Tuesday, December 17, 2013

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.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

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


Thursday, November 28, 2013

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.





Saturday, November 23, 2013

The Cup

During periods of trial, time plays odd games. The days are long though they trip along like merry children. You wonder where and how they went. A season is born and buried while you are living from one breath to the next. You emerge from the rubble of the last windstorm, certain a lifetime has passed since you last saw the sun. Nope. Just a month. You check the calendar to be sure.

The previous four weeks have gone like that. Kind of. The suffering hasn't been life threatening, but it's been real and very hard. I'm not fighting for survival anymore, just the will to survive. I've got breath in my lungs and food in my stomach, but I haven't been able to pin down joy or hope or faith for longer than a single moment at a time.

Difficult circumstances have exposed deeply seated, uncomfortable emotions, which had so long been hiding under the rug I had forgotten all about them. As I tried to cope with a physical setback and the suffering of those I care for, the unwelcome feelings bubbled to the surface, demanding to be dealt with. Emotion became thought, which in turn became need. After some graceless floundering about, need became prayer.

God was acting before I uttered the first plea. He gave me several cues to seek physical support for these powerful feelings. One lovely feature of natural medicine is that it treats the whole person, not just flesh and bone. I talked to Dr. Yakaboski last week about my concerns. At our appointment this week, she performed a Zyto scan. My top five stressors were "afraid," "fear," "pain," "intensity," and "disconnected." I'm not sure I could have better described myself. Using the Zyto machine, she made a water-based homeopathic to treat the specific stressors. After the scan, she performed B.E.S.T. during which she "cleared" what I felt to be the most troubling thoughts and feelings. Relief was immediate. I have felt better physically and emotionally since the treatment, and I continue to take the homeopathic.

In His usual perfect timing, God prompted a friend, who also happens to be my primary physician, to send a lovely care package. The letter, Bible verses and mixed CD of worship music speak far deeper and more poignantly than she knows. As I listen to the music and put the Scripture to memory, I am suddenly Moses so weary from holding up my arms. I cannot let them droop because if I do the battle will be lost, and even though the battle wages only in my own soul, the stakes are higher than I can imagine. My friend is Aaron, holding up my arms when I no longer can. With her help, I have caught my second wind. I remember I am not alone. Oh, how we need one another. Oh, how blessed we are to be part of a family.

The Lord provided me with tangible assistance through my doctors and friends. In His Word, He gave answer. And none too gently. He is not a tame lion, after all.

To my fear of being forgotten, He says, "Are not five sparrows sold for two copper coins? And not one of them is forgotten before God. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows" (Luke 12:6-7). 

To my desire for love from certain people in my life who withhold it, He says, "abide in My love" (John 15:9).

To my loneliness, He says, "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you....Fear not, for I am with you" (Isaiah 43:2,5), and "Be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you'" (Hebrews 13:15).

To my desperation to be understood He says, "The heart knows its own bitterness, and a stranger does not share its joy" (Proverbs 14:10), and "For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin" (Hebrews 4:15).

God has shown me this truth--no one can enter into my suffering except for Christ Himself. Likewise, I cannot enter into the suffering of another. I can only be perfectly understood by One. There is a veil which prevents anyone from treading upon the holy ground between Christ and the individual believer. Not even my husband or mother can pass through.

Do you see it? Jesus Christ has audaciously set Himself up to be the answer to all my needs, to every longing of my heart. He never once mentioned the remembrance, affection, company or empathy of another human being, which I suppose is handy since I'm rarely around people above the age of four. But it wasn't the answer I was looking for. And somehow it was more.

Jesus isn't only ready and willing to enter into my suffering. Infinitely more importantly, He is inviting me to enter into His, "to know Him....and the fellowship of His suffering" (Philippians 3:10). He is offering to me His cup--the one He so wanted to pass Him by, the one He drank dry to rescue my soul from deadly self-sufficiency. Dude, I don't want the cup, either! I, too, have asked, begged God to take it away.

And yet I wonder--is there anything more intimate than sharing a cup? I have shared with my parents, my sister, my husband, my best friend, and only sparingly even then. You have to really know and love a person to swap backwash. The thought strikes me--Jesus is the ultimate Father, Brother, Husband, Friend. To know Him and all His names, we must taste the wine of His suffering, bitter though it is.

His love gives me courage. With Him, I say, "Not my will, but Yours." I will drink with the One who snatched me from the jaws of death.

Sharing the cup is not a one time decision; it's a daily one. In the early days of my suffering, I decided that knowing Christ was more important than health, but as time passed and the burden of this all-encompassing illness only grew heavier, I began to desire healing more than the glory of God. Essentially, I became an idolator.

Once upon a time, I may have volunteered to have a little "health scare" or something mildly earth-rending to bring me closer to God. I'm weird like that. But this thing--it has dragged me farther than I ever wanted to go. I never wanted to hurt this badly, lose this much. I never desired my death. And that's what this illness has wrought. I may be breathing, but the woman I once was is no longer with us. I have been absolutely ruined, torn apart. I will never recover.

 This is what the cup does. It kills you.

"Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain. He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life." John 12:24-25

The One with whom you share the cup brings you back to life.

"Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?'" John 11:25

Below is one of the songs my friend included on the CD. Listen and be blessed:



Friday, November 8, 2013

A Portrait of the Gospel

My spirits tend to sink when weighted by a chain of hard days. I wish I was past this weakling business. I'm not. Here's the lovely thing--the bad days were proceeded by several good ones.

Brandon and I attended Brian and Jenny's wedding in Houston. I will try to give an adequate description of the day, but I am afraid words will fail. The highlights are as follows:

The way was prepared for me. I had prayed long and hard concerning the event. I held it loosely so the sting wouldn't be too great if plans fell through. A thousand things could have gone badly, any of which would have prevented me from attending. Not one came to pass. We were nervous. We remembered too well our last trip to Houston, specifically the drive back home through the rain as I struggled for breath and clung to my Epi pen. We were driving west and almost at the Texas state line when the Lord gave me a word--"redemption." I spoke it aloud. I told Brandon that this trip would be the opposite of our last. God was going to redeem the trauma of the year before.

 The hotel room made me sick, but my reactions were controlled with TBM and BioSet (energy/acupressure work). Jenny had asked my groomsman escort not to wear cologne. The bridesmaids--strangers almost--elected not to wear any fragrance on my behalf without being asked by anyone. There are only a handful of people in my life who make this kind of accommodation for me. I was stunned by their thoughtfulness. My mask was still needed, and it provided sufficient protection until I passed a particularly fragrant wedding guest in the reception area. My reaction was not life threatening, but I was made unwell enough to require treatment.

God smiled on the day. The air was cool and crisp. Sun rays glowed golden, slipping through morning shadows to dry the dew and warm our shoulders. God's seal of approval was apparent in every detail. His Spirit hung quietly about us all, manifesting in joy, calm, intentional moments and physical strength for Jenny. And she looked absolutely beautiful.

I generally don't cry at weddings, but I cried at this one. It was simple and impossibly sweet. Every expression, word, musical choice and ceremonial symbol bore significance. The congregation was called to sing, "Ode to Joy"--a fitting song for the event. When the chorus began, voices like angels rang from the loft above. The church had granted Brian and Jenny an unexpected gift of a women's choir to bless them. They blessed us all.








Unfortunately, I kind of derailed after the trip. Now ask me if I regret going. (Hint: See facial expressions in photos above.)

Pain, brain fog and heightened sensitivity set in the evening we returned home, growing worse each day. These symptoms are often accompanied by depression. Depression is a nasty foe, particularly so because it consumes a person with self. Self is never a good focus. Self fails in every way. It blinds you to what is real and vital. It takes from you without ever giving anything back.

It is a shame that after freshly experiencing something so beautiful and divine, I returned home to wallow. Like a pig in filth.

I allowed unholy thoughts to pour in and puddle--This is too hard. I've been sick so long. I may never be well. I am forgotten. No one understands what my life is like.

At Jenny's wedding, I was asked, "What is your illness?" This question is always hard for me. It reminds me there is no name for what I have. People understand names like "cancer" and "diabetes," but they cannot understand the craziness I've got going on. If I say I have allergies, people think I'm being extremely dramatic about a runny nose. If I talk about immunity or methylation, their eyes glaze over with information overload. My disease is a mystery to me. How do I answer the question? I try. It always comes out in too many confused words.

When there is no name for the disease, there is no established protocol. My doctor and I really have no idea what we are doing. Muscle testing keeps us from making major, life-threatening mistakes, but really all we have to go on is trial and error. Two prospective treatments have recently come to my attention. I did not realize how desperately I was hoping to be a candidate for either or both until Dr. Yakaboski tested that I was a candidate for neither. I wasn't prepared for the disappointment.

More unholy thoughts--You are a freak. No one knows what is wrong with you. You are too sick to tolerate the treatments that can make you better.

There are people who need me--my time, my "spoons," my prayers, and all I have been thinking about is myself. Last night, I had enough. I'm sure God had enough before it began. I wielded my secret weapon--the self sermon.

I preach a mini sermon almost every day either for me or the kids. I have gotten pretty good at it. I began preaching to myself out loud over my stove as I cooked. Micah and Sara were unphased. Eight kinds of crazy are accepted here. I began by quoting scripture to myself:

"Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance." --Psalm 42:5

"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 94:18-19

"'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.'"--2 Corinthians 12:9

"Let us run with endurance the race that is set before, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him [US] endured the cross...." Hebrews 12:1-2

"When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I."--Psalm 61:2

I did not realize how bad I was feeling physically until this inexplicable weight on my body and haze in my brain lifted. Last night Scripture literally brought a manner of healing to my body. Not just to my soul. To my body.

Enjoying the new clarity, I began pouring my heart out to Jesus. My feelings were utterly selfish, but He listened. And He not only listened--He responded.

Me: I feel so misunderstood.

GOD: Is not my understanding enough for you?

Me: Ouch. Yes, it is. I feel forgotten.

GOD: The eyes of God of the Universe are upon you. You cannot comprehend what this means.

Me: Wow. Yeah, I guess I don't. Well, how am I going to get better if I cannot tolerate treatment?

GOD: You will continue to patiently walk in my wisdom until my purposes are accomplished and you are healed. The treatments of man are irrelevant to you.

Me: And there ya go. I feel unimportant.

GOD: When Jesus was born into the world, He was God made into flesh yet only his parents and a few animals were present. During His world changing ministry, He only had a handful of friends. Jesus made Himself unimportant. This is your model. Do not forget the cross. Your importance to Me was made clear there.

Me: I am ridiculous.

Later, Brandon ministered to me as well. He listened. He validated my feelings. And he preached to me from Scripture, the gist of which was Paul had it way worse than you and was joyful in all things so suck it up! Perfect! I was taken aback by this sweet manifestation of the Spirit in my husband. Generally, men like to play Mr. Fix It. You offer a problem; they offer a solution. Brandon knew he couldn't offer me a real solution, so he offered me something better. He gave me an ear and a godly kick in the pants.

Even the sum of these things fell a mite short of what I really needed. I needed a flag to follow--something greater than myself as a rally point. The Billy Graham special reminded me of what that is tonight.

Billy Graham is gifted. He preaches a simple message simply. The gospel of Christ is incredibly elementary. A preschooler can grasp it. It is also devastating, earth rending, life changing. Tonight I recalled my purpose. I have been bought with a price. I am owned. My purpose is to enjoy Jesus regardless of my circumstances, to make Him look beautiful to the world, and to spread His fame. I cannot do this if I am looking at myself. I am entitled to my feelings. God gave us the capacity to feel. But I must not allow my feelings to consume me. I must be consumed by the truth and permanence of the cross.

Looking at the cross requires looking away from ourselves to gaze at something glorious--something worth living, worth suffering and worth dying for. The cross demands everything we are; the resurrection supplies the power to give what is demanded. We are not victims, brothers and sisters. We are warriors, overcomers, victors!

I thought about Jenny's wedding again after the special. It was a true to life portrait of the gospel. We are a broken bride. We are sick with physical, spiritual and emotional maladies of all kinds, the names of which do not matter, for it is all disease in need of healing. We are frail and imperfect. We need to be saved, restored and healed. Though we have done nothing to deserve it, God has clothed us in a lovely, white gown. He has made us radiant with His love. This is our reality right now, and we are still only our shadow selves. We are not yet who we really are. We still carry our brokenness with us. But if we will just keep looking to the Groom and bask in the love shining from His eyes, we will make it down the aisle just fine.

 "God has been too good to me to play the victim anymore."--Jenny








Thursday, October 17, 2013

But YES The Hippopotamus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

I attempted church on Sunday.

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


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

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

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





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

Thursday, September 19, 2013

I Am The Hippopotamus

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other challenges of separateness include--
  • learning to be alone without feeling lonely, learning that because I walk with Christ, I am never alone
  • working through the frustration of not feeling useful
  • feeling sad and guilty for not being able to "show up" for the important people in my life

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

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

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

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

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




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

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






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

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


A FEW CLOSING TIDBITS:

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

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

A Fun Fact:

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

Prayer requests:

  • My allergies have my body on edge right now. Serious reactions are popping up here and there. This creates more stress for Brandon and more difficulty for me.
  •  I get a weekly treatment on Tuesdays. As a result, I am sick on Wednesdays. If I come to mind on any given Wednesday, give me a shout out in your prayer time. 

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

A Fun Update:

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

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

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

Thanks for reading! God bless!


Friday, August 23, 2013

The Three Little Sinners: A Tale

Once upon a time, three little sinners lived in a small house in the country. The three sinners were often able to mask their bad behavior with good manners, keen wit and the gift of being easily satisfied with life. Sometimes, they were so good at it that they almost forgot they were sinners. However, particular sets of circumstances had a way of faithfully drawing out the bad behavior and parading it about with all the delicacy of an wild elephant. Such was the case upon the day our story begins.

On this day, all three sinners awoke irritable, ill and out of sorts. The smallest little sinner was provoked by a runny nose, headache, stifling congestion and disturbed sleep. She was the least practiced at ignoring her discomfort and hiding her sin so it was no wonder at all that she cried and cried all the day long, refusing to be consoled. She was perfectly determined to be unhappy, and--as I'm sure you well know--anyone who is perfectly determined to be unhappy will be perfectly successful.

The second little sinner woke up with an astonishing case of "The Naughties." Like a moth to a flame, he was drawn to every scrap of naughtiness to be found lying about the small house. And apparently, there were many. He began the morning by lying to his mother (who also happens to be our third, largest and most extravagant sinner) whilst looking her squarely in the eye. His indiscretion was discovered easily enough. When his mother corrected him, he took hold of another shred of naughtiness--

"Mamma?" the little sinner said, "I didn't even cry." Because the day was yet young, her patience still mostly untried and her last conversation with the Lord fairly recent, his Mamma calmly replied, "Son, I am not trying to make you cry; I am trying to teach you to obey God."

Awhile later, the second sinner discovered another bit of naughtiness hidden in a pile of wooden blocks on the floor. The smallest sinner was playing with the blocks, enjoying a brief window of contentment. The second sinner must have missed her unusually powerful cry. Abandoning all manner of self control, he grabbed a block and threw it with enthusiasm toward the head of the smallest little sinner who released a wail so profound the walls creaked and the tin roof clattered in response.

At this, the third sinner (who is said to be an adult) lost. her. mind. She did not yell (upon this instance), but delivered deadly looks to the second sinner as she attempted to console the smallest sinner without success. After the worst of the screeching subsided, the largest sinner grabbed the second sinner by the wrist, fixed him in her fiery gaze and proceeded to shame him. The second sinner was corrected once again, but there was no one to correct the largest sinner except the Holy Spirit, who delivers the most memorable corrections of anyone. The largest sinner was reminded that shame is the devil's game and has never led anyone to repentance. Only love can do that. (It's always rewarding to be compared with the devil.)

And so the largest sinner was driven to tears and apology. The second sinner received her apology with grace, and draped his arms about her shoulders in a forgiving embrace.

It would seem that all should be right with the world after such a moment, but that was not the case. The smallest sinner bawled and brayed until the mother realized an early nap was in order. The second sinner continued his naughty ways, making unnecessary noise while the smallest sinner slept, disobeying direct orders and sassing his Mamma (a serious offense in that part of the world). The smallest sinner was howling again within five minutes of being up from her nap. Physical discomfort, fatigue and frustration nipped and gnawed at the largest sinner who eventually released a cry of her own--"Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Of course, this did nothing to help matters in any way. The smallest sinner only cried louder, the second sinner was thoroughly amused, and the largest sinner who was already spent had expended unnecessary energy. 

Bedtime was met with relief by the largest sinner. She hurt all over and was dragging her limbs about as if they were burdened by heavy weights. She was sullen and withdrawn, disappointed with the day and her performance. She felt utterly defeated and was certain every word spoken, decision made and action carried out was the wrong one. She would ruin her children entirely!

As the largest sinner laid her head upon her pillow, the Holy Spirit reminded her, "Little sinner, I love you. I see into your very core. I know the depths of your wickedness, but you cannot guess the heights of my love. My blood was spilled for this day and the one tomorrow. You can neither parent so well that you will ensure the salvation of your children nor so poorly that you alone would be responsible for their damnation. Let go of your guilt. Your performance won't save you anyway. Only my love can do that."

And so the largest little sinner believed the Holy Spirit. She quieted her mind and eventually fell into an exhausted slumber, and there she stayed until the smallest sinner woke her at 4:15am howling like a banshee once again.

The largest sinner winced and quailed as she sat up, already guessing at the difficulty of the day. She was angry when her husband left early for the woods. She grew angrier when it became obvious she would not get anymore sleep. She felt overwhelmed when the second sinner woke at 6:45am demanding breakfast and asking many questions, which required her to speak before her preferred hour of 9:00am. Then, she remembered the Source of her help, spoke the word "grace,"and set about her duties and delight.


To be continued, I'm sure.....

Monday, August 19, 2013

Necessary things, updates....

Composing a blog post wasn't my first choice for today's morning activities, but my conscience tells me that an update is overdue. And it's right. So many of you pray for me with diligence. Like me, you like to pray current, specific prayers for those God places upon your hearts. Furthermore, updates are reports of God's accomplishments and foreshadows of accomplishments to come. Updates are fodder for our souls. They serve as proof that God cares about our tiny troubles, listens to our humble words and stoops Himself to our lowly planes to bind up our wounds and heal our diseases.

Good and necessary things, updates--even when something else competes for our time, attention and passions. Besides the adorable red-heads dancing about my living room, that is.

Do not think for a moment that I am not grateful and still in need of prayer. Some days, I am certain that the prayers of others are the difference between grit and cowardice, joy and despair, even life and death. It's just that I--

Tell you what: I will let you know what I am up to at the end of the post. To business!

As I look back on the last few years, I clearly see juxtaposed intervals of time owning unique sets of weather conditions, slants of light and challenges thereof. Seasons.

Sometime during our stay with my parents, I entered into a new season. I was eating well and having fewer reactions, but I began having trouble napping. My insomnia worsened. I would wake feeling as if I had not slept at all. Fatigue was suddenly my greatest foe. I became even more sensitive to cold, and wore a sweater about the house much of the time. Brown and bumpy patches formed on my skin. I put on several pounds with incredible speed. Not long after we returned home, I noticed I became hoarse after reading to my children. I felt a constriction in my throat upon swallowing. The shape of my neck was different. These and other symptoms alarmed me to the fact that something new was amiss.

After researching and consulting with my doctor, I realized that my hypothyroidism had worsened. She told me the adrenal and thyroid glands share a symbiotic relationship. When one suffers, the other does as well. I have this horrible suspicion that the decision to use my Epi Pen the day of the ant bite is largely to blame. Epinephrine can do nasty things to the adrenal glands. My adrenals were already in a sad state, and did not need the hit they took that day.

In addition to adrenal exhaustion, I am suffering from an iodine deficiency. I no longer use iodized salt, and I did not replace the iodine as I should. So now I have a goiter. Lovely.

Hypothyroidism tends to be degenerative; therefore, I couldn't ignore the problem. I knew I was unlikely to tolerate the leading thyroid replacements on the market. Thankfully, my doctor is extremely resourceful. She found tablets and homeopathics to support both my adrenals and my thyroid, and I tolerate them! Praise the Lord! I am also adding minerals to my drinking water and taking a high dose of iodine daily. After taking my "meds" for a couple of weeks, I no longer feel like I'm getting worse every day.

Endocrine system malfunctions are not my only battle, for we have come to that time of year--the time during which my entire life becomes one big allergic reaction. I have reacted to cinnamon, goat milk and butter just in the last four days, and had an anaphylactic reaction to a balloon that found its way into my house on Saturday. I stupidly picked it up to throw it outside, and promptly broke out in hives on my palm, wrist and neck. Breathing troubles followed. You know--the norm.

I'm not the only one having problems. Sara has an allergic rash that flares any time she is exposed to an allergen. The skin under Micah's eyes has turned dark and puffy. Dad is having trouble with a few foods as well. So yeah--that time of year.

But you know what? It's just a season. This one, too, shall pass.

In the meantime, I covet your prayers. With reactions, comes pain. Pain makes fatigue more difficult. Fatigue makes food restrictions more frustrating. Food restrictions make me irritable, and I don't need to be irritable because I have two sweet babies who are in need of extra empathy as they face their own discomfort.

Yet, in all these things, I am not only more than a conqueror. I am also having the time of my life! On August 9 as I read Jesus Calling, the Lord gave me a mental image. From there, the image exploded into an idea, which gave way to a plot and characters. And just like that, I am writing a book. (!!!!!)

Not only am I writing a book, I am writing within a genre I have always enjoyed--fantasy. I never intended to write a fantasy because it always seemed too complicated and daunting. But maybe it's not a fantasy because it doesn't have elves, dwarves, dragons or wizards. Or maybe it is because it does include magic, prophecies and a make-believe land. I have even drawn a map! The story is going to be allegorical for sure. And it's a romance. And it's an adventure.

I am basically writing my favorite kind of book. As a matter of fact, I feel antsy to get it done so I can read it! The inspiration was so beautiful and cool, but what is even cooler is that God is giving me clear directives to follow as I work. Writing this book is actually drawing me closer to the Lord. Now that's cool.

Thank you for continuing in your prayers for me and my family! Please keep it up! And I would be so honored if you would pray for me as I write this story. I know God has plans for it, and will use it to build and strengthen His church. In the end, it will be His masterpiece. I'm just the lucky duck that gets to be the vessel.

Okay, okay.....let me get on with my day so I can get on with my fun!

Friday, August 9, 2013

The Coward vs. The Fear

We returned to our trailer on Jubilee Farm two weeks ago today. After 27 days of being away from home, I drove northward from the city of West Monroe in a state of ecstasy. There were many comforts I enjoyed while staying with my parents--a large kitchen, a jacuzzi bathtub, live-in help, and delightful company--but truly, there is no place like my place.

I nearly skipped through the doorway of my little house, laughing in delight. Then I cried. I attempted a needed afternoon nap, but I couldn't control the tears. Sleep eluded me. After the unexpected tsunami of happiness receded, I found an old enemy lurking on the shore. As I relished my soft bed and searched for drowsiness, The Fear reached into my chest and took hold of my heart. The very part of me which had been pounding with hot joy only moments before found itself suddenly frozen and bound in place by black, winding tentacles.

The presence of The Fear made no sense at all. God had crowned the day with goodness. I was resting my tired, aching body in a room bathed in brilliant afternoon sun. I was breathing in familiar, safe scents I had missed for well nigh a month. And yet, there he was haunting me. Alone, he whispered. You are home, but now you are alone.

It was an absurd lie. Brandon was sitting in the living room with Sara even as he hissed.

He persisted. Your mother will begin teaching soon. Hunting season is on the horizon. Your well of helpers is about to dry up, and you will have to navigate your life alone feeling as you do.

Well, sleep was out of the question, thank you very much. My first tactic against The Fear was the least effective. Distraction. I turned on the television. The Fear continued to whisper, but he had to compete with my favorite digitally recorded programs.

Inevitably, the time to prepare dinner arrived. I sighed, turning off the TV. The Fear still had my heart in its icy hold. Alone, alone..... It would have been nice if he had left me alone. I was going to have to fight.

I began with my favorite weapon. "The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid?" I recited Psalm 27:1 silently.

You know you aren't ready to parent your children and manage your home when you can't even manage yourself.

"Fear not for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand (Isaiah 41:10)," I countered, again in my mind. "God will grant me either strength or help. So there." I almost stuck out my tongue.

The Fear was quiet for awhile, but he would not release me, and I could not wriggle out of his grasp. I prepared and ate dinner his prisoner, alternately praying and reminding myself of things that are true and real. By the time I began working on the dishes, I was growing tired of the struggle. I doubled my efforts by preaching to myself aloud.

"Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His presence (Psalm 42:5). Grace, grace. Sufficient grace. Your grace is sufficient for me (2 Corinthians 12:9)."

Brandon raised his eyebrows, but otherwise did not respond. The man is difficult to weird out these days. He has seen and heard too much. I remembered the promise of James 5:16 ("Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed."), and offered him context.

As I told him of The Fear and how he had presented himself after a high moment and proceeded to attack immediately without a scrap of reverence for my joy, I realized something: this always happens. Any time I am allowed even a moment of celebration--a good day, an answered prayer, a marked improvement, a memory made, a personal victory....especially if I share that celebration with others--rain is sure to flood my parade. For every happiness, there is an equivalent assault. Such an observation is sufficient to make anyone afraid. Sometimes, the rain comes in the form of a setback. Other times, it presents itself as an emergency. That day, The Fear came to call. I loathe that guy, but I can always choose whether or not I will play host to him. Because I'm sick, it's easy to make a pet of him--feed him, shelter him, excuse his mess--but I must turn him away every time he comes to my door. A moment of fear is only a weakness. Granting it entry is sin.

The Fear's tentacles slipped a bit when I shared my plight with Brandon. I continued to preach from the pulpit of my kitchen sink. I could breathe again. I recounted truths about God's abiding presence. My soul remembered it was never alone. I declared that I would be bold and courageous because God is always with me. I almost felt brave. I listened to my Worship Mix playlist on shuffle and sang the lyrics like a battle cry. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective. The Fear eventually fled as quickly as he had appeared.

The Fear will come looking for me again because he knows me. He is aware of my weakness. I am The Coward. I am afraid of many things--setbacks, wasps, spiders, fire ants, needles, clowns, balloons, peanuts, perfume....I'm afraid of being sick because being sick is hard. I'm afraid of dying because I don't want to abandon my people. I'm afraid of getting well because I will have to become something new, and change may be the scariest thing of all. But I am a child of The True King, and victory is already mine. My destiny is secure. God knows what I need, and He delights to give to me. He is perfect love; perfect love casts out fear.

When I bathe in truth and bask in the presence of The King, I am brave. I am strong. Yes, fear is a weakness. But as with all weaknesses, it is also an opportunity to lean into Christ and draw from His endless stores of strength, courage and joy.









Tuesday, July 16, 2013

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!