Amy joins the Teletubbies {Mayo Hospital Stay Day 1}

If you are new here, you may not have heard about my daughter Amelia, who survived a life-threatening brain infection at age 3. After her infection, she suffered a second assault on her tiny body...an auto-immune reaction to the infection stripped her brain of it's protective fatty myelin coating that insulates all the nerves. After completely losing the ability to walk or sit unassisted, feed herself, swallow and chew, and suffering severe speech, hearing, and vision losses, she made a dramatic recovery that can only be credited to God (with help from a hefty dose of steroids for 6 months straight). To read more about Amelia's original illness, click the tab at the top of the page above my blog name.

Amelia was hospitalized today to investigate her one remaining issue: a severe seizure disorder that continues despite high doses of life-altering anti-seizure medications. Amelia is doing great in the hospital. God granted us a delightful 2 full hours playing in their amazing play room before Amelia had to be confined to her room.

What a set-up for a kid trapped in the medical world! Every piece of medical equipment you can imagine - down at her level to see, touch, and try!

Then the hard part - getting "wired up" to the machine that reads her brain waves! This involves scratching the scalp, scrubbing with rubbing alcohol (ouch!), attaching electrodes with an alcohol based glue, and then taping them to the scalp. Quite a challenge with this kid, who falls into the "hair gifted" category!

She had about enough by the time they were finished, but remained her sweet self, much to the amazement of the technicians attaching the leads to her head. What a difference child training makes in the happiness of the child, no matter what the circumstances! I have recently discovered the timely and sweet mothering blog of experienced mom Juana Mikels.  Take a look - great resource on gentle but Biblical discipline. Although I disagree with her stance on infant schedules - as I am a staunch and out-spoken advocate of feed-on-demand and attachment parenting of newborns - she lends a voice of experience that gives many great practical tips about things like time-outs, quiet time in bedrooms even for small children, and organizing your home (from my series this week, you are probably getting the sense that I need all the organizational tips I can get!!).

All done, simply sweet, even though she had a seizure while they were "wiring her up". I think she looks like a delightfully girly and beautiful version of a Teletubby. Her sisters were pretty smitten with her sweet new hat as well! We ask for your prayers. Amelia will be in the hospital for 3-5 days unless we miraculously get enough seizures captured sooner. We are confined to a 10x10 room in the hospital - and connected to wires. Quite a challenge for this active 4-year-old and her mother!

Being in the hospital somehow makes me long for the much easier days I lived as a single woman and nurse. Every beep, every smell, sound, the lay-out of the rooms...it's all still as familiar as a comfortable pair of jeans. It is hard to be on the other side of the coin...the patient, handcuffed - even though I usually know what to do - to help with the actual "work" here. It certainly is a different life God has called me to these days. I have learned so much about Him being in these shoes...like one of my favorite Sarabeth Geoghegan songs says: "I don't want to go back to where I was/I want to stay right here/with You" (Opening, from the album Tired of Singing Sad Songs).

Glimpses

Seagrass roses at the Charleston Market,

where slaves were once bought & sold.

Waiting for our seafood at the famous Hyman's in downtown.

On the buck boards on Meeting Street.

A little girl who has been seizing a lot on vacation.

A stormy beach walk in the evening at high tide.

The lights leading us home to Folly Beach from the Morris Island Lighthouse.

"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed,
yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken
nor my covenant of peace be removed,"
says the LORD, who has compassion on you.


"O afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted,
I will build you with stones of turquoise, your foundations with sapphires.
I will make your battlements of rubies, your gates of sparkling jewels,
and all your walls of precious stones.


All your sons will be taught by the LORD, and great will be your children's peace.
In righteousness you will be established: 
tyranny will be far from you; you will have nothing to fear. 
Terror will be far removed; it will not come near you."
~ Isaiah 54:10-14 ~

Glowstick joy on the way home from the beach in the dark car.

Lamenting the loss of normalcy

Sometimes it just hits you in the gut like a ton of bricks.  There is nothing left in your life that is normal.  You watch, on Facebook, at church, through blogs and e-mails, as your friends and most of your family progress through a "normal" life, with fun pictures of holidays, updates about jobs, all the little details that make up "normal".  And you realize there is nothing left you can claim as normal.  I found a photo taken a few weeks before we lost normal.  What brings the tears the quickest is my children, my husband.  He looks so young.  I look at Caleb - just born - and Amelia, not even 2.  They don't remember "normal".  I see Katy's innocence.  I had never asked to learn to do laundry or cook a meal or clean a bathroom yet.  She has had to grow so fast.  And Rosy, so easy going and self-motivated and happy.  She just gets lost in the shuffle of the non-normal.  How can I make my peace with these losses??  How do I see this as a gift??

One of our last days of "normal".  Two weeks before my cancer was found.

Life was messy, and crazy, and hard work.  And wonderful.

Most cancer patients go through this, as their life gets ripped to shreds by cancer, its treatment and the treatment side effects.  An even smaller number continue to go through this for a long period of time.  That is where our family fits, once again in the statistical margins, defying the definitions and the predictions.  Even worse, it's not just cancer that has our number.  It's everything from infections to accidents, and "normal" life problems gone awry, like food poisoning and routine surgery or vaccinations.  Nothing goes "normal" for us.  Not in 2 1/2 years.

I walked into the bathroom today because I forgot.  I looked, for the first time, at the remains of the toilet.  It's not just broken.  It's shattered.  It stuns me, when I see what I hit and with what force, that I am typing right now.  That I have one hairline fracture and a small amount of bleeding in my brain and this will probably go down in life's history as a fantastical and horrific...yet short-lived...memory.  Just mire at the very bottom in the clear water of the rest of life.

I have to write it, this broken heart that longs for the day when I look back and realize no one has been in the hospital for several months.  The day when I realize that I have actually managed to care for my own children for a whole month without asking any relatives for help or spending any exorbitant dollar amount on childcare.  The day when I realized I've cooked every meal and swept every floor and wiped every nose and taken every picture and maybe even passed a test or gone on a real...restful rather than healing...vacation.

I know, deeper or truer than most, that life is a gift and every day, however flawed, is a blessing.  I know that my life is already a half-blown seed pod, and I need to be mindful of how and when and where I blow those seeds remaining.  But there is such longing to just be normal again.  I remember with longing a day I was frustrated because I forgot about dinner until 4 p.m. and had to rush to defrost something.  I look back at a day when I cried over the 10th poopy diaper and pleaded with God for an "out" from the drudgery of motherhood, and I laugh at my near-sightedness.  I recall a vacation when I fought with Aaron because of a difference of opinion about a leisure activity, and I wish I knew then what I know now.  I also know that, should God ever grant "normal" life to me again, I will forget all of this, most of the time.  I will take things for granted, and throw away blessed moments for the sake of my pride, and I will choose the wrong things to spend time on, and I will wound people and shock myself at how stupid I can be again so quickly.

A cross-processed photo from Mother's Day.

It is kind of like yearning for childhood as an adult.  This longing for something easy for a change.  It is like looking at photo and wishing you could cross-process it and bring out a new color that you know is there, you just couldn't grip it with your camera lens.  God says to give up my life to find it.  Okay, Lord.  You've got my life.  It's long been given up.  Please help me find the new one in the wreckage.  Please heal us.  Please rescue us.  And please let me never forget.

The Golden Ticket

The devil, who has for the most part ignored you up to that point since you weren't a threat, starts to take notice. And so do other people. Believers and unbelievers alike may become your adversaries. Remember what happened to the boy David when he decided to fight Goliath? His brother attacked him angrily. Then Saul, the king, challenged him, "You're just a boy." Then Goliath himself mocked David. In that moment, David had no supporters except the Lord. Get in the battle and see what happens. ~Tim Haring, April 30th devotional for Faithwalkers journal, available in it's entirety here

This has definitely been my experience. At certain points along this difficult road, as I follow God like a blind woman down a path I didn't choose that leads to a destination I am totally unsure of, I have felt overwhelming support and love from my community. At other points, that support has fallen away and I have been forced to wonder, "Am I even on the right road any more? Did I slip up somewhere?" I have to re-examine everything - my motives, the reasons I have faith I am on the right path, the signs God provided along the way, and most of all, my relationship status with God. Cancer, initially, was a huge wake-up call. All my priorities were shaken up like papers in a raffle basket, and, since the dust settled, nothing has ever been the same again. What I knew in my heart has become what I do with my hands: 1. God; 2. Aaron; 3. children; 4. blood family; 5. church family; 6. the lost. The challenge has been to sort through the various activities that fill my days and put them in their correct slot on the priority list. School, for instance, is particularly challenging. I believe it fits somewhere between church family and the lost - my reasons for going to school are to witness to the lost and to build the church family by going on mission as a nursing professor and being a voice of the church in the broader community. Adoption is another challenge - is that up there with children, blood family, church family, or is it an edict from God and something that should take top billing as Aaron and I pursue it together? These are the two activities that have undoubtedly drawn the most "heat" in the battle surrounding my life and my time and my service to Christ. School and adoption are two aspects of my life many people do not understand. Yet they are part of what Christ has called me to do, and I must "enter the battle and see what happens". I cannot, in good faith, table these things because it doesn't make human sense to pursue them. Aaron and I are in agreement, after long, hard examination, that these two things stay in our lives. We have to keep stepping forward on that, even if brothers, kings, and enemies oppose us and question our sanity.

A little book of collected writings on suffering, edited by Nancy Guthrie (who definitely knows her subject), has been a comfort through the latest onslaught. Corrie ten Boom recalls a conversation she had with her father when she was a child:

When I was a little girl, I went to my father and said, "Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ." "Tell me", Father said, "when you take a train trip from Haarlem to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?" "No, Daddy, you give me the money for the ticket just before we get on the train." "That is right," my father said, "and so it is with God's strength. Our wise Father in heaven knows when you are going to need things too. Today you do not need the strength to be a martyr; but as soon as you are called upon for the honor of facing death for Jesus, He will supply the strength you need - just in time."

God has called me to face cancer, various other health difficulties, a child with special needs, graduate school, homeschooling my children, homemaking for my family, and pursuing adoption - all at the same time. He has given me the money for the ticket. Only He know how much strength I need to survive this - nay, to shine for His glory while doing these tasks. From the outside looking in, to friends and family and strangers who don't have the ticket for this train in their pockets, it seems impossible, improbable, unwise, fool-hardy even. But I have the ticket in my pocket - my Father has given it to me just in time to board the train. Now that I am on the train, jumping off would be the fool-hardy action! God is holding my hand and we are steaming along just fine.

I plan to type up an entire article by D.A. Carson titled "Dying Well". The verses he opens the essay with remind me to number my days and resolutely press on if I am sure of what God has called me to do. The entire passage is Psalm 90:3-4, 9-12, but verse 12 is what gets my attention: So teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom. The wisdom and strength God is pouring into me is probably very different from the wisdom and strength He is pouring into you. We have different tasks for which He is preparing us!

Having your faith tested is not all sorrow, misery, tears, torment, agony! Charles Spurgeon states, "It is as great a mercy to have your salvation proved to you under trial as it is to have it sustained in you by the consolations of the Spirit of God." The old adage, what doesn't kill you will make you stronger, comes to mind. It's true in our marriages, isn't it? When our vows are tested by sin in our spouse, or sin in ourselves, we walk through that fire begging for the trial to be over, only to emerge on the other side realizing we can now trust those vows. We know now that they stand up under fire! So is faith that has been tested by suffering - I know now that I will not lose my faith, that I can walk bravely (albeit with tears and sweat and begging for grace and mercy) toward the day He has fixed for my death. I will not crumble. His strength holds me up. I have tested it now, and so I can believe all the more.

Finally, the story of Manoah and his wife - Samson's mother and father - keeps coming up in various conversations and books. I think God is teaching me immensely through that story, found in the book of Judges. God speaks to them, and their reactions are polar opposite. They hear from God, and develop a set of expectations. When life fails to meet those expectations, Manoah falters, and his wife ponders the whole situation and arrives at a conclusion on which she acts. Martyn Lloyd-Jones puts it this way:

Suddenly, everything seems to go wrong. The situation is perplexing and baffling and quite the contrary of what we had expected and anticipated. We seem to break down altogether and to lose hope entirely. We jump to conclusions, and almost invariably, to the worst conclusion that is possible in the given circumstances, the same assumptions as that which led Manoah to his worst conclusion, (namely) that somehow or other, God is against us, and that all we had so fondly imagined to be an expression of God's goodness and kindness was nothing but an illusion. In the midst of disaster and trying difficulties, the Christian religion, instead of acting like a charm or a drug, and doing everything for us, and suddenly putting everything right, asks us, nay rather commands us, to think and to employ logic. Manoah's wife understood that God is never capricious; God is never unjust in his dealings with us; God never contradicts himself and his own gracious purposes.

Finally, Lloyd-Jones concludes with lines that bring me such peace in this time when everything seems questionable, chaotic, unsupportable. You may not understand what is happening to you; it may seem, to you, all wrong. Trust yourself to him. Believe when you cannot prove. Hold on to his constancy, his justice, his eternal purposes for you in Christ. Regard these as absolutes, which can never be shaken, build your case logically upon them, remain steadfast and unshaken, confident that ultimately all will be made plain and all will be well.

For now, we are staying in the battle, and seeing what happens.

A day of chaos

One year and four months ago, the duct-taped wonder also known as the "Ghetto Dryer" slowly died. A $50 miracle - the matching dryer to our splurge of a front-loading washer - replaced it. The dryer struggles shone a light on some spiritual unrest deep within, and I wrote about it in detail back in December, 2008. Tonight, the miracle dryer started on fire. Somehow or other, a metal headband got thrown in with the wash, plugged itself in to the circuitry at the rear of the dryer, and electricity and smoke billowed forth. The fix was simple - the flames hadn't actually burst out yet, and opening the dryer door stopped the flow of electricity. However, the heating element seems to have taken the brunt of the damage, so the dryer is probably kaput. Aaron and I ran around locating the fire extinguisher, cleaning out the laundry closet at midnight. Quite a scene! Beyond the dryer itself and the blackened headband, there was little damage.

It was a fitting end to an equally chaotic day. Amelia had two seizures today that were the blatant, twitchy, nasty type we have been thanking God she doesn't have. I am beginning to settle into the new normal...the life in which whatever you least expect will always happen, the life in which whatever you fear will probably come to pass. I wouldn't call it resignation exactly, just a kind of resolute and dogged expectation. The seizures lasted about 2 minutes, and were full-blown enough that any denial I have been entertaining about the reality of epilepsy was completely swept away. The post-seizure (post-ictal) phase was also significantly more "classic": overwhelming lethargy, drowsiness, decreased ability to respond to commands or questions, dilated pupils, poor muscle tone. A few phone calls with the team at Mayo brings relief on one hand, and sorrow on the other: the video EEG monitoring in mid April has been cancelled, as it is unnecessary given the new circumstances; and Amelia was started on an anti-convulsant medication today, Keppra.

My primal reaction to the first seizure was horror. The nice thing about being a nurse is that, when confronted with any health crisis, the very first thing that happens inside of me is the nurse "switch" gets flipped. I immediately run down the checklist: Airway, Breathing, Circulation. It isn't until later that emotions creep back in. At first, I felt relief - this seizure was so undeniable, I am no longer faced with uncertainty about whether the side effects of seizure medication outweighs the benefit. I know now that Amelia needs this treatment. Yet I am stricken with the thought of watching my dear one grow up with a disabling condition, a condition that will probably limit learning to some degree, will certainly embarrass her and cause emotional angst, may limit career choices, educational endeavors, or social opportunities. Yet I also know that, finally - in my 30's - I can finally see the health problems of my youth as the gift they were. I would not be the tenacious fighter, the compassionate nurse, or the impulsive, fun-loving mother I am now if it hadn't been for heart failure at 18 and cancer at 29. Today I heard a man dying of cancer say, "God cannot give me a bad gift." God has not given Amelia a bad gift - nor has He given a bad gift to me as her mother. I need to get my teeth into that lesson in the next few days. All over again, in a new way. The prism of God's character is thrust once again before my wandering eyes, and I am brought back to my knees in praise. God is God; God is good; God is great.

When fear sets adrift

I wrote this the morning Amelia was admitted to the hospital, last Wednesday. When I was writing it, I had no idea yet what the day would hold. I wrote it simply because the concepts in the table were revolutionary to me. In some visceral sense, I knew that all the emotions in the third column stem not from God or even my own soul, but from Satan, chief lier of the universe. Seeing them written out, in black and white, was a moment of new clarity for me.

Adam & Eve Created in His Image (Genesis 1 & 2)	Adam & Eve Chose to Try to Be Like God (Gen. 3)	This Rebellion Resulted in Pain (Genesis 3 & 4)
Acceptance Belonging Competence Equity Identity Security Significance Transcendence	Sin	Rejection Loneliness Inadequacy Exploitation Confusion Anxiety Worthlessness Spiritual Void

Adapted from Craig Ellison's From Eden to the Couch,

(2002) Christian Counseling Today, 10 (1), 30.

Drifting through pain is no fun. James MacDonald states, The good doesn't come until you embrace your trial (II Corinthians 12). I am aware of the weight of these words. I don't say them lightly, as though I could somehow just skip into that reality. I'm just telling you where the rock is so you can get your feet on it. If you're in the water right now and the waves are crashing, you've got to get back on solid ground. That's not going to happen until you embrace this trial. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses. The NIV says, I delight in weaknesses. (II Corinthians 12:10) Unless you embrace what God is doing with unwavering submission, you will not reap the good. Jesus Himself modeled this kind of victory in the garden when He prayed, "Your will be done." Not my will, God, but Your will. That's the essence of submission, and that's where victory begins.

When Satan turns my head and the lies of rejection, loneliness, inadequacy, exploitation, confusion, anxiety, worthlessness, and spiritual void again creep in, there I am in that awful moment in the garden, searching for some leaves to cover my shame and my nakedness. What has really happened, though? I have lost my footing on the rock. I feel the intensity of panic when I realize afresh separation from God. The curse is new and real and awful in that moment. Once, without Christ, forever set adrift by my own sin, I was in the deeps of the ocean, struggling alone. Yet, now I'm in the shallows, near the beach, boulders just underneath the feet I'm frantically kicking. For now I know that I have eternal life! (I John 5:13) I am no longer a slave to the lies that entered through the fall, for if the Son sets me free, I am free indeed (John 8:36). Instead, I am crucified with Christ: neverthless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. (Galatians 2:20) And there is the solid rock, just under my kicking feet.

This is a test. This is only a test.

I think the testing is a very loving thing.  I want to put my full weight down on the faith that I have in Christ and see if it holds me up.  Here are the questions for the "faith exam":

1) Do you believe God is in control?

2) Do you believe that God is good?  No matter what you see, no matter what you face?

3) Will you wait on Him by faith until the darkness become light?

God is trying to get you to the place where you pass the test, the place where you answer these questions correctly.  That's a difficult process.

"I would have despaired unless I believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Psalm 27:13

~ from James MacDonald's Life is Hard series

I remember the days when double-slinging a 2 year old and a 6 month old seemed like the very hardest work life could dish out.  Then came baby number 3, and a mere 15 months after that, baby number 4.  There have been times when even just the sheer weight of mothering has crashed through the floor of my faith and shown me how much deeper the well goes that I imagined.  This analogy of faith as a floor echoes the word of the "Hall of Fame" of faith in Hebrews 11, which begins with a simple definition, Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1; to read the whole passage, click here)  I am still not at the place where I am sure of what I hope for, nor am I certain of what I do not see.  When Amelia's life was threatened, I lost an already loved unborn child, and cancer crashed in to break the floor of my faith this autumn, deep questions returned: Who is God?  Is He really good?  Am I okay with the fact that He is in control - and He is not steering me in a direction I want to go?  Will the darkness ever again become light??

Yet, through that test and others that have followed, God is building new support under the floor of my faith.  As He proves Himself over and over, proves Himself caring, compassionate, Holy, sacrificial, just, shows Himself as the source of life, joy, health, blessing, even healing - the new joists under those floor boards take shape.  The hollow area in the center has new support.  There are still holes in that support - there will be until I fully submit my mind, my body, my brain to this God who wants to be in control of every detail of my life.  But the floor is stronger today for the testing He allowed this fall.  I can put more weight down on my faith, and find, much to my surprise, that it bears up under the tests.

The testing I undergo now would be failed utterly and in even greater magnitude had it not been for the other tests that came before: heart problems as a teen; the loss of friendships to my own sins; lost time with family as I pursued the tarnished things of this world and hid my poor treasures from their eyes; the loss of a marriage that almost was; the loss of countless patients at work as a nurse; the struggles on the way to the altar with Aaron - the near heartbreaks and the suspense and anguish that came with it.  Then marriage, and children one after another.  Raising children 15-18 months apart is not easy.  In fact, it may be the hardest job I've ever had.  And it shaped me, and sanctified me.  Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.  (James 1:2-3)  Steadfastness - it is from the Greek word ὑπομονή (hupomoné); which is formed by two words, ὑπό, the root for "hypo" (under or below); and μένω, which means "staying, abiding, making your dwelling or abode".  What God is creating in me is the ability to stay under, abide under, make my dwelling under these trials, whatever their intensity, longevity, or outcome.  It is not prideful to believe that following God and trusting Him, counting these trials joy, will in the end make me complete, lacking nothing.  That is my goal.  How far, far away it seems!  How long and hard the intervening miles that stretch as far as my imagination can envision.

We all face trials and the testing of our faith, daily, hourly.  What is yours right now?  A baby for each arm?  An illness in yourself or someone you love?  The many small annoyances that sometimes just flutter around the edges of our selfishness?  Inability to accomplish the task at hand?  Money woes?  Job in jeopardy?  Competing demands on your time?  A messy house? 

What amazes me is that, no matter how fragile the floor of my faith, beneath spreads the incomparable, immeasurable, unplumbable deep of my Father's love and faithfulness.  My faith is human, and as such, failing.  His never will.  On this the solid rock I stand, all other ground (my faith, my goodness, my talents, abilities, thoughts) is sinking sand.  All other ground is sinking sand!

When darkness seems to hide His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.


His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.


When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh may I then in Him be found.
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.
~ My Hope is Built, Edward Mote, 1834*


*Bob Dylan credits this song as part of the inspiration for "Solid Rock", written shortly after he converted in the late 1970's and included on his second post-conversion album, Saved.  How about these lyrics?? 
It's the ways of the flesh to war against the spirit
Twenty-four hours a day you can feel it and you can hear it
Using all the devices under the sun/And He never give up 'til the battle's lost or won.
Well, I'm hangin' on to a solid rock/Made before the foundation of the world
And I won't let go, and I can't let go, won't let go
And I can't let go, won't let go, and I can't let go no more.

Another November

November hasn't been a friendly month for our family, two years running. The oppressiveness of the vista surrounding us is a visual reflection of the darkness of circumstance and spirit that pervades. Death seeps in all autumn, reaching its zenith in this gray, muddy month of wavering between the seasons. Last year, cancer. This year, giving over a child yet unborn and yielding another we've cherished these three long years, submitting bodies to knives in surgery, and waiting almost desperately for the healing hand as the hours tick by without relief.

We know it will arrive, come December. The death scene of autumn's last waning warmth finally gives way to the blanket of rebirth that protects the deep secrets of the earth through the long winter. December is the resurrection of light and sparkle to the geography of pallor laid bare by the wind and inexorable wait that is November.

Yet He whispers, In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God, in Christ Jesus concerning you...(I Thessalonians 5:18) In the darkness of the first frost, the days of mud and gusty wind that follow and wipe your land and your soul clean of hope and beauty and sunlight, give thanks. In the new birth of that first white blanket of snow, give thanks.

In leavetaking, give thanks. Know that with leavetaking come reunions. Trust My timing. It is my will.

Through death comes life. As I showed on the Cross, as I show you in countless smaller ways throughout the long days of your life here. In kittens borne of dying mothers. In children dancing around a mother with cancer. In autumn turning to winter to spring. In everything give thanks.

In friends who face loss. In friends who welcome new, needy life. Friends who walk with you on a road of darkness and shine a lantern of hope, the lantern of Christ's hope, on your stumbling feet. Faithful is He who called you, who also will do it...

Give thanks for scars. Give thanks for living today, through cancer. Give thanks for what it has taught you: that you can wrestle God, although He will always win; that you can wrestle God, but be prepared to limp for a while afterwards; that you can lose to God, and He will still be your Friend; that you can beat on His chest, and He will draw you close. That faithful is He who called you, who also will do it: heal that scar in eternity. Answer your questions in eternity. Hold you close - and those you love close - for all eternity.


Give thanks for miracles. Give thanks for safety. Give thanks for the hope we have that destroys the power of death. Give thanks for tears. Give thanks for loneliness. Give thanks for births of all kinds, and burials of all kinds, too. In everything...

Give thanks for altars and give thanks for healers. Give thanks for pain and give thanks for relief. Give thanks for the agony of waiting, and the reprieve of waiting. Sufficient unto each day...in this, too, as in everything else, give thanks.

Give thanks for the tightropes you walk. Give thanks for the grace that keeps you balanced on them. Give thanks for the rays of optimism that bleed into your soul as they spill from the hands and eyes and lips of your offspring. Give thanks for the tears that spill from those offspring, too, from wells of sorrow that you cannot heal or answer or erase. In everything, give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Coronado and 1,500 of his men celebrated Thanksgiving in 1541 at the Palo Duro Canyon in Texas. A month later, he was injured. His fortune squandered, his health precarious, his heart lonely, he returned empty handed after 2 years of wandering.

French colonists celebrated Thanksgiving in 1564 in St. Augustine, Florida. Less than a year later, the pious Huguenots were pillaged and destroyed by a Spanish raiding party.

The Jamestown settlers held a Thanksgiving feast in 1619 in Virginia, on the cusp of healing from the famine and disease that killed all but 12% of the original group. In his speech inaugerating Jamestown as a "city on a hill" for model Christian community and living, Governer John Winthrop reminded us

wee must delight in eache other, make others Condicions our owne rejoyce together, mourne together, labour, and suffer together, allwayes haveing before our eyes our Commission and Community in the worke.

I am comforted by the permission granted me in Ecclesiastes 3:
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance...

yet in all these seasons, in all these times, in mourning and in dancing, give thanks.

His perfect love is casting out fear

Amy began vomiting, having increased headache, loss of balance, and sleepiness as the day went on yesterday. We went to the Eau Claire ER, where our doctor had paved the way for a quick transfer back to Fairview-University Medical Center in Minneapolis. Amy felt somewhat better by the time we were transported, thanks to some anti-nausea medication that slowed the vomiting. She got her dream ride in an ambulance with lights and sirens on the way to the Cities! I think the ambulance team got a kick out of having someone enjoy the ride for once!

Today Amy is scheduled for a sedated MRI at 3:30 p.m. She is walking a little better this morning, although still listing to the side and tipping if unassisted. She is sitting well, which is better than last time we went through this. Her eyes look pretty good, although the crossed eye has worsened dramatically in the past 24 hours. No eye jerking though, which is good. She is having some temperature regulation difficulties, according to the doctors. I am concerned that the doctors are missing transient fevers, but perhaps they are right. I don't know! Her temp is raning from 96.9 to 99.9, different every time they take it. They are concerned because this can be a sign of worsening brain stem swelling, as the body then can't regulate temperature well. The hope is that the MRI (the less invasive, less risky test) will show something that will point them in a direction for treatment or further testing, so that they can avoid doing the more risky, more invasive spinal tap. After the MRI results are in (probably tomorrow morning), they will decide about other tests. I have requested that they test for Lyme's disease if they do any further lab draws (they still haven't done any, which is kind of driving me crazy!).

So, prayers for today:

• Healing for Amelia
• Wisdom for doctors
• Clear results from the MRI scan
• No problems with sedation
• No abdominal pain/bleeding for myself, as I missed my lab draw yesterday and probably won't get it done today, either; I am definitely not out of the woods on the ectopic pregnancy front yet
  

Pictures of Amy through the Holga lens yesterday afternoon.

An inconvenient truth

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. ~ Isaiah 55:8, 10-11We affectionately called it the "ghetto dryer". We received it as a housewarming gift from some dear friends, the top taped haphazardly to the bottom. That was almost four years ago. After a brief, near-flames moment, the heating element burnt out over Christmas. Much to my chagrin, six cycles on air dry simply did not dry a load of cloth diapers even a smidge!

I stood, hands on hips, questioning God's timing. The dryer, obviously a free gift to us, going kapoot over the holidays?? With everything else I have going on? Why does God pick the times He picks? Sometimes I am frustrated, bewildered - even angered - by His timing! Worse, we were out of money due to my extravagant desire to give generously on Christmas...no money left to replace the now defunct behemoth in my closet.


A call from Aaron: a $50 dryer on the classifieds at work. Skeptic that I am, I wearily pondered the probabilities of such a dryer functioning any better than the one I currently owned. I traded cars with Aaron in a parking lot in a blizzard: four car seats out, four car seats in. Drove what we affectionately call "the sardine can" (a.k.a. 1984 Honda Accord) home on icy roads with four kids exuberant over unexpected adventure.

The dryer arrived home. My hopes rose a bit - it was the same year and model as my extravagant front loading washing machine! Would it work? An hour of dragging the ghetto behemoth out of the closet, and averting various electrical wiring snaffus, and my husband turned the dial: it worked! It spun beautifully, warmed immediately, and was about as loud as snow blowing in the wind!

God is faithful to turn mourning into rejoicing, trial to blessing, teaching us quietly and determinedly through all the little bumps and bruises along the way. Would I have picked Christmas to learn of possible cancer metastasis? Absolutely not. Would I have chosen this week for my dryer to breathe it's last (hot) breath? No. But God did, and He is showing us, bit by bit and moment upon moment, why. In the case of the dryer, it may be because at that particular moment, a women we don't know decided to sell hers for a very low price - giving us a matched set. In the case of cancer - who knows? I may wait until I meet Him face to face in eternity to discover the answer. But I rest on the truth that inconvenience is more than it seems, that He is faithful, just and merciful. I close my human eyes to human perspective, and watch the glories of my Father dance on the screen of my closed lids.

After Christmas haze

You know how kids act in those lack-luster days just after New Years? The sparkle of Christmas gives way to the cacophony of New Years, and suddenly, there you are, a few dozen new toys later, feeling just the same as you always did. It is a time of returning to center, getting back to normal, reorganizing, and coming to grips with the fact that all the celebration in the world doesn't change reality. Because the truth is, life is a series of small tasks, small joys, small sorrows. There are a few major events thrown in to the mix, but life, the everyday living of it, is a collection of small details that make up mundane, tiny parts of a more majestic whole. "After Christmas burn-out" - I think that is the term I am describing. Climbing a hill necessitates the coming down afterward. Anyone who has scaled a mountain knows it is much easier to climb up than down.

I am in the after-Christmas phase of this trial. I woke up that morning of reunion with the same butterflies in my stomach I have had on Christmas Eve morning ever since I can remember. The joy of seeing my children and husband again - holding them - was better than unwrapping any gift I've ever been given. Now I am experiencing that period of being overwhelmed, feeling as though my world has been turned upside down. I feel a bit like a stranger in my own home, with routines, chores, and sleep schedules all just a little different than they were when I left. Not only that, but I feel frustrated with being overwhelmed! I wish I could say that yes, I've learned my lessons, and I value and cherish these children more than ever and delight to care for their every need. I do, in one sense, but it is still difficult. Cherishing the tasks does not make them easy. Christ warned us of this, and now I am learning it firsthand in new ways. If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. (Luke 9:23-24) I am taking up my cross, the heavy, rough wood of it scratching into my shoulder, making me ache by bedtime. I am taking it up daily, each morning inhaling deeply and rising to the needs of the little ones I am called to tend today. I am fixing my eyes on Christ, determinedly, in spite of the burn-out. When I am overwhelmed, I am closing my eyes in prayer for strength. I want nothing...burn-out, stress, plethora of tasks and studies, little troubles in relationship...to distract me from the work I have been assigned, and the joy I have been provided.

You're the Light in this darkness
You're the Hope to the hopeless
You're the Peace to the restless

You're the strength in our weakness
You're the love to the broken
You're the joy in the sadness
You Are

Greater things have yet to come
Great things are still to be done
In this city
Where glory shines from hearts alive
With praise for you and love for you
In this city
~ God of This City, Chris Tomlin

Those who go before me

But is that enough? The terrible things in the world seem to make a mockery of the love of God, and the question always arises: Why?! God allows Satan to make a test case from time to time. It had to be proved to Satan, in Job's case, that there is such a thing as obedient faith which does not depend on receiving only benefits. Jesus had to show the world that He loved the Father and would, no matter what happened, do exactly what He said. The servant is not greater than his Lord. When we cry "Why, Lord?" we should ask instead, "Why not, Lord? Shall I not follow my Master in suffering as in everything else?"

Does our faith depend on having every prayer answered as we think it should be answered, or does it rest rather on the character of a sovereign Lord? We can't really tell, can we, until we're in real trouble.

...asking God to enable her to show the world what genuine faith is--the kind of faith that overcomes the world because it trusts and obeys, no matter what the circumstances. The world does not want to be told. The world must be shown. Isn't that part of the answer to the great question of why Christians suffer?

~ Elisabeth Elliot, A Path Through Suffering

Two more days until I am reunited with my family! I told Katy to put a big red "x" through today's date on the calendar so she can visualize how short a time of separation is left. Each day gets a little harder at this point. I imagine Wednesday will feel like a "party" day - I will wake up with butterflies in my stomach and spring in my step. I dreamt this morning about holding Caleb, and it felt so real that I tried to will myself to stay asleep to revel in the dream for a few moments longer.

How light and momentary my trials seem as I think about what others have gone through. A few of the stories that have been compelling me onward in courage beg sharing here. My aunt Shera has come to my mind again and again as I undergo this separation. She was divorced many years ago, and has lived a large part of her life alone, single. She is alone with God all the time, and I see the amazing peace she has, alone with Him. But her heart still cries out for companionship just as mine has done in these past two weeks. I hear the lonesome strains of the song of her soul every now and then in her letters or her words, sometimes her eyes. Yet, despite that song ever streaming from deep within, she has had to learn to dwell in God's peace, to satisfy her desires through Him, in a long-term sense. Who am I to complain during a brief separation from my husband and children?

As I woke this morning from my dream of holding my son, my heart was broken once again for the dear friends I have who have lost a child. How much more precious those visions during slumber must be to them who will not hold their dear one again in a few days time. My words are completely inadequate to express how humbled I am to watch Christ's dignity and willingness to bear a cross played out in their lives. How much deeper a well of suffering they must drink from...how much deeper that granite vein of strength born through trials runs in their hearts than mine...how much more still the waters of their souls are becoming as they learn to rest in God's presence and trust His teaching hand, however harsh it may seem to human understanding. They, truly, are overcoming the world, and show us, through their example, the wonderful, awesome and terrible faces of the mighty God we serve!

To him that overcomes the foe,
White raiment shall be giv’n.
Before the angels he shall know
His name confessed in Heav’n.
Then onward from the hill of light,
Our hearts with love aflame,
We’ll vanquish all the hosts of night,
In Jesus’ conqu’ring Name.

Faith is the victory! Faith is the victory!
O glorious victory, that overcomes the world.

~ John Henry Yates, Faith is the Victory, 1891

Fighting the harness

I have celebrated a lot of my victories as I write here. Today a defeat is heavy on my mind.

I prayed for years to be put behind a plow for God. I prayed as I wept by the bedsides of children I did not bear that He would give me children of my own so that I could walk this incredible journey I watched parents walking. It is something I literally begged God for. And He said, "Yes, my child", and gave me four children in four years! God's blessing is bountiful when He pours it out on us. In the midst of walking the path of young motherhood...truthfully, just past the threshold...I began to wonder if I had been "called" to this after all. What if it was all a mistake?? What if, instead of allowing a blessing, God had allowed one massive test to enter my life? I pictured the scene in heaven, God telling Satan, "No, don't give that woman children. She is a perfectly good nurse and that is what I have called her to do."

[Enter the pitiful wails and flailing about of my faulty human spirit and hormonal young womanhood.]

God tips His ear my way, and says, "Hmmm. Well, if she really desires it, and yes, it WOULD be a good test for her. Alright, Satan, have at it! I promised to be with her, and I will. She will cry out to me, and I will draw nigh to her. Let's give her the test she asks for."

Do you have a "blessing" in your life that feels more like a trial most of the time? Do you wonder if you misread your "call"? Do you resist the harness of the plowhorse, feeling as though perhaps you were bred for sprinting, not 12-hour days cutting the ground into furrows? Do you wonder if the grass is sweeter at the race track, or the pasture where a loving family keeps you for occasional riding use? Would you rather work in the mountains, perhaps, or see what it is like to work down in sunny Mexico? This has certainly been my battle of late. Here I am, plowing the furrows that are my children. At least eighteen years of work lies before me. And it is not just the mantle of motherhood that I have bucked and worn askew, and occasionally tossed on the ground and stomped upon! It is the particular type of mantle God has called me to now wear! Stay at home?? Keep my children in home school?? Sew and can and weed a garden and make a home and do laundry?? Is this really what I was "called" to do, God?? What about my shriveling intellect, the very brain and wit and desire for knowledge you planted as a seed in me in my mother's womb? What about my nursing knowledge and ability to help families navigate some of the most difficult health care decisions of their lives? Doesn't that have merit? What am I to do with it? Cast it aside for an archaic, Biblical archetype that is almost impossible to envision in the current bounds of our society and culture?

[Enter somber doctor with lab report, medical record and pathology. In short, enter cancer.]

Young woman, if it is you reading this, lay down your struggles. I beg you to lay them down sooner than I did. Don't push God's limits with your questions and your struggles and desires for self. Lay your self down willingly at His feet! Pray about it every day, as I did not. Ask your husband to help you, as I did not. Ask an older woman for counsel, as I did not. Pray some more. Why struggle to the bitter end, digging your nails into the last shreds of your dignity and selfhood as they are gently and inexorably pulled away from you? Don't you see it is YOU who are shredding it? God asks you to hand Him the garment of your old self - and promises to hand back, in return, a glorious new garment. "...put off the old self with its practices, and put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator. Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another, forgiving each other; And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." (Colossians 3:5-14 exc. ESV)

Do not sell your soul for the paltry pittance your culture will offer you! My self, that intellectual bauble I too easily praise, is not worthy of a second glance when my Savior and His tasks lie before me! Instead of narrowing my depth of focus to self, wondering if I'd misinterpreted God's call and made a mistake to ask for these children, why not look up at the landscape before me and trust that this view, this vista...this is what God has planned for me. If it is before me, it is my call. My self - yes, created by Him, yes, valuable in His merciful, Fatherly eyes. But worthy of worship? Worthy of sacrifice? Do not let feminism turn your body and your mind and your contribution to society into something that it is not! You were created to praise God, not self. You were created to serve God, not self. Do not be a fool, as I have so often been in these past five years! A wise woman builds her home, but a foolish woman tears it down with her own hands. (Proverbs 14:1)

Today I am praying for lasting change. I don't want cancer to be the proverbial blip on my screen. I want it to be changing me forever. I want to trade my slow connection with God, the one that I have accessed only in times of greatest need, for high-speed, the type that is constantly exchanging information. In the world, cancer turns people inward as they focus on improving their healthy lifestyle to maximize their days on this earth. That is not my goal. I want to maximize my soul's harvest in heaven. That is my focus. I repent that I only heard this lesson through God's megaphone of cancer. I repent that I neglected the soft whispers of His loving, Father-voice in my soul while I held my delicious babies close. I repent that I was deaf to the voice of my compassionate husband, who desires the best for his family and wishes to make me a queen in my own home. I repent that I struggled so against the harness of my plow. Now that it is lifted off my shoulders, I see the deep furrows and scars in my soul where I have struggled. Where God desired serene beauty there is now a battle-worn heart. When He put peace and understanding in my reach, in plain sight, I turned away and cried bitter tears I never had to cry. I chose suffering instead of peace; flailing instead of resting; this life instead of the next. Please don't do it! Learn from my mistake.

The God who is ever uttering himself in the changeful profusion of nature; who takes infinite years to form a soul that shall understand him and be blessed; who never needs to be, and never is, in haste; who welcomes the simplest thought of truth or beauty as the return for seed he has sown upon the old fallows of eternity, who rejoices in the response of a faltering moment to the age-old cry of his wisdom in the streets; the God of music, of painting, of building, the Lord of Hosts, the God of mountains and oceans; whose laws go forth from one unseen point of wisdom, and thither return without an atom of loss; the God of history working in time unto christianity; this God is the God of little children, and he alone can be perfectly, abandonedly simple and devoted. The deepest, purest love of a woman has its well-spring in him. Our longing desires can no more exhaust the fullness of the treasures of the Godhead than our imagination can touch their measure. Of him not a thought, not a joy, not a hope of one of his creatures can pass unseen.

Life is no series of chances with a few providences sprinkled between to keep up a justly failing belief, but one providence of God; and the man shall not live long before life itself shall remind him, it may be in agony of soul, of that which he has forgotten. When he prays for comfort, the answer may come in dismay and terror and the turning aside of the Father's countenance; for love itself will, for love's sake, turn the countenance away from that which is not lovely; and he will have to read, written upon the dark wall of his imprisoned countenance, the words, awful and glorious, Our God is a consuming fire.

~ George MacDonald, The Child in the Midst