The Better Miracle

I am doing very well.

There, I said it.

I've been afraid to, you see, because every time I share how well I'm doing, something unpleasant this way comes. Inevitably, there will be a freak trigger exposure or a virus that lays me low for a week.

But I will not be bullied by circumstances! I will not be a slave to fear! I'm going to say it loud and proud and expect the best, trusting the Rock beneath my feet to steady me in the face of the worst--God has granted me an increased measure of health, and I am doing very well. 

Bless the Lord, O trembling soul.
Bravely bless His name.

My energy is up, I've gained weight, my pain is more manageable, I'm sleeping better, and I recently returned from a five day anniversary trip to San Antonio where upon I actually left the resort to do things, and had not one episode of anaphylaxsis.

Believe me when I say this is a miracle. 

Dr. Yakaboski checked my adrenal and thyroid function last week. For the first time since I began seeing her, my adrenals are functioning properly, and my thyroid isn't looking too shabby, either. Dr. Frieden reports I no longer harbor an overabundance of candida albicans in my belly. So that's good. Detox reactions are not the problem they once were.

I am doing very well.

Last week, I masked up and went to two appointments, Micah's school orientation, and church on Sunday morning. Not one emergency.

Micah began kindergarten this week. My days are longer, fuller, and more demanding. I'm feeding people all day long. (School apparently requires an additional meal per day. For both children. That's five meals per day for them. Help me.) I see Micah off every morning and pick him up every afternoon (so far). I assist him with homework. Though exhausted, I made it to the end of the school week, and am still functioning. A blog post is happening. Miraculous!

 

I am doing very well.

I would keep it to myself for the sake of my safety, but some things are more important than safety--like you knowing that God hears your prayers. He is listening to you, and He is acting because you ask Him to. Take heart: you are heard and loved.

So let the sky fall. Let it fall because there is a better miracle pulsing beneath the obvious one, the visible one telling the invisible story. There is a better miracle working health in my soul as my cells dump poison into my blood and my body pushes back against a supposedly degenerative disease.

The physical healing taking place is only a parable of the real, unshakeable healing which cannot be maimed by degranulating mast cells.

The parable whispers a secret--feasting works the healing.

Nutritional therapy for the sick person is essentially eating lots and lots of nutrient-dense calories to encourage the mitochondria of the cells to wake up and work life and healing in the body. Junk food just doesn't have that kind of power.

Nutritional therapy for the soul isn't all that different.

"And you who seek God, your souls shall live."--Psalm 69:32

I may follow Autoimmune Paleo protocol, but I daily feast upon the Bread of Life and drink deep of Living Water, thereby awakening the mitochondria of my inner being, the little powerhouses which produce joy and delight on a plane more real than flesh and bone.

My daily coffee enema and detox bath require a total of two hours per day. Until this summer, I squandered away that time with the distractions of Netflix and Facebook--junk food for the soul. A few months ago, I finally heard God's invitation to something better. There is nothing wrong with a little junk food, but why choose a processed snack cake while a perfectly cooked steak sits before you? One leaves you empty and sugar-crashed after a very short while. The other satisfies.

Now that I've thrown out the junk food, I have two entire hours built into my day for Jesus alone! What a blessing!

While nutritional therapy for the body is taking in calories targeted for biological healing and support, nutritional therapy for the soul is taking time to feast at my Savior's table and rest my sin-diseased and broken spirit in the Healer's arms. I couldn't have dreamed more poignant imagery to illustrate "mortality [being] swallowed up by life" than spending my sick-person-to-do-list with the Source of Life Himself (2 Corinthians 5:4).

Before I felt better, I was able to say, "I am the happiest I've ever been." Singing, dancing, smiling-like-a-love-struck-school-girl happy.

Before I felt better, I confessed, "Sometimes, I forget I'm sick," which really means this--"Sometimes I forget myself."

Self-forgetfulness is healing. It's life to the dead, rest to the weary, and freedom to the shut-in.

When we are continually looking at Jesus, we forget to check the mirror. When we forget to check the mirror, we begin to see the pain of others. Thus self-forgetfulness often means more tears because you aren't just shedding them for yourself anymore. Yet all the while, God magically, mysteriously invites us into the miracles He's working in their lives through prayer and service, rendering smiles through the tears and joy in the mourning. 

Miracles for everyone!

Self-forgetfulness is an awesome place to live. I just wish I knew how to stay. 

"Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
Here's my heart, Lord, take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above."

Though I have learned to live above my disease, I still want complete physical healing. I'll want it until I get it. In the meantime, there is a better miracle beneath it all.

There is a happiness to be had when the sky falls and health fails and dreams die and people wound us. There is a strong current of peace flowing beneath the tumultuous waves of our stormy seas. When life spontaneously combusts, there is One like the Son of God who stands with us in the fire.

You can do better than survive your suffering. You can thrive there. I've seen it. I've lived it. But there is only one Way, one Truth, one Life.

You'll find Him at the cross--arms open wide, bearing your sin and pain, forgiving your unbelief, loving you and wanting you in spite of your filth, foolishness, and propensity toward the junk food of the world.

I hope you'll seek Him because if you do, you'll find Him. And your soul will live. 


(If this post leaves you with unanswered questions about finding joy in suffering, please read my amendment post here.)

Ten Years

I think about it often: A lesser man would have left me by now. You stay. You, with those big brown eyes, open arms, soft lips, and serving hands.

Like a phoenix, I'm born, I breathe, I burn. I'm remade from the ashes time and again. I have been no less than five different people in the decade we've been married, and you have loved them all.

"You're so weird," you say with a chuckle. God bless that chuckle because that chuckle means you think my weird is cute.

I think your weird is cute, too.

How do you always know when I need a laugh? A hug? A strong hand to hold mine? Your presence, your voice as my innards swell and lungs labor are a comfort and a tether keeping my feet tied to the world.

How do you do it all, Atlas? How do you manage the weight of the world on those broad, sexy shoulders?

How do you work long days, bathe children, grocery shop, manage the property, pay the bills, help others, and save me every day? How do you live always dying, always denying yourself?  You swear to your own hurt, and you do not change (Psalm 15:4).

There must be Jesus in you.

As long as you channel Living Water, I'll never stop drinking you in. When you run dry, my well is yours. Always.

You've won my heart a million times over. Just like this Savior I know. I don't deserve either of you.

 World, you may keep your fallible currencies. I'll draw and spend from an eternal bank of love.

Happy anniversary, My Beloved. I could not have made a better investment over the last ten years than I have in you. Thank you for being a parable of Christ's love for me and His Church. Here is to many more years in this life and an eternity of them in the next, my Brother, my Friend, my Lover.....

MY SUPERMAN

 

And now 10 years in photos and song:

Just Say "No" to Self-Pity

With over a decade of experience under my belt, I know about diet restriction--both the good kind and the harmful kind. (Note: I do not advocate calorie restrictive diets.)

I understand the feelings of deprivation and the fear of change. I know what it's like to starve in a land of plenty. I've been so sick I could only tolerate a handful of foods. There have been times I could not eat at all. Thanks to God and an amazing health team, I am no longer in that place. Through lots of grace and support, I have survived and learned a few things along the way.

Check out a snippet of my journey at 20 Something Allergies, the blog of nutritional therapist, research enthusiast, friend and witch doctor extraordinaire, Jennifer Nervo.

Mixed Bag--An Update

I've been home from my mountain-top experience at Mayo for a little over a month. Things have not gone exactly as I had hoped. The last few weeks have been hard and good, beautiful and heartrending.

• I turned 30.

I had always imagined turning thirty would be a difficult thing. To my surprise, it was no big deal. It was pleasant even. I had both a good birthday and a lovely birthday party. On June 3, I posted this story to Facebook:

When I opened my eyes this morning, I asked the Lord to be present in every moment of the day. That would be gift enough. I did not expect a literal gift from Him--

I went outside to hang Sara's diapers to dry in the sun. Brandon's trailer seemed like a good spot. Out flew an angry wasp feeling threatened by my close proximity to his home hidden below the wheel. My peripheral vision caught him coming in for the sting, but suddenly he deflected away from me, as if he had bounced off a surface I couldn't see. I think it was my "blue shield" I dreamed about almost 3 years ago. "Happy birthday to me, from God," I thought.

I shared the story with Mom who reminded me of Psalm 91. I have lived the truth of these verses for years, but it was the promise God makes to the psalmist at the end which brought me to tears--

“Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him on high, because he has known My name.
He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.”

And almost a whisper in my ear, "Happy birthday to you, from Me."

See? Good.

A week later, I hosted an (herbal) tea party in my own honor. You get to do that when you turn thirty, are too sick to go out, and are kind of eccentric.

 Kids' table

 The menu included three herbal teas-- Rhubarb and Strawberry Hibiscus Iced Tea,

Peppermint and Raspberry Leaf, and Nettle and Rosehip--

gluten free zucchini cake, and Melissa-friendly Paleo treats.

 Most of the guests.

 Morgan and I reunited after our respective adventures, which the Lord saw us through. It was a kind of celebration of His generosity to us. Please continue to pray for Morgan. 

She is still suffering from surgery complications.

 My beautiful Mom.

 The smallest guests. Love them!

• I have settled back into my routine.

The Mayo experience was more of a spiritual retreat than a medical trip for my mom and me. It was glorious to be home, but it took a few days and lots of grace to find my legs again.

•  I have finally begun the first draft of my novel.

Until a couple of weeks ago, it had been a long time since I had accomplished any serious work with my novel. I lost my drive in the midst of health struggles, grief, and preparations for Mayo. I also lost interest in writing back story. I was yearning to write the real story, and that is just what I have been doing. I am writing it longhand, which I find to be extremely satisfying. Something about it summons the muse, and it definitely reduces distractions. When I am writing longhand, that is all I'm doing. No peeks at Facebook or Pinterest. Just writing. And it feels like a real craft.

• I began my prescribed medications. Kind of. 

Upon returning home, Brandon and I discovered pretty quickly that I could not take the Zantac, Zyrtec, and Singulair in their marketed forms. They contain too many fillers. That's right. I'm allergic to antihistamines. But honestly, this is not uncommon for people with MCAD. Brandon checked into using a compounding pharmacy to obtain pure forms of the drugs, but this route proved to be cost prohibitive. In the end, we asked Dr. Carolyne Yakaboski to create a homeopathic form of the drugs. These are not as potent as the actual drugs, but I have found that a little goes a long way with just about anything. I do notice some relief when I remember all of my doses, which is good.

I began Gastrocrom two weeks ago. This drug only contains cromolyn sodium and water. I have had no adverse reactions thus far. Praise God! If it works for me, my GI pain and swelling will begin to resolve in about a week or so.

• I am failing my dietary protocol. Which I still need to blog about.

I cannot stay out of the tomatoes. I try. I really try. Yet I fail. They make me sick. They make me hurt. They cause me misery. And still I am lured in by their beauty and promise of palatable rapture. Le sigh.

• I'm getting "grounded." Explanation here.

An earthing kit has been on my wish list for quite some time. Brandon bought me one for my birthday. We began using the sheet right after I returned home, and it immediately improved my quality of sleep.

• I have added castor oil packs to my health routine. Explanation here. 

These. are. awesome. I began about two weeks ago. They bring on the sleepies, and reduce the ill effects of my tomato lust. I feel a certain amount of histamine relief after doing them, which calms the flushing and "tired and wired" feeling enough to induce sleep. I put it on every night for about an hour and a half--just long enough for Brandon and I to watch two episodes of BBC Robin Hood on Netflix. Then I go to sleep. Like it's no big deal. Like falling asleep wasn't the hardest thing ever just a couple of months ago. Praise God for earthing sheets and castor oil and heating pads! Praise God for sleep!

•  I've been using my unique skill set to serve my sister.

Since becoming pregnant, my sister has experienced serious health problems similar to my own. We think the shift in hormones has upset her system, and she has been having allergic reactions to foods, animals, and bug bites. I have been able to direct her to safe, nutritious foods, treat her reactions with TBM and BioSet, and offer her gentle, pregnancy-safe home remedies like poultices, herbs, and essential oils. I am loathed to see my sister suffer, but thankful I can help.

• Grief continues to rock my boat.

In many ways, I feel Jenny's loss more profoundly today than I did when it was fresh. There is so much I want to tell her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her unique perspective and the artful way she crafts her sentences. I want the light in her blue eyes and her hearty "hallelujahs" in response to every good God has sent. A memory sparked by a conversation or activity will initiate a tiny, seismic shift, sending an unexpected tidal wave to my shore. In these moments, I am thankful for the "hope we have as an anchor of the soul" (Hebrews 6:19). Without it, I would be reduced to rubble every time.

• There have been two episodes of anaphylaxsis, one of which resulted in shock.

Until about three weeks ago, I had not had an anaphylactic reaction in a record length of time. Since then, there have been two episodes. The first occurred following my tea party, after which I felt uncommonly unwell. I thought my body was rebuking me for the almond flour treats I had eaten. But I really hadn't eaten that much, so I was confused. The next night, my mother-in-law and I shared a warmed cup of left over peppermint and raspberry leaf tea.

BAM! I was struggling for air. I knew it wasn't the raspberry leaf, which exposed the peppermint as the culprit. I had drunk so. much. of this particular blend the day before it is no wonder I was so ill after the party. Bummer. It was a good blend.

And then there was the freak peanut exposure this past Sunday night. Brandon and the kids wanted an Eskimoe's treat after completing a little errand in town. We went through the drive-thru. The window was on Brandon's side of the car. I detected a shift in my body during the transaction, but I had to do the whole self denial routine.

"You're not sick," I told myself. "That would be crazy. You are fine. You are fine. The swelling will subside. You are fine." I continued like this for the 15 minute ride home. I eventually believed myself, so I didn't understand when my blood pressure went on the fritz upon getting out of the car.

When things got bad, Brandon was outside talking to my parents. I was inside with the kids. I was able to take my rescue homeopathics and get a text to him before I was useless. By the time he began performing our tried and true rescue treatment, I was exiting reality--a cold place where it was painful and difficult to breathe, think, move, and obey--and entering the floaty space where it's warm and pleasant and everything is peaceful.

Shock is a siren song. Unless someone tethers you to the ship, you will bail. You cannot help yourself. B wasn't having it though. He says he yelled at me. I was vaguely aware of it, but it came to my consciousness rather muffled, as if I was hearing him from underwater. He demanded I come back, so I did. I am thankful the Lord spared me once again. I must have more to do! Praise God!

• I have learned to better appreciate the miracle of last summer because this year is no repeat.

Brandon and I have agreed--
In some ways, I am better than I was last summer.
In some ways, I am sicker than I was last summer.

Last summer was nothing short of miraculous. I was knocking on death's door, and then God just turned it around. I went from eating nothing to eating baby food to eating anything I wanted. Eggs? Every day. Tomatoes? No problem. Watermelon? For the first time in years. I could eat any food, any time as long as it came from our garden.

And the garden itself was a miracle. Dad and Brandon were first time gardeners. They only kinda sorta knew what they were doing. Everything planted thrived. Rain came at just the right times. June and July were just mild enough. The bugs were a minor nuisance, and were well-controlled without the use of any substance, organic or otherwise.

This year? Squash bugs destroyed our crop. Tomato worms are having a hey day. We even have bugs in our kale, which is weird. Dad is using an organic, essential oil-based spray to repel them, but it doesn't seem to be working. And with the exception of kale and the now gone broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, and yellow squash, I am not tolerating anything very well.

I do not understand why the foods God used to bring me back to life last summer are now my enemies. I do not understand the complexities of why one crop is blessed and another is not blessed in the same way. I am not wise enough to guess the purpose of all this waiting, circling, cycling, and disappointment.

Why have I not been healed? I am doing everything right. With the exception of my tomato addiction, I eat perfectly. Well, except when I eat a bit of dark chocolate or have an almond flour treat for my birthday, but still! I detox, rest, sleep, exercise, get sunshine, manage my stress, and avoid triggers. I seek the Lord with all my heart. I pray, meditate, memorize scripture, and make my mind to dwell on things above. I want to be healed. I expect to be healed.

I am doing everything right, and I am still not well. Not even close.

Dear friend, this is life. We can do all the right things, and still not achieve the desired outcome. That is why we must desire a Person more than a circumstance. Someone who cannot change. An anchor for the soul.

Because here's the truth--
You can parent perfectly and your adult child may self-destruct.
You can make good health choices and your body may malfunction.
You can study hard and fail the class.
You can work hard and not land the job.
You can pray hard and not receive the desired answer.
You can do aaaaaaaall the things and miss the Whole Thing.

Now this doesn't mean we throw up our hands and refuse to invest. All things of worth require faithfulness. Laziness is not allowed. We have many seeds to sow. Marriage, motherhood, friendships, nourishment, health, career, craft, and our walks with the Lord all demand that we show up, game on, every day.

This week, Micah and I sat on the back porch and watched an afternoon storm roll in while Sara napped late.

"God brings the rain and makes it stop and makes the garden grow," he observed sagely as we listened to heavy drops pound the tin roof like a drum.

"That's right," I affirmed. "He brings rain and sunshine and gives growth to the seeds we plant. He makes all gardens grow, even the ones hidden inside of us." I touched the center of his chest.

"What kind of garden is inside of me?" he asked, eyes wide. "Will I grow vegetables?"

"No," I laughed. "You will grow fruit. Mommy plants the seed of the gospel of Jesus and the cross in your heart. Then God sends rain and sunshine and gives increase just like our garden out there." I pointed. "And after time, you will bear fruit--love, joy, peace, goodness, and faithfulness to name a few."

But it does not always work this way.

We are not as in control as we would like to think we are. We do not command life or death or cancer or disintegrating mast cells or squash bugs or people or rogue peanut particles. This is okay. Because the One who is in control is eternally, irreversibly good. He has our good at heart. He even takes the evil things of this world, and alchemizes them into good. It's a mystery, but it's true. 

We must stop serving the god we want, and start loving the God Who Is. We must surrender our idea of  good to His definition of good--the Church "conformed to the image of His [suffering] Son" (Romans 8:29).

For me, this means I show up. I do all the things God has tasked me with. I invest my heart, knowing that--yes--it may be broken. It is broken.

A friend told me this week she is hesitant to try gardening while she is already so busy and tired with little ones because she is afraid she would put in a ton of work only for the crop to fail. Oh, goodness--how her trepidation hits close to home. The threat is very real.

Disappointment is a bitter fruit. It's the risk we all take any time we do or love or work for anything. Christian or not, no one is exempt from the risk, but if you are a Christian, you can take comfort in knowing Christ drinks the wine of disappointment right along with you. If you are a Christian, you can rest your head on the pillow of promise--God is weaving your disappointment into an epic tapestry which will at its finish be a glorious work of art. You will one day gaze upon it in wonder, and you will agree--your suffering was not worthy to be compared to the joy you now know.

Life is a mixed bag of happinesses and disappointments, successes and failures, patterns and adjustments. It's devastating and magnificent and ridiculous and wonderful. I could never survive it without Jesus. And having tasted the exquisite joy of His presence especially in the midst of sorrow, I can tell you--I don't want to.

He is our Living Hope. He is our assurance that one day the disappointments will be no more, that all sad things will come untrue. Praise God this mixed bag is not all there is!

Mayo Clinic Trip: Vignettes Edition

"Clouds"

As our little plane reached the canopy of clouds, I thought of Deuteronomy 33:26--

"Who is like the God of Jeshurun, who rides the heavens to help you,

 and in His excellency on the clouds?"

 and of Psalm 36:5--

"Your mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens. Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds."

For a long moment, we were engulfed in mist. We could not see before us, behind us, or beside us. And yet we were moving. Sight was unnecessary. Our little plane soldiered on, brave and true, in the direction the pilots ordained.

Here is faith--going where God sends when we cannot see, without knowing where we fit into His scheme. What a portrait of this adventure! Trusting a design I cannot envision is easy because of the Artist who loves His medium.

I will fly through the clouds until You see fit to bring me out into blue. When from Your view I gaze upon the world, I will agree with You. I know I will. For now, I trust--in oceans deep and clouds obscuring, where feet and flight may fail--because Your judgments are a great deep and Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds and because You are with me no matter my elevation (Psalm 36:5-6). Neither height nor depth can sever me from Your love (Romans 8:39).

"Shadow"

Along the way I've noticed small clouds drifting below us like cotton balls suspended in the air. They are but a puff compared to the mounting cumuli which swallow our plane in a single bite, yet they cast a significant shadow upon the earth--acres wide and quite dark. So many lives fall under its cast though it is nothing at all as I ride above it. 

"Hold on!" I want to admonish all within the shadow. "It will pass in just a moment."

Perspective alters the size of the trial. When we see through the lens of the gospel and eternity, we rest assured "the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared to the glory which shall be revealed" (Romans 8:18). 

"Bumpy"

"Unless we climb above these clouds, things may get a little bumpy," the pilot yelled over the noise of the engine. "Everyone got their seat belts on?"

Mom and I gave a thumbs up. And we climbed.

Our strawberry-blonde pilot wove his way between pillowy, cotton-bright banks telling lies about their density and ability to upset our craft. We bumped, but not much. We feel the chill of flying so high above the earth. Despite our discomfort, we are safe. 

And dude--it's been bumpy and kind of cold for two years now. The craft hasn't been upset yet.

"Iron"

In my study of Colossians and Jeremiah 17, my mind connects these verses--

"The sin of Judah is written with a pen of iron;

With a point of a diamond it is engraved

on the tablet of their heart

and on the horns of your altars." 

Jeremiah 17:1

"And you, being dead in your trespasses

and the uncircumcision of your flesh,

He has made you alive together with Him,

having forgiven you all trespasses, having

wiped out the handwriting of requirements

that was against us, which is contrary to us.
 And He has taken it out of the way,

having nailed it to the cross."

Colossians 2:13-14

The only thing which could overrule a sentence penned in iron is a nail of iron piercing fragile, divine flesh. The only thing strong enough to overcome the guilt inscribed with unyielding diamond upon our souls is blood spilled from unyielding love. This is the power in us when we are raised by Christ--the only hero strong enough to save us, the only judge willing to take our guilt upon Himself. 

"Feelings"

On May 4th I wrote, "I feel this trip to Mayo is a dark cloud looming on the horizon." Just before I left, I told Brandon, "In case something goes wrong, know that it hasn't." I did not know what to expect, so I considered every possibility--diagnosis, bad diagnosis, no diagnosis, an unforeseen treatment option, crisis, even death--and made peace with each one. So I was surprised by every good that came to me. Oh, me of little faith.

When I sat in Dr. Park's office on May 27th, I didn't know where the consult was going at first. All tests had returned normal. I was relieved not to have a progressive, malignant disease, but it felt for a moment as if I wasn't going to get an answer at all, which would have been devastating after my desperate pleas from the bathtub two days prior. 

But I felt held. No fear. Those Everlasting Arms had me completely.

And then it came--"Mast Cell Activation Disease," which I had suspected for six months.

Relief. Joy. Gratitude. Praise. All came bursting from my stretch-marked heart. I didn't care at all I had been right. I was just thankful to have a name. Oh, how I needed that name!

Never have I prayed a "do or die" prayer quite like that before. Never have I been so confident I would be answered. Never have I felt so brave. "Perfect love casts out fear," Mom has been reminding me. And it's true. Only God's love is perfect. Only His love makes us bold as lions.

Wings of Hope, Arthur the taxi driver, Dr. Park, Mom, a diagnosis, an unexpected outpouring of anointed writing, everyone "helping together in prayer...that thanks may be given by many persons on [my] behalf" (2 Corinthians 1:11)--much good has come of this trip. A gentle, quiet, obvious kind of good. No fireworks. No drama. Just good. Sweet, humble good.

I love it!

Sometimes we have to apply time and prayer to strong feelings to determine whether or not they come from God for some unpleasant premonitions truly do come from Him. Twice on my difficult Friday, they did. They came with a message--"You will be discouraged, but do not despair." The feelings telling me I was likely to be harmed on this trip were obviously from The Enemy. Oh, how he would have liked to rob me of these joys! But God would not have it. 

"But God"--my favorite pair of words to ever stand side by side!

He supplied the faith I needed to "follow the thread" all the way through (George MacDonald, The Princess and The Goblin).

Truly, my Beloved has put a new song in my mouth--praise to my God! I pray many will hear it and be glad and trust in the Lord (Psalm 40:3)!

"Enough"

Over the course of my Mayo adventure, there has been an outpouring of love and support from others. It has been precious to me. Such a gift. But I find it ironic that the attentions and affections I craved so much last autumn,* when I felt so forgotten I might as well have been dead, matter little to me now.
 

God has done a healing work.

I am so satisfied by His smile, the approval and acceptance of others makes only a small difference to me. The love I have received is sweet and good, but my soul does not need it as it did not so long ago.

I read The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness by Timothy Keller while in Minnesota, which made me aware of the secret of my healing. Now I can say with Paul--

 "I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait until the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men's hearts. At that time each will receive his praise from God." (1 Corinthians 4:3-5)

The assurance of God's praise is enough. Jesus earned the praise for me through His death on the cross, and has bequeathed to me the priceless inheritance of God's applause. I am a performer. I have always loved applause. I cannot begin to imagine receiving applause from my Maker! And somehow, it is written and sure.

The thoughts, support, and well-wishes of others are nice, but not ultimate.

I am free! Jubilee has come! Jenny, these sick rags have finally fallen off! Praise God! Yes, yes--"God has been too good to me to play the victim anymore."

He is so, so good. And He is enough.

*I would like to share a very special "thank you" to my friend and GP, Stacy Conville, who last fall helped me remember the Lord had not forgotten me and neither had she. Her thoughtful, Spirit-inspired care package of favorite scripture passages, worship music, and an encouraging letter was just the handhold I needed to climb out of my pit of self-pity and back into the arms of the Savior. It was a small event which sparked a major shift in my trajectory. Without that package, this chapter may have turned out differently. Thank you, Sister, and know I am taking great delight in paying it forward. Love you.

Mayo Clinic Trip: Diagnosis Edition

I went out on a limb. I prayed for answers. And God delivered.

After years of bewildering symptoms, I was given a name.

A name is such a gift. Your insides never feel quite settled when you don't know how to identify a thing. A name says, "You're not crazy. You are not alone." These are comforting truths when the disease is isolating and causes you to question your own sanity.

I once had an allergist who was as perplexed by my symptoms as I was. Though I began to react to the allergy shots with increasing violence, he continued administering them along with steroids and epinephrine because he didn't know what else to do. After becoming tired of weekly anaphylaxsis, I ended the treatment. Recently, I encountered another allergist who refused to believe me, concluding I must be crazy because my symptoms did not fit with what he knew. Never have I had a doctor who both believed me and knew what was happening to me until Dr. Park of Mayo Clinic.

God bless this man.

After almost ten years of suffering and an earnest, two-year-long quest for diagnosis, Dr. Park told me on May 27, 2014, I have Mast Cell Activation Disease (MCAD).

Within a few minutes of my initial consultation, he suspected a disease involving the mast cells as opposed to a true allergic disease. Mast cells are found in the body's tissues, and promote immunity in a healthy person's immune system. Modern medicine tells us mast cells are disrupted by IgE antibodies. These antibodies are what allergists are looking for when they perform routine skin and blood tests. When the antibodies attach to a specific antigen such as ragweed pollen, they sensitize the mast cells and crosslink. The mast cells then break apart and dump certain chemicals like histamine, leukotrienes, and other nasties. The difference between true allergies and mast cell disease is the catalyst which angers the cells. With IgE allergies, the trigger is specific. With mast cell disease, the triggers are diverse and numerous.

In my experience, triggers are either debilitating or dangerous. Though the differentiation between debilitating and dangerous triggers varies from patient to patient, there are some commonalities. Common life-threatening triggers are fire ant, wasp, and bee stings. Typical debilitating triggers include high histamine or histamine releasing foods (fermented foods, alcohol, cheese, processed or left-over meats, yeast, many fruits, coffee, chocolate, tomatoes, fish, shellfish, wheat, nuts, soy, dairy, etc.), latex, chemicals, pesticides, fragrances, heat, cold, friction, injury, NSAIDS (Advil, naproxen), pollen, acute illness, and emotional stress. (Insect stings, peanuts/tree nuts, and latex are my most dangerous triggers.)

As you can probably guess, a person has difficulty avoiding this many triggers over the course of even one day, so the mast cells are continually releasing their contents, causing inflammation in all systems of the body. The chronic, widespread inflammation leads to quite a range of seemingly unrelated symptoms. The most common symptoms are flushing, itching, hives, chronic constipation and/or diarrhea, nausea, intestinal cramping, chronic fatigue, headache, wheezing, cough, dizziness, low blood pressure, fainting, fibromyalgia, arthritis, neuropathy, and shock. I have experienced all of these, most on a daily basis.

Because Dr. Park is knowledgeable and well-read, he immediately thought of mast cell disease of which there are several subtypes. Some types are worse than others. There are also a couple of altogether different diseases with similar symptoms. Dr. Park ordered specific blood and urine tests to exclude the possibility of systemic mastocytosis, mast cell leukemia, pheochromocytoma, and carcinoid syndrome. All labs came back normal which indicate MCAD.

According to The Journal of Allergy and Clinical Immunology, the criteria for a diagnosis of MCAD are:

1) Symptoms consistent with mast cell mediator release affecting two or more organ systems.

Check!

2) Other diseases with crossover symptoms ruled out.

Check!

3) A positive response to antihistamines and mast cell stabilizers.

Expected. Dr. Park is confident my symptoms will improve with the help of these drugs.

Basically, MCAD is diagnosed based upon clinical evidence and the exclusion of all other explanations. There is no cure for mast cell disease at this time. Not much is known about the disease other than it is real and it can be managed with a strict diet, lifestyle modifications, and relatively tame medications.

My life is unlikely to ever be "normal," but I'm okay with that. I'm not normal, so why should my life be? I have high hopes that the medications along with the continuation of nutritional therapy with Jennifer, regular treatments with Dr. Yakaboski, and regular chiropractic work with Dr. Frieden will eventually lead to a better quality of life. Insect stings will always be dangerous, I will likely continue to make my own deodorant and toothpaste, and I will usually use essential oils before medication. I have no reason to return to the Standard American Diet (SAD). But maybe I will be able to attend church again. Maybe I will be able to go to a movie with my husband. Maybe I can leave my home without a mask. Maybe I won't feel miserable every time I eat or end up in bed flat on my back with every virus which crosses the threshold.

I have no reason not to hope. God's love has made me bold. My recent encounter with His faithfulness has freed me from fear. I am resting in His Word--

"And whatever you ask in My name, that I will do,

 that the Father may be glorified in the Son.

 If you ask anything in My name, I will do it."

--Jesus, John 14:13-14

Obviously, this verse isn't a blanket promise. God doesn't always do what we ask. But when we abide in Christ, we know better what to ask for. And if we knew everything He knows, we would do things in the exact manner He does things.

I never asked Him for a diagnosis before last Sunday because I never felt compelled by the Spirit until then. I asked with a kind of desperation I had not previously experienced. It was a "do or die" kind of prayer. On Tuesday, God answered my request. While studying Jeremiah 17, I came across this verse:

"Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed;

Save me, and I shall be saved,

for You are my praise."

--Jeremiah 17:14

It has become my new prayer. I don't know when God will heal me, but I believe healing is coming. I don't know to what extent I will be healed, but I am comfortable leaving that decision in the ever capable hands of my wise and loving Father. For now, I will enjoy His goodness I have experienced here in Minnesota, and focus on getting back home to my Superman and red-headed loves. 

May God bless you all for praying me through this experience. I am so humbled and thankful to be a vessel of God's love and power. I am glad you were able to witness it! If you don't know Him, oh how I wish you would! There is no one more worth knowing! If you want to talk, I always have time and energy for conversations about the Savior.

Grace and peace. 

Thoughts Under A Minnesota Sky

Note: This is a stream of consciousness post--a kind of self-sermon. It was my intention to write about my diagnosis. This is what happened instead.

God's faithfulness is best measured by time.

I have been saying it and believing it for almost two years now. We like to think God works instantly like wifi and 4G. We want to believe we can short order our desires and have them placed before us steaming hot and just how we like them in ten minutes' time.

But look at Abraham.
Look at Joseph.
Look at Moses.
Look at Job.
Look at David.
Look at Paul.
Look at Jesus Himself.

God is no short order cook. He's an artist. And He works best over time. Lots and lots of time.

Under an endless, bright blue sky all things infinite come to mind--God, His love, His wisdom, His goodness, His faithfulness, His grace, His mercy, His power. Time. Me--though I am as finite as I am infinite and as lowly as I am glorious.

A marvel--"I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinks upon me" (Psalm 40:17).
His thoughts cannot be numbered. Infinite thoughts.
He feeds me and rests me and works me over. And over and over and over.
And even when I don't feel Him, hear Him, or see Him, He hasn't forgotten me because even if He could, there I am--my name, my essence inscribed on the palms of His hands (Isaiah 49:16).

Oh, infinite love!

I am canvas. He is Artist. And all we have is time. Lots and lots of time.

Waiting isn't the wonder. The wonder is that He is able to paint something so complete and beautiful, something resembling His Son, upon a damaged canvas with limited hues over a single lifetime. Or less.

Here under infinite sky shouting out to me the glory of God, I step back and admire His handiwork. I see order. I see beauty. I see design and attention to detail. I see faithfulness.

The Artist comes to work every day.

I don't know where the work is going, but after years I can look back and see the progress. I catch a glimpse of the destination even if I remain uncertain of the plan. The strokes could transform the portrait any number of ways, but in them I see foreshadows of glory. Healing. Wholeness. Christ-likeness. Christ-withness.

The time has passed slowly for me. But two years, ten years, a lifetime--these are just drops in an infinite bucket.

Things may go faster without anxious twitching, but that isn't a promise.

And don't be satisfied with thumb twiddling in the meanwhile because proper waiting shouldn't be idle. Watch. Expect. Cooperate!

Cooperation in forms of gratitude, joy, and loving service yield the best work, but The Artist has a way of redeeming strokes we throw askew. I should know.

Cooperation is learned by fully facing The Artist. Observe Him. Learn Him. Admire Him. Experience His wildness and find it beautiful. Allow Him to see all the damage, all the flaws, all the shortcomings, and present them to Him. To know Him and be known by Him are the keys to deep-soul smiles, ceaseless thank yous, calloused hands, and a tender heart.

The waiting isn't over, and won't be until the Artist is done. Until the naked canvas is fully clothed. Until I am moved to The Gallery where all His perfect and finished work resides.

Basking in the glow of divine faithfulness and childlike obedience under a Minnesota sky with an Infinite Companion is the sweetest euphoria. Even if the waiting isn't over.

 Because the truth has been lived--the Prize can be had in the waiting.

 And His faithfulness is best measured by time.