Dot #4 (where my health journey all collided...and where I am right now)

(If you want to review my whole health journey, look back in May 2011 at the posts entitled "When April Ends" and at the health journey posts from July and August 2013)...If not, here's a brief recap:

The start of it all...At age 21, I had pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in my lungs) and was later diagnosed with an incurable, rare kidney disease. It was treated, disappeared, returned, treated, disappeared and then returned again all over a span of 2 years. Then I met "Doc Hollywood", a young doctor who decided in 2001 that we should try something else and see if we could make the remissions last a bit longer...and it has not returned since. 12 years in remission on a prescription drug with virtually no side effects is truly a MIRACLE!

but it was just the beginning of a trail of health dots...

• Dot #1 - 10 years ago (at age 25), I got an ear infection that seemed to muffle my hearing. After ignoring it for years and suffering over 50% in hearing loss, I finally had a stapedectomy on both ears in 2009. My hearing was restored to 90%!!! Truly another MIRACLE
• Dot #2 - About 6 years ago, I got into "something" while working in the backyard and had some sort of allergic skin reaction. The doctor put me on some steroids and the grossness quickly cleared up. A year or so later, I noticed a colorless spot on my hand but soon there were other colorless spots. It reminded me of Michael Jackson's skin disease, officially named Vitiligo, but still referred to as the "Michael Jackson's" at our house. A little google research led me to realize that this too (like my kidney disease) was an auto immune disease.

• Dot #3 - Almost 4 years ago, I was diagnosed as suffering from hypothyroid syndrome. After further tests, it was discovered that I had Hashimoto's Hypothyroid disease, which of course occurs with the immune system inexplicably attacks the thyroid gland, inevitably burning it out and rendering it useless.

Okay so if you are keeping count, that is 5, yes 5, health ailments all stemming from a quirky, overactive immune system. Except for my one time incidence with blood clots, ALL of these diseases/syndromes/issues could be easily found on a list of autoimmune disease. Finally after the Hashimoto's diagnosis, I had a researcher physician reassure me that these things were indeed all related and yet modern medicine didn't have any answers for me, at least not yet, but that they were looking. Just hearing that was enough to satisfy me for the time being until...

Dot #4 - Probably 10 years ago, around the same time as my ear infection, I noticed that I started being incredibly sensitive to eating hot and cold foods. I didn't have dental insurance at the time and had never had any oral problems so I dismissed this and just became obsessive about the amount I brushed and flossed. I literally began to brush and floss 3, 4, sometimes even 5 times a day. That's what your supposed to do anyways, right? Keep it clean and everything will be fine. I assured myself this was no big issue.  After all in my mind at the time, my kidneys were the focus of all my health efforts and they had been in remission for 3 years.

Years passed and I noticed that my gums had receded a little in a few areas but they didn't bother me so I didn't think anything of it. I just kept on brushing and flossing religiously, assuring myself that would be sufficient. I STILL didn't have dental insurance and I didn't have the time or money to waste on what I deemed a cosmetic issue.

The year I stopped teaching and started consulting, I heard of a program at our local community college where students in the dental hygienist program will do check-ups, x-rays, etc for almost nothing. It's time consuming because they are learning and have to practice everything on you over a series of several visits, but I had the time now to do it and it seemed like a good solution since I hadn't been to a dentist in about 7 years. So I signed up and made an appointment.

The appointment was going well at first. We went over the general health history and my general dental history. She moved on to take some x-rays and then probe for gum depth. She was cruising right along when all of a sudden her probe slipped down fairly low into my gums. She pulled it out and did it again. It slipped low again. She called over her professor who repeated the work she had done except this time, the probe fell low into my gums every time she took a measurement. She did my whole mouth and it fell low pretty much everywhere. I don't remember ever having a dentist or dental hygienist explain why or what they were doing when they probed so I wasn't really concerned until...

The professor sat me up and asked me if anyone had ever discussed periodontal disease with me. I told her no, that I had never had any issues. She explained that my gums look incredibly healthy from an initial glance and that initially the readings were 1's and 2's because the dental hygienist was looking at healthy teeth and healthy gums and just kind of assuming all was well. When the probe sunk low, it surprised her because she wasn't anticipating gum disease but when she went back and re-measured, she discovered that I had unexplained gum disease pretty much throughout my entire mouth. The probe depth indicated that I had some unexplained gum separation leading to bone loss but that my teeth were remarkably plaque free (which is usually the source of gum issues). She went on to tell me that there wasn't a periodontist in the area that she would recommend and that periodontal work was incredibly expensive and in reality, there wasn't really anything they could do to help me since there didn't seem to be a source causing the issue. She said I could look for a periodontist in a larger city nearby but that I should really just wait it out and continue on with good dental practices, brushing and flossing.

I certainly didn't have the money to blow on a periodontist, especially if it wasn't going to result in anything...so I just waited.

Over the next several years, I watched as my gums seemed to recede further and further. I continued my ridiculous flossing and brushing routine, even brushing "too hard" I would later find out. I kept my mouth ridiculously clean but it didn't seem to matter. Cold food/drink bothered me more than ever and the gums continued their downward descent. I didn't really want to go to a dentist because I was embarrassed and felt helpless so I didn't.

Just over 2 years ago, I finally decided that going to the dentist was no longer an option. I made my appointment and prepared myself to go. Surely I could handle this.  After all, by this time I had handled blood clots, a kidney disease, hearing loss, surgery to repair hearing loss, vitiligo and a thyroid disease. This was nothing, right?

Wrong!

The dentist I went to was a family friend. He took x-rays and did the probing and immediately referred me to a periodontist. He told me that in his 40+ years as a dentist, he had never seen anything quite like this. I had no signs of plaque or tarter and yet severe bone loss. I left his office and began to cry. I sat in my car for probably 30 minutes before driving home and telling my husband. I was literally devastated. All I could think was that I didn't want to lose my teeth...and I blamed myself for not going to a dentist all those years.

When I got home, I did what I had always done...I googled periodontitis. Man was that a BAD idea! I cried over and over and over. The pictures, the prognosis, the treatment...ALL of it was horrible.

But I put on my big girl face and went to the periodontist the next day. As soon as I sat down in the exam chair, the dental hygienist asked me what was going on and I BROKE DOWN. I skipped the soft silent cry and went straight to the ugly kind. She was sweet and gracious and calmed me down enough for x-rays. Then the dentist walked in and asked me what was going on and I BROKE DOWN. Of course, I went straight to the ugly cry.

He was beyond gracious...He was peace-giving. He reassured me that although a dentist would have caught it sooner if I had been faithful to go for my check-ups, there was not a dentist on earth that could have predicted or prevented this. The degree of bone loss was so significant and pervasive that I would have had to basically not brush my teeth at all for 70 years in order to achieve this.  He knew that wasn't the case because there was no plaque or tarter build up so seemingly no cause for such loss. His concern was that medicines that I had taken at some point for one of my other health issues had caused bone loss and insisted that I request a bone density scan of my entire body just in case. He also told me that I was not without hope or options. Because of my age and the severity of my loss, he wanted time to research and consult with other periodontists in order to formulate a plan and give me a chance to get a bone scan.

A week later, Danny and I returned to his office for a consultation. The first thing he wanted to know about was the bone density scan. It had come back normal. Since that was the case, he gave me a name for it "Severe and Acute Pervasive Pediatric Periodontitis". (Say that 10 times quickly!) He and his colleagues had also determined that the source had to be autoimmune...big surprise there!

This is where it came together though...in the words of a periodontist!

"When most people have some sort of minor inflammation or infection in their gum line, their immune system targets that one area like a sharpshooter, taking out the "offender" and leaving the rest of the tissue alone. Instead of sending a sharpshooter, your immune system responded to a meaningless infection by setting off an atomic bomb, taking out the offender and everything around it."

And there it was

 summed up in a war analogy by a periodontist.

 

Everything (except for maybe the Hashimoto's) could be traced back to some sort of minor inflammation or infection that most people's bodies would deal with and move on...but not my body. My body saw an infection, any infection, and took it out like Hiroshima, leaving behind it a wave of destruction and devastation. My body warred against itself in ways I couldn't predict or control.

 

So, how did that "dot" end? Well after praying with us, he referred us to another dentist to try a "new" surgical laser procedure to save my teeth without completely cutting away my gums.That was just over 2 years ago. I now go and get my teeth cleaned 4 times a year for the rest of my life and am monitored very closely. They can't really tell if it has worked but are just attempting to keep as much bone as possible for as long as possible. It certainly isn't the easy, permanent fix I hoped for but

 

I would have to just trust God.

 

I DO have to just trust God.

 

And isn't that what all of us struggle so much to do anyways.

 I know I do.

 

We have this illusion of control, this idea that we can prevent and plan out and prepare and predict our lives if we just do a, b and c...but the reality is we can't.

 

 I can eat healthy, exercise, and take incredible care of my body but I can't keep myself from picking up bacterias and viruses...and I can't keep my immune system, something my body desperately needs, from becoming overactive and destroying everything in it's path.

 

I just can't...and neither can you.

 

Your battle with the illusion of control might be vastly different than mine. For you it might be finances or relationships or power or appearance or possesions or perfection or approval or intellect or even righteousness. What your battle is doesn't change the reality that in spite of your best efforts, which you should make, you are not in control...

 

and neither am I.

 

Sometimes I think God has allowed all of these ailments and issues in my life to do great things in me. It has certainly changed my story and my testimony. It has certainly given me a tenderness and understanding that didn't exist before. It has certainly increased my compassion and my witness in ways that I could not have mustered on my own.

 

More than anything though, it has changed the very fabric of who I am.

 



It has forced me to trust when I wanted to doubt.

It has forced me to continue walking when I just wanted to sulk.

It has forced me to be brave in ways I thought impossible.

 

 It has forced me to let go of that which I can not change

in order to take hold of the One who is unchangeable.

 

It is the process of becoming not me

it is no where near finished

but it is worth it

 

 

 

 

15 years together

Fifteen years ago on August 15, I walked down an aisle. I was a young but conscientious 20 year old bride…

careful to walk with great poise and grace at the right pace

careful to look from side to side and smile warmly at those who had come as I passed by

careful to contain the overwhelming flow of emotions as I neared my groom.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have kicked off those ridiculous high heels and run down that aisle as fast as I possibly could unashamedly into the arms of the one my soul loved. I wouldn’t have worried about appearing poised or graceful or put together or dignified. At the end of that aisle stood my future, my life, my story…

 

Nothing else should have mattered, but I was only 20 and distracted by so many things. I was distracted by my dress and my hair and my lipstick (which seemed to disappear as soon as I put it on.) I was distracted by the decorations which we had designed ourselves and the cake that didn't look just as I had imagined and that one musician who had forgotten his song AND his guitar. I was distracted by the guests, who was and was not there. I was worried about letting down my soon to be in-laws and the expectations others put on them and, as a result, me. Hopefully, I hid all these things well and no one noticed. I tried incredibly hard because more than anything, I wanted to appear ready to be getting married.

 

Before I knew it, I was standing before the dark walnut doors that led to the aisle that led to my groom. I took a deep breath and slid my arm into my dad's. Another deep breath and the doors opened. Off I went...

 

careful to walk with great poise and grace at the right pace

careful to look from side to side and smile warmly at those who had come as I passed by

careful to contain the overwhelming flow of emotions as I neared my groom.

When I finally made it down that aisle and my hands were finally placed in Danny’s hands, everything else began to fade. As we listened to dear friends sing beautiful songs (even the guy who didn't know his song and had forgotten his guitar)  and as we listened to Danny’s dad preach words of truth, we somehow zoned it all out and looked only at one another...and we played thumb wars.

 

Thumb Wars!?! Yes, thumb wars. His dad gave us the “stop that” look but we just disregarded that and continued to play thumbs. We were communicating without communicating.

 

We would wrestle with life together, always together.

Then we got to the vows and the rings...the serious stuff. The thumb wars stopped. Our eyes were fixed and our minds set because these words would change everything. These words would form our story. Although every aspect of the wedding was carefully planned, we spent the most time on our vows, reading what seemed like hundreds of suggestions. The vows we chose were fairly traditional with the exception of one line we added to the very end, which was, “serving Christ as we serve each other.” Although we were incredibly young, there was one thing we seemed to understand early on in our dating life:

that our lives would be spent serving Christ together

and that only by serving Him could we truly serve each other.

We have traveled a long way in the last 15 years emotionally, spiritually, and physically and learned a lot of hard lessons.  Our journey has been FAR from perfect or easy and it certainly wouldn’t have been the story we would have written for ourselves if you would have asked us to do so 15 years ago. But if I knew then what I know now, I would have sprinted towards that young groom and that story with reckless abandonment, not because it would be perfect or easy, but because

 

it would be the story God would use to build us together

and it would be worth chasing from the start.

 

Happy 15th anniversary Danny!

 

You are still my future, my life, my story

and we will chase this story together with reckless abandonment!

 

Dot #3 (my health journey still continued)

(If you want to review my whole health journey, look back in May 2011 at the posts entitled "When April Ends" and at the health journey posts from July 2013)...
If not, here's a brief recap:

The start of it all...At age 21, I had pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in my lungs) and was later diagnosed with an incurable, rare kidney disease. It was treated, disappeared, returned, treated, disappeared and then returned again all over a span of 2 years. Then I met "Doc Hollywood", a young doctor who decided in 2001 that we should try something else and see if we could make the remissions last a bit longer...and it has not returned since. 12 years in remission on a prescription drug with virtually no side effects is truly a MIRACLE!

 

but it was just the beginning of a trail of health dots...

• Dot #1 - 10 years ago (at age 25), I got an ear infection that seemed to muffle my hearing. After ignoring it for years and suffering over 50% in hearing loss, I finally had a stapedectomy on both ears in 2009. My hearing was restored to 90%!!! Truly another MIRACLE
 
• Dot #2 - About 6 years ago, I got into "something" while working in the backyard and had some sort of allergic skin reaction. The doctor put me on some steroids and the grossness quickly cleared up. A year or so later, I noticed a colorless spot on my hand but soon there were other colorless spots. It reminded me of Michael Jackson's skin disease, officially named Vitiligo but still referred to as the "Michael Jackson's" at our house. A little google research led me to realize that this too (like my kidney disease) was an auto immune disease.

Things were beginning to sound all too familiar to me.

 

I was putting it all together through technical research sites and google and webMD  (all very official, right?) but I had yet to have a doctor look at me and say this was all somehow related. Maybe it was because I was seeing a different type of specialist for each issue.  Maybe it was because they weren't communicating. One doctor's "silver bullet" for connecting all of this was Lupus tests and those kept coming back negative so in their minds, I was just an incredibly unlucky healthy unhealthy person...and they were the experts, right?

 

Danny and I would half hearted joke that all of these things were connected and that I had some weirdy disease that had yet to be discovered and named, a disease that had no test and certainly no treatments, a disease so rare that we couldn't even find anyone in a similar situation. I say that our joking was only half hearted because deep down I think we both knew that this was bigger than me and maybe we were more right than wrong, which meant that much about our lives was unknown and uncertain and that's just uncomfortable.

 

So we carried on until another weird unlucky unhealthy thing showed up.

 

Dot #3 - The start of this diagnosis is a tad personal so I will quickly brush through it and get onto the real diagnosis.  For some weird monthly happenings, I went immediately to an OB/GYN. Needless to say, I had been inconvenienced twice in a row and I was simply not having that. Seriously people, I might be going deaf and have weird spots on my skin but I am not putting off going to see the doctor when it comes to a certain few things and this was one of them. Once again, I just kind of went pot luck on the OB/GYN thing because I didn't have one and I wanted to get in ASAP so I just took the first doctor with the first availability. I did not care! As God would have it, just like my pulmonologist and my nephrologist and my ENT doctor, she would be just the doctor I needed to see at just the time I needed to see her.

 

So I showed up and signed in. The ran my vitals, which are always great...and I waited in that little room in that little gown for the OB/GYN to come in. We had a little chat about my history (of which most doctors are incredibly intrigued and baffled by), a little chat about my current issue and then she did the check-up. Her first thought was that I may be pregnant but she wanted to be sure. She left the room and I sat there panicking through all the scenarios.

 

(I can tell you right now that my heart sunk right into my stomach at just the mention of the possibility of being pregnant...and not in a good way. I have a future post in my head about this too and you will all understand better why a married woman,who loves being a mother would react this way.)

 

She came back in and did her test and sure enough, I was NOT pregnant (silent sigh of relief) and everything looked normal (another sigh of relief.) She stood up and looked at me again and said she wanted to watch me drink a glass of water...ummm, okay? I'm a very compliant patient and so I took the little dixie cup of water and drank while she watched. Instantly her eyes lit up with this sort of AHA kind of look. She asked me to do it again...so I did.

 

(Please note that I am an incredibly sarcastic and cynical person so all this time I am having to suppress the multitude of remarks, comments and jokes running rampantly through my head. Not an easy task.)

 

And then she gave me the unofficial official diagnosis. She would have to wait on official blood tests but she believed I was hypothyroid and presenting with a goiter, which she only noticed whenever I took the drink of water. She knew the water test only because she herself had been recently diagnosed as being hypothyroid and presenting with a goiter, which was really only visible when she took a drink of water. So she would order the right tests and send my case back to my primary physician, whom we quickly figured out that she happened to know and whose son was over at her house the night before.  See, right doctor at the right time!

 

So I had the blood tests run and sure enough, I was indeed hypothyroid. As soon as I got the results over the phone and made the follow-up appointment with my primary physician, I went straight to my good old faithful google and webMD. I always want to enter the doctor's office informed. Because I was catching on, I didn't just search for hypothyroid disease.  I searched for autoimmune hypothyroid diseases. I was hoping nothing would show up...but something did.

 

I went to my appointment with my primary physician. He ordered another thyroid panel and also a sonogram of my thyroid since there was an apparent goiter. He assured me that he felt like this was all fairly common, especially considering that my mom and my brother were both also hypothyroid. I asked him to run one more test though, the antibodies test for Hashimoto's Hypothyroidism.  You see Hashimoto's Hypothyroidism is an auto immune disease where your immune system attacks your thyroid, making it inflamed (hello goiter) and eventually destroying it.  Of course my awesome primary physician agreed to run the test, although he was pretty sure it was just plain ol' hypothyroidism.

 

Turns out it wasn't. The test for Hashimoto's came back positive. The sonogram of my thyroid proved I had a goiter. i wasn't surprised by the Hashimoto's but I was devastated by the goiter.

 

 (Right here is where I must confess my ignorant perception of goiters. All of my goiter knowledge was based on a Seinfeld episode. If you aren't a Seinfeld fan, well you should be. In this particular episode, all the characters are volunteering to be "friends" with senior adults. Elaine is paired with a very interesting senior adult woman, who just happens to have a goiter on her neck that is the size of a small cat. When the doctor confirmed "goiter", that's what I pictured. Clearly, that is not reality.) 

 

Unfortunately they also saw some "shadows" on it. You don't have to hang out with too many doctors to translate "shadows" as something of serious concern, cancer level concern. It certainly didn't help when the appointment secretary called to tell me to report to the cancer center of the hospital, even saying that going there didn't necessarily mean I HAD cancer, as if that was some grand consolation.

 

So, I did what I had done time and time again...I researched online. I researched the prognosis, treatment, survival rate and so on of thyroid cancer. I had resigned myself to the real possibility that I had thyroid cancer. I was prepared for the surgery and the chemo/radiation and even losing my hair. I approached all of it the same way I had approached all my other life or death health issues, completely calm and methodical, with the exception of losing my hair. Just the thought of it made me cry but I had even come to terms with that by the time of my appointment.

 

So Danny and I showed up for my appointment at the cancer center of the hospital. I was scheduled for a fine needle aspiration (aka - biopsy) of the shadow areas on my thyroid with the thyroid cancer expert. He wanted to meet with me first. We waited and waited and waited. When he finally walked in, he was visibly upset, something I think I have rarely seen in a doctor. I did what I do and asked why. He had just told a patient who had become a friend over all these years that the cancer was back...that it wasn't going away...that they were out of options. We expressed our sympathy and I said a silent prayer for this doctor and this patient. No sooner had I finished then he looked up and asked me for my history. I gave it and got the same response I always get...intrigued and baffled.

 

He looked at my neck and said, "Yep goiter. I can see it from here." (Certainly not helping my self-esteem.) He looked at my lab results and said, "Yep. Hashimoto's. Let's get started on this biopsy so we can see what else is going on."

 

I went into the procedure room and got all ready for the biopsy. It was such a minor procedure he let Danny come into the room with me. After just a few minutes, he walked in and set up the sonogram machine so he could more accurately pin point the areas of concern, the shadows. He moved the screen so we could see as well and began to explain what we were seeing. All of a sudden, he said, "You have got to be kidding me." To say there was an awkward silence would be an understatement.

 

"Let me explain. I see the shadow the technician saw that concerned them. It's a lymph node and a normal one at that. We don't need to do an aspiration. There are no tumors. Other than being enlarged, your thyroid is fine. I'm so sorry if this caused you any worry or concern. You'll be fine."

 

And with that, we walked out.

 

I still had Hashimoto's Hypothyroidism (and a goiter:) but it would all be easily treated with 1 pill a day and blood tests every 6 months or so. I could certainly handle that.

 

That, however, didn't stop my longing to figure this out...to put the pieces together.

 

 

I returned to my research and found a huge listing of autoimmune diseases, which just happened to include my kidney disease, my ear disease, my skin disease and, of course, my thyroid disease. The search also led me to a doctor who was doing research attempting to find the specific genetic location of all these seemingly unrelated diseases. I e-mailed him on a whim not expecting any sort of response. To my absolute shock, he responded the next day. We exchanged several e-mails. He was kind and compassionate and understanding. Frequently, he reinforced that his research led him to believe that I was an unfortunate combination of unlucky genetics and some unfortunate, non-specific, environmental triggers.

 

He said I could potentially qualify for the study if an immediate family member also had 4 or more unexplained autoimmune diseases and would agree to the study, which he reiterated would be a hard sale. The doctor was clear that the study would probably never actually benefit us or result in any sort of treatment or therapies for our generation. The study probably wouldn't even name this unnamed disease that seemed so pervasive and illusive. The study would be for the future. Our genes compiled with the genes of other subjects would hopefully provide some sort of answer key...and hopefully, someday, a cure or therapy or treatment.

 

He was right. It just never came together and so my genetics would not be included in his study...but he was the first one who looked at all that I told him and said, "Yes. There is something. These are related. We don't have all or any answers for you but we are searching."

 

It was just another reminder that God's hand was all over this from the google searches to the doctor choices to the e-mails to the treatments...

 

And that was enough.

 

It only took one more doctor and one more completely bizarre disease and one more dot for me to connect until I really saw the pattern, so hang in there.

 

ONE MORE DOT!

 
 
 
 

Dot #2 (my health journey continued)

(If you want to review my whole health journey, look back in May 2011 at the posts entitled When April ends)...

If not, here's a brief recap:

•  At age 21, I had pulmonary embolisms (blood clots in my lungs) and was later diagnosed with an incurable, rare kidney disease. It was treated, disappeared, returned, treated, disappeared and then returned again all over a span of 2 years. Then I met "Doc Hollywood", a young doctor who decided in 2001 that we should try something else and see if we could make the remissions last a bit longer...and it has not returned since. 12 years in remission on a prescription drug with virtually no side effects is truly a MIRACLE!
• 10 years ago (at age 25), I got an ear infection that seemed to muffle my hearing. After ignoring it for years and suffering over 50% in hearing loss, I finally had a stapedectomy on both ears in 2009.  My hearing was restored to 90%!!! Truly another MIRACLE

Dot #2
 
Have you ever seen a 2 year old attempt to do one of those Connect the Dot pages in a coloring book? My youngest son was about 2 when he became obsessed with doing them. You can imagine what it all too often looked like. The "connections" were curved when they were supposed to be straight or completely straight when they were supposed to be curved. Sometimes the lines overlapped because he had missed a dot that he later went back to get.
 
And all this led to one thing, an unclear picture.
 
Well, that's kind of how my health dot to dot journey has been and continues to be. Sometimes straight lines end up curved and curved lines end up straight and the lines rarely line up to create a nice clear picture.
 
 It gets tricky here because symptoms and issues that I dismissed as unrelated began to overlap with seemingly no common thread so the picture was unclear, and sometimes still is.
 
It was the summer of 2007. I had been working hard in our back yard to cut down and dig up a large fig tree and a scrappy little pecan tree cluster. Both were in spots that made it inconvenient to mow, which was irritating enough, but our dog also seemed to enjoy getting sick by eating the rotten fruits and pecans that fell to the ground. They had to go so I went out there with my normal gusto and began to cut and dig and pull and chop. I was surprised to find a strange vine like plant intertwined but didn't think much of it since it wasn't poison oak or ivy or sumac. I just immersed myself in the bushes determined to take them down...and so I did.
 
I remember coming in and thinking my arms were rather itchy but just attributed it all to the dirt and sawdust, nothing a good shower couldn't cure. But as I showered, welps like boils or blisters began to pop up on my arms. I thought it was weird because I honestly had never had any sort of allergic reaction on my skin to anything but figured it would just go away. I grabbed some Benadryl and waited for them to disappear...but they didn't.  If anything, the blisters just kept swelling.
 
I had honestly never seen anything like it so I did what every intelligent person does, I googled it...NOTHING.
 
Surely if I couldn't google it, it didn't even exist, except it did. I could see them and feel them. The blisters were getting pretty uncomfortable as they continued to swell. I decided to do what I would do if it was a little blister on my hand so I took a needle and drained one. Clear liquid flowed out just like it would from any other blister and it felt better, so I drained all of them.  Thinking that was the end of it, I went to bed that night only to be awakened by the distinct pressure of blisters on my arms. They had filled back up. I drained them again. They filled back up again.
 
I had no choice but to go to the doctor.
 
The look on the doctor's face when I showed him my arms was pretty discouraging. He asked me what I had gotten into and told me he had never seen anything quite like that...not really what you want to hear. He assumed it was some sort of allergic reaction and put me on a low dose of steroids, which cleared it right up. At home, we joked about it being my "grossness" but by in large it was an incident I forgot completely about. It was meaningless, right?
 
Or was it the catalyst for something else?
 
I looked down one day a year or so later and saw it...

the spot on my right hand...

the spot that lacked any color whatsoever.

 
At first, I assumed I had just gotten into something. After all, I was always getting into something when working on my projects and I was always working on a project. Maybe I had dropped some chemicals on my hand when I was remodeling or painting or gardening or something.
 
I was sure it was nothing until a few days later I looked down and saw another...

the spot on my right foot...

the spot that lacked any color whatsoever.

 

Once again, I did what any intelligent person from my generation does, I went straight to google and this is what I googled...

"Michael Jackson Skin Disease"

(I'm not really sure why I googled this. It seems like a bizarre thing to search but I remember with certainty typing it into the computer. Perhaps it was around the same time as his death and so he was all over the news. Really, idk so don't judge:)

 

the results popped up...VITILIGO.

 

I then began to research vitiligo and realized with almost certainty that I did indeed have Vitiligo and there was no real way to treat it or cover it up. The colorless spots would continue to appear...they continue to appear even now. When people ask me about the spots, I tell them that I have the same skin disease as Michael Jackson, which makes me almost famous...almost.

 

To say God has used Vitiligo to form me and change me would be a HUGE understatement. It has been absolutely transformational...

and not really in the way you may think...

or the way I feared at first. 

 

Sidenote: I have a whole blog in my head about how transformational this has been in my mind and heart but want to stay focused on my health journey right now...it is definitely in the works though because this has been SERIOUSLY weighty stuff for me!

 

It was these colorless spots though that began to really spur me on.

 It was here where I first began to start connecting all the health issue dots

 (not vitiligo spots:)...

 

Dot #2 -Vitiligo is frequently classified as an autoimmune disease, the result of an overactive immune system where your immune system fails to recognize healthy cells and leave them alone but instead wages war and attacks. This is usually spurred on by some small, seemingly insignificant infection. (Remember the blisters?)

 

And that sounded all to familiar to me.

 

I would love to say that at this point in 2009, all of my health issues became crystal clear to me and I aligned them all under one umbrella and named it and became a part of some brilliant research study...

 

but I didn't.

 

It would take 2 more diagnoses for me to really begin to connect it all.

 

But I will tell you what continued to become clearer and clearer to me

 

God was using every little detail of my health journey to make me someone else,

someone He longed for me to be.

 

As my story was unfolding in ways I would not have written,

God was developing my character in ways I could not.

 

 

 

Connecting the dots (my health journey continued)

Since my kidneys were fine, I thought everything was fine.  Other than that, I was just a healthy 20 something year old.  I didn't look sick. I didn't feel sick. I didn't live as if I were sick. I took my 2 pills every morning and my 2 pills every night and no one ever knew unless I told them.

I got the occassional cold...but who didn't? Every illness was dismissed as just a regular illness because I thought it was...but then one day I realized it wasn't. I realized it never had been.

The dots were there but I didn't start connecting them until about 2 years ago and 4 diagnoses later...

DOT #1 -
About 10 years ago, I got an ear infection. That might seem unremarkeable to most people but it was the first one of my life and I was 25. I went to the doctor after a couple of days because of the ache. She immediately put me on antibiotics, which cleared up the pain, but my hearing seemed instantly "muffled" and just never recovered. I turned the sound in my car up because the words were inexplicably unclear...but I blamed it on the speakers because it was an old car, right?

Progressively it got worse but I didn't want to admit it. I was too prideful. I would just deal with it.

And then the ringing began...

At first, it wasn't so bad. I only noticed it when it was quiet so I kept it from being quiet. I always had something on...ALWAYS. But soon my ears rang non-stop, so much so that I couldn't fall asleep at night. The ringing just would not go away, no matter what I did.

I was at my wits end so I mentioned it in passing at a check-up. She dismissed it as me getting older (at the ripe old age of 28) reassuring me that these things just happen. So I resolved to suck it up and deal with it...and that's just what I did.

When we brought home our first son, Matthew, we started using closed caption with the tv so we didn't wake him up. We left it on most of the time, but one day I noticed that I needed closed caption regardless of the volume. And then I noticed other things.

If Danny wasn't facing me when he talked, I couldn't understand him. Sometimes I couldn't understand him when he was facing me. I would get onto him about enunciating clearly...but it wasn't just him.

It was everyone, everywhere. No one spoke clearly. I found myself saying, "Huh? What?" all the time...but got embarrased by that so just started nodding. (Scary to think what I might have agreed to or not followed through on.)

The final straw was when I took my son for his check-up. I was sitting right across from the doctor and the room was quiet but I could not understand what he was saying. I was embarassed and broke down right there crying. I told him that I could hear him but not clearly enough to understand him. He prayed with me (see - awesome doctor) and he immediately referred me for testing.

It took months to get an appointment, but I remember everything about that day so clearly.  The audiologist was a gentle older man. He led me into the "vault" and explained the testing process to me. After several attempts at finding me earbuds, he finally fitted me with a pair of pediatric earbuds because my ears are so small.  We casually laughed about this and then he left the room and went to his booth and began the test. I strained to hear something, anything. I raised my hand a few times when I thought I maybe heard something and then a few times just because I felt like I should be hearing something.

I knew something was desperately wrong when he came back to prepare me for the next portion of the exam because his entire demeanor and approach to me changed.  He took the earbuds off and instead of standing up straight at a comfortable distance from me, he crouched down right in front of me and spoke VERY loudly and enunciated VERY distinctly.

I remember thinking to myself, "I must be absolutely deaf" and I remember tearing up but I made it through the rest of the test and then he came back in.

I looked at him and did the one thing I wasn't supposed to do, ask.

"It's bad, isn't it? How much am I hearing, like percentage wise?"

He looked down and mumbled some stuff about how the ENT would go over my results with me but then he looked up and he saw the big, hot tears streaming down my face. As much as I tried to stay composed, there was just no hiding it. I was in full blown ugly cry.

This gentle audioligist knelt down in front of me and he told me that I was hearing around 55% in both ears but that I had a great ENT and that great advancements had been made in hearing implements. I wiped my face, thanked him and walked out to my car. When I got in the car I texted my husband and I just cried, something I had never done before because of my health. I could handle the medicines and the prognisis and the nearly dying somehow methodically and unemotionally...

 

but my hearing?

 

That stirred up in me a well of emotion I didn't know was there.

But in that well of emotion, God was there.

He sent that gentle audioligist and He sent me to just the right ENT as well. 

My husband joined me for the ENT appointment.  By this time, my lack of hearing had become a joke around the house, a welcome change from the tears. The ENT walked in and went over the results with us but as he talked, I noticed something...He was wearing hearing aids.

I asked him to share his story and it was similar to mine. He too had suffered early, unexplained hearing loss in his mid 20's that had gone undetected over time until it was just undeniable.  He assured me that hearing aids would be an option for me but he had a better option, one that he wished was available to him, a stapedectomy. They would remove my stapes bone and replace it with a prosthetic device.  It was, of course, not without risk and came with a lot of restricted activity for the mother of a 1 year old, but it was what he would do if he were me.

I was unsure. I said we would pray. My husband was certain and leveraged my 1 year old in the "battle".  He knew I didn't want to miss a single word Matthew said to me...ever...and knew that if I didn't do this, I would miss those words, too many of those words.

They tested me again a month later and my hearing had dropped to 45% across all ranges and frequencies. So we signed on. I would have the surgery one ear at a time.

My miracle ENT doctor performed 2 stapedectomies within six months of each other. My hearing shot up to 90% in one ear and about 93% in the other. It was remarkable and unheard of...no pun intended!

God restored my hearing but He restored so much more through the hands of that ENT and audiologist than just my hearing.

I had a new tenderness
                     a new understanding
                                   a new compassion

                                             and  a new story.

 

But there were more dots to come...

When May comes... (a VERY delayed part 6 of my health story)

If you have followed my story at all, you know that May is an important month for me every year because May marks another year that I have made it through healthy.

As the end of May approached this year, I looked at my pill bottles and I knew...
          I knew that I was running out of pills
          and I knew that I was out of refills
          and I knew that I would have to make the dreaded appointment
                       to have blood drawn
                       to have tests run
                       to see the doctor

Now don't get me wrong. I love my doctor. He is a close, personal, family friend and a godly man. I don't even mind having blood drawn or filling little cups, really, I don't.

What I do dread is the reality of what those tests may tell me and what news my sweet doctor friend may have to give me. I can feel fine but if just one number on one test is wrong, then everything is wrong. And I don't want it to be wrong.

I felt healthy, I really did but I made the appointment, I had the blood drawn, I filled the cups, and I walked into the doctor's office. I kept telling myself that April had passed and May had come and so I was okay...and this time I was right. My kidney tests were completely and totally clear. I made it another year with healthy kidneys, marking 12 years of remission.

But as the reality of this flooded over me, I was reminded that I never really finished out the rest of my health story. I started part 6 of "When May comes..." but I never finished it. I stopped at the point just after I went into remission and life was good and I was healthy...but that wasn't really the way the last 12 years have gone. Much has happened since then to me...and to my brother...and the health road has't been quite as simple as it sounded.

To recap, I was 21 when doctors discovered blood clots in my lungs which led them eventually to diagnose a rare and incurable kidney disease. The doctors were able to miraculously put the kidney disease into remission quickly with HIGH doses of corticosteroids (prednisone) but the disease came back about 6 months every time after completing my round of steroids (always in March/April). I went through this cycle twice before I met "Doc Hollywood" who decided to just give something new a try because the steroids were going to eventually wreck the rest of my body.

That was 12 years ago...

About 2 years later (10 years ago), my brother (an incredibly healthy fireman) was rushed to the ER with unexplained breathing difficulties. The nurse just happened to ask his wife, who is also a nurse, if there was any family history of blood clots or pulmonary embolisms. She told them about me but assured them that mine were a result of my kidney disease because that's what the doctors had always told me. Luckily, they looked anyways and found them in him, everywhere. They found his lungs and legs inexplicably FILLED with clots. It is something he has struggled with ever since and continues to battle even today, even on medicine that is supposed to thin his blood and keep it from clotting. In direct contrast, I have never had another clot, at least that I know of, and I have been told countless times by countless doctors since that my kidney disease should not have produced clots.

So, why did I throw clots that one time early on?

Because God works in ways we can not begin to fathom.

Get this and don't excuse any of it as circumstance or chance.

If I hadn't thrown clots, there is a good chance that the doctors would not have found my kidney disease in time to treat it effectively. (Interestingly enough, countless doctors since have told me that my specific kidney disease doesn't cause clots...but it did that time for a reason!)

If I hadn't thrown clots, there's a good chance that the doctors wouldn't have scanned my brother in time to save his life.

I fully believe that God allowed me to have clots that ONE TIME so that the doctors would find them in my brother and save his life. I don't think that they would have ever looked for them in him otherwise, at least not in time.

They did save his life but his fight for health continues on more fronts than even I know about. He is incredibly brave and incredibly strong but perseveres against much so please pray for him.

My body battled on as well.

I just wasn't aware of it because my kidneys were fine.

I just wasn't aware of it because it all seemed like unrelated bad health luck.

Unfortunately that will have to be continued another time because like I said above, this journey has been anything but simple.

when grace rains...

There are few feelings that compare to the warmth of the sun on your face

     except for maybe the refreshment of a strong breeze on a stifling day
          or the briskness of that first breath outside on a cold winter morning.

Each of these seem to be so deeply delightful at the time but all of these are trumped by one thing...

a good spring rain.

I LOVE everything about a good spring rain. There is something about watching the clouds gather and darken, hearing the distant sound of muffled thunder, smelling the sweet dew that seems to linger in the air, and then feeling that first drop that signals the multitude that is to come. Lightning seems to split the sky in an inexplicable display and thunder echos throughout the land. The parched earth soaks it up as if it hasn't felt such sweet moisture in years. The grass and flowers and trees seem to become a richer, deeper, stronger green with every single drop. Nothing, and I mean nothing, escapes the powerful drench of a good spring rain...

but that's part of the problem with it too.

A good spring rain doesn't discriminate between your raised vegetable garden and the weeds seeking to infiltrate it. A good spring rain doesn't miss the car you just washed or the sidewalk chalk art you never took a picture of. A good spring rain gets it all.

And so it is with God's grace.

Nothing compares to the intimate feeling of being washed anew when God's grace rains down. You have seen the clouds of promise and heard His thunderous declaration. The fragrance and feelings of change linger thickly around you. Then the rain comes with a mighty display and a loud roar. Your parched soul soaks it in and you are refreshed and renewed and revived. Just as plants can not live with out water, your soul can not live with out God's grace. You yearn for His redeeming flood and it comes and it rains heavy and it is sweet. Nothing, and I mean nothing, escapes the powerful drench of God's grace when it rains down...

but that is part of the struggle with it too.

We certainly want grace to freely rain down on us and others we deem deserving, but what happens when God's grace rains down as heavily on someone we consider a weed, the undeserving, the vile offender, our very enemy? What happens when our good works are washed down and we find our slate equally as blank as that weed?

Surely if asked point blank, we would all deny that we have ever felt this way. No one wants to admit this is a struggle. After all, we love a powerful from death to life testimony. Who can resist the murderer turned evangelist or the prostitute turned soccer mom or the scammer turned into a benevolent giver?

Not me...at least not from a distance.

The Bible is full of tales of God's grace flowing down and we all fully embrace each storm of grace but is our embrace wholehearted or just because we are so distanced from the situation that God's rain of grace on their life costs us nothing?

Who would deny grace to the woman caught in the act of adultry?

Certainly not us...but what if you were the wife of the man she cheated with or her child or her husband? Does that change your desire for her to receive the same grace you recieve? If we are honest, most of us would call her a homewrecker and, at a minimum, shun her but certainly deny her grace.

And who among us doesn't delight in the grace flood of the Saul turned Paul transformation?

Certainly not us...but what if Saul had been persecuting you? What if you at one time had pleaded with him for the life of your father or mother or brother or sister or husband or child? What if you had watched him stand aside, cloaks in hand, while others stoned someone you loved, a person who had done no wrong? Would you doubt his transformation? Would you begrudge his use in the gospel mission? Does that change your perspective on the grace afforded to Paul? Truth be told, most of us would have labeled Saul a terrorist and rejoiced at his blindness instead of being an instrument of grace and healing in his life.

My husband and I have had the privilege of attending for many years the annual banquet of an incredible local ministry that seeks to share the redeeming grace of God with prisoners within our county. It is a ministry close to our hearts, run by people of integrity and compassion. Year after year without fail, we hear a death to life testimony by a different former prisoner who was radically transformed by the heavy rain of God's grace. It is always overwhelmingly powerful. The amens and praises to God and even tears flow freely from those listening, captivated by a new tale of God's powerful storm of grace. We can not help but be moved by these redemption stories.

But I wonder if we would feel the same if we were the victim of that former prisoner, who is now free and successful and no longer under the condemnation of our legal system or our God. Unfortunately, I don't think we would. We all too often want people to get what they deserve and somehow grace just doesn't fill that selfish need within our hearts and minds. I have witnessed far too many believers desire vindication and punishment and justice for the person that so grievously wronged them or their family feel robbed when God's grace rained down instead. I can personally only think of one instance in which victims of a heinous crime truly, deeply, maybe even painfully desired God's grace to rain down on those that harmed them.

It was beautiful. It was inspiring. It was convicting...and it was the exception

But why is grace the exception amongst a people who have all been bought by and offered unmerited grace?
Why is grace so offensive to those of us sustained by its very presence?
Why is grace so irritating to those of us who rely on it each and every day?
Why is our grace-giving so lacking when it is so sufficient for us?

Rarely, and I mean rarely are we grievously wronged.
Rarely, and I mean rarely, are we the victims of heinous crimes. 
But far too frequently we love grace for ourselves and grace from a distance for others but just not when it is personal, costing us our own perceived justice or righteousness.

It's not a new problem. I don't know about you, but I often find myself identifying with the "wrong" character in the Bible. I have been Jonah, sitting under the wilted fig tree whining that someone that I knew didn't deserve grace had their life turned around, redeemed, made righteous, and super blessed. I have stood with rock in hand ready to cast a stone on the adulteress. As a self-righteous sadducee and pharisee, I have muttered to myself that Jesus clearly doesn't know what type of man or woman He is raining his grace upon.

And as the thoughts and feelings fester, they push me ever farther from the rain of grace that I so desperately need myself and I am parched. In spite of my stubborn selfishness though, God's grace rains. His thunderous voice booms down to the depths of my soul and reminds me of that which I have clearly forgotten...

my brokenness, my undeservedness, my lack.

and grace rains all over me again and I am washed anew. My works are but filthy rags and I find myself right where I should have been all along, dancing in the midst of the grace storm, arms outstretched in desperate joy soaking in every sweet, life giving drop...

and next to you...

and next to all the other broken and undeserving people just like us who are willing to open their heart to His reign.

You see when grace rains, nothing and I mean nothing can escape it.

foot washing

I washed my kids feet last night and not in the practical "come here your feet are filthy" kind of way that I do so many times a day that it is a completely thoughtless act.

It was impractical. It was purposeful. It was intentional. It was humbling.

and I didn't want to do it.

The truth of the matter is that yesterday was one of those particularly difficult days to be a mom for no particular reason at all. There wasn't any major event or trauma. It was just a seemingly endless marathon of whining and arguing and thanklessness and selfishness and impatience.  Just a day in the life, right?  To be honest, it wasn't just yesterday. It seems like it's been difficult for days, weeks, maybe even months.

I actually spent most of the day figuring out how to get out of doing it.

They won't understand.

They won't appreciate.

and then the final blow...

they don't deserve it.

And the tidal wave of conviction clothed in God's love and relentless pursuit crashed hard on me.

So that night during our family devotional, I opened my Bible to the book of John and I read to my whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish and impatient kids the story of Jesus' whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish and impatient disciples. I read how Jesus got down and washed the feet of His disciples.

They didn't understand.

They didn't appreciate it.

They certainly didn't deserve it...and neither did I

So then I filled up my basin with warm water and a drop of sweet lavender oil.  I placed a towel on my shoulder.  I knelt down and I called each of my children to me.  One by one, I gently and lovingly washed and dried each of their feet.

They probably didn't understand.

They probably didn't appreciate it.

They probably didn't deserve it.

But I needed to do it. 

I needed to love my whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish and impatient kids the same way He has loved me, His whiny, argumentative, thankless, selfish, and impatient kid. I washed my kids feet last night even though I didn't want to

because the process of becoming not me is about becoming like Him.

sidelined

I played sports literally all of my childhood and while I was never the super star of any team, I always managed to start or at least log some decent playing time on whatever team I was on, mainly because I was fiercely competitive. Others were certainly more skilled or faster or stronger than me but what I lacked in skill or talent, I made up for with raw effort, often being completely relentless in my pursuit of winning. Admitting defeat was, well, just not an option for me until...

there were injuries.

When I was younger, I had a few minor injuries but nothing that ever kept me on the sidelines for too long. I remember the day that all changed.

I was a sophmore on the girls' varsity soccer team, the first one for my school. Practice was coming to a close as we scrimmaged in preparation for our upcoming game. I jumped up to head a ball and as I landed, one of my teammates jumped unintentionally into my knee, hyperextending it in the wrong direction. (If you are visualizing this, yes, my leg literally went the wrong direction). I fell instantly to the ground grasping my knee and popping it back but I knew right then that it wasn't right...that it would never be completely right again. I spent 4 weeks on crutches in a knee immobilizer before having my ACL reconstructed and my shredded meniscus repaired and then I spent another 6 weeks after surgery on crutches in a knee immobilizer.

 I missed the entire season, but more than that,,,

I didn't even attend the season. I didn't go to the games and cheer on my team. I didn't watch during practice to support my team. I just didn't go. I'm sure I blamed it on the inconvenience of traveling to games on crutches or the pointlessness of sitting in the cold to watch practices of which I had no hope of participating in. While those are certainly understandable and justifiable, they were just excuses. In reality, I wasn't there because I was sidelined for the first time in my life and I didn't know how to process that reality...so I just distanced myself. As soon as I started physical therapy, I set out determined to get off the sideline and back on the field stronger, healthier and more skilled than I was before and somehow I did.

But here I am again...on the cusp of 35 and struggling to process the reality of feeling sidelined once again.

For nearly 10 years, I delighted in going and serving and leading and mentoring and planning and visioning and teaching and discipling and laboring in ministry right beside my husband. Everywhere we went and everything we did felt like home to me. In New Orleans, I was at home. Colorado, home. Arizona, home. Georgia, home. Ecuador, home. Low income neighborhoods, home. Streets of Austin, home. Youth events, home. College Campuses, home. Small group Bible study, home. It was a fit and always felt like I was right where I was supposed to be until...

Five years ago, life slowed down for me when God brought us Matthew. Because his adoption came together in literally less than a week, I was forced to make a decision early on about sidelining myself.  Matthew was 1 week old when Danny left to lead his first mission trip without me. We actually discussed just taking him (our 1 week old baby) with us but quite simply, I just couldn't go and do and be and so I sat that one out. I was so exhausted and elated from being a new parent that it didn't register to me at the time that I was missing anything. Before too long I was right back at it. I gladly gave up things like lock-ins and 5th quarters but not the "real" stuff. I just packed Matthew up, strapped him on and did the work with him attached and as he got older, right by my side. Before ever turning 2, he had been on 3 US mission trips, 1 international mission trip to SE Asia, youth camps, conferences/retreats, numerous outreach events and countless worship services and small group Bible studies. We were still very much involved in Danny's ministry so even though the haunting thought of being sidelined crept into my heart and mind from time to time, I didn't feel sidelined in general until...

Danny went to Haiti without me.

Danny worshipped and labored beside Haitian brothers and sisters without me.

Danny led a group and loved on sweet little orphans (whose faces and names I knew well) without me. 

 Danny came back different...changed...transformed...renewed...empassioned

and me...

well, I held down the fort,
which felt a lot more like being sidelined than anything else

But I handled it well even though this process of "without me" repeated itself many, many times in the last few years.  It was okay because I had this sweet, precious life literally entrusted to me. I was sidelined for this season but knew a day would come when I would be right back at it, going and doing and being. The day would come that I too would worship and labor and lead and love, that I too would be changed and transformed and renewed and empassioned.  So for a bit, I embraced my time on the sideline. Danny and I planned in our hearts and our minds for the day when WE would go and take Matthew with us to Haiti or wherever the Lord led us...

But then we brought home 3 more kids that we would inevitably adopt.  So the day we had planned and dreamt of came and went.  Danny went to Haiti but I was once again left behind...sidelined...

and so it has been again and will be several more times just this year.

Danny will go and be and do

while I hold down the fort.

But how does one sit on the sideline well

when all they long to do is run out on the field with arms wide open in reckless abandonment? 

And how does one cheer on others who are in the game

when they so long to be a part of the game themselves?  

And why is it so hard to embrace THIS season as equally important

when I know that God has brought the greatest assignment into my very home?

The TRUTH of the matter for me is that while I feel sidelined (a feeling I truly, truly struggle with), I am not sidelined at all. I am right in the muck of it all. The laundry and the dishes and the cooking and the cleaning and the homework and the correcting and the training and the instructing and the loving deeply ARE indeed the work of discipleship and ARE indeed the work God has called me to and ARE indeed the most difficult tasks I have ever faced. Every day, I am binding up the broken hearts of the children God has brought to me. Every day, I am caring for children formerly known as orphans. Every day, I am doing the work He has set before me for this time and this season...

but every day I am longing
for another day, another season,

where I will go and do and be,

where I will be forced further away from the known,

where I will be challenged in ways unimaginable,

where I will feel like I am right where God wants me to be

where I will feel at home so very far from home...

BUT I have committed

to go where God would have me go

and do what God would have me do

no matter where or what that is. 

Of course in my heart and mind, I had settled on the reality that it would be reckless and extravagent and risky and far away and unknown and challenging but for now it is here...in my comfortable small town american home, with the kids He has brought to me to be orphans no more.

In the process of becoming not me, I am learning to embrace the dream God has for me at the time He has it for me...

I know there will be a day and a time when He calls me to go and do and be and risk and leave but it just isn't yet...