Out of the Mouths of Babes

Life is undoubtedly a gift. But lately, it has felt more like a task--a climbing uphill, an every step is a victory, an "I'm not sure I want to do this" kind of task. I've been in this state of constant pain for less than two months. I may have decades to go, and I already want out. I only have to think for a moment of all the people I know who have suffered patiently for years to realize what a pansy I am. Maybe over time, I will learn some of their strength, but for now I am thankful for any encouragement or inspiration I can get, especially when it comes to me in the sage wisdom of three-year-old speak.

I have been in a flare for over a week while caring for a sick infant, and it's been getting to me mentally and emotionally. Yesterday, I wanted to lock myself in my bedroom, and have a pity party for one. That, of course, was not possible. The Lord knew I needed some extra "umph" to make it through the day, so Micah became His very effective mouthpiece and my personal cheerleader.

Micah quietly walked along beside me as I pushed Sara in the stroller up and down the driveway. When he is quiet, he is thoughtful. I can almost hear the little guy think. He finally said, "You know what, Momma? God made the trees. And God made the sky. And God made the grass and the spiders and the wasps and the ants and the flowers, and God made you, too, Momma."

To most, this little outburst may sound like the cute ramblings of a toddler. As his Momma, I'm here to tell you that it's quite profound. You see, Micah likes trees, grass, flowers, the sky and me, but the little dude could completely do without the spiders, wasps and ants. He has very little love for bugs of any kind. They freak him out. Yet, he acknowledges that God made it all--the things he likes as well as the things he doesn't like. What Micah knows that he didn't say here is that God is in control, and has a purpose for everything. I have taught him that wasps, ants and spiders have jobs--important jobs--to accomplish even if we don't always like how they accomplish them . . . even if they hurt us. In a precious way, God reminded me that nothing concerning me was outside the reach of His control even though I am hurting. He created me just as I am, and has a plan for all that concerns me . . . even my pain.

Lest I forget that His plan is for my good, Micah also reminded me of not only how much God loves me, but also how much He likes me. At the lunch table, he looked at me, smiling with those big, brown eyes. "Momma, I like you. I like your hair and your eyes and your mouf and your face." God loves me far too much to allow any harm come my way that is not for my benefit. He loves me. He likes me. He is rooting for me. When you have the most powerful Being in the universe rooting for you, you don't have to worry about how things will turn out or about how you will make it in the meantime.

I apparently needed one more little kick in the pants because Micah had one more nugget for me as I folded laundry that afternoon.

 "Momma?" he began.

I looked at him questioningly.

 "Momma, you need be happy."

"I am happy, Micah," I assured him.

"No, Momma. You need be happy on your face."

Without realizing it, I had been frowning. I think I've probably been frowning a lot. It's unintentional, but when I'm in pain, my brow furrows as I unsuccessfully attempt to focus on something besides my discomfort. And Micah was taking it personally. I shifted my countenance for the sake of my son. I smiled at him, feeling an inexplicable rush of love and pride.

His final message of the day was this--while it is good to accept my pain and press on, I am called to take a more active position. I am called to joy. The call to joy is complicated because it isn't something I can contrive by my own effort, and it isn't something that magically happens. Rather, it is a byproduct of the presence of the Holy Spirit. The key to joy is moment by moment friendship with God. Micah's simplistic call to joy was actually a call to God Himself. (I named him after a prophet for a reason.) I can be happy when I have no reason to be if I will only center on Jesus.

"Out of the mouth of babes and nursing infants

You have perfected praise"

(Matthew 21:16)

That little boy . . . Oh, how I love him! He is himself a precious reminder that life is indeed a gift.

It's Going to be Alright

Several people have recently asked how I am doing, so I thought I would take a moment to answer that question for all of you who have prayed, encouraged and ministered on my behalf.  (May the Lord be extravagant in His blessings to each of you.)

The short answer is, "I believe that I am going to be alright." Thanks to some shared wisdom of a family friend, this is what I will tell people who ask in passing conversation until I am better. Most people want a short answer, and they want that answer to be positive. I can't honestly say that I'm "better" yet in the way the word is meant, and honesty is important to me. A comfortable compromise, the above answer meets my need for honesty and the need of the one asking for brevity and hope. From time to time, I may add, "Continue to pray for me as you think of me," for I certainly still need prayer.

I can say that in regard to my nutritional health, I am better. When my body grew sensitive to goat milk, I scrapped my elimination diet plan because my caloric needs simply could not be met by eating rice cereal and vegetables alone. I was growing weaker by the day eating that way, so I feel that by becoming sensitive to the milk, God was just looking out. I miss the milk, but I am deeply grateful to be able to eat meat. I could never be a vegetarian. My metabolism requires meat, and my body was becoming increasingly cranky in its absence.

In addition to meat, I am eating most vegetables, some fruits (apples, pears, avocados, grapes, and blueberries), select oils (canola, grapeseed and sunflower only), egg yolks, potatoes and rice. Nothing I eat is processed.  My mom (God bless her) has been baking zucchini cakes for me made with rice flour, zucchini, eggs, oil and sugar, so that has been my major indulgence. I will be sad when zucchinis go out of season. If I want to try something new, Brandon performs a simple physical test that has without fail tipped me off to new allergies. My naturopathic doctor showed us this neat little trick. At first, with nothing in my hands, I hold my thumb and middle finger together as tightly as I am able. Brandon tries (without excessive force) to pull my fingers apart to establish my finger strength. I then take the food in question in my opposite hand as he performs the test again. If I am able to hold my fingers together, I am not allergic to the food. If he easily pulls my fingers apart, I avoid the food. The test does not detect all of my sensitivities, so I sometimes still "react" to foods, but it does keep me alive.

Even with the increase in calories, I am still underweight. I have lost around 15 pounds since my health crisis began, and that's 15 pounds after I had lost my baby weight. I am the thinnest I have been since I was 17, and I was borderline anorexic at the time. I don't look terrible, but I don't look healthy either. I am hoping that I will have a breakthrough with my nutritional health soon. I plan to begin reading The Food Allergy Cure by Ellen Cutler this weekend. The book, recommended by my naturopathic doctor, is supposed to offer me the information I need to desensitize my body to various foods. I doubt that I will ever be able to eat wheat, nuts, corn or soy again (which is no huge loss, really . . . . except for corn chips and popcorn . . . I'm really going to miss corn chips and popcorn), but I do hope to be able to eat chocolate, peanut butter, bananas, goat milk products and maybe even dairy products again. I would love to put on some weight, and have fun doing it!

Meeting my dietary needs has been important in helping me better manage my pain. I have found that my pain has not gone away or lessened, but my pain tolerance increased when I was no longer starving. Hunger is a formidable foe, making all other battles far more difficult. Since I've started eating again, I have been able to ignore and push through my pain with the exception of this week. (The change in weather threw my body into a flare, which means that I cannot function normally.) I have slowly gained independence over the past few weeks, and am now able to keep the kids by myself during the day, give Sara a bath, take the kids outside for a few minutes daily so I can do my physical therapy (pushing Sara in the stroller up and down the driveway for about 10 minutes) and get some sunshine, (mostly) keep the kitchen clean and usable, keep the laundry from eating us alive and cook simple dinners. It may not sound like much, but it's a far cry from the state I was in a few weeks ago. As an added bonus, I was able to take Micah out on a mother-son date last Saturday, which is something I've wanted to do for awhile now.

The pain is my constant companion, but I've learned to be thankful for it. The pain in my limbs means that I still have use of them. The discomfort I feel means than I'm still alive with my husband and children. (It's not that I would be very opposed to being brought fully alive through death by my Eternal Love and Savior. Rather, I believe that I am where I am most useful and where I am meant to be for the present time.) I have much for which to be grateful.

In addition to pain, I suffer from depression. I have bad days and better days. I am feeding on God's Word as if it were actual food. I am praying as if my life depended upon it. I am fighting for joy, clinging to song. I am practicing gratitude. (See my blooming "Gratitude Wall" below.)

I am actively seeking emotional health, but like the pain, the depression is my constant companion. Also like the pain, while the depression is there, it does not ruin me. It has not taken me over, although I would let it if I didn't have the children to tend to. Thank God for Micah and Sara! My kids are supposed to need me as their parent. Instead, I find myself needing them. Their needs call me out of bed every morning when I honestly would prefer to stay there, hiding from the world under thin covers that have no power to protect me or take away my problems. When I have a particularly hard day, I spend a little time doing laundry in the utility room, reading over my gratitude wall. Each post-it warms and energizes the cold emptiness inside. It's like coffee for the soul . . . which reminds me--I really miss coffee.

The improvement I am most happy to share with you is that regarding my spiritual health. I have never experienced the Lord like I am experiencing Him these days. I have set before Him my full heart, and in return He has faithfully exposed some of its dark and nasty places, giving me an opportunity to heal in ways that I did not expect when I first began asking for healing. With His presence, He is bringing to light long-lived sinful patterns that have been holding me captive--patterns of which I was not aware. The bondage of bitterness I didn't know was there is falling away, freeing me up to love. Deep-seated fears I've harbored all my life are melting in the Light of His glorious presence. Pain and depression are not my only companions. These last few weeks, I have also walked with peace unlike anything I've ever known. I have danced with joy, which is able to extend far beyond the feebleness and frailty of momentary happiness. My heart is slowly beginning to unfurl into the blossom of genuine love for others that the Apostle John so passionately calls us to in his first short letter. The Creator Himself is my friend! God is making all things new, and I am so glad that His first order of business is my spirit! What good would this sickness be if I were only to be made physically well?

There is much more to say that cannot be said on a public blog, but know that God is working observable miracles in my life, my family and my household. And because of this, I know that no matter if I live with allergies, pain and depression for the rest of my life, however long that may be, it's going to be alright.

In closing, allow me to share the lyrics of a favorite song by a favorite songwriter who happens to be my daughter's namesake--

"It's Going To Be Alright"

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

I can tell by your eyes that you're not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you're sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

I believe you'll outlive this pain in your heart
And you'll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,

I believe
I believe

I did not come here to offer you clichés

 I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

--Sara Groves, from her album Add to the Beauty

I don't know what pain or hardships you are experiencing, Dear Reader, but in Christ Jesus, I can promise you that it will indeed be alright.

Little Miracles

God rarely seems to do things the way I expect or want Him to.

The prophet Isaiah once wrote, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:8-9)

The reason we are often surprised or baffled by the ways of God is because He is not like us. Rather, we are like Him; only we are created, finite and made of dust instead of eternal, infinite and consisting of glory, righteousness, justice, truth, power and love. God is other. He is higher. He is greater. So, it makes sense that He would do things differently . . . . better and far more efficiently than we would do them. I find that it's when I think I've figured out His plan that He blindsides me with something wonderful or something hard that will become wonderful.


For instance, a few months ago when Sara was so ill with RSV and an ear infection that would not budge, I was certain that a tube surgery was in our very near future. So was our doctor. Instead, the Lord impressed it upon my heart to fast from lunch and snacks every day for a week, and seek Him while asking for a miraculous healing. I had never fasted from food for any period of time. Taken a little off guard, I trusted and obeyed, and one week later, her ears were clear and have mostly remained clear since. I thought at the time that the whole process was for Sara's benefit alone. It turns out that it was for mine, too. I subconsciously limited God to doing one thing at a time, a habit that needs breaking. The action of fasting, denying myself physical food in faith that God would provide much more important spiritual food and experiencing His faithfulness to do it, was as vital to me as was Sara's healing. I had planned for a surgery, and to my astonishment, received a miraculous healing and what I would need to face the weeks ahead. Here, I was blindsided with something as wonderful in foretaste as it was in aftertaste. But it doesn't always happen that way.

Sometimes, in the middle of a happy, exciting time in life, people get sick, and we just don't understand. Sometimes, it's someone you know or someone you love. And sometimes, it's you. It's all hard, and it's impossible to understand how something so awful could actually be for good, but you trust, you hope. And sometimes, you can see some of the good--for you and/or others.


If you've been reading awhile, you may remember me writing about the elders of our church coming  to pray for me. They came at the end of a difficult day, and I would have loved to have been miraculously healed before they left. That is not what happened at all. You may also remember me asking for prayer for my husband, Brandon, who had been having strange, allergic-esque symptoms to we-had-no-idea-what, and was feeling very ill himself. As Randy, one of the elders prayed specifically for him, Brandon said that he felt a physical weight lift off of his shoulders. He got the miraculous healing, and it has proved out over the last three weeks. He has been perfectly healthy (sleep deprivation aside) since that night.


Sara was the other benefactor from that night. Since then, she has adjusted quickly and beautifully to every change we've thrown at her. She took a bottle much easier than I had imagined. When she began taking a bottle, her six month long bout of colic DISAPPEARED. She switched to the strange goat milk formula I'm making daily for her (strange because it includes goat milk, water, prune juice, blackstrap molasses, orange flavored cod liver oil, raspberry flavored B vitamin and folic acid supplements, bitter-tasting Vitamin D, extra virgin olive oil . . . . it's strange, I tell you) without a hitch. She began sleeping for most of the night in her bed when we began requiring her to so I could get more restful sleep, and then began sleeping all night in her bed all on her own, and THEN began taking two hour naps out of the blue.

 In case you aren't familiar with my littlest's former habits, allow me to elaborate. This child DID. NOT. SLEEP. the first two weeks of life. She took 20 minute cat naps every 3-4 hours, but would stay awake all night long. She was colicky to boot, so there was no sleeping for me until I decided to sleep with her in the guest bed in her nursery. That sleep wasn't very high quality as she ate 2-3 times a night and had tummy issues from about 1am until we got up, but it was some sleep as opposed to no sleep, which can quite literally kill you. When she began "sleeping" at night, she stopped taking naps in the day. I occasionally would luck up and get a half hour snooze, but it was rare. Evenings were, for lack of a better metaphor, hell. She began wailing (she cries louder than any toddler I've met . . . I think we have a future Wagnerian soprano on our hands) at 5pm every day and would often carry on until 1 am. Over time, the screaming fits became shorter, but they never went away . . . . until after the elders prayed for her.

The elders had come to pray for me, but my husband and daughter were the ones who got the miracles. And I am so, TOTALLY okay with that. It wasn't what I had expected. It wasn't what I had hoped for. Instead, it was exactly what was needed, and I am incredibly grateful that my husband and daughter are doing so well! (I believe my time is coming!) Our family as a whole is doing better because I am sick. My illness was the impetus for this goodness and for much more goodness that I don't have time to recount at the moment.


It's hard to be sick. It's hard to hurt physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. However, I wouldn't trade my situation with anyone. I'm getting to experience the Lord work on my behalf in the most tender, intimate ways. I'm getting to know parts of His character I never knew before. I'm falling in love with Him all over again. So yes, this has been hard, but it's been wonderful, too. Thank you, Jesus, for these "little miracles," and thank you for being enough for me while I wait on my "big miracle," a miracle I can honestly say I could do without if that was what you wanted, but a miracle I believe is coming . . . . maybe just around the corner.




Prayer Request Update:


Tomorrow, I will be seeing Dr. Yakaboski, a naturopathic doctor in West Monroe, who specializes in nutrition. Please pray that the Lord will give her keen insight into my situation, and that we can come up with a plan for me to get the nutrition I need to get well.


The kids have been sick for over a week now. It's nothing serious, but they are miserable. Unsurprisingly, I caught it, as well. Micah had an anaphylactic attack while eating a snack on Sunday, and Sara choked on mashed avocado this morning. I did the Heimlich maneuver for babies on her. Liquid avocado shot out of her mouth (no bits, though . . . . weird, no?) after a couple of forceful pats on the back, and all was well. I think the devil is messing with my kids, and I don't like it. Please pray for our family's protection from the wicked one. I don't want to be protected from God's glory, but I do want to be protected from Satan's schemes. I hesitate to say this next sentence because some of you will think it's crazy or impossible, while others will think it's kind of cool--it's neither, by the way. We have experienced some very evident activity from evil spirits lately. Please pray with us against this!


I've begun a healing regimen called The Healing Codes. Please pray with me that God would use this regimen to bring swift healing to my body. If you are interested in reading more about The Healing Codes, you can check out this website: http://thehealingcodes.com/. Dr. Yak bases much of her practice on The Healing Codes. Incredulous, I decided to buy the book so that I would be prepared for whatever new age voodoo crap she was going to pull on me. As it turns out, The Healing Codes is based on Christian principles and good science, so I'm totally comfortable with it after reading through the book with much prayer, scripture referencing and discernment. I don't think The Healing Codes are the answer to all of my problems. With the authors, I agree that God can use them as a tool to heal me, and it is my prayer that they do.


Thank you all for your kindness, love and support through prayer, service and encouragement. May God bless you all with more of Himself!

A Change of Plans

 "A man's heart plans his way,

But the Lord directs his steps."

-Proverbs 16:9

Plans. We plan our daily schedule, our menus, our leisure time. We make plans within plans, and plans to see those plans through. In spite of an unpredictable world, where the best of plans often go awry, we still make them every day. When our plans are broken, we all respond differently. These responses have much to do with our personalities, our histories and the value we place upon those plans. I'm not naturally very flexible about changes in plans, but over the years, I've learned to better handle my disappointment when things don't work out the way I want them to. I've gotten pretty good at changing my meal plans at the last minute when I don't have the needed ingredients. I don't enjoy missing scheduled social functions, but I don't let it bother me anymore when a family member gets sick and we have to stay home. It's not my favorite thing to change date plans when Brandon and I are running late to our movie, but I have learned to enjoy an impromptu stroll through a favorite store when the stars fail to align. My children have been my greatest teachers in the classroom of flexibility. (Can I get an amen?) However, when my latest plan for physical restoration and healing exploded in my face with the energy of a grenade, I did not handle it well.

For several days, I had been suspecting what I considered to be the worst. When you eat sparingly, especially after a fast, you notice every tiny change in your body after you eat. You can feel the slightest tingle of your lips, the smallest itchy bumps on your skin, the faintest flash of heat wash over your body, the tiniest swelling of your tongue or throat. I knew, but I was in denial. I couldn't yet admit it because the stuff was my lifeline, my best source of nourishment. I even began saying aloud, "I don't know what I will do if I begin having reactions to this."

 I had gone through about $200 trying various nutritional supplements, each one causing allergic reactions, some of which were severe. I tested digestive enzymes, probiotic cultures, and amino acid supplements. I thought I had found the answer to my need for protein on Mt. Capra's website. Mt. Capra is a company that specializes in health and wellness products derived from goat milk. I ordered the colostrum supplements and the protein powder. The way in which I responded to these supplements confirmed my worst fears. My body (or rather, my antibodies) were attacking goat milk, a substance that had always been safe. After my evening helping of protein powder mixed with my rice cereal, I had an obvious reaction. I wanted to believe that it was something in the powder, the vanilla flavoring maybe. Anything but the goat milk itself. So, that is what I told myself--I can't take the powder, but I can still drink the milk.

To put things succinctly, I drank my nightly glass of goat milk before bed, became very ill, dropped my head in my hands and wept as if someone had died. I called my mom, and we agreed that our plan--the plan I had been depending on, banking on to get me well--had to be scrapped. Without the goat milk, I would quite literally starve to death. It would take time, but that's what would happen. And mom and I both agree, anaphylaxsis is preferable to starvation every day of the week.

So, we have formulated Plan C . . . . or D, E or F . . . . we have lost count. While it's riskier in some ways, I actually like it much better because I'm finally eating real food! We have decided to try food rotation. Because my list of safe foods is so short, I can't do much better than avoid eating the same thing twice in one day and avoid eating the same food two days in a row. Here's how it works--

Yesterday, I ate three egg yolks and my rice cereal for breakfast. For lunch, I had some very simple homemade chicken soup (Hanna Peshoff, God bless you!). For dinner, I made hamburger patties seasoned with salt and pepper alone and some broccoli. Today, I ate rice cereal for breakfast, peanut butter and an apple for lunch and a pork roast with potatoes and green beans seasoned with salt and pepper alone. The peanut butter and apple at lunch was a HUGE mistake for which I have paid dearly all day long, a mistake I have no plans to repeat. Tomorrow, I will probably repeat the egg yolk breakfast, eat a vegetarian lunch and have chicken for dinner. There will be no grains (excepting rice), no nuts, no butter, no olive oil, no strange gluten free additives such as tapioca or gums, few fruits, no goat milk, no processed food whatsoever. This may sound terrible to some of you, but I am absolutely delighted! I only hope it works!

After being so hungry for so long, chicken soup, hamburger patties and pork roast is the BEST. FOOD. EVER. I am thanking God for the animals, the farmers who raise the animals, the people who kill the animals (so sorry, PETA), the people who prepare and package the meat and the cashier who sold it to us.

All of that being said, this sudden influx of food is indeed a risky business (although no riskier than throwing in the towel and allowing myself to starve). To help reduce the risk, I am going to see a natural doctor on Wednesday of next week who specializes in bio-nutrition. She also claims to have success in helping people overcome their food allergies and sensitivities. She will be addressing my other symptoms using a "whole-person" approach, which means she will see me as more than a list of symptoms that need to be alleviated. Rather, she will address me as a physical, emotional and spiritual being, and will try to help me in each respect. Honestly, I'm a little skeptical because I'm skeptical about everything, but I plan to go with an open (yet discerning) mind.

 I really hope she can help me because I'm seeing clearly now that what I need is a miracle. I need a miraculous intervention from the Lord, and I am open to whatever venue He would like to use. I'll accept a miraculous healing in my sleep, from a doctor, from a drug, from a diet, from a supplement, and/or from a lifestyle. I will accept whatever He is willing to give however He is willing to give it (whenever He is willing to give it) because if I insist upon it coming to me in a particular way, I may end up dead rather than well.

And I don't think the plan is for me to end up dead. I don't believe that God is penning a tragedy here. I believe that He is instead scripting an adventure that ends in restoration and a happily ever after. Yet, I find that I can be happy today in spite of the uncertainty of tomorrow. My new plan may fail like all of the rest of my seemingly well-conceived plans, but I can always be happy in Jesus and trust that if this plan fails, the Lord is working something out here that is too wonderful for me to comprehend, and I can trust Him to guide me safely to the next course of action. I can be happy in sickness and in health. I can be happy in plenty or in poverty. I can be happy hungry or full. I can be happy because Jesus Himself is my satisfaction, and He is enough.

I think this latest change of plan is a gift. Goat milk may not be an option for awhile, but after three weeks of being truly hungry, I am enjoying feeling satisfied, and the food is absolutely delicious! I hope and pray my body doesn't betray me further by rejecting this new effort. I hope healing is just around the corner. I hope that this time next year, I can look back smiling and reflecting on how far I've come. But most of all, I hope that God's purposes and plans are accomplished in this--every last one. All of the purposes He has for me, for my family, for my friends, for my church, for the strangers who hear of or read my story are worth it. The hunger, the pain, the grief, the fear, even my life is a worthy price if it works for your good, Reader, and the greatest good I know is God's glory. Beautifully, mysteriously, He has intertwined His glory with our good and happiness so tightly that one does not exist without the other. How cool is that?

John Piper, one of the greatest Christian teachers of our time, puts it like this--"God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him." I hope you take time to revel in the person, the grace and beauty of our Lord Jesus Christ as you so kindly beseech Him on my behalf, for He is the key to "happily ever after" for all in this life and the next.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

It's very late on a Saturday night as I begin to type. Louisiana isn't far from the earliest bits of Sunday morning, actually. I'm sitting in the green recliner I bought for Brandon a few years ago, which I have claimed for over half the time we've owned it for one reason or another, and a snoozing baby rests against my chest because she inexplicably finds my now-protruding clavicle more comfortable than her crib. Sara sighs sweetly as she sleeps, and her chubby cheeks beckon the pucker of my lips. Yes, I'm tired. Yes, I should be sleeping. But I'm not frustrated or upset about not being in bed tonight.

I've been thinking a lot today about the fact that I have not been able to really enjoy Sara's babyhood. Honestly, I feel a little robbed. When Micah was a baby, I had the time and energy to record his milestones, take more photos than should be devoted to one child, and make cute, multimedia videos perfectly timed to the perfect song. Every day, we spent time reading and playing on the floor, and this was in addition to teaching piano and voice lessons, managing the household and having a full and fun schedule. I'm a little concerned that Sara will one day notice and challenge the disparity in evidence of happy parenting, but mostly I'm sad that I haven't really had an opportunity to provide it.

From the beginning, the odds were stacked against us. Sara didn't sleep until we began co-sleeping when she was two weeks old. At three weeks, she came down with a cold that she kept until RSV hit us like a hurricane at the first of January. She was sick with RSV and ear infections for over two months. Utterly consumed by the needs of my frighteningly sick infant and the lesser, yet significant needs of my now three-year-old son, I didn't notice the first obvious signs that my health was slipping. I thought I was tired because Sara wasn't sleeping. I thought my allergies were heightened because we never had winter. I thought my migraines were the byproduct of my postpartum hormones. And now, I live in a reality where I have little energy because of the nature of whatever auto-immune thing I have and because I can't get enough food. I live in a reality in which pain is becoming so commonplace that I'm beginning to ignore the lesser aches and only give pause when those aches become debilitating pain. I live in a reality that could end with the next food I try.

I can honestly say that I don't feel afraid much anymore. God is really keeping my fear under control. However, it would be vilely pretentious of me to lead you to believe that I'm not depressed . . . and worse. For those of you who have experienced depression, you know what I mean when I say that the aches I feel go deeper than my bones. There's an emptiness, a hollow space that reverberates uncomfortably each time I think about not having the energy to savor Sara's babyhood as I would like or wonder if I'll be able to teach Micah to play basketball or consider the fact that it would be dangerous to have anymore babies.

And then there is the food thing . . . . I am so meat hungry, live cattle make me salivate. Rice cereal and vegetables are an absolute gift, and many people in the world would be overjoyed to eat what I'm eating, but when I'm smelling Hannah Peshoff's roast warming in the microwave, Death by Roast doesn't seem that bad of a way to go, if you catch my meaning. (Allow me to interject here that I am thrilled that my family is eating well while I am adjusting and finding my feet. I do not begrudge them good food. I only wish that I could have something fabulous to eat, too.) I feel a lot like the Israelites, wandering around in the wilderness, complaining about the manna they had to eat day in and day out without variation instead of being grateful for God's miraculous provision. I have to remind myself what a gift it is to eat! I have to remember how far I've come in just a little over a week.

 It's funny--and excruciatingly humbling--to realize that I'm identifying with qualities I've never liked or respected in others. I lack gratitude. I have difficulty overseeing the affairs of my household. I have little desire to rise above my circumstances. I have moments of jealousy when I consider how easy things seem for other people and moments of cynicism when those people don't realize what a miracle it is that they feel energized enough to spend a day at the park or at the zoo with their kids.

I've always felt that it is important to call a spade, a spade, and let's face it--my attitude is sin and it's ugly. A friend of mine once put it something like this--God owes me nothing. Actually, the only thing I am owed is Hell. Anything I am given beyond eternal damnation is something I don't deserve. While I am a human being, created and allowed to feel raw, complex emotions, I must always land back in the realization that I am owed nothing. The breath in my lungs, the food (however bland) in my belly, the clothes on my back, the pain in my legs (a beautiful sign that my legs still work), is a gift--a gift I DON'T deserve! The mommy moments that I think I'm missing? I only really miss them if I'm too distracted by my discontentment to enjoy what I'm given. And beyond all of these things, I have been given Jesus, who has ushered me into the presence of God by the merit of His blood alone, who allows me to enjoy these gifts freely without them being an indictment against my rebel's heart. And one of these days . . . . one of these days . . . .I'm going to learn that His presence is ENOUGH! God, You are ENOUGH!

I am going to have to be intentional if I am to pluck out the weeds of discontentment in my heart. I am praying that the Lord would truly be enough for me. I am asking that when I want a bite of what my husband is eating badly enough to consider endangering myself that I would instead choose to feast on Him. Please, please, pray with me. Also, I have found that gratitude is one of the most potent weed-killers out there, and I am going to devote myself to being grateful to the Lord every day. I'm thinking of beginning a Post-It Wall of Gratitude somewhere in the house to look at and add to each day. I will begin my prayers with a "thank you" rather than a "please, Lord." And I think I'm going to start right here, right now with this precious, sleeping baby on my chest. What a grand, grand gift.


What is something big or small for which you are grateful?

Joy, Unexpected

I feel like I'm breaking the surface of the deep, paralyzingly cold waters of shock I've been trapped under for the past twelve days. I've taken a couple of life-giving gulps of oxygen, taken a quick look around and have accepted the fact that the shore--complete with a diagnosis and restored health--is nowhere in sight. I'm beginning to relax and trying to give myself to the current's flow, trusting that God is going to bring me safely to my destination, wherever that may be. I'm not going to lie--fighting the pull of fear and uncertainty is difficult--but if I can keep my eyes on Christ, I can stay afloat and even appreciate the sights along the way.

So far, my body has accepted three foods--rice cereal, goat milk and zucchini. I season with salt alone. I have also tried olive oil and avocado, but my body rejected them both. The diet plan I'm following explains that hypersensitive "patients" must advance their diets very slowly. I may eventually be able to eat these foods again, but I must wait. For now, it's easy to be patient. My stomach still protests a little each time I eat, so my food is prepared to be as digestible as possible, as if I were making it for an infant. The result is that Sara and I are sharing meals!

I haven't been exactly quiet about how much I loved to nurse my baby and how sad I was when I decided to give it up. Being able to share my food with my girl has been therapeutic in light of that loss. Usually, Sara sits in her Bumbo, and watches me eat. Sometimes, she wants a bite or two of my meal, and I am happy and able to share! We talk, laugh, play and eat our rice cereal and vegetable mash--it's really fun! Our mini meals are becoming a sweet, special time that makes me smile about my plate of baby food in spite of the fact that I would rather be eating steak and potatoes. It may be easy to be patient now, but give it a few weeks. I'll be needing this precious little drop of sunshine.

Each day I've eaten, I've grown a little stronger. I can manage a little laundry, a few dishes, giving Sara a bath and basic care for the kids, but not much more. I'm still unable to cook, keep the house clean (or even tidy, for that matter), stay caught up with the laundry or play very much with the kids. Eight to nine hundred daily calories just don't go very far, especially on days that the pain is severe.

Last Saturday afternoon, a flare-up was building in my bones. My grandmother came over to play with Micah, and took him outside. I peered through the french door glass at the smiling red-head playing chase with his great-grandmother. For a moment, my breath caught and I felt a pang in my chest. I would so love to be able to play chase with my boy, but I haven't been able to do that in months. It's been a long time since I was healthy enough to run around much. And there I sat in a dining chair, still in my twenties and aching all over, watching a woman in her seventies chase my child. As the tears were forming in my eyes, God slanted my perspective. I realized what a gift it was that my boy was outside running around like all little boys should. I realized what an amazing thing I had in a grandmother willing and healthy enough, even after breast cancer, to run around with him. It may not be the exact picture I had in mind when imagining parenthood several years ago, but it's not any less beautiful. For now, I will focus on what I can do--feed, hold, cuddle, kiss, read to, love my children--and pray that the Lord will meet the rest of their needs how He sees fit.

I also have to depend on God and others to meet some of my needs. I went to bed Saturday night in a good bit of pain, and woke up Sunday morning to more. We had Sara's baby dedication that morning, and I was hurting so badly, I couldn't even fix my own hair. I told Brandon that I didn't think we were going to make it, so he volunteered to fix my hair.

 You are now all mortified. The women are all mortified because they can't imagine what they would look like if their husbands or significant others fixed their hair and the men because they wouldn't know where to begin. I was never worried. You all forget that I'm married to Superman. A typical Lois Lane, I was only humiliated and frustrated that I couldn't fix my own hair. However, I'm finding that humility, though difficult and disgusting to swallow, is healthy for the soul. The ten minutes that Brandon spent styling my hair were actually very precious. How many women are married to a man that wants to go to their child's dedication so badly that he would offer to fix their hair? How many women are married to men who could actually do it? Brandon and I bonded on a new level Sunday morning, and I think he did a pretty good job! (You can add that to your "job skills" list, Babe!)

Dependence doesn't come easy to me. I have always enjoyed the feeling of being capable, but I find myself in a set of circumstances where I am just not capable. Every task requires dependence, whether on the Lord or someone else. Getting out of bed in the morning is proving difficult. I'm stiff and sore, tired and depressed, and if I didn't have children who were counting on me--physically and emotionally--to get out of bed, I would be tempted to just stay there and wallow. But I have to get up! So in a practice I think everyone should adopt, I daily acknowledge the fact that I can't even get out of bed in the morning without God's help, and I ask Him to help me. And He proves Himself faithful every morning.

I never thought I would find myself in such dire straights, and I certainly never thought I could find real, genuine joy in these types of circumstances. I'm not a glass-half-full kind of girl. I've always been of the mindset that everyone could take their "power of positive thinking" and shove it. (I'm still of that mindset.) No offense to those who like to think positively, but no amount of positive thinking is going to make me better physically or able to eat a doughnut ever again. My joy does not flow from the way I think about things; but to my absolute astonishment, there it is, present in every moment . . . . even the sad ones--joy, unexpected. And  that joy flows from the ever-constant, sustaining presence of Jesus Christ.

"Satisfy us in the morning with Your steadfast love,

that we may rejoice and be glad all our days."

(Psalm 90:14)

Amen and amen.

Jots and Tittles

When I woke yesterday morning, I felt like I was dying. I realize that sounds melodramatic, but if you've ever been dehydrated, malnourished, nauseated and hurting all over at the same, you understand. My stomach had been very upset with me for days, especially after drinking this gosh-awful stuff.

My nutrition supplement a.k.a The Drink of Torture

It was difficult even swallowing water. The smallest sip would make my stomach roll and burn, and without really thinking about it, I just stopped drinking. It wasn't intentional, but it happened. And Thursday morning, I reaped the consequences. 

I dragged myself out of bed for a moment, only to get right back in. And there I stayed, wondering how long I would feel like I was on death's door. I sipped on a water bottle, but it was painful and slow. As I fought the urge to throw up the little water I had taken, my husband and mother decided I needed IV fluids. My doctor was called, and later that morning, I arrived at the Quick Care Clinic in Ruston. 

Under normal circumstances, I would have been shaking in my boots at the prospect of an IV needle, but I was so miserable, I didn't care . . . much. I may have stopped breathing once or twice. I knew they were going to have a hard time sticking me because my veins tend to run and hide when a needle comes out. Add dehydration to the mix, and you have yourself a problem. I went back to the verse that had been my lifeline the last time I had visited an ER.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God, and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds through Christ Jesus." --Philippians 4:6-7

I prayed through the verse, willing myself to obey through a haze of fear and pain. And you know what? God is faithful. I was flooded with peace, even though I had two nurses worried about getting the needle in my "dry" arm. Once it was in, it had to be wiggled around--something that should have sent me off the cliff of sanity. Instead, I was fine. I was able to tell both nurses helping me about my verse, which was fun. I hope it will help them sometime in the future, too.

I was given two liters of saline, and afterward felt much better. I was allowed to go home under strict instructions to drink with prescriptions for nausea to help. 

I drank and rested for most of the afternoon until it was time to move to the living room to receive visitors. Our small group leaders from church were coming to the house with two of our elders. They came bearing gifts--three meals cooked by three sweet ladies in our church. You ladies who have been ill or recovering from surgery know how reassuring it is to know that your family is being taken care of when you cannot take care of them. A huge burden was lifted as the meals were tucked away in our fridge. 

Our visitors cheered us up significantly after a hard day. They talked with us, encouraged us, and most importantly, prayed for us. Brandon later told me that as the elders prayed for him, he could physically feel his anxieties and burdens lift from his body. 

We had never done this before, but we asked for the elders to come to our home because of the verse found in James 5:14, which states, "Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord." In addition to being prayed for, I was also anointed with oil, and while I was a bit afraid it would be an awkward experience, it was instead a precious, encouraging time for my family and for those who came. I encourage you to consider doing this if the situation ever applies, especially in light of the triumphs of today.

Last night, Sara slept in her own bed and went without drinking a bottle for the second night in a row. She woke once both nights, but was easily rocked back to sleep by my mom. If it had only happened once, I would have thought it was a fluke, but it happened TWICE! After she began taking a bottle on Wednesday, her colic DISAPPEARED! If you are my friend on Facebook, you know what a HUGE deal this is. Because I've been sick, she hasn't been given any Prevacid for her acid reflux, but she has not spit up. Like, at all. We are astounded and thrilled! I cannot begin to tell you what a relief and an answer to prayer these changes have been. 

In addition to Sara's progress, I have had a couple of successes of my own. My pain has receded without medication. It's still there, but only as a shadow of what I woke to eight days ago. I can manage that. And I am so happy to report that I have eaten one and a half servings of Cream of Rice today. It may be baby food. It may not be much. But it's food. I had minimal discomfort as I ate--just a little burning and pain--and the nausea has been controlled today by Phenergan, Zantac and Protonix. Tomorrow, I will try peeled and boiled zucchini if I continue to improve. I know you're jealous.

Today, has been a day of small but significant victories. They are gifts from the Lord, and I am so thankful. If I continue to gain strength, we may even make it to Sara's baby dedication on Sunday, which I in no way expected to be a possibility. 

I want to close with a few thank you's and an excerpt sent to me by my dear friend, mentor and spiritual mom.

First, thank you to my mom, Melanie Chapman, and mother-in-law, Debbie Keaster who have tirelessly taken care of my husband, my children and myself this week. They have cleaned, cooked, nursed, encouraged, prayed, and fed, bathed and played with children day and night. And thanks to the men who have lent them out. Thanks also to my Nona, Sue Saunders, and our Honey, Sue Binford, who have taken me and my kids where we have needed to go, and have allowed me to get some rest this week.Without these ladies, things would have fallen apart here at the Keaster household. Most of all, thanks to my Superman. Brandon Keaster, you have been the perfect husband, friend, helper, rock and spiritual leader this week. I am the luckiest woman alive to have you for my husband.

And now for the timely and poignant passage sent to me by my Mrs. Dixie, who has been praying tirelessly for me--

"The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised!" Job 1:21

O my Father, let me feel, even amid the troublous changes of life, that what I am apt to call painful vicissitudes--are the sovereign decrees and allotments of Your infinite wisdom!

Let me rejoice that every bitter drop in the 'cup of life'--is appointed by my Heavenly Father! May I submissively drink it, saying, "May Your will be done!"

What I cannot now comprehend--be it mine to wait the disclosures of that blessed morning when, standing at the luminous portals of Heaven, I shall joyfully acknowledge that, "You have done all things well!"

I look forward to that time when all Your inscrutable dealings will be unfolded, when inner meanings and purposes now undiscerned by the eye of sense--will be brought to light, and all discovered to be full of infinite love! Other refuges may fail--but I am as secure in You, as everlasting love and wisdom and power can make me!

Blessed Jesus! I would seek to cleave closer and closer to Your cross! May I follow You, O Lamb of God--wherever You see fit to lead me. May I never feel as if I would wish one jot or tittle regarding me to be altered--when the reins of universal empire are in Your hands!

--John MacDuff, "Evening Incense," 1859

Yes, Lord. "May I never feel as if I would wish one jot or tittle regarding me to be altered," for You truly do all things well even when I just cannot understand.