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.