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.....

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!

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.

Ants in My Pants

Non-southerners, meet the fire ant:

(Photo credit: http://southernfireantcontrol.com/faqs.php)

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.....

(Photo credit: http://arstechnica.com/science/2013/01/fire-ant-supergene-controls-social-behavior/)

right before he latches onto your flesh with his creepy mandibles and begins stinging you repeatedly.

For the largest portion of the population, a fire ant sting hurts and forms a pustule.

(Photo credit: MSU Cares)

Others, like my sister, experience localized swelling. For example, she was stung on the hand, and her entire hand swelled. And then there is the estimated 0.5% to 5% (of which my son is a former member and I am a current member) who experience anaphylaxsis. (Source: ACAAI)

On Friday, June 28, we woke to a fire ant invasion in our little trailer on Jubilee Farm.

Brandon killed several before he left for work, but they just kept coming. I attempted battle. I tried vinegar. Then I tried dish soap and vinegar together. Then I called Brandon (because he knows everything), and he told me to use my homemade shampoo/conditioner/body wash/shaving cream concoction. It worked, but only on contact. And there were just too many.

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

Stupid, stupid, stupid.....

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

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

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

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

This is me post-reaction. You may be able to tell that the right side of my face is significantly swollen.

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

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

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

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

However.......

There is so much for which to be thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

I do not like being uprooted by ants, but I can't stay where they are so active and prevalent. These guys are serious....

 (Photo credit: 6LEGS2MANY)

What other insect knows how to make a flotation device out of  its own body to ensure survival during flooding? These crazy things are a plague upon the earth.



How you can pray for us:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday To Me--Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ways of God are ever beyond me. 

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let us praise Him for what He is already doing!


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

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

It Had to be Blood

 I can't shake her from my mind--the woman with the bleeding issue. Over the past several days, I've read and reread the accounts given in Matthew 9, Mark 5 and Luke 9. I weep every time. This woman and I share a lot of common ground. We've both been sick a very long time. (My allergies have been out of control for almost a decade.) Doctors and treatments fail again and again, and sometimes bring more suffering. We're lonely, not actively a part of the world in which we live. And we're desperate for a healing a touch.

Oh, how my heart resonates with this woman's song. Though she bore sorrows I do not--my friends and family have rallied around me with encouragement and prayer, and I have one very good doctor--I've felt many of her feelings and have thought several of her thoughts.

Today, I sat with pen and paper, determined to get into her mind, and bled onto the page--


"It Had To Be Blood"


Twelve years.
Twelve long years.
Will it ever end?
The weakness,
the pain,
the loneliness that swallows like a pit?
One by one, dreams turn to ash,
disappointments mount,
hopes sicken and die.
I no longer search for doctors.
There have been so many.
So many.
And I confound them all.
After giving them everything I had,
the treatments failed
and made me worse.
My people disowned me long ago,
cast me off--
illegitimate and unwanted.
No one looks me in the eye
as if my shame is catching.
Blood.
Why did it have to be blood?
Why did it have to be me?
My bone and soul grow weary
of the never-ending flow.
Death would be a welcome friend,
but as with all my friends,
I'm utterly forgotten,
left alone to bleed.

There's a whisper on the street--
Jesus is coming!
The One who heals!
I peer outside.
The crowd is thick.
Jairus is with Him;
He's busy with important matters
with clean and lofty folk.
He won't stop for me....
unless I run to Him.
My feet move out my door.
My heart and head pound
to a rhythm I've never heard
and have always known:
If only I could touch Him--
I would be made well! 
If only I could touch Him--
I would be made well!
The noise in the street falls silent on my ears.
I only hear the music that carries me along:
If only I could touch Him--
I would be made well!
Today, my shame is my friend.
Bodies make way to avoid my touch.
Unclean.
My blood makes me dirty.
It can make them dirty, too.

I find myself at His back.
I long to see His face,
yet I know I cannot bear His eyes
beholding my disgrace.
If only I could touch Him--
I would be made well!
The home of Jairus now in sight,
what dignity remains is gone.
And reaching out with expectation,
my fingers brush my Savior's hem. 
I'm met with a jolt,
a surge I can't explain.
I'm well.
I stop and marvel.
I mean to disappear,
but cannot move.
He stops, too.
"Who touched Me?"
His voice rises above the clamor.
My breath catches.
Caught.
I who am unclean have touched a rabbi!
Trembling with fear,
I try to hide among the bodies,
but they don't let me in.
I turn to run, but I'm trapped
in His gaze
where I stand.
So I fall
at His feet.
My story pours from my mouth,
a hemorrhage of the soul.
In His sights, I know--
though I'm well, I'm not.
Dirty.
I'm still dirty.

There's nothing to left to say.
I feel impatience from the throng.
The Man must have a mission
of tremendous importance.
I stare at His feet, which do not turn.
"Daughter," He calls me.
In all my words did I tell Him
my father rejected me long ago?
That I belong to no one?
Surely, I hadn't exposed
so old and deep a wound!
Yet in His address, I know He knows,
and He claims me as His own.
"Daughter..."
Amongst stamping feet and furrowed brows,
there's no hurry in His voice.
I look into His eyes and see my need--
Him!
I need Him!
"Your faith has made you well.
Go in peace.
Your suffering is over."

Twelve years.
Twelve long years.
Twelve years of terrible suffering--
ended.
Weakness, pain, and loneliness--
gone.
Dreams fulfilled.
Disappointment dead.
Hope restored.
Healed, accepted, wanted.
Loved.
Alive!
Alive for the first time!
"Your daughter is dead,"
the servant said.
And I remember--
the daughter of Jairus is sick.
Dead.
Twelve years.
Twelve brief years.
It's no time at all.
A hush falls upon the crowd,
and we hear Him say,
"Do not be afraid. Only believe."
He turns to go and somehow I know
because He's with her,
she will be well.
Because He's with us,
all will be well.

I couldn't know then,
but the day was coming
upon which I'd better understand
the design in my disease.
My blood made me dirty,
unfit for the house of God.
He dried up my fountain,
bound up my wounds,
and made me clean--
ceremonially.
But real cleansing was coming
for all sin-stained robes
upon Calvary
where the world healed by His wounds.
Clean in the Fount
of His Blood.
It had to be blood.

(6/12/13)

I'm still in the midst of my "twelve years." I no longer believe in a cure for my disease, whatever it is. All out of options, I am going to Jesus for help. I am reaching for His hem. As Timothy Keller points out in the chapter entitled "The Waiting" in King's Cross, "When you go to Jesus for help, you get from him far more than you had in mind. But when you go to Jesus for help, you also end up giving to him far more than you expected to give."

 I don't know what more He is going to ask, but for now He is looking into my eyes saying, "Trust Me." I don't understand the delay, but I do trust His heart. Whatever He asks, the reward far outweighs the cost. And maybe one day soon, I, too, will better understand the design in my disease.

Happy Birthday To Me--Part 1

Women know how to get the most out of their birthdays. Only men have birthdays. We ladies get a birthday weekend, a birthday week, or (if you really know how to play your cards right) a birthday month. I have decided I don't want to celebrate for an entire month. I think I'll take my birthday week and move right along.

I'm honestly not sure how to describe my 29th celebration. It was bookended by two precious gatherings for my sake, but the days in between were hard. Very hard. However, I think I shall begin my recount with the actual celebration, which was highlighted by getting out of the house, good food and sweet people who love me.

 Sara called me "Mama" for the first time ever at my party on June 1! What a great gift!

 Micah and Samantha Davis both made me cards! They were perfect!

 The man in the corner gave me four dark chocolate bars and a $25 gift card to iTunes.

 One never errs with chocolate and music.

 We all ate up some baby love. Mr. Will Davis is a sweetheart!

Brandon grilled steaks for everyone while I cooked mine safely on Mom's stovetop. I also made my own me-friendly (at the time) birthday cake. Dark chocolate lovers, rejoice! I'm going to share the recipe. Everyone else can skip the next couple of paragraphs:

Dark Chocolate Zucchini Cake

Cake:

1/2 cup coconut oil

2 cups organic, sprouted rice flour

1/2 cup cocoa powder

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt

1 cup Grade B organic maple syrup

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 large eggs

2 cups grated zucchini, packed

1 8 oz. organic, dark chocolate bar, chopped

Line the bottom of a 10" springform pan with unbleached parchment paper, and grease the sides with coconut oil. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine dry ingredients in a medium sized bowl. Scoop out one cup of mix and set aside. In a separate, larger bowl, cream the coconut oil and maple syrup. Add vanilla and eggs. Keeping the cup of flour mixture set aside, add the bowl of  dry ingredients to the wet, and beat until well combined. Place the 2 cups of zucchini in the bowl the dry ingredients were in, add the cup of flour and the dark chocolate pieces, and toss to coat. Then add the zucchini to the rest of the cake mixture, and stir until just combined. Spread the batter into the springform pan and bake 50-60 minutes.

Dark Chocolate Ganache

1 cup full fat organic coconut milk 

8 oz. unsweetened Baker's chocolate, chopped

maple syrup to taste

While the cake is cooling, chop the Baker's chocolate. Bring the coconut milk to almost boiling, and remove from heat. Place the chopped chocolate into the hot milk, and stir until smooth. Add maple syrup to taste. You will use less for a darker chocolate flavor, and more if you prefer a sweeter frosting. 

I poured my ganache over the cake immediately, and set the entire thing into the fridge to cool. If you don't have a ton of allergies, you may want to garnish the cake with chopped pecans or fresh fruit. Strawberries would have been divine on this cake! Maybe next year!

(This recipe was adapted from the blog Sweet Sugar Bean. I'm not good enough to come up with 100% original recipes quite yet.)

After the dinner, per my request, we took communion. I don't get to go to church anymore, and this is the one gaping hole I can't fill from home. I know that communion may be a strange way to end a birthday party, but it was my favorite part of the night. Remembering my Lord in that way at that time was an all important breath before taking the plunge that was the week to follow.

To be continued.....