside of me?" he asked, eyes wide. "Will I grow vegetables?"

"No," I laughed. "You will grow fruit. Mommy plants the seed of the gospel of Jesus and the cross in your heart. Then God sends rain and sunshine and gives increase just like our garden out there." I pointed. "And after time, you will bear fruit--love, joy, peace, goodness, and faithfulness to name a few."

But it does not always work this way.

We are not as in control as we would like to think we are. We do not command life or death or cancer or disintegrating mast cells or squash bugs or people or rogue peanut particles. This is okay. Because the One who is in control is eternally, irreversibly good. He has our good at heart. He even takes the evil things of this world, and alchemizes them into good. It's a mystery, but it's true. 

We must stop serving the god we want, and start loving the God Who Is. We must surrender our idea of  good to His definition of good--the Church "conformed to the image of His [suffering] Son" (Romans 8:29).

For me, this means I show up. I do all the things God has tasked me with. I invest my heart, knowing that--yes--it may be broken. It is broken.

A friend told me this week she is hesitant to try gardening while she is already so busy and tired with little ones because she is afraid she would put in a ton of work only for the crop to fail. Oh, goodness--how her trepidation hits close to home. The threat is very real.

Disappointment is a bitter fruit. It's the risk we all take any time we do or love or work for anything. Christian or not, no one is exempt from the risk, but if you are a Christian, you can take comfort in knowing Christ drinks the wine of disappointment right along with you. If you are a Christian, you can rest your head on the pillow of promise--God is weaving your disappointment into an epic tapestry which will at its finish be a glorious work of art. You will one day gaze upon it in wonder, and you will agree--your suffering was not worthy to be compared to the joy you now know.

Life is a mixed bag of happinesses and disappointments, successes and failures, patterns and adjustments. It's devastating and magnificent and ridiculous and wonderful. I could never survive it without Jesus. And having tasted the exquisite joy of His presence especially in the midst of sorrow, I can tell you--I don't want to.

He is our Living Hope. He is our assurance that one day the disappointments will be no more, that all sad things will come untrue. Praise God this mixed bag is not all there is!

Mayo Clinic Trip: Diagnosis Edition

I went out on a limb. I prayed for answers. And God delivered.

After years of bewildering symptoms, I was given a name.

A name is such a gift. Your insides never feel quite settled when you don't know how to identify a thing. A name says, "You're not crazy. You are not alone." These are comforting truths when the disease is isolating and causes you to question your own sanity.

I once had an allergist who was as perplexed by my symptoms as I was. Though I began to react to the allergy shots with increasing violence, he continued administering them along with steroids and epinephrine because he didn't know what else to do. After becoming tired of weekly anaphylaxsis, I ended the treatment. Recently, I encountered another allergist who refused to believe me, concluding I must be crazy because my symptoms did not fit with what he knew. Never have I had a doctor who both believed me and knew what was happening to me until Dr. Park of Mayo Clinic.

God bless this man.

After almost ten years of suffering and an earnest, two-year-long quest for diagnosis, Dr. Park told me on May 27, 2014, I have Mast Cell Activation Disease (MCAD).

Within a few minutes of my initial consultation, he suspected a disease involving the mast cells as opposed to a true allergic disease. Mast cells are found in the body's tissues, and promote immunity in a healthy person's immune system. Modern medicine tells us mast cells are disrupted by IgE antibodies. These antibodies are what allergists are looking for when they perform routine skin and blood tests. When the antibodies attach to a specific antigen such as ragweed pollen, they sensitize the mast cells and crosslink. The mast cells then break apart and dump certain chemicals like histamine, leukotrienes, and other nasties. The difference between true allergies and mast cell disease is the catalyst which angers the cells. With IgE allergies, the trigger is specific. With mast cell disease, the triggers are diverse and numerous.

In my experience, triggers are either debilitating or dangerous. Though the differentiation between debilitating and dangerous triggers varies from patient to patient, there are some commonalities. Common life-threatening triggers are fire ant, wasp, and bee stings. Typical debilitating triggers include high histamine or histamine releasing foods (fermented foods, alcohol, cheese, processed or left-over meats, yeast, many fruits, coffee, chocolate, tomatoes, fish, shellfish, wheat, nuts, soy, dairy, etc.), latex, chemicals, pesticides, fragrances, heat, cold, friction, injury, NSAIDS (Advil, naproxen), pollen, acute illness, and emotional stress. (Insect stings, peanuts/tree nuts, and latex are my most dangerous triggers.)

As you can probably guess, a person has difficulty avoiding this many triggers over the course of even one day, so the mast cells are continually releasing their contents, causing inflammation in all systems of the body. The chronic, widespread inflammation leads to quite a range of seemingly unrelated symptoms. The most common symptoms are flushing, itching, hives, chronic constipation and/or diarrhea, nausea, intestinal cramping, chronic fatigue, headache, wheezing, cough, dizziness, low blood pressure, fainting, fibromyalgia, arthritis, neuropathy, and shock. I have experienced all of these, most on a daily basis.

Because Dr. Park is knowledgeable and well-read, he immediately thought of mast cell disease of which there are several subtypes. Some types are worse than others. There are also a couple of altogether different diseases with similar symptoms. Dr. Park ordered specific blood and urine tests to exclude the possibility of systemic mastocytosis, mast cell leukemia, pheochromocytoma, and carcinoid syndrome. All labs came back normal which indicate MCAD.

According to The Journal of Allergy and Clinical Immunology, the criteria for a diagnosis of MCAD are:

1) Symptoms consistent with mast cell mediator release affecting two or more organ systems.

Check!

2) Other diseases with crossover symptoms ruled out.

Check!

3) A positive response to antihistamines and mast cell stabilizers.

Expected. Dr. Park is confident my symptoms will improve with the help of these drugs.

Basically, MCAD is diagnosed based upon clinical evidence and the exclusion of all other explanations. There is no cure for mast cell disease at this time. Not much is known about the disease other than it is real and it can be managed with a strict diet, lifestyle modifications, and relatively tame medications.

My life is unlikely to ever be "normal," but I'm okay with that. I'm not normal, so why should my life be? I have high hopes that the medications along with the continuation of nutritional therapy with Jennifer, regular treatments with Dr. Yakaboski, and regular chiropractic work with Dr. Frieden will eventually lead to a better quality of life. Insect stings will always be dangerous, I will likely continue to make my own deodorant and toothpaste, and I will usually use essential oils before medication. I have no reason to return to the Standard American Diet (SAD). But maybe I will be able to attend church again. Maybe I will be able to go to a movie with my husband. Maybe I can leave my home without a mask. Maybe I won't feel miserable every time I eat or end up in bed flat on my back with every virus which crosses the threshold.

I have no reason not to hope. God's love has made me bold. My recent encounter with His faithfulness has freed me from fear. I am resting in His Word--

"And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do,
 that the Father may be glorified in the Son.
 If you ask anything in My name, I will do it."
--Jesus, John 14:13-14

Obviously, this verse isn't a blanket promise. God doesn't always do what we ask. But when we abide in Christ, we know better what to ask for. And if we knew everything He knows, we would do things in the exact manner He does things.

I never asked Him for a diagnosis before last Sunday because I never felt compelled by the Spirit until then. I asked with a kind of desperation I had not previously experienced. It was a "do or die" kind of prayer. On Tuesday, God answered my request. While studying Jeremiah 17, I came across this verse:

"Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed;
Save me, and I shall be saved,
for You are my praise."
--Jeremiah 17:14

It has become my new prayer. I don't know when God will heal me, but I believe healing is coming. I don't know to what extent I will be healed, but I am comfortable leaving that decision in the ever capable hands of my wise and loving Father. For now, I will enjoy His goodness I have experienced here in Minnesota, and focus on getting back home to my Superman and red-headed loves. 

May God bless you all for praying me through this experience. I am so humbled and thankful to be a vessel of God's love and power. I am glad you were able to witness it! If you don't know Him, oh how I wish you would! There is no one more worth knowing! If you want to talk, I always have time and energy for conversations about the Savior.

Grace and peace. 

Mayo Clinic Trip: Naked Edition

"Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord,
and whose hope is the Lord.
For he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, 
which spreads out its roots by the river,
and will not fear when heat comes;
but its leaf will be green,
and will not be anxious in the year of drought,
nor will cease from yielding fruit.
The heart is deceitful above all things,
and desperately wicked;
who can know it?
I, the Lord, search the heart,
I test the mind,
even to give every man according to his ways,
according to the fruit of His doings."
-Jeremiah 17:7-10


"If I was a tree," I told Mom as I looked up at its crown, "I would want to be this one."

Our bench sat in its shade. The roots sank thick and sturdy into soft, lakeside soil. Its trunk stood fat and strong at the bottom, and reaching skyward, one became two, became three, became four. Supple boughs hung from brave limbs growing away from Mother, and came to life as the wind rushing off the water proposed a dance. We were mesmerized by the waltz. Sway, two, three. Sway, two, three. How many long seasons of nakedness, of bone-crushing winters she must have endured by the water waiting, waiting to achieve such poise and grace. 

Why must she be naked in winter? I want to know for it seems the Lord requires the same vulnerability from me, and the winter has been long. Ten years I have been sick, frightfully so for two. We began planning this trip six months ago, and here we are waiting, waiting over a long, holiday weekend for test results, for the next step. 

But I am like a tree in Louisiana, shedding its clothes in stages, hanging onto my last layers well into winter. I've been fearful to expose too much, afraid of being hurt. I did not know this about myself until last night when God showed me in the quiet and vulnerability of a bath. It has taken all this waiting to really see myself.

When friends asked why I was going to Minnesota, I would say, "Out of obedience to God," which was true. God made it plain I was to take this trip though I could not see the benefit. In my mind, diagnosis was unlikely and the odds of tolerable treatment options were dismal. I planned and prepared out of duty and love for God, but I dared not hope. Hope leads to disappointment, and disappointment after disappointment wears on a soul.

After the encounter with Arthur on Wednesday, I felt hopeful for the first time. The first time. I met with Dr. Park the next day, and left him feeling that maybe my new found hope was justified. He would check for systemic mastocytosis while doing some gentle "fishing."

And then Friday came along, and pressed the hope right out of me. 

The day was long. I woke before 5 with a twinge in my stomach telling me the day ahead would not be like the day before. I prayed, tried to push it aside, and left the hotel at 6 am. Six in the morning, y'all. The day began with blood work, a necessary photo, and "checking" in the dermatology department. An appointment could not be scheduled until June 23, so I was encouraged to wait to be fit in. I was seen quickly--probably because it was Friday.

Though the doctor was very kind and professional, the appointment was kind of degrading. The hospital gown--if one could call it that--was a joke. I was entirely unclothed and entirely unprepared for such a thorough exam which concluded with no clinical findings of cutaneous mastocytosis, a skin biopsy nonetheless, and a psych referral for anxiety. Apparently, my mask had raised a red flag.

After dropping off my 24 hour urine sample, Mom and I made our way to the psychology department. I had been warned by a friend ahead of time to not resist this appointment. It wasn't too bad. A nice lady asked me many, many questions, which led to the sharing of my story for the next hour. 
The "container of shame"

She peered at me keenly from behind her glasses. "This illness has left you disabled, hasn't it?"

I hadn't thought about it that way. "I suppose it has."

"Do you feel sad, depressed, or hopeless?"

I thought how to answer, and smiled when the words came. "You know, I used to, and I probably still would if it weren't for Jesus. But because of Him, I take joy in my life, and even though my life is small, I feel like it's valuable."

At the end of the appointment, the psychologist and a psychiatrist sat down with me. Were they concerned about anxiety? No. Depression? Nope. They wanted me to see a specialist of behavior modification for my migraines. Migraines. I was baffled. Yes, I have migraines. Yes, they persist, but they don't make the top 10 list of my most pressing complaints. Weird appointment. But they recommended Silver Lake Park to us, so it wasn't a completely wasted visit. 

Afterward, I was starving and on the brink of collapse. We ate lunch in "our" little courtyard, and made our way to The Quiet Room. The Quiet Room is this magical, sound-proofed space filled with hospital grade recliners and darkness. Mom and I both took an overdue nap. A half hour later, I woke with a start feeling strongly my next appointment would be the most discouraging of the day. I prayed and braced myself.

"Our" courtyard. So peaceful and empty. Mask not required.

We waited a long time to see the gastroenterologist, and when we were finally called back I was underwhelmed to say the least. The doctor did not listen to me. I don't think he read my chart. He recommended a gastric emptying test, an endoscopy and a colonoscopy. I asked if he would do a stain for mast cells. He gave me a blank look, and assured me he would biopsy anything which looked abnormal. He had no clue what I was talking about, and had already made up his mind I had Celiac sprue. He asked me for my departure date. I told him Friday the 30th. I left his office with test schedules and instructions for the gastric emptying test, which required me to eat bread, milk, and eggs and drink radioactive water. The scopes were scheduled for the 30th, which would require me to stay another weekend. 

I was so tired at this point, all I could do was let the information crush me. 

The doctor ordered immediate blood work to test for Celiac disease. As I trudged back to the Hilton Building, I was so defeated I knew the only solution was a song. Not really caring if anyone overheard, I sang softly:

Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him,
how I've proved Him o'er and o'er.
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus,
O, for grace to trust Him more.

After labs, we were finally free to leave. While Mom and I waited for the shuttle back to the hotel, she put her remaining brain cells to good use. I could only nod in agreement. No gastric emptying test. Duh. And the scopes--if necessary--could be done at home. Genius! I high-fived Mom for still being able to think. By the time we returned to our room, it had been an 11 hour day at Mayo. I have no idea how I managed it. 

Grace, grace, God's grace. 

Over the weekend, test results trickled in, all coming back normal. I can see all results on Mayo's Portal application, which allows patients to see consult notes, test results, appointments, etc. online. I've trembled inwardly each time I've pulled up my information, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration with each normal lab. I couldn't help but wonder what those trembles meant. 

On Sunday, we went to Silver Lake. Our thoughts and hearts were still as we watched feathered mothers teach their tiny flocks self-sufficiency. 


I read Psalm 1 and Jeremiah 17 aloud to Mom as we gazed at the tree by the water. My tree. Softly, so softly, God began to speak. Through creation and His word, He whispered subtle truths and made connections in my mind. It wasn't until I was naked and alone that He grabbed me by the shoulders. 

I opened my records again on my iPod in the bath, heart beating fast. And suddenly, I knew. I had been lying to myself. The heart is deceitful above all things. We don't even know our own selves. Until God shows us. 

I have been telling everyone I don't know what I want to come of this trip and diagnosis doesn't matter. But if that were true, my heart wouldn't pound so every time I access my records. All along I've been saying, "I don't know what I hope for, so I will hope in God." But what does that mean, really? Here's the truth--I have not allowed myself to want anything too much because I'm afraid of disappointment. Disappointment hurts.

Stoicism may look like faith, but it's a fake. Faith requires risk. Stuffing desires is not risk; it's self protection. It's the very opposite of faith. 

Can I truly claim with Job, "Though You slay me, yet I will trust You" if I don't give God the opportunity to make me bleed, if I don't put my desires on the altar (Job 13:15)?

Here is my honest desire--I want answers, and I want them desperately. 

Suddenly, I was pouring out my heart to the Savior as I sat in the bath, physically and spiritually naked and vulnerable before Him. And it felt good. Nakedness felt wrong in the dermatologist's office where I was being meticulously examined for flaws by indifferent, clinical eyes. In that hotel bathroom, I was being looked upon with the greatest love of the universe by eyes which see me as perfect and radiant. The love made me bold.

For the first time in two years, I begged God for an answer. I pleaded that I would not return home empty-handed. I sobbed with the psalmist in desperation, "Let me not be ashamed!" (Psalm 25:20) For I would be ashamed if I have come up here for nothing, risking my small measure of health and abandoning my family for ten days on a fool's errand. I reminded Him I had prayed for Him to be glorified. "How can you be glorified unless I am given an answer?" I cried through tears. I know my sight is limited and my wisdom is small, but I just can't see it. 

I. am. terrified. It is so scary to make these admissions to myself, more so to make them public. I am standing stark before you, feeling all the cold of uncertainty in my own Winter of Wait. But here is what I know--God brought me up here. God has led me to this terrifying place of risk, trust, and honest faith, and God wants you to see it. There must be a purpose. There just has to be! I don't know what that purpose is exactly, but I know the purpose is good. I know it will showcase His Son.

God gave me these desires. I didn't go looking for them, so I believe He will answer me. I am so, so afraid. But I believe.

Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24)

"Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose hope is the Lord" (Jeremiah 17:7).

Maybe one day I'll attain to the strength and grace of that tree. For now, I'm going out on a limb. 

In Jesus' name, I believe.

Now let's see what He will do. 

Mayo Clinic Trip: Taxi Cab Edition

Aslan is on the move.

Shimmering ripples in the fabric of space and time dazzle our vision here in Minnesota. We stand in awe of the evidences of God's sovereignty. We arrived safely yesterday evening, and though I have been exposed to several triggers which have made me ill, I have not missed a breath or a step. Those Everlasting Arms are flexing (Deuteronomy 33:27). Mercy is holdng me up (Psalm 94:18).


Because this trip was not my idea but God's, I have felt since its inception I should leave the details up to Him. I bathed every decision in prayer. I felt His direction at every turn. But there was one question left unanswered until two weeks before the trip, and we needed to decide--taxi or car rental?

I immediately thought rental. Mom immediately thought taxi. We debated all the practical points. Which would be safest? Which would be the most economical? Which would save us the most stress? We did not know.

I was reading 1 Kings and the book of Acts at the time. In both books, there are examples of God's people casting lots to determine His will. In modern American culture, lot casting is considered to be a game of chance, but the book of Proverbs tells us differently--"The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the Lord" (Proverbs 16:33). Upon the belief God was leading me to determine His will in a new way, I asked Brandon to flip a coin. Tails. Taxi. Okay.

Our first taxi ride was uneventful. The driver was polite and friendly. He wore cologne, but left the windows rolled down. No big.

Today, we needed a ride to the grocery store in downtown Rochester. Once again, the driver was polite and friendly. And interesting. We small talked on the way to The People's Food Co-op without an inkling of how special this ride would be. We were mostly looking forward to the grocery store. Which. was. fabulous.



It was a mecca of organic, Melissa-friendly food and stuffs. Local farmers sell and trade their produce and meats at the store, which makes them available to the public. Most of the produce is organic. All of it is gorgeous. The meat is local and in some cases grassfed. There is also a large selection of specialty items and natural body care products. Mom and I were in grocery shopping heaven. Seriously, this store made the trip feel like a vacation. I could almost ignore the debilitating pain in my stomach, legs, and arms growing, growing, growing as we passed through the aisles. Almost. Until it began taking my breath away.


On the ride back to the hotel, I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit as if to say, "Things are about to get interesting." It took a couple of minutes. We were almost at our destination when our driver began telling us about some of his experiences as a driver.

"I've laughed. I've cried. I've prayed with sick people," he said.

"Cool!" Mom replied. "Do you believe in Jesus?"

"Oh, yes. I used to be a pastor of an Assembly of God church."

He proceeded to tell us how after he had prayed for this one man with cancer, the cancer disappeared to the bewilderment of his doctors. He once led a girl to Christ in the front seat. And then he asked if he could pray for me.

"I would love that," I told him.

He took Mom and I by the hand, and began praying. The Holy Spirit fell in that vehicle. There was power in the prayer. I felt a warmth in my chest and torso I cannot explain. And suddenly, the pain all but vanished. I could breathe evenly again. No longer did I feel the need to hunch or clutch my rib cage. Never have I experienced immediate physical relief during or after prayer, but I did in that moment. I was stunned.

We asked his name. Arthur.

Arthur shared with us he was going through his own time of difficulty. No details. I asked if I could pray for him. He said yes. There were tears. I pulled out a handkerchief.

"This is for you," I said.

I told him my pain was better. He let me out of the car, and I couldn't help but embrace him. I loved him. He is my brother. Forever.


When we walked back upstairs, the cleaning chemicals and intense floral perfume did not overpower me. I have enjoyed pain relief all through the evening. Most of all, I have tremendous assurance we are right where we need to be. God has made trust incredibly easy.

He gave me three signs when I asked for one. He worked out every detail. He ordained we take a taxi. He put Arthur in my path as a result. God is here, and He is up to something good.

Thank you for praying for divine appointments! God has already begun answering your prayers! Glory to His name!

Update on Morgan: Surgery went incredibly well. It was not exploratory after all. Her doctor was able to assess and correct the problem immediately. She was discharged today with her pain under control. Praise God! Thank you for praying!


A Legacy of Grace

Mother's Day is almost here. I've been gratefully thinking of my mother and wondering what kind of mother my children will remember when they are grown. It won't be Supermom. She died long ago. I no longer measure my worth by perfect birthday parties, trips to the zoo, little league, and ballet classes. (Not that I think there is anything wrong with these things. I just can't do them due to my health. If I could, I would!) I don't beat myself up over dirty bathrooms or piled high laundry. I know I don't have to follow the latest Pinterest trends to be a good mother. But last night as I lay wide-eyed in the dark listening to swirling wind and pelting rain batter our little tin roof, I wondered what legacy I am creating for my kids. What impression are my words and actions leaving upon the little souls I care for?

Though I'm glad I have learned not to hold myself to an impossible standard, I know I sometimes allow my illness to excuse bad behavior. I'm ashamed to admit it, but deep down I justify my sharp tone, exasperated sigh, and angry body language with the pain turning my stomach inside out and the fatigue transforming me into a useless rag doll. Extenuating circumstances permit me to withhold empathy from the small boy who late at night cries real tears over real fears which seem ridiculous to me, right?

Wrong. 

My illness does not entitle me to any free passes. I have one shot to make the most of this parenting thing. Disease has stolen so much from me. I cannot play the victim, and allow it to thieve away my best opportunity to make the love of God tangible to my precious ones.

But there is this very real problem of being a sinner. Trial is a wine press--it squeezes and applies pressure until juice is extracted from the fruit. What is inside is what comes out. I exude sin because I am full of sin, full of self. Despite my best efforts, I am unable to live up to even my reduced standards of "good motherhood." I will inevitably fail to be the woman I want to be.

It was with these thoughts anxiety began to use my insides as percussion instruments, almost drowning out the sound of the rain. I remembered how I had endlessly chided Sara for picking the pretty purple flower out of the butterfly garden with a disgusted tremble. I shuddered as I recalled my impatience with the kids as they noisily dragged up chairs to our too-small counter in our too-small kitchen, crowding me out of my workspace, asking to "help," which may be the most exhausting request of all. I saw in my mind's eye two sets of sweet brown eyes filled with confusion and hurt, and had a wild thought--I'm failing! I am ruining my children!

I suddenly realized I was trying on that old cape I thought I had put away two years ago. Supermom may be dead, but the woman left behind is still trying to save herself. She still believes her performance will determine how her kids turn out. Gently, tenderly, Truth sidled up beside her, and whispered to her in the dark--

Micah and Sara don't need another savior. They already have One.
They don't need a perfect mother. They need a penitent one.
They don't need to witness unflinching strength. They need to behold God's glory in human weakness.
They don't need a hero. They need a damsel running again and again to the ultimate Hero with all her inadequacies, failures, and sin.
They need "I'm sorry," "Please forgive me," "Mommy was wrong," and "This is why Jesus had to die--for mommies like me."
Micah and Sara need grace.

Grace doesn't give me permission to be the biggest brat in the house (Romans 6). Rather, it gives me the grit to keep aiming for God's smile in the face of failure. It assures me that He is somehow working good in, through, and in spite of my brokenness. He does that, you know.

Grace holds the balance--I can neither parent so poorly I ensure the destruction of my children nor perform so well that I ensure their success. Grace both covers my failures, and puts me in my place. It supplies a welcoming smile on my tired face when baby birds chirp--"Help! Help! Wanna help!" It provides binding when sharp eyes and words wound tender souls. It silences the broken record-like reproach, and finds a glass jar in which to showcase a purple flower freshly-picked by tiny, well-meaning fists. It calms the fears of a sick mother in the night, inspiring her to rise, lean on fresh mercies, and try again. It fills her with the Sweet Spirit who enables her to love in the little things until the little things make well-worn trails through the little ones' hearts, leading them home to Grace Personified.

The mom who burns her cape is the bravest mom of all. This mom courageously admits her limits, and waits with expectation upon the Lord to perform what she cannot. She plants the seed and pleads for it to be given growth. She knows how weak she is, and trusts in the infinite power of her God. She is a mother on her knees because she knows without her Savior neither she nor her little ones can stand. She knows God is after her dependence, not her capabilities.

I am not the mother the holiday cards talk about. I am the mother who yells and fails and falls flat on her face. But from the ground I call out to my God. My kids hear it. They see it. They drink of the wine pressed out by trial--fermented, aged, entirely transformed by glorious, glorious grace.

Grace, grace, God's grace......

Feet quick to run to Jesus and an extravagant expenditure of grace. This is my legacy. And I'm okay with that.







Happy Mother's Day! 

I have a cape to burn.

The Second Anniversary: In Acknowledgment

The Lord has acknowledged the second anniversary of my health collapse by granting me a rare, good day this 2nd of May in 2014. I was well enough to take the kids outside for a few minutes after lunch. As I soaked in the heat and healing of the sun, I thought about the fact that one day there will be no need of a sun because we will have the Son with us for all eternity. He will be light, warmth and healing forever. The life humming in my cells in response to golden rays is a foreshadowing of the eternal state of my soul. Hallelujah!

The weather was perfect. I listened to songs of breeze and birds. I took the kids over to Dad's up and coming butterfly garden where flowers of every vibrant shade are blooming. We made our way to Daisy's grave where Dad planted the yellow rose bush in her memory. I miss that dog. Honeysuckle climbs the shady pine standing tall next to the little patch of still-bare red earth. I breathed deeply of its sweet, heady perfume. We made plans for the blackberries just beginning to emerge from the blooming brambles in our front yard. There will be pie! I found an autoimmune paleo approved recipe on Pinterest the other day. Lord willing, the kids and I will make it together. I wonder if the berries will be ripe before I leave for Mayo in a couple of weeks.

In the stillness of these moments, I have reflected on the scared, young mother I was two years ago. I quietly bless her heart with a sad, knowing smile. She thought she was dying while--in fact--she was coming alive for the first time.

The road has been admittedly difficult--full of heartache and disappointment. In many ways I am sicker today than I was two years ago. I had every intention of planning my "I'm healed"/30th birthday shindig at this time, but I still don't know the name of my disease--assuming there is a name--and my symptoms remain largely uncontrolled.

Nonetheless, I'm not sorry. I would not trade what I have seen and known of God for perfect health.
I have had the privilege of learning the meaning of the psalmist's words:

"Those who sow in tears
Shall reap in joy.
He who continually goes forth weeping,
Bearing seed for sowing,
Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,
Bringing his sheaves with him."
-Psalm 126:5-6


I have given Jesus my tears and brokenness. In return, He has given joy and wholeness--by giving Himself again and again and again. He is joy. He is wellness. If I miss this, I miss everything.

For all He has brought me through, for all He will do-- 

"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits:
Who forgives all your iniquities,
Who heals all your diseases,
Who redeems your life from destruction,
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and tender mercies,
Who satisfies your mouth with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle's."
--Psalm 103:1-5

I would like to dedicate this beautiful song to my Superman, who has faced with me the difficulties of these past two years with courage and faithfulness. You have loved me as Jesus has loved me--knowing me fully and loving all you know. Thank you, B, for drinking this cup with me, enduring the miles, and not leaving me to face the dragons alone. Happy second anniversary.



If you are new to my blog, I recommend these posts:

The Journey and A Rough Landing: The first post I wrote after my health collapse

The Rough Landing and A Journey: The one year anniversary post

The Upside to Being Laid Low

Things fell apart almost immediately after I posted my most recent health update. I am usually a fan of irony--this time not so much. After posting an encouraging report of my progress, I proceeded to have three back to back food-related reactions, which put me into crisis mode. The morning following the third reaction, I opened my eyes to see Brandon looking me over. "Morning, Sexy," he greeted me with a mischievous gleam in his eye, "you look like you've got the mumps!" And indeed, I felt like I had the mumps.

Everything was painfully swollen, especially the lymph nodes in my face and neck. I could not talk or move without wincing. I could tell my digestive tract was ready to revolt given the smallest opportunity. As post-reaction fasting has never served me well, I opted for a diet of white rice, freshly prepared veggie juice, vegetable purees and a tummy-soothing mixture of slippery elm and marshmallow root powder. I was the most fatigued I have been in a long time. My body could do little else but sleep.

Throughout the week, I improved little by little and was almost back to eating my regular diet when I was hit with another wave of reactions. I inhaled food particles in someone else's home, made skin contact with a preservative wax covering a vegetable I was preparing for dinner, and had a mystery reaction to what may or may not have been Sara's baby wipes. The reaction to the vegetable wax was particularly nasty. I had difficulty speaking, walking, or gathering my thoughts for almost 24 hours. I have not recovered my energy or mental clarity since. 

Over the last two and half weeks, I have spent a lot of time in bed. Rest is nice, but it is not my preferred lifestyle. I like full, productive days. It is a difficult thing to get a good taste of hope only to choke on it. It's hard to feel like things are finally going where I want them to go only to find the path has circled back on me. I dislike full-body pain, the choice between hunger and discomfort caused by eating, and the feeling of being so tired I can't hold my head upright on my neck. I despise the loneliness of a bed, the emptiness of not being able to take care of my children, husband and home. I hate giving up any more of my life to this disease--even quarter inches. Left alone in necessary solitude, I must face my frustrations, doubts, fears and grief. There is no escape.

But even there--

His grace is sufficient for me. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

I have a High Priest who sympathizes with my weaknesses. (Hebrews 4:15)

As the sufferings of Christ abound in me, so my consolation also abounds through Christ. The cosmic scales are always even. (2 Corinthians 1:5)

I am hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed--always carrying about in my body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in my body. (2 Corinthians 4:8-10)

His mercies hold me up. His comforts delight my soul. (Psalm 94:18-19)

He considers my trouble. He knows my soul in adversities. (Psalm 31:7)

He is a shield around me, my glory and the One who lifts up my head. (Psalm 3:5)

Ultimately, it is in these moments of distress I know my Savior best. It is when I am laid low that I enter the veil of Christ's sufferings. If I know pain, He has known it far better. I may face loss, but never more than He. He has insight into grief I will never have for while I have lost a covenant friend, He lost His Friend and Father who had been with Him always, since before time was a concept. He has drunk dry the cup of disappointment, need, and all the wrath of God I deserve. It is when I am laid low enough to taste it with Him, I am invited in--into the inner sanctuary which the happy never see.

It is there I receive something better than happiness. I am able to "rejoice to the extent that [I] partake of Christ's sufferings" (1 Peter 4:13). I am made "exceedingly glad with [His] presence" (Psalm 21:6). Time and time again, my sick bed becomes a magical place where suffering is transformed into joy.

This season of Lent has been difficult. I did not feel God leading me to formally participate, so I didn't. Nonetheless, I have lost without meaning to. I lost my comfort foods when I began my new diet. I lost one of my closest friends. I lost my momentum in the pursuit of health. All of this loss has driven me to study the sufferings of Christ with greater attention to detail. And I have noticed something new.

In His final hours, He never spoke a word on His own behalf. In every gospel account it is written, "He answered nothing" in His own defense. But He speaks for those He loves. He serves them and prays for them until He is taken in the garden (John 13-17). When the soldiers ambush Him, He pleads for His beloved--"If you seek Me, let these go their way" (John 18:8). When from the cross He sees His mother weeping for Him, He provides for her another son to love (John 19:26). He prayed for His persecutors as they bruised and mocked Him (Luke 23:34). In His darkest hour, He looked out.

When I suffer, my instinct is to curl in on myself, but the example I found in my Savior inspired me. In my moment of trouble, there was such a sudden outpouring of need all around me that I could not help but be distracted from my own. My loneliness gave me time to pray. My discomfort made me instinctive about what to pray. My grief granted me empathy. I was not separate from my sufferings friends; I was one of them. I was able to pass along the strength God was lending me. God even gave me opportunities to serve others in a practical way, which is something I am rarely able to do. It was such a delight!

Before I knew it, I had forgotten myself. Forgetting oneself is absolute bliss. Really. I wish I never had to think of myself again. In prayer, God has altered my vision, and in doing so He has altered me. May I never forget that suffering is a privilege and an honor. I am ready for some relief, but I'm not sorry over what has transpired. 

Sick and struggling friends--I have not forgotten you this week. I'm still praying. It's just the fatigue is eating me for breakfast every morning, and all I can do is pray. I believe you need my prayers more than you need my words anyway. Know that when I feel my own exhaustion, pain, hardships, sickness, loneliness, anxieties and grief, I am thinking of yours as well and bringing them all before the Lord who loves us, who gave Himself for us, who is with us and for us through it all. Because of the cross. Because of the resurrection.

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Happy Easter.




The Art of Tug of War

 
I am learning the art of tug of war. For two years, I have battled on both sides of the rope. On one side is acceptance of my lot. John Newton once wrote, "Everything is needful that He sends; nothing can be needful that He withholds." For reasons known only to Him, the Lord deems my trial needful. I do not understand, but I trust the heart that bled for me. On the other side of the rope is the full collection of my efforts to be well, which are many and varied. I never stop trying. I don't feel allowed. As much as God wants me to gratefully accept what He has justly and righteously given, He also wants me to want to be well. The only surrender I am permitted is to His plan for my life, not to this illness. It's an exhausting game, but I hold my grip for the grip of Sufficient Grace on me.

After numerous dead ends, setbacks, and advancements on one front as I lost ground on another, I am thrilled to report I am finally, undeniably better.
  • My reactions are not as severe as they once were. This time last year, I was going into anaphylactic shock 1-3 times per week caused by an assortment of triggers. As I write this, I cannot recall the last time I "shocked." I still experience chest tightness, a barking cough, mental confusion and an overwhelming drunken sensation during acute episodes, but these symptoms are not life threatening. We know how to deal with them. And thankfully, I am no longer terrifying my family on a regular basis. I continue to react to a frustrating number of things most people would never consider to be unsafe, but the receding strength of my reactions gives me hope that one day I may live a life with fewer walls.
  •  I have more energy. I continue to experience fatigue, but it feels more manageable now. I don't think it's easier just because I'm used to it. I don't think anyone ever gets used to feeling like standing is the healthy person's equivalent to a half marathon. I just understand it better and can anticipate it with more accuracy, which makes it livable.
  • For the most part, my pain remains manageable. I have good days and not so good days. I can't do everything I want to do, but I can do most of it without pain taking me over.
  • During my check up with Dr. Yakaboski this week, my thyroid, adrenal and liver function all showed improvement! Praise the Lord!
Truly, God has done this. He has heard and honored our prayers. His hand has been so evident, His direction perfectly clear. He has given my doctor wisdom concerning my needs. He has sent people into my life to offer me a helping hand. He has given me the strength and resolve to press on each step of the way. Thank you for "helping together in prayer for us, that thanks may be given by many persons on [my] behalf for the gift granted to [me] through many" (2 Corinthians 1:11). Please don't stop praying!

I want you to know where your prayers have led my family and me. So in the spirit of full disclosure, I will share a few key elements which have helped me to heal:

  • Let's get this one out of the way: Daily (and sometimes twice daily) coffee enemas. TMI, I know. Whatever. Let's get over it together, shall we? They have been a huge help in reducing my histamine burden and toxic load. My entire body feels instantly better afterward, especially during acute episodes. Coffee enemas are a key aspect of natural cancer treatment per recommendation of The Gerson Institute. You can read an article about it here. My friend Caroline (aka Gutsy) also has an informative post about coffee enemas if you are curious about the method to my madness. 
  • Stress management. We all know that stress is bad for us, a fact which is doubly true for people with chronic illness. Stress is an actual trigger for mast cell activation disease patients, and can cause anaphylaxsis all by its lonesome. I have been forced to learn to manage my stress. I realize that not everyone can live how I live. Some people work 9 to 5 jobs or are full-time students, some mothers have 8 children and some people have zero familial or community support. Nevertheless, I think everyone can afford to adopt at least one of the following principles:  

    •  Prioritize your life by what must be done today, what should be done today, and what can wait until tomorrow. Guard your "spoons" so you can do the things which matter most. 
    •  Have a plan, but hold it loosely. This helps you to balance rising above your disease and giving yourself permission to be sick. Frustration about your illness only adds to your stress load. Believe me. Holding your plans loosely also gives the Holy Spirit an opportunity to shape your day as He sees fit. His plans are always better than yours. Living life at the ready for Him to sweep through and involve you in something eternal is the most adventurous and fun way to live!
    • If you are able to get out of the home, limit yourself to one event for the day. No more. If you work or go to school, that is your one outside event for the day.
    • If you are running behind on dinner or kids are whining or you feel the pressure of a million things left undone, STOP, BREATHE DEEPLY, AND PRAY. God is eager and able to give you the grace you need to complete the tasks of the day. Running about all frantic and flustered helps no one, least of all you.
    • Smile, laugh, sing and dance as often as you can. Especially if you don't feel like it. Force feed yourself with happiness.
    • Spend time outdoors. Fresh air and sunshine are good for all the bits that make you you.
    • Reserve time every day to do something creative or enjoyable. I learned this one from my Jenny. She was good at knowing what was good for people.
    • Take mornings slowly as often as you can. Sleep in whenever possible.
    • Limit toxic and difficult relationships. Many people would advise you to nix these relationships altogether, which is great advice in very particular situations. But I often find it is neither practical nor biblical to completely sever all ties with the unlovables in our lives. Many of these relationships cannot be escaped for one reason or another, and Jesus calls us to love the difficult ones because He does. But create boundaries. Boundaries are a form of love. No one should be allowed to have a free go at you whenever they please. It's not good for you or for them.
    • Deep breathing and meditation. I recommend specific meditations such as memorized scripture and reflections upon God's character, His blessings, and His history of faithfulness with you. Read and ponder His promises in the Bible. These good, wholesome thoughts nourish and invigorate the soul, which is what stress management is all about.
    • Count your blessings. Keep a gratitude journal. Anger and bitterness (stressors) cannot find entry into a thankful heart.
  • Daily detox baths. I take a 30-45 minute bath every day using 2 small scoops of magnesium crystals and sometimes add either 2-3 cups of organic apple cider vinegar or 1 cup of bentonite clay.
  •  Regular exercise. I have experienced health slumps which have caused brief lapses in the discipline, but if I can at all, I do--usually 4 or 5 days per week. I like a mixture of low impact cardio and yoga. Usually, I use the Wii Fit board as a step, and walk up and down while I watch something on Netflix. Sometimes, I do a few minutes of light rebounding sitting on the side of my bed. I try to do at least a little yoga at the end of every workout. Yoga is my favorite. I like it because it's challenging without being harmful or dangerous for my joints, and it makes me feel oh so good.
  • Twice monthly lymphatic drainage treatments at Dr. Yakaboski's office. My frequent reactions cause my lymph nodes to swell painfully. These treatments give me welcome relief from discomfort and healing support for my body. During the treatment, Dr. Yakaboski also performs acupressure work to balance my emotions using a technique called B.E.S.T. A particular application of this technique, which takes the body out of "fight or flight" mode, has proven to be life saving for me during anaphylactic shock. I have purchased the instructional DVDs so my family can learn to perform it in case of fire ant or wasp stings this summer.
  • Twice monthly chiropractic treatments. I firmly believe chiropractic care is essential for overall health. If the spine is not properly aligned, the body is not operating optimally. My chiropractor specializes in a program called Total Body Modification (TBM). TBM is another form of acupressure work (dealing primarily with the acupressure points on the spine) which can treat specific symptoms as well as support the operation of full body systems. I use the most basic TBM techniques for every acute allergic reaction at home, and have Dr. Frieden do the more complex, fancy-schmansy stuff in her office during my visits. Last October, I told her of my anaphylactic reactions to every little thing. She performed a specific TBM sequence, and since then I have had significantly fewer and less severe episodes of anaphylaxsis.
  • Regular at-home BioSet and TBM treatments. These acupressure treatments slow or stop reactions very quickly. It's like pressing a "reset" button on my body. It's difficult to explain what it is or how it works, but I love my sister's take on it. After having a systemic reaction to Chinese food, she asked me to treat her even though she isn't much into my hippie ways. She came over to the house and after the treatment, she commented, "That is some weird crap, but I feel a lot better!"
  •  Nutritional therapy as directed by nutritional therapist, Jennifer Nervo of the blog 20 Something Allergies. I discovered her blog in September 2012, and have followed her ever since. Her Baby Steps to Better Health series helped me a ton in the early days of my illness. For 18 months, she has assisted me as I have fumbled and bumbled about in an effort to get food safely into by body. She is now directing that effort. We've only just begun the nutritional protocol, but I have been implementing a few new-to-me concepts for several weeks now to which I have responded quite well. Jennifer understands how food works for the body, how the sensitive body responds to food, four day food rotation cycles for allergies, low histamine diets, and how to target autoimmune and mitochondrial disease with a specific nutritional approach. She knows each patient comes to her with individual needs, and she tailors her knowledge to fit those needs. I plan to post about my experience after I make it through the second rotation cycle early next week.
  • Healthful miscellany: 
    • Rest and refusal to feel guilty about rest
    • Sunshine and fresh air as often as weather and health permit
    • Humbly and gratefully accepting help from others
    • Avoiding triggers (i.e. staying away from crowds and uncontrolled environments; avoiding foods which make me sick; letting others handle and wash new clothing; having Brandon screen all of my mail for scents and chemicals)
    • Wearing a double mask any time I leave my home. It's social suicide, of course. It earns me lots of stares--some curious, some dubious--and very few hellos. Children are afraid of me. But it keeps me alive and mostly well. 
I will not lie to you. None of these things have come easily. It's been a slow, laborious process. Each component was implemented during a different season of my illness, and some of them have required a great deal of courage and trust. The battle for my health is costly in every way something can be costly, but it is not waged out of angst, bitterness or desperation. Mysteriously, the God of Paradoxes has created a paradox within me--I gratefully accept my disease as a good gift given out of God's righteous wisdom while I fight the disease like the assault from the Enemy it is.

It's a tug of war. Gratitude and desire. Contentment and fury. Surrender to the Lord and defiance of the Enemy. The rope must remain taut or I fall. It's exhausting and impossible apart from Christ. But through Him, I can do all things. He is the strength of my resolve, the power behind my work, and the song in my heart.

"Unless the Lord had been my help
my soul would soon have settled in silence.
If I say, 'My foot slips,' 
Your mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.
In the multitude of my anxieties within me,
Your comforts delight my soul."
-Psalm 94:17-19

Afraid to Hope: My Feelings About Mayo

From the moment I made the decision to go to Mayo Clinic, I doubted myself. Not for a moment have I truly believed I will receive help there. Not for a moment. The best outcome I can foresee is a possible diagnosis, and I am not certain I will even receive that. I have changed my mind a hundred times. The question I have asked again and again is, "Is a diagnosis worth risking my life and health, leaving my husband and children for a long period of time, placing this burden upon my entire family, lending myself to the mercy of doctors and a system I do not trust, subjecting myself to a myriad of dangerous and painful tests, and incurring an incredible medical debt?"

My mind answers with a resounding "no." I have done my research. I am aware of the recommended treatments for mast cell activation diseases, and I have tried them. They didn't help. Thus, I turned to natural medicine. I stand by my choice. I am aware of several people with mast cell disease who have improved using natural methods. Looking to Mayo feels like a betrayal of my beliefs. The idea of leaving my husband and children for an indeterminate amount of time grips my heart with steel and ice. When I imagine what it will be like up there, I cannot breathe. But when I stop mentally listing the meager pros and numerous cons and bring my struggle before the Lord, I am enveloped in an ubiquitous sense of peace I cannot argue away.


During the early pitch black hours of February 1, thought and spirit were battling once again when I recalled the story of Gideon. I had read Judges 6 the morning before. The story begins with Gideon threshing grain in secret for fear of the greedy, destructive Midianites who were oppressing Israel at the time. In his fear, the Lord declares to Gideon, "The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor!" (v. 12) God tells Gideon he will save Israel from the Midianites, but he was slow to believe. Gideon was least in his father's house and of the weakest clan of his tribe (v. 15) and very like me--lily-livered. He felt the enormity of the calling, and it terrified him. He knew he would not be able to take the first step unless he was beyond certain the Lord was with him. So he asked for a sign. And another. And another--until he was forced to believe the word of Yaweh.

When I read the story, I certainly identified with Gideon, but what struck me is God's response. God could have passed him over or killed him for his lack of faith, but He patiently fulfilled all three signs--each one slightly more ridiculous than the one before. The reason for God's patience, I think, is that He saw in Gideon a heart willing to obey Him even to his death if only he could be sure it was God leading him there. I think this resolve is the reason God calls him "a man of valor." He doubted himself, not God. So the Lord did what was necessary to meet Gideon where he was in his mustard seed sized faith, proving to His man that He was with him. It was God's response to Gideon that gave me the courage to ask Him for a sign of my own.

Up until then, I was trusting the fulfilled sign my mother had been given, the wisdom of the three praying women I consider to be my spiritual mentors, and the deep seated feeling in the center of my stomach telling me to go in spite of my hesitation. For a person with a bit more faith, these things probably would have been sufficient. But I am like Thomas--disbelieving the evidence of my own eyes because my mind is so assured of the facts.

I told Him I couldn't go to Mayo unless I was absolutely certain He wanted it. I couldn't do it to myself or my family. I could only go if I knew. So I asked God to do something simultaneously difficult and easy. I asked for a good word about Mayo from an unbiased source if I was to go and a bad word about Mayo from an unbiased source if I was not to go. I told Him I wouldn't make an appointment until I had an answer. I was honestly hoping I wouldn't have to make an appointment at all.

The sign was difficult because I don't often speak with unbiased sources. I see or hear from about ten people on a weekly basis, and two of those are my kids. Everyone close to me has an agenda, and though those agendas differ, the aim of them all is my improvement. These people love me fiercely, and they all have different opinions about what is best for me. Not one of them was qualified to give the word. So that left phone calls and Facebook, and it's unusual to get an unbiased opinion on Facebook. The request was also easy because it was just a word and well--it's God. He can make a donkey speak if He wants.

On February 5, I was driving into town for an appointment and making conversation with Jesus. I told Him that I knew how He did things. I knew He was going to wait until the last possible minute to deliver the sign. He may even seem late to me, but I believed He would send the word. I was watching and waiting for it.

Later that evening, I had an impromptu Skype session with my friend, Madonna Gil. I don't remember which one of us brought up the topic--Madonna told me she had considered going to Mayo for her own disease, but she wasn't sure they could do anything for her. As she said this, I was preparing to tell her about the sign I had asked of the Lord. Before I could get it out of my mouth, she told me that her former roommate's parents had both gone to Mayo, had loved it and strongly encouraged her and anyone to go.

There it was: an entirely unbiased good word. Madonna even echoed my own feelings about the place. I told the Lord only a few hours prior that I was watching and waiting. The sign was on the tip of my tongue as she gave it. And still I tried to explain it away! I argued details like "It wasn't her experience" and "I may have been the one to bring up the subject, so it doesn't count." I didn't know how badly I didn't want to go until that moment. A corner of my mind fretted and prayed about the thing as my friend and I continued our conversation until a sharp, clear command rolled across my brain like one of those moving LED banner screens--"Stop! I have delivered the sign you asked for just as you asked for it."

I shared the entire story with my friend before we ended our conversation. "You were the mouthpiece of God for me today, and I hate you just a little bit for it," I told her with a smile. "I wanted the answer to be 'no.'"

I thought about what I was going to have to do as I laid upon my bed that night, which resulted in an acute panic attack. I thought about how I'm going to be in a nasty, toxic hotel room that will make me very sick, how I'm going to have to go into a hospital full of chemicals and people and doctors who are going to look at me like a commitable lunatic, how I'm going to have to subject myself to tests which could be extremely painful and even life threatening for me, how I'm going to be so very lonely even with my mother there, how I'm going to yearn for my husband and children, how I'm going to be the sickest I've ever been in my life, how hard it's going to be to source and prepare food I can eat while being that sick, how much it will cost, how I could get sicker or even die while there. And all for what? A diagnosis?

In my turmoil, I remembered that God is not the author of fear. I found some peace through prayer and scripture which came to mind. I acknowledged that God was within His rights to send me to my death if He wished, and if He was going to kill me, I was sure He had a perfectly good reason.

Real peace came the next morning. I was reading Judges 13 in which the Angel of the Lord came to Manoah and his wife to tell them they would have a son who would begin to deliver Israel from the Philistines. Manoah offered to prepare a meal for the Angel before He left them, but Manoah was instructed to offer a burnt offering instead. The Lord ascended to heaven on the flame of the offering, and the spectacle was so magnificent that Manoah and his wife fell on their faces. Manoah lamented that he would surely die because he had seen the glory of the Lord.

"But his wife said to him, 'If the Lord had desired to kill us, He would not have accepted a burnt offering and a grain offering from our hands, nor would He have shown us all these things, nor would He have told us such things as these at this time.'" (Judges 13:23)

Even now, tears spring to my eyes as I ponder God's goodness, faithfulness, kindness and patience.

The Fear immediately retaliated against my joy, attempting to quell the beacon of light shining into my heart. "It will be the darkest hour of your life thus far," he whispered.

A brighter light--"I AM nearest when the night is darkest."

I trembled at the thrilling thought. Oh! How near and precious He has been in the past! Do I dare to imagine greater joy and intimacy? For that I'll go! It will be worth it!

I would like to tell you doubt no longer plagues me, but I can't. I feel like I'm giving up on something I haven't given a fair chance to work. I feel like I'm betraying a part of myself. I really believe in natural, holistic medicine. Though it may not be evident to everyone, I am better because of it. My family is better because of it. When people come to me for advice, I share the gospel of natural medicine as freely as I share the gospel of Jesus Christ. I wouldn't do that if I didn't have faith in it.

But natural medicine cannot be my Savior. I already have One, and He demands all of my faith and trust. I do not serve an ideology. I serve a Living God who is wild, multifaceted, unpredictable and relentless. He will do what He wants, how He wants, using who He wants. He has reminded me that just because He is now leading me to Mayo Clinic doesn't mean He is leading me away from natural medicine. Though I am venturing to a new place, I am not to abandon what I have learned. Instead, I will use it as a shield and filter for the next leg of the journey. 

And who knows? I may be wrong. I'm often wrong, and God likes to point out my wrongness at every turn. Maybe they can help me. Whether they can or not, nothing can be allowed greater respect and reverence in my life than the Spirit of the Lord. I am first and foremost His. I am not my own. I must follow where He leads even when I don't understand. Even when I disagree. As Timothy Keller says, "Obedience is hard; disobedience is impossible."

Truly, this is a leap of faith for me. I am diving head first into the unknown. The mist is thick and the darkness deep. I haven't the smallest inkling of how far I will fall or what the terrain is like at the bottom of the abyss. I am afraid to hope. If I hope, I may find myself in a sea of disappointment, and those are treacherous waters indeed. But there is one thing I can count on--no matter how far I fall, "underneath are the everlasting arms" (Deut. 33:27).


Please pray:
  • for peace and courage
  • for needed arrangements (private flight, hotel with kitchen, local source of safe food, appointments, child care, family care, transportation while we are there)
  • for the doctors I will see
  • for all of God's purposes to be fulfilled
  • for safety
  • for my man and kids
I will call in a couple of weeks to set up my appointments. I will update here as things unfold. I am excited to experience and share what God has in store!

Update:

My body is still struggling with daily reactions, fatigue and insomnia. Recently, my pain has been especially bad, particularly in my joints and lower back. I am very excited to report that Jennifer Nervo, a nutritional therapist and author of the blog 20 Something Allergies has taken on my case. The idea is to thoughtfully nourish myself to better health! Once I begin dietary and supplemental protocol, I will post regular reports of my improvement on Facebook and/or here. 

Also, I have an opportunity to safely attend church now! My grandparents' congregation is small, and only a handful of regular attendees go to the Sunday night service. My grandparents have offered to ask everyone to omit their fragrances for my sake. When I am feeling strong and well, I will attend services there. I am thrilled! I have really missed church!

The Secret of the Cosmic Scales

I have been on quite the journey since Thanksgiving. My latest little crisis forced me to face some harsh realities--physically, emotionally and spiritually--and though I am a bit bruised with all the jolting around, I am in a better place for it. The Lord's leading isn't always gentle, but hallelujah!--He never lets go of the hand that reaches for Him.

As our burdens press us, weighing us down, He is present in equal measure, holding us up with His mercies (Psalm 94:18). In Morning by Morning, Charles Spurgeon writes about what I call "The Secret of the Cosmic Scales," based on 2 Corinthians 1:5--"Here is a blessed proportion. The Ruler of providence bears a pair of scales--in this side He puts His people's trials, and in that He puts their consolations. When the scale of trial is nearly empty, you will always find the scale of consolation in nearly the same condition. When the scale of trial is full, you will find the scale of consolation just as heavy. When the black clouds gather most, the light is more brightly revealed to us...." (from February 12).

Sometimes the light brings warmth and clarity. Sometimes it exposes the darkest corners of the heart. I have experienced both as you will see in my journal entries. (These entries have been edited for the sake of space, grammar, flow and a small measure of privacy.)

_________________________________________________________________________________

11/29/13

"I think it's time to look into a major research hospital like John Hopkins or Mayo," Mom said. Her thoughts were echoed by my prayerful grandmother later in the day.

Miserable and confused though I am in the wake of my latest reaction and resulting flare, I am not so sure. The words resonate in the deep places, but I am afraid. I fear the danger, the expense, the difficulty, the time away from my kids, the hardship on my family, but most of all I fear the possibility of being disappointed--again. I'm not sure I could take it. If I go, I must know beyond all question God wills it.

Brandon and I are against this, God. So if it is Your will, change our minds.

11/30/13

I talked to Mom on the phone this morning. She has been researching. She believes I have a type of "mast cell activation disease." If so, Mayo is the place to go.

After reading several medical articles about the disease, I am almost certain she is correct. While there is no way to be sure without proper testing, it is the only disease we know of which covers all of my symptoms, and indeed, I have almost all of them. It explains not only everything I am experiencing in this moment, but also what I have experienced throughout my life. I am both thrilled to have answers and saddened to discover there is no cure. Mast cell disease is usually managed by a mountain of medication (which I am unwilling to take) and avoidance of triggers (which I am already doing to the best of my ability).

So, what can they do for me at Mayo? I have already proven that I do not tolerate antihistamines or steroids. I see little point in the exercise. Why go if I cannot tolerate treatment? I can change my diet and continue my routine here.

From Jesus Calling: "Talk with Me about whatever is on your mind, seeking my perspective on the situation. Rather than trying to fix everything that comes to your attention, ask Me to show you what is truly important. Remember that you are en route to heaven, and let your problems fade in the Light of eternity."

"I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
I will guide you with My eye." --Psalm 32:8

Lord, I give you my problems. Please show me what is important to You.

12/3/13

I suppose there is no harm in running a couple of preliminary tests locally. As clear as a whisper in my ear, God spoke the name, "Dr.__________," which is interesting because of all the doctors I have seen, he may be my least favorite. Sigh. I will call his office.

12/4/13

"Be humble and pretend to be unintelligent," I was advised prior to today's appointment with Dr. ________, but I had already ruined the appointment before I arrived at the office. I was unaware I was speaking with the nurse when I scheduled the appointment the day before. My words were pretty snarky and sarcastic, which alerted me to something rotten within myself. I said stupid things stupidly. From the moment the nurse attached my face to my name and voice, she was cold. As was Dr.___________. He was obviously warned of me. He probably remembered me, too, which couldn't help.

I took the advice I was given. I was soft spoken. I put my inner Hermione Granger aside, and pretended to be clueless. But he called me out when he grew tired of listening to my long list of symptoms for the second time. "So what would you like me to do? Why are you here?" he asked. Because I had told the nurse which tests I wanted run when I scheduled the appointment, he already knew the answer to the question and was waiting for me to ask. The entire exercise was awkward and unpleasant, and it's all my fault. He softened just a bit at the end of the appointment when I said, "I appreciate all your help," but irrevocable damage has been done by my lack of discretion. The fact that he thinks I'm a hypochondriac doesn't help matters.

However, I have learned something about myself from the experience: I have been deeply hurt, and I blame medical doctors for my pain. But that isn't fair. First of all, no doctor goes about trying to hurt his patients. They may not always know how to help, but they never intentionally do harm. Also, Dr. ____________ tried to run these tests 18 months ago. I apparently refused them though I have no recollection of the term "tryptase" prior to last week, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't have understood the significance then. Doctors are only human. They have all been blinded until now. The doctors did not cause my suffering; God did. God blinded them.

For years, I have blamed doctors for their poor and inadequate treatment when the truth is that God could have turned on a light bulb for any one of them had He wanted to. Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that He didn't want to. He has me on a journey, and the destination is not all about physical healing. It may not be about that at all. He has a purpose in mind, and His purposes are all good whether or not they include diagnosis, treatment and healing. I have to let go of my pain which comes from the anger, defensiveness, and blame I feel toward the medical community, which I now need. Doctors are not my enemy. 

Here I am, Lord. I blame You. I blame You, and I thank you for my pain; not because pain is good, but because You are good and you mean this pain for my good. My pain, my deep hurt, is a mercy because it sends me to You. I acknowledge that you have darkened minds and will shine a light when and where and upon whom You will.

12/7/13

As I was crying moments ago over the life and death of David Brainerd as told in Piper's The Hidden Smile of God, the thought came to me--"How carelessly Brainerd and Jonathan Edwards regarded health." In answer, God replied, "And you hold it altogether too precious." Out of the exchange flowed a liquid revelation. I could only float along--

I must be careful to view my health, whether good or poor, as a tool for God to wield as He desires for His glory. It is better to hold it in mean esteem than to hold it too dear. Souls are at stake. My soul, Brandon's soul, the souls of my children and whoever else God places in the wake of this illness. Eternal souls are far more precious than mortal lives, than my mortal life. I must be careful of idolatry.

12/9/13

I don't know the correct course. Every time I think I know the next several steps to take, I encounter something which holds me back. I am still "The Planner." I want to know what's next and prepare myself, but God is asking me to trust, to wait, to obey. I remind myself my burden is light in comparison to the weight of glory (2 Corinthians 4:17).

12/11/13

Struck with insomnia once again, I spent some dark, quiet moments in prayer tonight before rising out of bed to write. At least insomnia can be useful. I was praying for ____________ and ______________, telling the Lord how hopeless their situations seemed to me. He spoke the word "seemed" back to me with emphasis. Because of Jesus, no situation is truly hopeless. Their is hope in life and in death "because we do not look at the things which are seen but the things which are unseen because the things which are seen are temporary [not real] and the things which are unseen are eternal [true, real] (2 Corinthians 4:18)." So I prayed for them and others and myself that we would all have eternal eyes, that we would know "the hope of [our] calling, the glorious riches of [our] inheritance in the saints and the exceeding greatness of His power toward us who believe (Ephesians 1:18-19)."

12/13/13

My test results all came back negative. All this means is that I am unlikely to have systemic mastocytosis, and I will receive no further help from Dr. _________ unless it's a psychiatric referral. I don't know what to do. A big part of me just wants to drop it, and continue as I am. I feel no inclination to pursue diagnosis or avoid it. I feel totally at peace. I will put this aside until after Hannah's wedding. I must concentrate on being well enough to attend.

________________________________________________________________________________


I was able to attend the wedding with very few complications. Praise the Lord! On Sunday, I wrestled as I rested and recovered. It was not a struggle of fear. I was simply asking as Abraham did in Genesis 15, "Oh Lord God, how shall I know?" I was back and forth on whether to pursue things further, feeling like I should but questioning my motives and weighing the cost.

I found a couple of mast cell disease groups on Facebook, and read several posts. As I read the stories and questions of others, I began to understand the value of a diagnosis. We must understand things in our minds at some level before our hearts can believe them. I needed to know the practical points of having a diagnosis before being convicted of its worth.

1) Without a diagnosis, I can get very little accomplished in the medical community. Running tests and getting at-home care have proven to be a bit of a nightmare. With a diagnosis, the specialists I encounter are less likely to think of me as a nutter and actually work with me.

2) If I ever have an accident or need surgery, I need a diagnosis in my records so the doctors/surgeons will know to be careful with me and be prepared for life threatening situations during and after surgery.

3) If something happens to Brandon and I am unable to work, I need to be able to apply for disability. I must have a diagnosis to do that.

4) Many conditions are genetic. It is important I know what is wrong with me so I can better care for my children. They already share several of my symptoms though theirs are not as severe at this time.

And there are other reasons. Shallow and stupid though it is, I want a name to give people when they ask me what is wrong with me. I don't care they won't understand the name or what it means; I just want to be able to give an explanation in five words or less. Knowing what is wrong will give me better insight in caring for myself. I will likely continue with natural medicine exclusively because antihistamines and steroids have turned on me in the past and because I have found mast cell disease patients who are doing quite well only using natural protocol, but it is never a bad thing to know the treatment options. Also, I have a rabid curiosity that needs to be put down. And I can trust that whatever it is that is wrong with me, whether it's mast cell disease or something else, Mayo will dig until they find it.

It was Monday morning before I officially decided I would pursue diagnosis with Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. I also decided I will wait until May. I will have to be away for a minimum of two weeks, so we will need all hands on deck. My mom finishes school in early May. She may actually be my travel companion due to the length of the stay and her background in medical laboratory science. Six months also gives me time to arrange my affairs. If we fly, I will have to arrange a private flight. Driving will require lots of planning. I need to find a suitable place to stay. Hotel rooms do atrocious things to my health. The kids will need looking after. And six months gives God time to redirect us if He wishes.

I have been consistently asking God for clarity, and He gave it to me Monday night. My sweet friend, Caroline, who is much like me in health and beliefs about healing, is also in the middle of a health crisis. In rare form, she visited the ER the other night and was referred to none other than Mayo Clinic in Rochester. She spent the day there today (Tuesday). We often find ourselves on similar wavelengths concerning our health. I was astounded that the day I made my decision, she was referred to the very hospital we have chosen. How very kind of God to confirm my decision in such a clear, personal way!

So you see, on one side of my "cosmic scales" sat a health crisis and all the grief that accompanies it, a big decision, revelation and repentance of hidden sin, and a major family event. On the other was God's exquisite nearness, loving rebuke, clear direction and extravagant goodness. I am still amazed that I am happiest when life gets hard, but that is the reality of life lived with Jesus Christ.

You may be struggling as I am to "get into the Christmas spirit" this year. I haven't been in the mood for festivities. I haven't had much patience for Christmas pop tunes. Give me Christmas worship! Worship is what the heavy-laden spirit needs. I invite you to experience with me the greatest gift of Christmas--Emmanuel, God with us. No matter the brand or weight of your suffering, God sees. He knows. He cares. Little or big. Sickness or grief. Draw near to Him this Christmas season. Rest your head upon His breast. Allow Him to fill your loneliness, provide balm to your wounds and bring joy to your sorrow. Blessed are you if you mourn. You will be comforted. Blessed are you if you hunger. You will be satisfied. (Matthew 5)

"Troubled believer, do not fret over your heavy troubles, for they are the heralds of weighty mercies."
--Charles Spurgeon, Morning by Morning, February 12.

A Quick Update and Prayer Requests

On Friday morning, I had an allergic reaction after breakfast. Thinking I had developed an egg allergy, I was crushed. Thanks to the guidance and wisdom of the Lord, I discovered the problem--too many high histamine foods in my diet. A combination of kombucha, tomatoes and tomato products, cinnamon, curry, cumin, berries, dried fruit and eggs sent me into a hyperimmune state, and I am currently unable to eat. Again.

Mostly, I am relieved. No true egg allergy! Yay! And the fact that I was able to catch the problem before I worsened is a huge blessing. On the other hand, it's frustrating to be in the same old place again. I feel very unwell. I am working hard to chug the water through burning and discomfort, so I don't become dehydrated.

My doctor treated me today at her home with energy work, Zyto and RIFE. She is fabulous, isn't she? Another blessing! I feel better after the treatment, but need to continue my fast well into tomorrow. I will also be detoxing as I do after each treatment, so I will be uncomfortable to say the least. I hope to be ready to eat a little something at dinner tomorrow night, but will have to wait and see. I will know if I will be ready for food when I take my supplements tomorrow afternoon. If I tolerate them well, I will eat dinner.

I need to get well quickly. My sister's wedding is two weeks from yesterday, and I really want to be well enough to stand with her. We also have a family vacation planned immediately after Christmas. I don't want to ruin our plans....for the thousandth time.

Please pray for:

1) Strength of body and my "inner man"; renewed hope and sufficient grace.

2) Quick improvement.

3) Health to attend Hannah's wedding and family vacation.

4) Brandon. His load is overwhelming when I get like this.

5) The kids. They feel very off-kilter when Mama isn't well enough to care for them.

6) Wisdom and clarity. We are always seeking guidance from the Lord concerning my health. For better or worse, we have only gone where He has led. It is possible He is leading somewhere new and--frankly--quite risky and difficult.  We are not in a hurry to make a decision. I have no interest in rushing desperately into another dead end or turning away from a door the Lord has opened. We will wait for clear direction with eyes, minds and hearts wide open.

7) God's glory in our suffering. His glory is worth it all.

Thank you for praying for my family through another difficult time.


"It is said that in some countries trees will grow, 
but will bear no fruit, because there is no winter there."
 --John Bunyan


Jubilee Farm

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I so enjoy gathering with family over a delicious, bountiful meal, looking into the faces of those I love. It causes me to ponder Heaven--an eternal feast with our Savior and the family of God. My heart flies with joy in the day and hope for the future. Christmas is great, but we have brought much "doing" into it. Thanksgiving still allows me to "just be" with beloved souls as I contemplate the goodness of God.

For as long as I can remember, my mother's family has gathered in my grandparents' living room on Thanksgiving night. Before the feast, we bless the meal and share one thing for which we are grateful. We have so many blessings from which to choose. The room which once seemed spacious is now quite snug due to the marriages and babies of my generation. There is food enough to fill us all. We have been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb. Our answers range from "toilet paper" to "Jesus Christ" with many things in between. There is always laughter. There is always at least one "amen."

Due to my extreme sensitivities, I will not be able to join them this year. The thought saddens me, but I don't see why I have to break from all tradition. If I could be with them tonight, upon my turn to give thanks, I would answer, "Jubilee Farm."

To truly appreciate my answer, a story must be told.

Early in 2012, my dad had a difficult decision to make. He could retire at the end of the school year, or continue a job he no longer enjoyed in order to secure a more comfortable retirement. Dad's health was deteriorating, but if he resigned my parents would no longer be able to afford their house. Mom encouraged him to retire anyway.

My parents brainstormed about possible jobs my dad could do. A bad back is a bigger obstacle than one might think when considering a career change at the age of 60. They asked the Lord to guide them, and waited with eyes wide open.

One day, Mom came upon Proverbs 27:27--"There will be enough goats' milk for your food, for the food of your household and maintenance for your girls." (ESV)

She shared the scripture with Dad. "Maybe you could farm," Mom suggested. "You can grow our food, and maybe even make a little money." Dad once wanted to farm for a living, but his grandparents discouraged him so he went to college instead. Mom has always dreamed of a Little House on the Prairie lifestyle. It was a crazy idea, but my parents are just the right kind of crazy for this brand of adventure. 

If my parents were to become farmers, they needed to sell their house and find some land. They discussed moving closer to Farmerville to be nearer to Mom's parents and my family. Mom asked her dad to look for property outside of Farmerville. In no time at all, he secured the twelve acres which would become Jubilee Farm.

But there was one small problem: to buy a farm you need money, and money was something my parents did not have. Mom's parents agreed to help. They covered the cost of the land with Mom's inheritance and a promissory note which Mom and Dad would pay within a year upon the sale of their house. It didn't quite work out that way. Eighteen months later, they still haven't sold their house. Instead, they paid the difference with Dad's inheritance, which came in only a few weeks ago. Talk about a leap of faith....

After Brandon took a walk on the new property and had a talk with my dad about the merits of reducing and eliminating debt, Brandon came home to me one May afternoon with the looney notion of selling our house, buying a trailer and forming a commune with my parents and sister on the farm-to-be. My health was tanking at the time. "It would be nice to have your parents close by," he said. I thought he had lost his mind. But eventually, I lost mine, too, and we became the first family to take up residence on Jubilee Farm. 

The land here--it isn't prime property. This place used to be a dump. Literally. There is a lifetime's worth of glass shards in our front yard. Three pipelines run through it, and there isn't a lot of marketable timber. It's rutted, weedy and wild. It isn't pretty. The soil is acidic and rock hard, which is the opposite of good farmland. However, it's lack of apparent potential made it affordable, which is what we needed. And we know that the Lord does not see as man sees. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord sees deeper and farther (1 Samuel 16:7). He saw potential and beauty, and helped us see it, too. Even Jenny, who visited before many improvements were made, declared the property possessed "a blessed quality."

In January, I shared the story of how Jubilee Farm earned her name. What I didn't share is the passage the Lord used to speak a blessing over our little farm. I read it in January, just before Mom's Jubilee Birthday celebration, and inscribed it in her birthday journal.

"You visit the earth and water it,
You greatly enrich it;
The river of God is full of water; 
You provide their grain,
for so You have prepared it.
You water its ridges abundantly,
You settle its furrows;
You make it soft with showers, 
You bless its growth.
You crown the year with Your goodness,
and Your paths drip with abundance.
They drop on the pastures of the wilderness,
and the little hills rejoice on every side.
The pastures are clothed with flocks;
The valleys also are covered with grain;
They shout for joy, they also sing."
-Psalm 65:9-13

Brandon tilled the ground. Dad put his Master Gardener's knowledge to use, and balanced the pH of the soil. In March, we planted the gorgeous baby plants the Yakaboskis sold to us, and watched them grow. The work suited Dad, even with his bad back. It actually made him feel better.


 

Unfortunately, some mistakes were made. Overwhelmed by the bug population trying to eat our lovely little plants, Dad used a mild pesticide early in the season. In his defense, almost no one around here has much success at organic gardening. He simply gave in to what the Master Gardener class taught him, and what other gardeners do themselves. But it didn't kill the bugs, and I couldn't eat the first of the produce as a result. Later, he tried a more potent pesticide. I didn't know he was spraying again, and walked outside with the kids about 20 minutes after everything had been doused. The poison, which is a neurotoxin, almost killed me. I do not exaggerate.

The initial exposure is the worst reaction I have had to date, and there were long term effects. It put me in the bed for weeks, and set my health on a steep decline. I made some mistakes of my own, and found myself unable to eat or drink again during the first week of June. I was watching all of that gorgeous food come into my kitchen, and couldn't eat a bite of it. I struggled to believe God's promise to me that I would live because I felt like I was dying. I will not rewrite what has already been written, but it is important to note that a prayer meeting took place on my behalf and things drastically changed afterward. 

Yes, mistakes were made, but God trumped them all. Within a few days, I was eating again. Granted, it was only raw eggs and cream of rice cereal at first, but when I began to eat "real food," I could suddenly eat from the garden. Zucchini, squash, tomatoes, tomatillos, eggplant, peppers, onions, cabbage, all of it! I could even eat watermelon to which I have been allergic for years. I could eat foods then that I cannot eat today. And best of all--the food was healing my body. As I ate, I could feel a gentle tingle throughout, almost as if I was feeling the healing taking place at a cellular level. I will never forget the sensation.






When I finally climbed out of survival mode, I realized how well our garden was doing. Others gardeners would comment that their gardens weren't doing as well, and they had years of experience. Rains came regularly and at the right times, nourishing the plants and washing away the poison. Dad, determined to never use pesticides again, began to pick off the potato bugs and tomato eating worms by hand. The Louisiana summer was not overly hot. We grew enough safe, beautiful food to feed our families, to share with our friends and to sell at nearby markets well into the month of July.

The excitement we experienced in the summer is mostly over now. We have greens to look forward to, but a recent frost killed our squashes and only a few green tomatoes remain to be fried. But when I look back at what came to pass, I tear up a little. 

God used the garden to save my life. The thought leaves me speechless. 

It overwhelms me that as early as the spring of 2012, God was actively answering the prayers offered for me in June 2013. Think about this--as you make your requests before God today, His answer is already in the works. He resides in our past, present and future, and is not bound by time or money or our limitations or our mistakes. He reigns over all. And He is building with us a rapport of faithfulness so when the next trial comes, we can say with greater assurance, "God, You are faithful, and You are good. I trust you."


I am thankful for Jubilee Farm. I am thankful for what she says about my God. He is the ultimate Gardener, enriching the soil and the soul, bringing the rain and sunshine as needed for growth. He crowns the year with goodness. He makes our paths drip with abundance.

Happy Thanksgiving.





Ants in My Pants

Non-southerners, meet the fire ant:

If you live in a white state, you just. don't. know.
(Photo credit: http://www.fireant.tv/)
 
The ants featured in Pixar's A Bug's Life? NOT fire ants. Had they been, those grasshoppers would have been running for their lives....assuming they survived the initial encounter.


Non-southerners, these are the ants you call "pests."
 (Photo credit: Edge Pest Control)
Compared to a fire ant, these guys are pets. Here in north central Louisiana, we call them "piss aints." You could cuddle them. And if you didn't want to, they are very easy to kill. All of those cute little natural poisons on Pinterest would work on a piss aint. Not so with the fire ant. Go ahead, hose him with vinegar. The fire ant will swim through it, and keep on trucking. Soap? Nope. And if you aren't unlucky enough to be allergic to essential oils, chalk, and other home remedies, you will do little more than make the fire ant unhappy anyway.

This is an unhappy fire ant.....
right before he latches onto your flesh with his creepy mandibles and begins stinging you repeatedly.

For the largest portion of the population, a fire ant sting hurts and forms a pustule.
(Photo credit: MSU Cares)
Others, like my sister, experience localized swelling. For example, she was stung on the hand, and her entire hand swelled. And then there is the estimated 0.5% to 5% (of which my son is a former member and I am a current member) who experience anaphylaxsis. (Source: ACAAI)

On Friday, June 28, we woke to a fire ant invasion in our little trailer on Jubilee Farm.
Brandon killed several before he left for work, but they just kept coming. I attempted battle. I tried vinegar. Then I tried dish soap and vinegar together. Then I called Brandon (because he knows everything), and he told me to use my homemade shampoo/conditioner/body wash/shaving cream concoction. It worked, but only on contact. And there were just too many.

I should have given up, and fled the house. But I am a stubborn woman, and I did not want to be supplanted by measly little ants.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.....

I'm not sure where I picked it up, but when I sat down in the rocking chair to read to Sara, I felt a familiar pain on my right side right above my hip. I killed it before it stung me again. Good thing, too. Within two minutes, I had broken out in hives.

The poor photo resolution makes it difficult to see, but the area around the bite turned red and raised into welts. Every welt hurt like the dickens, so I lost track of where I had been bitten. No pustule was left behind.

I managed to call my dad for help before my thinking went fuzzy. I began to wheeze and cough before he arrived, so I took my Acute Rescue knowing that the preservative alcohol would be a small problem in comparison to the one I faced. As soon Dad stepped through the door, I had him perform BioSet on me twice, which relaxed my swollen airways for a few minutes. I am unsure of how much time passed before I began hacking again, feeling dizzy and confused. When I felt my face begin to swell like a balloon, I kind of freaked out. I made the (arguably hasty) decision to use my Epi Pen because my normal reaction regimen wasn't working. I was getting worse. For the third time in my life, I stabbed myself in the leg with a needle.

I say the decision to use Epi was arguably hasty because A) I am allergic to sulfites which preserve the epinephrine and B) I had little intention of actually going to the ER. The protocol for anaphylaxsis is not very flexible in my area. If I were to go to the ER, they would only offer a steroid shot, which would be life threatening for me. If I were to refuse the steroid, they would ask why I bothered to come at all. So it was decided by five people (three of which are medical professionals) that I should skip the garbage, the skeptical looks and the ginormous co-pay, remain under Brandon's vigilant eye, and let my natural doctor tend to me.
This is me post-reaction. You may be able to tell that the right side of my face is significantly swollen.

After my reaction, the war against the ants continued to wage. On Saturday morning, it was decided that I needed to be removed from the house. A dear friend, Eddie Davis, helped Brandon move our necessities to my parents' home in West Monroe and spray for the ants. We attempted to move back home the night of July 4, but our stay was short lived. We were there maybe 12 hours before Sara was stung while sitting in my lap. Upon further inspection, I found the ants spread around the house. Their numbers were greatly reduced, but as it only takes one, I could not safely stay. Brandon's grandmother helped me and the kids pack up a second time. We have been at my parents' house since.

The fire ant problem at Jubilee Farm is severe. We theorize that they have tunnels underneath the ground rather than mounds, which is why there are so many crawling around everywhere out there. After much debate, we have decided to have a professional come spray. The decision was difficult because we have no way of knowing how long it will be before I can safely return home. The poison is potentially as big of a problem as the ants. We are unsure if we are looking at days, weeks or months before I can be in my place again. We hope to spray early this week.

We have a method of determining when it is safe for me to go back home. I refer to it as "setting out the fleece." Basically, we will set out open baby food jars containing pure water in each room every few days. The water will "catch" whatever impurities are in the air. Brandon will bring  the jars to me, and I will muscle test each one for safety. When each water jar is "safe," I can return home.

This newest trial hasn't been easy. My home had become my safe haven. I love it out there. I hate not knowing when I can get back. My kids are homesick. Brandon has to drive that much further to work, and tend to our home before coming home to us. We see less of him. And while they aren't as bad, there are fire ants here, too. They even found their way into the house on Sunday. I think they must smell me or something.

However.......

There is so much for which to be thankful.

1) I have a place of refuge. My parents have been trying to sell their house for almost a year now, and they haven't had a single bite. If they were living on the farm already, I would have had no safe place to go. It's a super nice, spacious home to boot.

2) I have live-in help, which is very nice.

3) I am rooming with my favorite people and best friends. No one gets me like my mom. I have so enjoyed spending time with her. My dad is funny, caring and easy going. If you have to take refuge somewhere, these are the people to take refuge with.

4) The reaction to the ant sting did not set me back in my food tolerance at all. Praise the Lord!

5) God is teaching me important spiritual lessons in this as well. His methods are not always gentle, but His purposes are always good.

I do not like being uprooted by ants, but I can't stay where they are so active and prevalent. These guys are serious....
 (Photo credit: 6LEGS2MANY)
What other insect knows how to make a flotation device out of  its own body to ensure survival during flooding? These crazy things are a plague upon the earth.



How you can pray for us:

1) Patience and contentment for all of us. We are itching to return home, but we may have to wait awhile yet. There is no sense in being upset about it.

2) A swift return. Mom and dad need their space. They need to sell their house. And we need to be home. My prayer is that the poison will dissipate quickly. We do not plan to spray indoors, so rain will help.

3) Brandon's strength and sanity. The man lives a hard life. Pray for him.

4) My safety. I do not need to get stung by an ant or a wasp or a bee or anything like that anytime soon. My hope is that I will be protected supernaturally until my body can better handle insect venom.

5) My continued improvement. My eating is still going very well. I have been able to add magnesium powder to my diet which has allowed me to discontinue my enemas. I am glad to have that hour back every day, and after having a rough experience a couple of weeks ago where I was unable to expel the enema water for several days, I am thankful to not have to risk repeating the experience.

Once again, thank you for your concern, well-wishes and prayers for us, especially those of you who have not given up on us after all this time. We feel incredibly blessed to know you and be loved by you. God bless you all!

Happy Birthday To Me--Part 2

Although I cannot be certain what caused my abrupt decline during the first week of June, I have my suspicions. I blame it mostly on my being an insufferable rule follower. While this quality made me a model student in school, it has proven to be a problem in other areas of my life. Model students don't make many friends, but they do draw negativity in the forms of disdain and jealousy with impeccable magnetism. Excellence to the letter can be crippling for the Christian, making one highly susceptible to legalism. Fortunately for my soul, the Lord showed me a long time ago that being a goody-two-shoes doesn't earn me any marks in His Book. Where my health is concerned, rule following hasn't done me many favors either.

I have followed every doctor's protocol with precision. Each time, I have suffered for doing so. I can trace this pattern back to the spring of 2006 when I first began seeking relief from my allergies. I never missed my allergy shots. I hated needles, but I was there each week believing, hoping I would get better. I got worse. A lot worse. When I would develop the inevitable sinus infection during stressful times in college, I took the medications and steroid shots prescribed by my primary physician. Which also made me worse. I did everything my OBGYN suggested without question. Bad idea. After my health collapse in 2012, I followed the advice of the immunologist, gastroenterologist, and rheumatologist, undergoing their tests, taking their medications and paying their outrageous bills. To my detriment, of course.  When Dr. Cave sent me home with an overwhelming amount of drugs, supplements and homeopathics in November, I made a chart, methodically taking the right thing at the right time. One by one, I grew intolerant to them all until I had a severe reaction to the methylation supplements in early March. And then there is the incident involving the Cipro. My BioSet practitioner was helpful overall, but I responded poorly to several of her suggestions as well. Dr. Yakaboski has been the exception. She alone has done no harm. While her treatments cannot heal me, they make my life liveable and grant me much relief.

In addition to seeing doctors, I have remade myself time and again in a desperate search for safe nutrition. After attempting several difficult diets and being met with failure upon failure, I finally stumbled upon the GAPS diet, which I began last September. I followed the diet and lifestyle protocol as rigidly as my resources would allow. GAPS was instrumental in improving my health knowledge and practices, but because I am an extreme case, several of the diet's major tenets not only failed to help me but have caused more problems. I do not tolerate bone broths, and I have recently learned the probiotics and ferments which are so wonderful for everyone else have actually increased my hyper-immunity. In the past few months, I have altered my diet several more times, trying out juicing, raw greens, a low-sulfur diet, a vegetarian diet and others. Nothing has helped. Upon another doctor's recommendation, I added ground flax and chia seeds to my diet to help build a mucous layer in my gut. Flax and chia are great for most people. Though I knew deep down they would not be good for me, I followed the instructions with perfect obedience anyway because I simply cannot help myself. It took about two weeks for my body to rebel. And I am here to tell you, I am full of sass, even at the cellular level.

God allowed me to enjoy my birthday party on June 1, a kindness for which I am very grateful. On the night of June 2, I had an allergic reaction to Brandon's toothpaste....from kissing him.....after he had swished and gargled water to protect me from the smell. On the morning of June 3 (my birthday), I forgot to check my tolerance to my daily dose of ground flax seeds, and had a severe reaction to them. I was teeter-tottering by Tuesday morning when I reacted to the ghee I had come to enjoy in my rice cereal. After that, I couldn't eat anything at all without extreme nausea, gastrointestinal pain, systemic inflammation and swelling in my throat. I was struck with a strong sense of déjà vu when it became impossible to sip water without burning and nausea. I sipped anyway, but without food it just wasn't enough. We began working on getting home health out to the house on Wednesday in order to avoid the hospital. By Thursday afternoon, it was obvious that home health services were not going to work out, and I was too dehydrated to go any longer without fluids. Without any remaining options, we headed to the ER.

Hospital emergency rooms are full of dangers for people like me, which is why people like me tend to avoid them. The combination of people, chemicals and medical professionals who just don't understand make for a highly unstable and unsafe environment. The evening was difficult, but God manifested Himself in several different ways. He blessed my double mask. I reacted to several environmental triggers, but none of the reactions were severe. One of mom's former laboratory students popped in, and spoke an encouraging word from the Lord. A very nice, conscientious male nurse took charge, and started my IV. Without him, I'm not sure I would have been given any care at all. Overall, I was neglected by the on-duty nurse practitioner (who I apparently offended when I declined x-rays), and left the hospital still dehydrated because I was cut off after only half a bag of fluids. (Dude--that was an expensive--not to mention risky--half bag of saline.) Thanks to a passionate, hard-working doctor and an extraordinary, dear friend who also happens to be a nurse practitioner, I was set up with another IV Friday night (June 7)--this time at home. 



Upon returning from the ER Thursday night (not desiring to repeat the experience any time soon), I began trying to take some food. I remembered reading in Gut and Psychology Syndrome by Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride that raw eggs are well-rounded, easily absorbed nutrition which put little to no stress on the digestive system. I was feeling too nauseated to attempt cold, raw eggs, so I scrambled, salted and warmed them in a pan before drinking them. They were a bit slimy going down, but they settled perfectly.

If you are unfamiliar with food allergies, you may not know what a miracle it is that I could eat eggs when I could eat nothing else. My tolerance to them is actually quite shocking as eggs are extremely allergenic. I have come to think of eggs as my "manna"--a provision no less miraculous than wafers falling from the heavens.

The ways of God are ever beyond me. 

The Saturday following my birthday (June 8), another small group gathered in my parents' home on my behalf. We left the guest list in the Lord's hands this time, and He put together a small, fascinatingly eclectic group to pray together. I sat in a chair, double masked and hooked up to an IV, as people asked the Lord to heal me and grant me clear direction on my healing journey. The men blessed me by praying with authority and power. The women plead my case before the Lord. An elder and dear friend from my church anointed me with oil. The meeting was both remarkable and not. Clouds did not part, I was not made well with a sudden touch, nor did we hear a distinct, booming voice telling us that everything was going to be okay, but God was present. He honored the gathering He had ordained, and He has answered the prayers of His people. 

Following the prayer meeting, I had some decisions to make about new doctors and treatments. I decided against them for two reasons--

1) A lack of clarity. I just wasn't sure. At the meeting, we all asked the Lord for clear direction. I felt confused, not certain at all, so I chose not to move forward. That being said, if I receive clear direction at any time regarding any doctor or treatment, I will do exactly as God suggests.

2) The story of the woman with the bleeding issue (Mark 5).  God kept bringing her story to my attention because it contained a message for me--"No more doctors." Like the woman in the story, I have suffered much in the hands of physicians, and funds are running low. In the end, the woman wasn't healed until she ran to Jesus, all out of alternate options. God wants to work a miracle here, and I aim to let Him.


And God has worked a miracle already. Within three weeks, I went from being unable to drink water, to eating raw eggs and boiled squash, to pureed vegetables and soups, to well-cooked and carefully prepared meat and vegetables, to things I have been allergic to for months....and in some cases, years.



Boiled zucchini and ground beef purée. I ate baby food for a little over a week.

Broccoli and squash purée (it tasted a lot better than it looks) with lightly cooked scrambled eggs.

Eggplant lasagna made on 6/22 with fried eggplant, fresh tomatoes, bell pepper and fresh herbs from the garden with homemade juice from beets (also from the garden), carrots and apples. In my opinion, this is the best meal I've made in the last year. I'm not only saying that because I have been deprived.



After reading that jalapeños help to reduce inflammation of the GI tract, I decided to make poppers on 6/23. These are fresh Jubilee Farm peppers, sliced in half, seeded, stuffed with fresh goat cheese, wrapped in Applegate bacon (to which I had been allergic since January) and drizzled with raw, local honey. They were heavenly, and I felt great after eating them.

On Sunday night, I made and enjoyed fried green tomatoes. Yesterday, I ate fresh watermelon for the first time in years without Benadryl!!!

Something has changed. I have changed. I have been remade. And truly, it cannot be explained apart from Jesus Christ. 

I am not supposed to be able to eat bacon and chicken and peppers and goat cheese and watermelon.

I should be having allergic reactions every day, as I have for about as long as I can remember, but I'm not.

I eat the food grown from the earth of Jubilee Farm, and I feel good. I get a little burst of energy after each meal, which may not seem like a big deal to you, but I cannot recall a time in my entire life when I felt good after eating. I think what I am feeling is....healing. I still occasionally have pain after I eat, but the pain is nothing compared to what I was experiencing before. (TMI warning!) I have also been to the bathroom twice without the assistance of an enema in the last two weeks, an event that had not occurred since April.

Granted, I have a long way to go without any idea of how long full recovery will take. I have completely released my healing timeline to the Lord. He can and will (with or without my permission) do whatever He wants. And whatever it is He wants, He is doing it now.

Things feel different upon this restart. My journey for the past seven years has been two steps forward, three steps back. Today, I feel like an infant taking slow, faltering steps, but I believe that those steps will grow steadier. Rather than regressing, I will gain momentum. I will eventually run, leap, skip, play and all the things that someone as sick as I have been should never be able to do again.

I will.....because though I am not yet well, I am already healed. It's already been done. Remember, God isn't bound by human limitations. He works outside of time. From His perspective, His work is complete. The promise has been made, the fulfillment set in motion. My job is to believe my God, to think and act as though my healing is as good as accomplished. Of course I must continue to accept my current limitations. I will do all I can to avoid environmental triggers, take naps, guard against overexertion, eat good food, take detox baths, and give myself enemas as necessary, but now I possess the freedom to do these things with the end in mind, something I find to be equally terrifying and beautiful.

In the end, being good at following the rules failed me. Miserably. God has none too gently pried my fingers loose from my beloved little book of shalls and shall nots, completely bankrupt of power to save--another kind of healing entirely. Today, I watch that book smoke in a fire I lit. And I know: I will never be the same again.

To all who have prayed anywhere at any time---thank you. God has heard your prayers! He is answering them at this very moment.

"In fact, [I] expected to die. But as a result, [I] stopped relying on [myself] and learned to rely only on God, who raises the dead. And He did rescue [me] from mortal danger, and He will rescue [me] again. We have placed our confidence in Him, and He will continue to rescue [me]. And you are helping us by praying for us. Then many people will give thanks because God has graciously answered so many prayers for [my] safety." (2 Corinthians 1:9-11 NLT)

Let us praise Him for what He is already doing!


My birthday week may have been slightly disappointing, but the month of June has proven to be one of the most exceptional months of my life.

I may just take up the habit of having a birthday month after all.



What Nine Years Have Wrought (A Health Update)

Nine years ago, I was beautiful, vibrant, healthy, relatively allergy-free, and making peace with every foreseeable outcome of my upcoming marriage. I wore the ring of a man whose body was at war with him. Brandon was pale, thin and soon to undergo a bowel resection. I understood that marrying a man with Crohn's disease may bring about a future full of all night vigils by hospital beds and years of nursing at home. I determined to earn my degree before we had children to serve as a fallback in case he ever became too sick to work. It even occurred to me that I could be widowed in the prime of life, and would somehow have to raise and provide for a family alone. To these possible futures, I agreed.

Over a year into this debilitating illness, the shock has not worn off. I had planned to be Wonder Woman, yet I find myself less capable than Lois Lane. While I manage to cook a meal most nights and tend to my children's basic needs in the morning, I am largely dependent on the help of others. I spend a significant portion of the day in bed although I would much rather be with my kids and busy about my home. In my wildest daydreams, I did not imagine this life.

I did not imagine the dulling of my mind either. My mind used to work like this:
I had an amazing memory. Several things could be rolling around in my brain at once. Connections were contsantly being made. One by one, those 2,000 something tabs have closed down until I am doing well to remain on a single train of thought for any length of time. Sometimes, my brain goes into "sleep mode," an odd phenomenon. I can be lost in thought one moment and lost in oblivion the next. This problem has made everything from prayer to getting dressed challenging. Writing is miraculous. Brain farting is humbling.

When I consider how my situation continues to deteriorate, I am tempted to feel a little frightened. I am afraid to lose any more of my mind. My mind has always been a comforting retreat for me, full of stories, big thoughts and possibilities. I don't want to lose any more weight or hair or strength. I am afraid of becoming an invalid.

On my hardest days, I am tempted to fear the future. The prognosis for flouroquinolone toxicity is dismal. Patients who have an instant reaction to the drug are usually ill 6-7 years. Patients, like me, who slowly decline over a period of weeks and/or months are said to never recover.

I grieve the enormous difficulty that has befallen my family and myself. I daily wrestle to make peace with my reality as I did with the various futures I envisioned nine years ago. I present my health to the Lord, an offering to Him to bring Him glory. I fight the fear and lean hard into Jesus, trusting Him implicitly knowing full well He allowed this catastrophe--for good, always for good. And yet....

I CANNOT AND DO NOT ACCEPT MY PROGNOSIS.

I absolutely need a miracle, and I absolutely believe I am going to get one. One day on this side of eternity, I believe I will be well. On that day, I will have many people to thank--doctors, family members, friends who have labored in prayer, commiserated with us, and shown us generosity--but it will be God who does the healing because He is the only One who can. All of you precious people who invest yourselves in our family by reading, praying, encouraging and serving will get to witness a miracle. I am not supposed to get better, but I will. By stating this, I'm not trying to inspire others with positive thinking propaganda. Positive thinking has its place, but I honestly couldn't care less about giving people the warm fuzzies. The weight of this trial is far too heavy to be limited to doling out warm fuzzies. But if witnessing a true blue miracle strengthens your faith and causes you to more earnestly seek the Lord Jesus, well then--hallelujah!

In the meantime, I continue to seek treatment as the Lord directs. Neither my doctors nor my most devoted prayer warriors were comfortable with the experimental NAD IV treatments. Dr. Yakaboski (my local natural doctor) along with Dr. Kuplesky (Dr. Yakaboski's M.D. partner), Dr. Armine (MTHFR specialist), Dr. Mestayer (the psychiatrist who performs the NAD treatments) and a compounding pharmacist in South Louisiana are working to get it in an encapsulated form for me to take under Dr. Yakaboski's strict supervision. It could be ready as early as the beginning of next week. The idea is to start small and observe my response. My future with the treatment completely depends upon how I respond to the capsules. Dr. Yakaboski has also been busy conferring with two other doctors and the author of the blog Surviving Cipro in order to open up treatment options for me. One of the doctors is a specialist who will help me with my IgE, IgG and leaky gut issues. The other is a doctor who specializes in homeopathics. This doctor believes her sulfur homeopathic will help my body open up my transulfuration pathways (methylation). I have successfully used homeopathics in the past, and feel hopeful that this one will help me.

However, I have to approach homeopathics with a little caution now. I had an anaphylactic reaction to preservative alcohol last week. Preservative alcohol (usually derived from grains) is found in many things (including homeopathics) given to sensitive patients. Grain alcohol also preserves my Acute Rescue drops (my preferred rescue remedy for anaphylactic reactions) and the B12 (dibencozide) drops I need to treat my methylation issues. Dr. Yakaboski made a special house call on Saturday to clear my alcohol allergy. The clearing held, but I will continue to avoid preservative alcohols when possible so I can use the Acute Rescue drops when needed. Cleared allergies occasionally resurface after awhile. To be safe, I evaporate the alcohol out of the B12 every night before taking it. I plan to do the same with the sulfur homeopathic.

I have explored and muscle tested the safety of several possible "quick healing" treatments said to help floxy patients. I am not currently a candidate for any of them because of my extreme sensitivities. I don't really know what we are going to do or how long recovery will take. I don't know if it will be a treatment, a combination of treatments, time, an instantaneous touch from the Lord or all of the above that will cure me. So for now, we pray. We listen. We wait. And I protect my psyche.

I avoid negative information concerning floxy patients. It isn't helpful, and I don't think it applies. I avoid the news, and rely on my Facebook friends to let me know when something major happens. I avoid Facebook when it stresses me out although it makes up almost all of my social interaction outside of the immediate family members who help me. I distract myself, and work hard to "find my happy." I began a gratitude list in late March, which now has 122 items. I copy them in my journal, thanking God for each gift from His hand. The photos below represent a few.

 Micah is cooking a squash he helped plant, watched grow, and harvested. I did the knife work, but he seasoned and stirred until it was perfectly golden brown. We had so much fun!
 He was proud of himself. He even ate the squash--no coaxing required!
 One morning's haul...
 A dance party with baby girl. She likes to shake that booty!
 Clothing....it's overrated.
 Is there anything cuter than a naked baby in the garden?
 I'm thankful for those thighs, too. Scrumptious!
I joined Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir 4.0. I'm still learning my part. I hope to record my video soon. The piece will be premiered for the Queen at Buckinham Palace in July. It will be my first chance to be part of a worldwide musical event. I am very excited!

Distraction is like cheap numbing medication. It shields me from some of the pain for short intervals, while gratitude provides little sunbursts throughout the day. Gratitude reminds me that God still loves me and life is still worth living. 

To further help me along, I have been reminded of Jenny's words--"God has been too good to me for me to play the victim anymore." God does all things well. My illness is not an exception. My illness is a mercy. It's a severe mercy (as Jonathan Edwards would say), but a mercy nonetheless, for it is bringing not only me but my entire family into deeper relationship and greater conformity with Christ. Too many days, I have dwelled on the length of time I spend in the bed when I would rather be doing things. Too often, I have focused on the bad, missing the good. To counteract my Polly Pessimist tendencies, I am training myself to respond to those who ask about my day with a list of my victories rather than my struggles. 

Allow me to practice: 

Yesterday, I enjoyed a quiet morning with Sara. We cuddled, watched Mickey Mouse and read nursery rhymes. I washed dishes, and listened to a Timothy Keller sermon. Thanks to my grandmother, I was able to rest in a quiet house all afternoon. When I woke, I cooked a simple dinner and had a phone conversation with a friend. I was able to eat three meals! I kissed my boy's freckled nose, and rocked my baby to sleep as I sang hymns. I ended my day with a long, relaxing bath and a special word from the Lord. It was a good day.

While reciting my victories is all well and good, it will only carry me so far. We frail humans are tempted to measure all things by the measure of ourselves. I cannot afford this mindset. For the average person, measuring life in such a way cheapens it, reducing it to a feeble shadow of what life should be. For me, making myself the measure of anything is suicidal. My victories will not sustain my hope, even on the good days. And the days when victories are few or obsolete? I shudder at the thought.

Thus, I must look outside of myself--to my God, to His victories. 

"Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised;
And His greatness is unsearchable.
One generation shall praise Your works to another,
And shall declare Your mightly acts.
I will meditate on the glorious spendor of your majesty,
And on Your wondrous works.
Men shall speak of the might of Your awesome acts,
And I will declare Your greatness."
-Psalm 145:3-6

When I consider the God who created the heavens and the earth in a day, the God who conceptualized everything from Mount Everest to the butterfly, the God who calmed the wind and waves with a word, the God who had the power to lay down His life and take it up again, the God who formed me in my inmost being--faulty mitochondria, poor methylation, quirky personality, brown eyes, crazy hair and all--living through these difficult days with my faith, hope, joy and peace intact doesn't seem so impossible. And neither does a miracle.

Nine years ago, I never considered that I would be the one critically ill while Brandon bore the burden of a sick mate. We are mercifully spared from knowing what is coming for us around the corner. Nine years ago, I knew so little of the God who so loved me. In spite of the difficulty, I cannot regret what these nine years have wrought. Knowing God is worth it all.

Who knows what the next nine years may hold? A miracle, certainly. 

As for the rest, only time will tell.


"Frankly, My Dear, You Have Been Floxed"

When I heard the words, "you have been floxed," spoken by Dr. Jess Armine during Friday afternoon's consult, I did not understand what they meant or even know if they were true. After some detective work, which required a long string of phone calls, I was left with the feeling that the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. Crushed. Bruised. Betrayed by the God I love. I took the kids outside to distract myself so I could gather some control. Only a few steps out my door, I fell to my knees in my sister's gravel driveway sobbing so forcefully I thought I might vomit. My kids saw, but took it in stride. The children of sick mothers are like lion cubs, unaware they are too small and dependent to be so brave.

The last couple of weeks have conditioned my babies into a c'est la vie mindset. On Sunday, May 5, I was exposed to a pesticide that sent me into toxic shock and put me in bed for a week. On Mother's Day, I finally emerged from my sickbed only to quickly return when my children arrived home from church smelling strongly of perfume. I was unable to hold my children at all that day. Eight baths and four days later, I could still smell the perfume at the nap of Sara's neck. For the first time ever, I was forced to wear my mask in my own home. Sara hates my mask.

Mealtime has also been strange and sketchy. Although I have been following gut-healing protocol religiously for over 7 months, my digestive health has been declining rapidly. Old allergies have reemerged. New ones have developed, seemingly for no reason. Since Wednesday, most of my diet has consisted of eggs, rice cereal and boiled squash and broccoli, and no two meals are exactly the same. I may be able to tolerate eggs at breakfast, but that doesn't make them safe for lunch. I now have to muscle test everything before I put it into or onto my body, or risk an anaphylactic reaction that will put me back in bed. Regardless of how gentle the meal, I experience digestive pain after eating. I also grow very lethargic, as if all the resources of my body are expended upon digesting my food. For the last several days, someone (sometimes me) has made a meal for Brandon and the kids. While they are eating, I proceed to muscle test several foods to see what my body will accept. I make my meal, and sit down to eat as the family finishes. Mealtimes have been our main family time until recently, which makes this small upset feel bigger than it is.

With the exception of Tuesday night of last week, I have not been well enough to bathe my children for over two weeks. Everyone misses me bathing the kids, especially me! I love bath time! When bathed by someone other than Brandon or me, they often cry and throw angry tantrums. The night I bathed them, they smiled, played and laughed heartily.

 I asked Micah, "Did you miss Mommy giving you a bath?"

He nodded his sweet, red head.

"What did you miss?" I asked, fishing for a compliment. I was rewarded.

"I miss the way you wash my hair," he said quietly.

My little guy is particular, and he likes that I anticipate his wishes. I warm a towel for him in the dryer. I give him a large washcloth with which he covers his eyes while I pour water over his head, carefully avoiding his eyes and ears. He expects cuddles once he is out of the tub and wrapped in his warm towel, and likes to be dressed in the bathroom with the door closed. Sara likes routine, too, and feels her life is ruined when I am not around to meet her every desire. But they accept their lots and manage, as must everyone who lives under this small roof.

I have been struggling to understand my lot. I was doing everything I knew to do, and I knew a lot. I was eating perfectly. I was making my own hygiene and household products. I was getting sunshine, fresh air and light exercise. I was often upbeat and positive despite my circumstances. I was praying for healing, fully believing it would come. Yet I was getting sicker, which is a terrifying thing. After consults with Sterling Hill (an expert in epigenetics) and Dr. Jess Armine (a methylation specialist), I now understand. Understanding has been soul-rending.

As soon as my DNA results from 23andme arrived, Dr. Yakaboski contacted Sterling, who quickly began translating my results using her fabulous genetic charting system. On Tuesday, she explained the chart and gave me an overview of my results. While Dr. Yakaboski was on vacation, she arranged a consult with Dr. Jess even before the blood work he had requested had been sent off. He was kind enough to agree.

At the beginning of the consult, Dr. Jess was careful to explain that I am not the sum of my genetic abnormalities, which is a relief because I have a ton of them. My DNA may predispose me to certain conditions, but the presence of an abnormal gene does automatically indicate the abnormality is expressing. However, many of my less savory genes are expressing. To make matters worse, I possess combinations of genetic abnormalities that are particularly unhelpful when they are present together. My problems extend beyond what I will discuss in this post, but I will cover the issues we are addressing at the moment.

Dr. Jess is unsure of the order in which my problems began. I am genetically predisposed to have leaky gut syndrome, IgE elevation (allergic response), DAO enzyme deficiency (DAO breaks down histamine), IgA deficiency (contributes to inflammation and slow healing), etc. From what I understand, as my gut continues to leak food molecules and toxins into my blood, my body recognizes these "bad guys" as antigens. Antibodies form to attack the antigens, and memory cells are created. When the same antigen presents again my antibodies remember it, and my reaction worsens, raising histamine levels (which I am unable to break down) and causing anaphylaxsis. My leaky gut has exacerbated my inflammation problem to the point that I am now in an autoimmune state. My body is attacking itself, causing Hashimoto's hypothyroidism and adrenal exhaustion among other problems.

Furthermore, I do not methylate properly. The A1298c mutation Dr. Cave discovered was just the tip of the iceberg. My methylation processes are in sad, sad shape. Methylation is an essential biological process. If the body is not methylating well, the body is not operating well. My body is not metabolizing folate or detoxing properly, contributing to my steady descent. I also have a gene (VDR--Vitamin D Receptor) which will make it difficult to donate methyl groups to my cells, so I'm going to be tricky to treat.....as if my insane allergies and leaky gut make it easy in the first place.

Now for the part that is so very difficult for me to comprehend--My mitochondria (power houses of the cells) are genetically predisposed to dysfunction. They probably have not been working properly for quite some time. In November, I put something in my body that--as Dr. Jess explained--was "equivalent to dropping an A-bomb on my mitochondria." If you have have been following my blog for awhile, you may remember from this post that my doctor in Baton Rouge found the bacteria Pseudomonas aeruginosa imbedded in the lining of my gut. To effectively kill this bacteria, I was prescribed Cipro, an antibiotic from the fluoroquinolone drug family. Due to a genetic predisposition and very bad luck, I am now a victim of fluoroquinolone antibiotic toxicity, meaning my already fragile mitochondria have been devastated. Thus, my body is currently unable to heal. So no matter how perfectly I follow GAPS or a natural lifestyle, without intervention, I cannot get better. 

The severe effects of this toxicity (burning pain, shooting pain, numbness, tingling, dizziness, dyspraxia, insomnia, agitation, anxiety, memory loss, extreme chemical sensitivity, impaired concentration, joint pain, tendon ruptures, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, abdominal pain, vomiting, fatigue, hallucinations, dementia, schizophrenia, muscle deterioration, and weight loss to name a few) are not the most crushing aspect of this diagnosis. Last summer, my family prayed so intensely for healing. We are sure God led us to Dr. Cave in answer to those prayers, which means one of two things--either we do not know our Shepherd's voice or.......this is His doing. I reject the first option. It's unbiblical. I know my Shepherd's voice, and I follow. Within seconds I landed here--God led me to this crucible.

The feeling of cosmic betrayal is very real. I cannot approach the question of "why" without heartbroken tears. With the psalmist, I cry, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?" (Psalm 22:1). Never before have I experienced a pain so severe.

Because He is my lifelong Lover and Friend, I went to Him, asking Him why He would let this happen to me. He gave answer thus:

"Be glad and rejoice in My mercy. I have considered your trouble. I have known your soul in adversities. I have not shut you up into the hand of the enemy. I have set your feet in a wide place." (Psalm 31:7-8)

"I have not hidden my face from you, My afflicted one. I have heard your cries." (Psalm 22:24)

"My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

"Do not worry, my child. No weapon formed against you shall prosper." (Isaiah 54:17)

"I AM for you. Who can be against you? I did not spare My own Son. No good thing will I withhold from you. In all these things, you will be more than a conqueror through My Son's love. You will overcome by the blood of the Lamb." (Romans 8:31, 32, 37, and Revelation 12:11)

"Do not fear. You are Mine. I have brought you to this crucible, but I will not abandon you to it. As you walk through this fire, I will be with you. You will not be burned. I am with you." (Isaiah 43:1-2)

"You are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed. I was crushed, forsaken and destroyed for you." (2 Corinthians 4:8-9)

He will not give me a reason, you see, though I have searched and listened intently. I am only given a promise--I do not walk alone. I would love a little insight, a straight answer, but I know from experience His promise is enough. He always makes good on His Word.

Neither God nor Dr. Jess left me without hope of healing. I have been given three assignments:

1) Attempt to rebuild a digestive mucous layer by eating up to 2 tablespoons of mucilaginous fiber per day, rotating the fibers. These fibers include ground flax seeds, ground chia seeds, ground slippery elm, ground marshmallow root, and okra pepsin. The hope is that rotation will prevent me from forming an allergy to any of them.

2) Find a form of dibencozide (B-12) that can bypass the gut. I found some drops that I will try to take through my nasal cavity. If that doesn't work, there are other (less savory) ways.

3) Research NAD (nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide) therapy, and consider joining a clinical trial offered to floxy patients in which NAD is given intravaneously for 4-6 days. The trial will take place in Springfield, LA. As a trial patient, I would only be responsible for the cost of the drug.

Brandon and I have been researching NAD. I will likely participate in the trial. The NAD should be able to "reboot" my mitochondria with little to no side effects, assuming I will tolerate the IV tubing and treatment environment. I am not looking forward to the challenges the trial will present to my family and me, and the treatment will have to be affordable. However, I do believe that God will make a way if it is right for me.

Fluoroquinolone toxicity is a very serious condition. Some people never recover. Some people lose their minds. Some people die. But I do not believe that will be my story. I definitely need a miracle, and I believe I'm going to get one. I believe I can be healthier than I have ever been, but I'm not putting my hope in clinical trials or doctors (as wonderful and generous as they are) or even healing. I'm putting my hope in Christ. It may seem a crazy move to place my trust in the One who put me in this awful place. But I owe Him everything. There is nothing He could ask that He doesn't deserve. He experienced far worse than the hell I'm in when He was hanging on the cross to make good on my sin. He stayed there though it was within His power to call the whole thing off so that one day I would be safe and whole with Him eternally, when none of this, however long and hard it proves to be, will matter. He has been in my place and worse to save something more important than my body--my soul--so that even if I depart this life under the worst of circumstances, who I really am will not come to an end.

I am not my diagnosis. I am not the sum of my DNA. I am not this sickness. I am something more, something of infinite value, something Jesus Christ gave everything He had to salvage. That is what truly matters. That is what will last. Not this nightmare. And maybe, through these trials, my brave, little cubs may catch a glimpse of their own infinite value, and get a foretaste of the surpassing worth of Jesus Christ. It will all be worth it. And it will all work for good.


PRAYER ANSWERED BY CROSSES

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, in love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek more earnestly His face.

'Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer;
But it has been in such a way 
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favoured hour,
At once He'd answer my request;
And by His love's constraining power,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart,
And let the angry powers of hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea, more with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried;
"Wilt Thou pursue Thy worm to death?"
"Tis in this way," the Lord replied,
"I answer prayer for grace and faith."

"These inward trials I employ
From self and pride to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou mayst seek thy all in Me."

--John Newton
(1725-1807)


Disclaimer: I do not hold Dr. Cave responsible for the damaging effects of fluoroquinolone antibiotic toxicity. She simply did what she knew to do. Fluoroquinolone drugs are prescribed widely throughout the world, and there is no way to predict when or to whom this toxicity may occur.

The Rough Landing and a Journey


On this day a year ago, I crash landed into the world of chronic illness. I had been sick for a long time prior, but the anaphylactic reaction that took place on May 2, 2012 flipped my world upside down entirely, and I haven’t been able to right it since. I easily recall the emotional trauma of those early days. I remember thinking my life was over, that if I didn’t die I might want to. Today, I smile wisely and compassionately at the scared, broken young woman I was a year ago because the woman I am today knows the girl’s life was far from over. Rather, she was standing at the threshold of something new entirely, something the girl had secretly longed for her entire life--adventure. 

I have always been a girl with a plan. Those plans usually involve safety and comfort, so I was an unlikely, ill-prepared candidate for an adventure as adventures are never safe or comfortable. My first steps were as awkward and faltering as those of a newborn fawn. Every time I finally found my stride, the terrain would inevitably change, forcing me to adjust. Again. At times, I have forgotten my destination. When I manage to remember my heading, I forget to enjoy the journey. I am fairly certain even the pre-There and Back Again Bilbo Baggins would have been a more promising candidate for this sort of thing than me, but alas--this is my road to haul......minus the cool factor of elves, dwarves, hobbits and Gandalf.

Slowly, I am learning that "promising" isn't on the list of prerequisites for the reluctant adventurer. As a matter of fact, the only thing necessary on an unexpected journey is the decision to take a step. And then another. After that, it is all about a metamorphosis over which the adventurer has little to no control.

Truly, everything has changed. From my appearance to my diet to my habits to my home (we bought a farm!), I am not who I once was.


 June 2012
 August 2012
 January 2013
April 2013
(A mask is now a necessary accessory for all public outings.)


Much of my outward beauty has faded over the past year, but that just happens on adventures. For awhile, you care and then you realize that other things are more important--like putting your energy into taking care of sick babies, cooking dinner for hungry co-adventurers, or foraging for healing herbs down by the creek.





As I am an Hermione at heart, I have done a ton of reading and research to plot my best course. Along the way, I have picked up a lot of tools to add to my arsenal. Many of you probably consider my ways very quacky. That's okay. Thank God we are all different! But don't knock it because it's weird. Remember that all adventurers possess a certain amount insanity! Also remember that life has a way of making you eat your words.....and thoughts. I may or may not be speaking from personal experience.

I have acquired new skills, and continue to acquire them all the time. I can cook! I can ferment! I can make my own hygiene products! My co-adventurer husband (aka Superman) is learning to farm! This summer, I will have to learn to harvest, can, preserve, blanch and freeze. Bring it!

A year ago, I was afraid all of the time.....of everything. Those days are over. I still feel fear, but usually only when wasps are involved. And even I have recently stood my ground with a wasp, armed with nothing but a flimsy fly-swat and poor coordination. Months ago, the pain and fatigue (which I have fondly named Mildred and Gertrude) I live with every day kept me from doing things I wanted to do. No more. Hunger continues to be a formidable foe. I still become quite grumpy when hungry, but I have learned to live without monster cookies and gluten-free donuts, which is something. I don't even miss them anymore. Give me carrot "fries," chicken soup and chocolate pudding made with avocados and dates any day of the week! Herbal teas are also becoming a favorite of this former coffee drinker.

Several years ago, I would have scorned the life I live today. If someone had told me that I would become a raging hippy (minus the LSD and free love) who did little else besides stay home, cook, watch plants grow and take care of children, I would have laughed. Or cried. I used to think people like me were very "woo-woo" and boring. And maybe we are. But the point is that I had dreams of being accepted, loved and known for something, and I am none of these things. I fit in with very few people. While I am loved deeply, it is only by a few and many of these are scattered here, there and yonder, hours away from my little life on Jubilee Farm. Because I have disappeared from all of my old social circles, I am largely forgotten outside of social media. At first, my new place in society made me sad, but then I thought of Bilbo. In the Shire, he fit in. He was known and even loved, but the moment he left with the dwarves he fit in nowhere, was known by few and was loved by even fewer. Yet what he did mattered. On this journey, I am learning to embrace the call of being vital to a few rather than optional to many.



The journey has not been easy. I have often despaired. The thrill of adventure has waned, and I feel myself lost in the dark, soaking wet by a never-ending downpour without necessary equipment or adequate rations. The words, "this is too much," have often come to mind recently.

I am not without good company. Many adventurers have despaired along the way. Actually, Good Company is what separates me from all of my favorite storybook travelers. A friend shared these words on Facebook the other day--

"When you say, 'I just can't handle______,' you're preaching to yourself an anti-gospel that forgets the presence and power of Jesus."--Paul David Tripp

Can I get an "ouch!?" Things have been hard. While I am better in some ways, I am sicker in others. I emotionally suffer as those I love dearly physically suffer. There have been disappointments and setbacks and sicknesses and near death experiences, but the last time I checked, Jesus Christ carries the heavy end of my cross. If a situation seems too hard,  I am likely trying to manage it rather than handing it over as I ought. I have forgotten the ultimate Co-Adventurer and the power He possesses. You see, when I'm walking with Him, nothing seems hard. Not really. 

"Therefore since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him [you and me] endured the cross." --Hebrews 12:1-2

I am a year into fairly extreme illness. Endurance is vital. The only way I am going to make it is if I look past the temporal mile marker of healing, straight into the eyes of Jesus which are blazing with unfathomable passion for me. He will go to all lengths necessary to get me into His arms, and He will receive me regardless of my lack of qualifications.

"[God] gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall, but those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint."--Isaiah 40:29-31
 
Sometimes, I am tempted to look back at the blissful ignorance and ease I once enjoyed, but looking back is worse than useless. It's crippling and sinful. 

"But I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ laid hold of me....forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead. I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."--Philippians 3:12-14

 Lot's wife looked back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, and was turned into a pillar of salt. Israel, while wandering in the desert, languished at the monotony of manna, and cried out for the comforts of her former slavery in Egypt. Looking back says, "God, I don't like where You are taking me. I don't trust You. I don't believe You." Looking forward says, "I believe in the Promised Land, and I trust You to take me there. I will gladly walk in this desert. It's hot and tiresome, but I will rest in the shadow of Your wings. I will joyfully eat this manna. It is enough because You are enough."

My journey is not haphazard. Every encounter, every bend in the road achieves some purpose unknown to me. It's all a part of my story, predestined by a Perfect Author. Knowing this gives me permission to enjoy meeting ogres along the way. The ogres shape my character, too.

"Rejoice in the process. Growth in grace is gradual over time."--Tim Lane

You know, it's okay if the heroine sheds a few tears along the way. It's okay if she pauses occasionally to ask, "Why?" That's just real life. We aren't called to stuff our emotions any more than we are called to wallow in self-pity. I believe we are instead called to invest our emotions, entrusting them to our Faithful Creator who sees the big picture while expectantly awaiting the return we will receive for doing so. 

While the plot twists before me are unknown and treacherous, my destination is sure.

"Therefore, I run thus: not with uncertainty."--1 Corinthians 9:16

My ultimate enemy--spiritual death--is already defeated. Nothing else truly threatens me. No matter what, I end up in the Everlasting Arms. 

While I am not where I had hoped I would be one full year into my adventure, I soldier on. The Lord has recently blessed me with a second wind, just as I desperately needed it. He does that whole "supplying all my needs" thing pretty well. With an Adventure Buddy like that, I think I'll be just fine. Ogres and all.

How to Muscle Test and Relieve Allergy Symptoms

I have been planning this video blog for awhile now. I actually intended to post it much earlier, but circumstances would not allow for it. So here we are at my blog's 100th post, and I am entirely veering away from my usual style. 

If you are new here, know that my blog is not a health blog. Usually, it resembles a diary. Lately, I write almost exclusively about my journey to healing and what God is teaching me along the way. If you are interested in learning more about my illness, I suggest reading here, here and here

Making the videos was not easy. When we first began, I had difficulty keeping myself from giggling idiotically. Then, I made several frustrating mistakes. In some cuts, I plague the camera with nervous tics and verbal dyslexia. It was a mess! My attempts to order my thoughts and overcome my nervousness make my manner come across as cold and aloof. Oh, well! These were the best takes recorded before I ran out of patience and energy. The first video covers the topic of muscle testing and the second covers BioSET treatments. I hope the information, if not my sparkling on-camera personality (HA!), helps and blesses you and your families.

Disclaimer: This information is not to be used as a substitute for professional medical care, especially during cases of emergency. Practitioners trained in the BioSET system can be located throughout the country. I highly recommend locating a practitioner near you!
  `
Acknowledgments: Dr. Ellen Cutler, Dr. Carolyne Yakaboski and Dr. Melisa Kuehn. Dr. Yakaboski of West Monroe, Louisiana will be teaching a BioSET class coming soon! Please comment if you would like to receive more information concerning the class!

Special thanks goes to my husband, Brandon Keaster (aka Superman), who filmed the video, held my notes and performed the muscle testing and BioSET treatments.



I Could Only Think of Eggs

I was unwell when I woke this morning. I had obviously caught my kids' cold, but I wasn't surprised. I catch every illness that enters our home these days. I moved slowly. I read Jesus Calling and pondered Psalm 90. At almost 11:00, I was ready for a light breakfast. I ate runny, scrambled eggs--organic, pastured eggs the Lord had so sweetly provided for me last week--and drank a cup of hot, rich chicken broth so my body could spend its energy on healing the cold rather than digesting the food. I took the supplements I continue to tolerate--cod liver oil, Vitamin D3 and my digestive enzyme. I scaled down my plans for the day, and decided to spend some time out in the sun. I was making good choices.....until I took a bite of the coconut-based brownie I made yesterday. 

I dressed Sara and the two of us joined the boys, both of whom were outside. Brandon was finishing his work on the porch he mostly built last weekend and Micah was "helping." I plopped down in the canvas chair almost doubling over from the stabbing pain directly below my sternum. I could tell that I would not get away with the slightest indiscretion on this day, a realization that should have directed me back indoors.

I tried to enjoy the breeze and the red glow the sun cast about my children's heads, but my intense stomach pain and discomfort from the cold prevented me. As the kids played and Brandon worked--measuring, sawing and drilling--an eerie feeling crept upon me. My head grew thick and my stomach tossed with nausea. My chest tightened and my limbs filled with lead. Drunk though I was, I saw the flecks of wood thrown by the saw and carried off by the wind, I remembered that the wood was treated (meaning the wood was toxic), and the Holy Spirit spoke within--Get inside.

Somehow, I managed to get myself and the kids in the house. I immediately turned on Mickey Mouse for the kiddos, and fell onto the couch. I felt so strange. I tried to monitor my own breathing, my only requirement was that it must continue. My body was just so heavy and wrong, and it almost seemed that my soul lifted out of it and hovered above the scene, waiting to see what would happen. I lost all sense of time. At one point, I thought, "Is this what dying feels like?" I never once thought I would actually die, but the question prompted me to croak to Micah--"Tell Daddy that I need his help."

Brandon made his way inside not knowing how poorly I was doing. I told him that I needed BioSet. He helped me up from the couch, and suddenly I was sputtering, choking and wheezing. I hobbled into the kitchen, leaning on him for support. Once there, he realized to make the BioSet treatment most effective, he needed to take a saliva sample with a cotton swab.....which we keep in the bathroom. He propped me upon the kitchen counter and walked away. My chest burned and ached. I struggled for breath, and was as drunk as a skunk from toxic exposure. My legs gave way. I hit the kitchen floor with a thud. I was only vaguely aware of the pain in my hip, shoulder and head from the fall. Brandon was suddenly by my side again with my inhaler. I cried involuntarily as I struggled to get a puff.

I never lost consciousness, but my awareness faded in and out. I heard words like "hospital," "Mama is sick, Baby," and "can you come over." I surrendered myself to whatever fate Brandon deemed necessary. I heard Sara crying, and knew she cried because she knew something was wrong with me. She always knows. I knew when he gave me the Acute Rescue (a.k.a. magic potion) drops. I was able to cooperate when he swabbed my mouth and rolled me over onto my stomach to perform BioSet. Otherwise, I could only lie there, sprawled out in the middle of my small kitchen floor, thinking of eggs--

Recently, my Papaw began bringing me some pastured eggs from a farmer friend of his. I have been eating eggs all along (except for those first few weeks when I couldn't eat anything), but these eggs are different. They taste better, are richer in color. I crave them at all meals and always feel better after eating them. So, I am eating a lot of them. I ran out while Papaw was in the hospital last week. His friend and supplier is a little odd and often drunk, so I couldn't just go get the eggs myself. Before leaving for Baton Rouge on Thursday, I packed a couple of empty egg cartons to take along. Dad asked me why I was bringing them. I told him that I was out of pastured eggs and if we saw some along the way, I would like to stop.

I have made the trip to Baton Rouge several times, and have never seen anyone selling eggs along the way, something I would have noticed because I look for such things. However, I knew that my body needed those eggs. I knew that God knew my body needed the eggs. Therefore, I believed it was quite possible, even likely, that I would find some.

I looked for a road sign the entire trip, and did not find one. After that, I honestly forgot about it. I went to my appointments, both of which were very beneficial. When I finished my massage, Dad was paying for something and a couple walked in carrying large grocery bags. Babette, my masseuse, swept back into the lobby. She greeted the couple and taking the bags from them, asked me if I would like to buy some eggs.

"They are fresh, organic and pastured and they come from happy chickens!" she smiled. My dad's face was priceless. He laughed out loud. I smiled and told her I had two empty cartons in the car and would love to buy some.

In childlike faith, I had packed those cartons, fully believing that God could provide the eggs my body so desired. And He did. It was as simple as that. And that was all I could think of as I drifted in and out of conscious thought.

But you must see that I wasn't really thinking of eggs. I was thinking of God's faithfulness. 

He has promised to supply all my needs in Christ Jesus (Phil. 4:19). On Thursday, He saw that I needed pastured eggs. He provided them. And He did it in a clever way so that His signature could clearly be seen. Many months ago, He gave me a much-needed promise that I would live through this hell so that I would continue to fight my way through it without giving up. Before I was born, he chose Brandon to be my husband because He knew I needed a Superman to save my sickly butt time and again, a man who had the strength to live this life without losing his mind or his love for me.

As Sara Groves sings in one of my favorite songs, "God has been faithful. He will be again."

After Acute Rescue drops, a couple of puffs on the inhaler and two rounds of BioSet, I dramatically improved. After a sinus rinse, a detox bath and fresh clothes, I stopped re-poisoning myself which is always a plus. I have improved a little more throughout the day. I am still occasionally wheezing and suffering from swelling and sinus pressure. I am hurt from my fall to the kitchen floor, and I feel toxic. But I am alive. Thanks to God and Superman.

This verse from Psalm 90 kept coming to me today--"Make us glad according to the days in which You have afflicted us; the years in which we have seen evil." (v. 15)

This life I currently live is a life of affliction, but God is going to do me one better than make me glad for as many days as I have suffered. One day, the breath I take will be my last. Even if I suffer every day until then, my suffering will all be swallowed up by never-ending gladness, by the joy of His abiding presence, never to be remembered again. Until then, I will feed on His faithfulness every moment, something I did quite literally this evening as I ate three of my delicious, nutritious, pastured eggs for dinner.