How to Muscle Test and Relieve Allergy Symptoms

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

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

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

Disclaimer: This information is not to be used as a substitute for professional medical care, especially during cases of emergency. Practitioners trained in the BioSET system can be located throughout the country. I highly recommend locating a practitioner near you!

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Acknowledgments: Dr. Ellen Cutler, Dr. Carolyne Yakaboski and Dr. Melisa Kuehn. Dr. Yakaboski of West Monroe, Louisiana will be teaching a BioSET class coming soon! Please comment if you would like to receive more information concerning the class!

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

I Could Only Think of Eggs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears in the Kitchen (A Health Update)

Something has felt "off" for the last several weeks, a fact to which I alluded in my last post. I did not know what was wrong, and I did not know why it went wrong so I chose to ignore it, hoping I was mistaken. As usual, ignoring what my body was saying was a dumb move. I forced it to take a firm tone. When I ignored the firm tone, my body decided to yell. On Monday, after weeks of little, daily reactions, I suffered a severe allergic reaction to the supplements recommended by Dr. Cave to treat my MTHFR gene--all of them. The folic acid, the methylating powder and the B vitamins have all been rejected entirely.

While I could allow myself to be discouraged by this seemingly unfortunate turn of events, I am actually encouraged. In this, God has offered me very clear redirection on my health journey. Clarity is a valuable gift to the foggy of brain.

 I have noticed during the past few months that while some of my symptoms have improved (i.e. I can eat more than three foods now), others have spiraled out of control. For example, I get sick every time I leave my home. And sometimes I get sick staying at home. The world in which I live is full of substances that pose a threat to me. That burning pile of yard trash you drive by probably doesn't bother you, but it leaves me feeling like someone has me in a choke-hold. Birthday parties and clothes shopping are about equally dangerous. Both have put me in respiratory distress. No more dry-cleaning clothes or Styrofoam cups for me. I can't even visit my sister in her new home because the new building materials emit strong toxins that make me wish for death....and probably have the power to deliver it. I wish I was being dramatic. A healthy body does not notice these things. My body wails, laments and gnashes its teeth at them. Every time I leave my home, I am taking a risk. The risk isn't a question of whether or not I will get sick. Rather, it is a question of how sick I will get. Most of the time, the risks aren't worth taking, and I am increasingly earning the title of "Stay at Home Mom."

Something isn't right. It doesn't only have to do with my supplements. I just look at my body's rejection of them as the tool the Lord used to reveal another bend in the road.


Last weekend, the Lord propelled me into action when He introduced me to a new friend.  Caroline and I met on Facebook. (You can meet Caroline here.) She lives in a different part of the country, and is almost a decade younger than myself, but our symptoms are very similar. The main difference is that hers are worse. She is completely homebound and is currently able to eat only three foods. Sound familiar? She began GAPS about three years ago. Soon after, she began having some problems very much like the ones I am experiencing now.

We both still believe the GAPS diet to be a great healing tool. I will continue to follow most of the tenants of the diet. However, we are fighting multiple battles, and GAPS alone cannot win the war.

After chatting with Caroline and discussing my supplement problem with my natural doctor (who is currently taking a class on MTHFR/DNA snips), I feel that the Lord is leading me to look deeper into both the autoimmune and genetic natures of my illness. I just received my new DNA test kit in the mail. This new test will offer me more comprehensive results than the blood test ordered by Dr. Cave in October. From there, Dr. Yakaboski and I will have a phone consult with a genetic specialist. The three of us will discuss my results and formulate a new treatment plan. The consult will take place in a few weeks after I have received the new DNA results. I have also downloaded a free ebook by Dr. Connors, Caroline's doctor. The book discusses types of autoimmune-based illness and how to treat them. Dr. Connors also offers phone consultations to people who cannot travel to his clinic in Minnesota.

In the meantime, I am recovering from poisoning myself and trying to limit further poison exposure. I have seen Dr. Yakaboski twice this week to get relief. I hope that after today's colonic, BioSet and BEST treatments, I will soon experience a change for the better. I have no idea how I will do without being able to address my methylation problems for several weeks, but I will leave that in the hands of my Faithful God.

This God of mine has thoroughly earned my trust by proving Himself ready and able to help time and time again. Yesterday, He provided a friend to help me with my children and chores. Last night, He was there for me again. I was in the recliner, feeling as if I weighed 500 pounds and had lived 100 years. I was unsure if I was even going to be able to peel myself away from the chair to get my baby out of her crib.

But He reminded me, "My grace is sufficient for you." I stood.

I had vegetables to prep, broth to jar and a chicken to debone. I could not do it. He whispered, "My grace is sufficient."I began to chop, jar and debone.

It was too hard. I hurt too much. "My grace is sufficient, My Child."

I cried. I cried because it was hard and because God enabled me to do it anyway. "Sufficient. I AM enough. I will help you. I promise."

Tears of grace fell in my kitchen last night, and I knew. No matter how hard the rest of this healing journey may be, there will be enough grace--enough GOD--to bring me through.

The Top Five Reasons I Love Being Sick

No, I have not become a masochist.

In most ways, I loathe being sick. I despise pain, discomforts, social alienation, fatigue, and dietary restrictions, but my sickness is so much more than the sum of my symptoms. I have been thrust into an alien world. Now that I am no longer suffocating in an atmosphere my fragile lungs are not accustomed to, I find that I don't mind this strange, sometimes desolate planet so much. In fact, I can find things that I truly like about it. While I will never stop looking for a way to get back home, I have found a way to be happy here. Much of my happiness comes from this little list of blessings I could have only received in a place of long-term suffering:

1) The People

The book, Embracing Obscurity, mentions a "secret society" of sufferers. Initiation is hell, but there is a hidden sweetness to be found in all the bitterness of membership. In my earliest days of suffering, this community enveloped me as if I had been there forever. These people know. They understand. They have held me up. They always know exactly what to say and not say. It is comforting to look into an eye and find the same altered light I feel in my own, to hear another voice with inflections of pain and peace trying to find the right balance. The people here have taught me how to give comfort and receive it, the latter actually being the harder of the two. There is much more to learn. In most of the cases I have encountered, the people of the Suffering Planet grieve with those who grieve and rejoice with those who overcome, a rare, precious commodity these days. Sufferers, who are usually social outcasts, have become some of my favorite people. I am proud to be counted among them.

Without being sick, this kind of sick, I never would have met my fabulous team of natural/integrative doctors--Dr. Stephanie Cave, Dr. Melisa Kuehn, and Dr. Carolyne Yakaboski--because I would still think alternative medicine is all very "woo-woo!"I adore each one, but my favorite (and I can write this because none of them read my blog) is my local Natural Doctor, Dr. Yakaboski. Each doctor has her own pool of knowledge, making each one valuable and necessary to me. What is special about Dr. Yakaboski is that she sees me regularly, listens carefully to me and is taking time to learn about my peculiarities. I'm not saying that I'm the reason she is taking a class on genetic mutations, but I know my case at least offered her a nudge. And I'm beginning to think the information she is currently learning is the key to my healing.

While my illness has created distance in most of my longer-established friendships (not because of any person's fault--that is just what chronic illness does), I have made new friendships, none of which would exist without this illness. Some of them like Jenny, Caroline and Jennifer are or have been sick themselves. Oddly, not one of these ladies lives close by. Others like Emily Wheat and Emilea Talton, God just ushered in to help me along.

2) Personal Growth

When I married 8 1/2 years ago, I was a terrible cook who had never shown much interest in the kitchen. I could scramble eggs, make awesome cinnamon toast and kill perfectly decent food on the George Foreman grill. (If you own this appliance, please do your part to stop the murder of innocent food. Divorce George. Fat is your friend.) While mistakes occasionally still happen, I consistently deliver a good meal made from scratch night after night, and most of the recipes are Melissa Keaster originals. When you can't eat out and people can't cook for you, your only choice is to cook or starve. Thereby, I get lots of practice, and practice has made me quite competent. I'm even tweaking an original "real food" cookie bar recipe.

 I get a huge kick out of making a pretty wide range of yummy food for my family. I am proud of the accomplishment that was born out of very real struggle. It is hard work--both the planning and the preparing! Cooking a different meal every night without a repeat over the course of the week using only 30ish foods while battling pain and fatigue is a real challenge! I suppose it's a good thing that I've always liked challenges.


In addition to learning to cook, I have learned to nourish. Many of my preconceived ideas about health food have been shattered, and I am watching my family benefit from what I have learned. I have discovered that I love feeding people good food. Right now, I have a very real ministry of feeding three eaters in addition to myself, but I dream of a quiet, thriving ministry of feeding and visiting sick people and shut-ins once I am well.

3) Helping Others

I have learned so much information since losing my health. I have an infinite amount more to learn, but I am helping family, friends and strangers alike with the little I already know. I have shown several people how to muscle test for allergies to foods before trying them. If my friends want a natural remedy for some kind of ailment, I either know the remedy or know how to find it. Brandon, the kids and other friends and family who haven't minded being my guinea pigs have benefited from BioSet treatments.

Mostly, I am thankful that I am able to help my immediate people. Brandon has Crohn's disease. While he complains of his weight loss from time to time, he looks great and feels even better. My children both struggle with my genetic mutation and Gut and Psychology Syndrome. I will even go as far as to say that I think I am going to save Sara from becoming autistic. Some of you may think I'm talking crazy, but I have been doing lots of reading and have personally witnessed or experienced the truth of the information. I love that I am in the unique position to see that my kids are sick and need my help while they are still young. Soon, I will be healthy enough to put the necessary energy into getting them better. What an undeniable gift!

4) Spiritual Growth

I have learned to view this new life as a grand adventure. I may rarely leave my home, but no two days are the same. Each one begins brimming with promise. I never know who will walk through my door, who will call, who I will meet, what my children and husband will need, or what God will speak to me on any given day.

I am finally learning a little about the ministry of intercessory prayer. It is truly a labor of the soul. As Christians, we are nourished by the Word of God and we sweat by the work of prayer. Sometimes, this ministry is painful for me because my suffering has made me more compassionate. Friend, if you share a burden of your soul with me, know that I feel a little of its weight. If something has wounded you, I bleed a little, too. I feel your injustice almost as if it were my own. Tears for your sorrow stain the side of my bed. I have been asking the Lord to teach me how to pray for years. It is harder than I had anticipated, but it is work worth doing.

I see people. I am finally looking others in the eye, observing either light or shadow. I want to know hearts. I have time for souls. I want to know how I can meet the needs of body, soul and spirit. This is especially true for my immediate people--Brandon, Micah and Sara. They are my focus now, as it should be.

The most important lesson I'm learning is contentment. Contentment is a difficult and victorious classroom. I can be happy when I'm hungry, when I'm tired, when I hurt, when I'm lonely, when I'm sick, when I'm scared and when my feelings have been hurt if I look to God for joy. I don't do this perfectly or anywhere close, but I am learning. If I live to old age, I hope to say with the Apostle Paul, "I have learned to be content in all things."

5) GOD

Spurgeon's Morning by Morning reads thus on February 12--

"Here is a blessed proportion. The Ruler of providence bears a pair of scales--in this side He puts His people's trials, and in that He puts their consolations. When the scale of trial is nearly empty, you will always find the scale of consolation in nearly the same condition. When the scale of trial is full, you will find the scale of consolation just as heavy. When the black clouds gather most, the light is more brightly revealed to us....Another reason why we are often most happy in our troubles is this--then we have the closest dealings with God. When the purse is bursting with gold, we try to do without so much prayer. But take our food away, and we want our God.....Troubled believer, do not fret over your heavy troubles, for they are the heralds of weighty mercies." [2 Corinthians 1:5]

Upon the stillness of my sickbed, I have often heard the voice of God. I feel His embrace when I ache. I know what the shadow of His wings is like. The sweetness there is so intense that sometimes I feel that I don't want to get well because I want to stay there forever. I have to shake myself, pry myself away, reminding myself that He is not calling me to enter into His rest just yet. I have to toil a little longer, and there is much joy to be found in my toil.

 More than anything, I love the nearness of Christ in my suffering. If you do not know Him today, Fellow or Future Sufferer, I hope you will. As John Piper writes at the end of His poem, "Job"--"Unkindly has He kindly shown me God." The price has been high, but seeing God is everything to me. It is the treasure for which I would sell everything I possess. Take my health, and give me Jesus!

I am certain that healing is in God's plan for me. He has told me over and over that I will get well. Currently, some of my symptoms are getting worse. Some days I feel that I am making a downward turn. But I trust His word to me. I believe Him. I will continue to believe Him if I temporarily take a turn for the worse. And I will never resent this place I'm in. I hate it, but I love it. Because God is with me, it is a fine place to be.

To My Little Man on His Fourth Birthday

Micah turned four years old yesterday. More than any other birthday thus far, this one left me reeling a bit. He's four. His baby years are over. I no longer have a toddler son. I have a child on my hands. In so many ways, he is more man than infant. The baby fat has been replaced by lean muscle. He speaks with startling sage wisdom tempered only by the speech struggles of a young one. He throws fewer tantrums and instead finds quiet mischief to occupy the wildness of his spirit. His future self now holds a shape in my mind. I see who he is becoming. I like him.

I know this is crazy talk for you mammas out there who are eking out the final senior days of high school with your baby boys. It's just that somehow this fourth birthday made me realize how soon I will be in your shoes. My realization doesn't make me sad or overly sentimental. Rather, it makes me missional. I have an important job to do here--to raise a godly man, not a good kid.

 I was feeling so many feelings, and there simply wasn't enough chocolate in the house. So, I wrote a letter which I have a wild hair to share. Enjoy.

My Dearest Micah,

You turned four years old today. Those four years went by as quickly as a breath. Impossibly fast. As the days pass away, I understand increasingly that I am doing more than raising a child. I am preparing a man to walk with the Lord. And it is an impossible job. 

The job is impossible because I am broken and flawed. I am physically weak, more so than other mommies we know. It's also impossible because I can model and share with you the Gospel of Jesus Christ, but I can’t make you believe it. I can’t open your spiritual eyes or bequeath to you my faith. I cannot do God’s work. So I find myself completely, utterly dependent upon Jesus for the most important job I will ever do, but I am at peace with the impossibility of it all because I have learned that dependence is good.

More than anything I teach, I hope you really learn dependence. May you never be self-sufficient in your own eyes.  As you grow, the world will tell you that you are strong and powerful and need no one but yourself. Do not believe these lies.  May you always see yourself as the broken, needy creature that you are, for only then can you be made whole and well. 

Many parents pray their children will be beautiful, intelligent, talented, successful, comfortable, and popular. I pray that you will shine like a light in a dark world, be wise in the ways of God, be graced by the gifts of the Spirit, be humble though mighty in Kingdom work, learn to be content in all circumstances and be rejected by the world as your Savior is, for no servant is greater than his Master. Granted, these are crazy prayers. Big prayers. But they matter.

I am appalled that you are already so far on your journey to manhood, but I am thrilled to catch glimpses of the man you are becoming. Your mind is a sponge, taking in astounding amounts of information all the time. You are brilliant, gifted and very funny. Although I never asked for it, you are beautiful, inside and out. You are grateful. You say “thank you” for things adults often take for granted. You are tender in heart toward the Lord and the people around you. Never lose that. Never.

I believe you are destined for great things, Bubs, but not by the world’s limited standards. I believe you are destined for deeds and feats that will last forever. God has magnificent plans for you—plans for your prosperity, never for your harm. In the Lord, you have hope and an everlasting future. My deepest wish is that you will embrace it all. 

I love you, Little Man. I am so proud of you. I feel unspeakably privileged to be your mother, and I will be forever grateful that our Lord entrusted your soul to my care.

Grace and Peace to you,

Mom

2/19/13

Thanks to Jolly Tucker Photography for the stunning photos!

Turning a Profit

A few evenings ago, I was foraging through the refrigerator and pantry trying to figure out what I was going to cook for dinner. My monthly food order stock was running low, and we were due a grocery run. Nevertheless, I emerged with a package of ground meat and a few carrots and set to work making them into a meal. As I sliced carrots, I was struck with how my physical and spiritual journeys are so apparently parallel at the moment.

Some days, my pantry is full. The circumstances are good. No one is sick. We have nowhere to be. The laundry is under control. And I'm having a "good day" health-wise. It's easy to turn out a fabulous meal when the fridge is filled to bursting with fresh fruits, veggies and meats butchered three different ways, but what about the days when the storehouses are depleted? How do I serve God when I've suffered a terrible allergic reaction that puts me in bed for half of the day? How can I love on my family the day after being up all night with a sick baby? What does God expect of me when all I have to offer is a couple of carrots and a package of ground meat?

As the Lord has increased my health, He has required more of me at home. He has moved me into a blessed season of "doing" for my immediate people. The Lord has restored my ability to work with my hands and "rejoice in my toil" (Eccl. 5:19), and I have truly relished His gift. It's funny that I never thought I much liked work until I was unable to do it. Lately, I have been baking with Micah, chasing the kids (which they love in this long trailer), reading to Sara, doing a bit of cleaning and looking for ways to serve my husband in addition to the basics of running a household and caring for two young children. This is all only just manageable on my good days. These tasks stretch me even when everything is perfect, but I know it is what I should be doing. The Lord confirms their necessity by giving me the grace to fulfill them. This "spending and being spent" for the souls of my family is satisfying, purposeful work (2 Cor. 12:15), but some days, for various reasons, I find myself with little to spend. On those days, my body and my will fight an inevitable battle that always ends in frustration. I want my body to cooperate with my will to "do," but my body is different than a healthy body. My body does not "push through." It simply quits and shuts down, leaving my will with nothing but good intentions and malfunctioning equipment.

I experienced this very thing only a few days ago. I was lying in bed the morning after a chemical reaction to fragrances. I remember praying a prayer that my mentor, Mrs. Dixie, first encouraged me to pray habitually a couple of years ago--"Lord, what would you have me do today?" Sometimes when I pray this prayer, I get an image in my head or a strong compulsion in my soul. Sometimes, I don't get anything at all at first, but simply know what to do next, one task at a time, including details like what to cook. It's weird and awesome and always an adventure. But that day, I got words--

"Let Me carry you."

I eventually peeled myself off of my bed, and spent the day writing long overdue thank you notes at the kitchen table and tending to the basic needs of the kids. I believe I managed to cook a simple dinner that night, too. My productivity wasn't very impressive. Micah and Sara were disappointed with my lethargy. I didn't have much to offer that day, but God gave me what I needed to complete the tasks He had in mind for me. He also allowed my bad day to take place on Brandon's day off which prevented me from having to call for emergency help.

What I've had to remember many times recently is that God doesn't expect the same thing from me every day. Oftentimes, I expect more of myself than He expects of me, which means that the battle isn't really between my body and my will but between my will and God's will. And when I'm working outside of His will--even if what I'm doing is a good thing--I exhaust myself prematurely and that work is going to burn up in the end. (Thank you for the reminder last week, Mrs. Dixie!) It's only when I'm submitting each step of my day to Him, offering Him each task before I begin it with my heart ready to let it go and allow Him to change my plans, that my energy lasts and my mundane, repetitious little life bears eternal significance.

That being said, no matter what I'm given, God expects me to turn a profit on it. Matthew 25 contains Jesus' parable of the talents. A master was preparing for a long journey. Before he left, he gave money to his servants. He entrusted different amounts to each servant "according to his own ability" (Matt. 25:15). One servant was given one talent, another was given two and another was given five. When the master returned home some time later, the servant given five talents had made a profit of five more. The servant given two talents made a profit of two more. But the servant given one talent was faithless. He buried his talent in a field and left it there. Basically, he hoarded the gift he was given, and had nothing to show for himself.

I don't know about you, but I don't want to be the servant who buried his talent in a field. It's true that I could save my energy on a good day, sit on my laurels and just enjoy feeling good, but I don't want to hear the Lord call me a "wicked and lazy servant" on judgement day (v. 26). I want to earn the commendation of "Well done, good and faithful servant," whether my profit for the day is two talents or five, even if it means risking my energy and health in the process.

God is not a hard task-master. He entrusts and requires only "according to my ability" (v. 15). If I'm given two talents, He doesn't expect a return of five. On the other hand, on days that I receive only one, I am expected to give Him an equivalent return. When Sara is up all night running fever, I am not expected to clean house the next day, but I am expected to hold my sick girl and help her get better. I am not expected to create a five course meal when I'm only given carrots and ground meat, but He does expect something. On days I am given more, I should joyfully give more in return. This is my spiritual act of worship, my reasonable service to a God who has given me everything (Rom. 12:1-2). While God loves the hymn on my lips, He treasures my cheerful service far more.

Allow me to clarify something--I don't work because I'm trying to ensure my spot in Heaven. My seat is already reserved by no merit of my own. My only security is the blood of Jesus, and I'm banking everything I have on His sacrifice. Rather, I work because I am saved. A heart overflowing with gratitude can't help but spill itself out. When our work comes out of being thankful for our salvation and not fear that we may not have it, the work is restful. It nourishes the soul. The yoke is easy and the burden is light because I never have to worry about whether or not the profit I was able to turn was enough. I never have to wonder--

"Did I say enough?"
"Did I do enough?"
"Did I do it perfectly?"

As long as I am walking in step with the Spirit of God, aligning my will and to-do list with His, I said enough, did enough and although I didn't do anything perfectly, I did it well enough. God redeems even my feeblest offerings made in His name.

Mrs. Dixie shared Jeremiah 31:16 with me last week--

"Refrain your voice from weeping
And your eyes from tears;
For your work shall be rewarded,
says the Lord."

God honors any service we render "as unto the Lord." When I have life in my bones, He honors the walk I take with my children as we point to the things God has made. When the stars align, allowing me to clean, He honors that clean bathtub even if that is all I accomplished. When I am unable to stand on my feet, He honors the thank you notes I write to His people. When I am bedridden, He honors my half-alert prayers and muddled whispers of love and adoration. When I only have ground meat and carrots in the fridge, He honors the meal of hamburger patties and carrot "fries" that I provide for my family. Don't forget--He is the same God who fed 5,000 people with a couple of fish and a few loaves of bread. He does much with our little.

So let us lay aside our frustrations that we are given two talents today instead of ten. Let us embrace our two. Let us prepare ourselves to turn a profit on what we are given with happy hearts. Let us rejoice in our toil! Let us live today for the smile of God! Let us each do according to our ability that we may one day hear the sweet, precious words which will warm us eternally to the core, "Well done, My good and faithful servant!"

Growth: A Health Update

Growth is gradual.

Real, organic growth can only be measured over time. The mixed greens Dad planted in the Autumn were young, tender sprouts the first time I went out to the small patch. The next time they were a little taller, fuller, darker. The next time a little more so. If I had gone out every day, the changes may have escaped me entirely. Even when I am very observant, I cannot see my children grow. I only realize they have grown when Micah's pants are suddenly too short or when I fail to snap the buttons of Sara's onesie.

Invisible types of growth are even more difficult to spot.

A friend gave me a copy of a delightful little book entitled Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches by Rachel Jankovic. Rachel is the mother of five children, and experience along with her love of the Lord have granted her much wisdom concerning little ones. In the chapter, "Fruit of the Spirit Speed Quiz," she discusses the importance of observing and commenting upon the personal growth in our children. She writes--

"It is very easy for us to forget about the progress they make and to ignore the problems that they no longer wrestle with. If you have been faithfully disciplining your children, I guarantee you that there are many, many problems that they no longer struggle with....As a parent it is very easy to demean their progress by demeaning the struggle. Instead of praising them and pointing to their progress to encourage them, we ignore it.....Try to notice these little mile markers on the path of sanctification."

Commence domino effect in the brain.

The first thing I realized is, "Wow. I seriously fail at this." I'm pretty good about telling Micah that I'm proud of him, but I'm very general in my praise. For example, I may say something like, "Micah, I am proud of you because you are kind" or "Micah, you are so smart! I am proud of you!" Rachel encourages her readers to be more specific. So during bath time the other night, I told my son, "Micah, I am so proud of you! You used to cry every time I washed your hair, but you hardly ever cry about that anymore. You are such a big boy!" I wish you could have seen the smile of pleasure on his sweet little freckle-nosed face. He was delighted that I had acknowledged his progress!

Our little moment gave birth to other productive thoughts such as "Wow. Look at how far Brandon and I have come! We used to fret over the smallest things. Now we live under a ton of pressure and are granted just enough resources for daily bread, and we are doing really well. Praise God!" and "Wow. Sara may still have fussy moments, but look at how far we've come in a year. We've come from 6 hours or more a day of weeping and wailing to an occasional temper tantrum. Praise God!"

Finally, I directed my course of thinking inward and pondered my own progress. "Just a couple of months ago, I was having daily meltdowns. I can't remember the last time I lost control of myself. WOW! Praise God!" With that thought, I stumbled upon a realization that may be obvious to onlookers, but it's one I have missed almost entirely until that moment because I am constantly caught up in day to day survival mode--"Oh my gosh, I'm better! I'm much better."

And there it is--growth.

My meltdowns were a symptom I never got around to blogging much about. Mostly because it was my most embarrassing one, which is saying something as many of my symptoms have to do with poop. I have a condition called "pyroluria" which is caused by a group of chemicals called "kryptopyrroles." Pyroluria causes "irritability, anger, poor memory, impaired intellectual function, poor immunity and inability to deal with stress" (Gut and Psychology Syndrome, p. 44). I didn't exactly want to broadcast to the entire world that I was yelling at the kids every night and literally pulling my hair out when Sara would cry (girlfriend is LOUD) and occasionally daydreaming about tossing the screaming infant, the rambunctious boy, and the annoying dog out the window all at once and letting them fend for themselves while I cooked dinner. But I am unable to remember the last time I felt this way.

 It's not that I've become more patient or that I'm suddenly a better mother. No. I still feel very stressed when I'm chopping vegetables with a sharp knife that has been known to fly out of my hands due to my clumsiness and trying to check the food in the oven without burning the crying baby clinging to my pants leg so tightly that the pants actually fall off and simultaneously trying to ignore the redheaded boy literally bouncing off the walls of the living room who for all the world looks like a bizarre pinball in a machine while the dog barks loudly and annoyingly at the wind or the birds or the grass or at her own shadow. I still feel the stress that pandemonium brings and I often feel anger. I just no longer lose myself in it. I am now well enough to stop, breathe, pray and move on.

Other little mile markers on the road to restored health:

--I am reading again. I have always loved to read, but for awhile, my brain was so cloudy that I could not read. It was too much work and the words wouldn't stick anyway. The only book worth putting that much effort into was the Bible. I am now reading five books in addition to the Bible. Wow! Praise God!

--I am able to enjoy my kids! A few months ago, I was in a place where I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Taking care of children felt impossible all the time. It feels like I've suddenly woken from an 8 month long coma, and I'm getting to know two amazing little strangers. It's absolutely blissful. Wow! Praise God!

--Getting the kids ready to go outside doesn't leave me breathless or exhausted anymore. Wow! Praise God!

--My kitchen is beginning to look like a science lab with all the weird concoctions I've been making in the name of health. A few months ago, I was doing well to provide enough food for everyone. There was no time for experiments! Wow! Praise God!

--I am now able to take walks. It may not seem like much to you, but it's a pretty big deal to me. And not only am I taking walks, I am carrying Sara in the ErgoBaby, walking uphill and through the woods, lasting for 20 minutes at a time. Walking used to deplete my stores of energy, but now it often replenishes them. Oh, how I have enjoyed these walks! They are always a good time for the kids and me, and I love being outside and feeling strength in my body, a strength I didn't have a couple of months ago. Wow! Praise God!

--While I continue to suffer from dyspraxia, I am having fewer accidents.  Wow! Praise God!

--Getting out of the house no longer feels impossible. It's still hard, but not impossible. And I want to get out! Wow! Praise God!

--My smallest blue jeans are finally beginning to fit again. My smallest pair of pants are snug! I'm absorbing nutrition! Wow! Praise God!

--I have as much trouble remembering my last life-threatening allergic reaction as I do remembering my last emotional blow-up. I continue to react to all kinds of things, but I haven't felt like I was dying in months. Wow! Praise God!

--I no longer feel like I'm suffering. There are still many foods that I cannot eat, but I can eat so many more than I could last summer. I enjoy eating again! I have favorite foods! I'm not hungry all the time anymore. I continue to have pain, but I usually don't notice it. From time to time, I still run into a wall of fatigue (exhaustion you just can't push through), but it's a rare occurrence these days. I have lots of little complaints, but compared to how I was feeling in September, I just can't say that I'm suffering anymore. Wow! Praise God!

 I have a long road to hoe yet.

But God (don't you love those two words when put together side by side?) began peeling away my sick rags last week, and He began with the ones that were covering my eyes. Suddenly, I can see the growth! I can measure the progress!

It would be easy to attribute my improvement to my diet and lifestyle changes, but God removed that possibility a couple of weeks ago when I read this sentence from The Imitation of Christ--

"Neither canst thou be delivered or eased by any remedy or comfort, but as long as it shall please God thou must bear it."

When I read that, I felt the Lord speaking to me as clearly as I hear the hundreds of questions Micah asks me on any given day--"It will not be your diet that heals you. Forget your two year timeline. I AM going to heal you, and I alone will determine the time frame."

Those words were humbling, encouraging, frightening and freeing all at the same time.

Humbling because I am always humbled when the Lord of the Universe speaks to my heart, revealing His watchcare over my tiny existence.
Encouraging because I know healing is coming! It is already happening!
Frightening because God may extend my illness longer than my estimated two years. It could go on indefinitely, and I don't particularly like being ill.
And freeing because I now know that my healing doesn't depend on me following the GAPS diet to the letter. It is simply a tool in the hand of God. I cannot mess this up! That's freedom!

I think I hear the echoes of a trumpet blast of liberty!

Thank you for your prayers! They are being answered! Thank you for continuing to bear witness to my adventure. It hasn't always been fun, but it has most definitely been good. And God's just getting warmed up!

 Up, up, up the hill. One of the hills we climb on our walks.

 Micah likes to say, "Momma, I beat you!"

 Me and my girl on one of our walks.

 Playing in the creek that flows through our farm.

 Sara likes to cook. She's made me a pumpkin soup in this picture.

She also likes to feed me. Good to know she has some nurturing characteristics.

 Her disinterest in baby dolls had me thinking she was all tomboy.

 Being silly!

 

Beet kvass, a blood and liver detox drink

My Master Tonic to fight flu, colds, viruses and bacterial infections.

 Here it is before "brewing" for two weeks.

Here is the Master Tonic post brewing and bottling. I got over half a gallon of medicine and several baggies of prepped veggies for soups, stews, etc.

A true word about growth: "So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase."--1 Corinthians 3:7