The Pooper Troopers

Today I walked five kilometers with Team Rick in the Undy 5000, a fundraiser to benefit colon cancer research. Altogether, we raised $1135. Our team consisted of:

• my brother Rick, a colon cancer survivor
• Rick's wife Diane
• his daughter Mindy
• his son Mitchell and wife Michelle
• his best friend David, wife Annette, and daughter Holly

Team Rick in Front of a Giant Colon
David, Mindy, Rick, Me, Annette, Holly, Mitchell, Michelle, Diane

I rode out to White Rock Lake with Rick, Diane, and Mindy, having reluctantly crawled out of their comfy guest bed at 5:45 A.M. Here we are looking relatively bright-eyed and bushy-tailed a little after 7.

The frigid morning (41 degrees F/5 Celsius) reminded me a lot of day one of the Susan G. Koman 3-Day. But I wore lots of layers, and once we got to walking and talking, only my feet were cold. (I wore my Five Finger shoes, of course.)

Mindy managed to take the shot below while walking backward just in front of me.

"Slow down," she said.

"No, you speed up," Rick said.

"I'm walking backward," she protested.

"So?"

"So this is the best I can do." Not bad!

There was lots of slightly off-color humor, all in good taste--enough to make us laugh even at 7 on a Saturday morning. Check out the Nothing Butt Fun team, for example:

Those Are Plastic Booties

And some of the T-shirt slogans were hilarious:

It's Your DUTY to check your BOOTY



Stay in the Clear - Check Yo Rear

 

Everyone was supposed to be running or walking in some sort of underwear; our team wore the standard-issue Dulcolax Undy 5000 boxers. But we saw one man running in just underwear, very little underwear. We all almost got whiplash watching him streak past. I didn't have to wonder long whether anyone else noticed his fine physique. "I look a lot like that, you know," Rick said with a chuckle. "Or maybe I did once upon a time." Yeah, right.

Rick and Me After Race

All to soon we were crossing the finish line together and waiting for Rick to take his place with the other survivors on the small stage. I can't tell you how thankful I am that Rick is alive and well, coming up on his 10-year anniversary this spring. "We'll party until the police come," he said.

"Better invite the neighbors," Diane said.

I'm sure you'll hear about it when the time comes.

After the walk, we headed over to Breadwinners Cafe and Bakery to replace the calories we burned (to quote Mindy). I think we replaced them several times over. The food was phenomenal. And the conversation was even better. What a wonderful morning!

Next year, we will do it all again, and we've already chosen our team name: Pooper Troopers.

Speaking of poop, I can't pass up this opportunity to ask you a very important question. Have you done your duty and checked your booty? Colon cancer is treatable if discovered early. What are you waiting for? Go get that colonoscopy.

It's a Girl!

Here, after six months, is the next chapter of my love story with Bill. Please note that these events occurred in 2006, when I was pregnant with Allyson.

Excerpts from Allyson's Journal
Friday 1/6/06
Last night, Bill was lying beside me, and I was propped on pillows. He was cupping my belly, and he said he felt something. But his hand was too high, and he was feeling gas bubbles. We laughed. He left his hand in the same spot, feeling the movements of my digestion. I felt very loved.

When I rolled to my side, Bill wrapped his arm around me. I suddenly asked, "Was this what you imagined when you thought about marriage?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I guess it was."

I said it was much better than I ever imagined.

Saturday 1/6/06
I forgot one of the best moments of the Vancouver trip: When Bill was throwing snowballs at Minday and Brandy, he said, "Don't think I won't hit you just because you're sitting next to my pregnant wife!" There was a little pride in his tone when he called me that, and I felt proud, too.

Monday 1/16/06
We went to church, and I was enjoying the worship service. I whispered to Bill that the baby must be enjoying my singing; I'd read that babies at this stage can hear internal sounds such as their mother's voice.

When we were singing "Face Down," I was very moved and began to cry. The song says, "I'll fall, face down, as your glory shines around." I suddenly thought of what the baby might be experiencing. When I feel God's presence, I feel it throughout my body, as if I am bathed in a peaceful glow. I imagined that peace settling over our baby, imagined it shining with God's glory, and I was overwhelmed and almost wept.

Sunday 1/22/06
I'm struggling today with worry. Ironically, I worry about worrying, over the effect it could have on my baby. I've read that babies' personalities might be shaped by their mothers' emotional state during pregnancy and in the infant days.

I worry when the baby has quiet days.... Yesterday I didn't feel a lot of movement, though I did feel some. I was very busy cleaning, and I think all that activity could have lulled Tator Tot to sleep. Today, though, I haven't been overly active, yet I've felt even less movement. That's not to say I've felt nothing, but the movements have been sparse and seemingly less vigorous.... I know with the rational part of my mind that worrying won't help, and that the feelings are normal. (There's a section in my pregnancy book on these fears.)

My heart tells me I can trust God to take care of me and my baby no matter what happens. I know I don't have to be anxious, that I can present my requests to God with thanksgiving, and the peace of God will guard my heart and mind (Phillipians 4:4-9). I also know he has a plan for me, that He ordained all of my days before one of them came to be (Psalm 139). I know that He works in all things for my good, and that absolutely nothing can separate me from the love of Christ (Romans 8).

I'm thankful that God led me to memorize these passages that I need now. But so far, I've been unable to shake this nagging anxiety despite going over my scriptures and praying. I feel frustrated that I can fall so easily into this old trap of worry, the same worry as before, but with different surrounding circumstances.

Lord, I know you carried me through my struggles with fear and worry in the past, and I know you can do that now. Teach me the lesson again, Lord.... Be with me tonight when I share this with Bill. Draw us together, and please encourage me through him.

Wednesday 1/25/06
I had a good talk with Bill after Ethan went to bed. We sat on the couch in the loft, and Bill held my hand as I cried. He said he knew nothing he could say could take away my worry, but he was very supportive. I asked him to pray for me, though I knew that he prefers for me to do the praying. He said a very nice prayer that made me feel comforted and loved. He prayed for me first, then the baby. He asked God to help me feel secure and very loved, that I would know I would be okay no matter what happens with the baby. He asked God to cover the baby and make it grow strong and healthy. And he asked God to make the baby kick now and again to ease my worries.

It was the longest and most heartfelt prayer I'd ever heard from Bill, and I was touched. I realized that a very good effect had come out of my struggle, and I was thankful.

Tuesday 1/31/06
We had a sonogram today. We're having a girl! I can't believe I'm going to be a mother to a girl, then a young woman! I sort of had a feeling it was a girl, but of course I didn't really know....

In the car, I didn't make it out of the parking lot before I started sobbing. I started imagining a little girl in a ruffled dress, a preteen getting her first bra, her first period, her first date as a teenager. I just let the tears fall as I contemplated the wonder of watching our girl grow into a woman.

I must have been crying pretty hard because my cell phone rang, and it was Bill checking on me. He was in his truck, taking Ethan back to school while I headed to the airport for my flight to Chicago. He said, "What are you doing back there?"

I laughed and admitted, "I'm crying." I assured him they were happy tears, and I asked if he was happy. He said very. I asked if he was afraid about raising a girl, and he said, "Of course." He told me to take it easy and not get into a wreck.

I had to call him back a couple minutes later to report that she had woken up and was kicking. During the sonogram, she'd been sleeping, and no amount of jiggling and poking would rouse her.

But she was beautiful! We could see her head, her arms and legs, her fingers and toes, her spine and ribs, and... her face! We had a clear view of her profile, and we could make out her features. She was sleeping with her arms crossed over her face....

Ethan didn't say too much during the exam, but he told Bill later that he'd gotten his wish--he really wanted a baby sister. And when he got back to school, he showed his sono picture to the receptionist.

January 2006

It strikes me as I read my thoughts from six years ago that I am learning the same lessons about worry and trust yet again! And just as I said then, I'm finding that God continues to carry me through my struggles. And that something good can come out of them. Thank you, Jesus!

A Little Sweetness to Brighten Your Day

I ran across this old video of Allyson the other day, and it brought me such joy I thought I'd share it with you. It's from November 2010, when she was four. She was rehearsing for her Christmas program. Enjoy!

Just Enough Manna

Ever since school started a few weeks ago, Allyson has been asking to walk to school, but I've been busy with work and other obligations, and it wasn't until this past Thursday that I actually walked with her. I woke up with a smile on my face that day and thought, "This is going to be a good day."

Bill and I managed to get her ready 15 minutes early, which was quite a feat given how slowly she moves in the morning, and the two of us set out at 7:35, just as the sun was climbing through the rosy glow of the morning sky. It was a glorious day, and with each step I felt my spirits rising.

Allyson held my hand the whole way there, often lacing her little fingers through mine. She told me all the reasons she loves first grade, the most important being her beloved teacher, whom she was thrilled to see at our church recently. We talked about the day to come and prayed that God would help Allyson to enjoy learning and to share His love with others.

When we got to the crosswalk where Ethan used to dismiss me when baby Allyson and I walked him to school--he was in fourth grade then--I asked Allyson if she'd like me to cross with her. Of course she would! I grinned.

But when we got to the door, she told me I could hug her, but not kiss her. "That would be embarrassing in public," she explained. I laughed as I gathered her into a tight hug, and laughed harder when she couldn't resist slipping me a furtive peck.

On the mile back home, I talked with God, thanking him for the joys of the day, and then just enjoyed walking in silence with Him. When I got home I felt so happy--HAPPY!--that I just had to send a quick text to some loved ones about what a great morning I was having.

My sister Melody replied, "God gives us just enough 'manna' for one day at a time. He is faithful! Praise the Lord!"

As I look back over my week, I can see that manna is the best way to describe the little (and big) ways God has reminded me of his love. I haven't undergone a radical transformation so that suddenly I can trust God and let go of all doubts forever. Instead, I've come to the realization that it's okay to be weak some days because God always has the encouragement I need, just when I need it. But I have to reach out and take the manna every day. Like the Israelites, I can never collect extra for the next day.

Here are just a few examples of the manna God has given me this week:

• Phone calls, emails, and text messages from loved ones
• Hugs all around at Tuesday night Bible study
• Laughing with my Bible study friends during introductions as I recounted the story of my trip to the fabric store with Gentle when we decided we were going to make cloth pads
• Multiple reminders to BE STILL
• Reading a passage in Romans 5 about perseverance, character, and hope, and then having someone else read it to me the very next day
• A card from a friend just when I needed it most, reminding me that God is holding me close to His heart
• The way my friend Angel's face lit up when I walked into Pilates on Thursday morning
• At Ethan's drumline competition, recognizing the faint strains of "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" on the marimbas during another school's performance, amid the clashing cymbals and the snares' staccato rhythms. This same song had so encouraged me at church last Sunday. Encountering it twice in one week shocked me since it's an old hymn I scarcely ever hear. 

And then there was the unexpected laughter yesterday morning at 6:30. I was taking Ethan to band practice before school, and three times when I tried to start the car, the engine wouldn't turn over. After it finally started, Ethan, who literally never utters more than a grunt on the way to school, remarked that I need a new car. 

"We have to replace Bill's truck first," I said. "It's much older. It'll be a year or two before we save the money to replace this car." 

"You should get a moped," Ethan mused. I chuckled, pretty sure he was joking. "My friend Bryce's dad has one," he went on.

"Yes, we saw Brice on the back of it on the way to band camp, remember?" I laughed at the mental image of Bryce's father, a former body builder, hunched over the handlebars with Bryce clinging to his waist. 

"They get 50 miles to the gallon," Ethan said. "And if you get one that's freeway legal, they go up to 70 miles per hour." 

"Yes, I should get one." I snickered. "And you can ride on the back in the mornings." 

"No way."

"Of course, it might be crowded when we need to take a friend home," I said solemnly.

"No way. Not happening."

"I'll post a picture on my blog. Hey, you could take Meggie's color guard flag and let it flap along behind us," I said. And then the laughter broke out. Not the little ha-ha kind, but belly laughs that filled my entire body with joy.

Wonder of wonders, Ethan laughed too. At 6:30 in the morning. Sounds like divine intervention to me.

Speaking of school, I've been meaning to post the pictures from the first day. Here they are...

Allyson in a Tartan Skirt She Picked Because It Reminded Her of Bill's Grandma, Who Was Scottish

Ethan and Allyson Enjoying First-Day-Of-School Ice Cream 

And here is some of the incredible scenery I mentioned in my last entry, in Portland, Oregon.

Hiked to Top of Multnomah Falls With Friends Nancy and Rita

Rita Snapped This Shot of Me at the Top

You must have been praying for me. Please keep it up!

He Will Continue to Deliver Us

This is one of those entries I am hesitant to write, for two reasons. 1) It's humiliating to admit my weakness so soon after my last, top-of-the mountain post. 2) I know some of you worry about me, and I don't want you to. In any case, I really must share because it's another one of those times when God amazes me way too much to keep it to myself....

Remember how I said in my last post, "I'm sure this trial is far from over"? Of course I was right, but even I didn't expect that my joy would be so short-lived. Within 48 hours, I began to entertain worries about the future, and by the following morning, this past Sunday, I was in a full-blown anxiety attack. It wasn't even the worries about the future that got me, it was the frustration that I could be so vulnerable to my negative thoughts even after such an amazing revelation about why God is allowing me to go through this difficult time.

My typical tendency toward anxiety had been compounded by lack of sleep, and after an hour of trying to read the Bible and pray, I had myself convinced that I was surely losing my sanity. They'll have to carry me off, I thought. I just don't see how I can go on.

At that point, I sent a text message to my sister Amy asking that she and Mom request prayer for me at their church that morning. "I feel like I'm drowning," I told her.

And then I sat on the back porch drowning in my tears, gripped by a formless fear that constricted my chest. "Please God," I whispered. "Please. Please rescue me."

Amy's response encouraged me a bit, especially since she said she and Mom were praying against fear even though I hadn't told her I was afraid. But I still had a hard time holding back tears when I woke Allyson and made her breakfast. If she saw the tears that splashed into my cold cereal, she didn't say anything.

The first song at church was Our God is Greater, by Chris Tomlin. When the music minister reminded us that God is bigger than any problem we could have brought in with us, I started to sob. I cried through most of the worship service, while Bill silently squeezed my hand. These weren't the happy tears I usually shed during worship, nor were they tears of relief. They were tears of hopelessness and longing.

But when Pastor Bill stepped out to deliver his message on fear, everything changed in an instant. Here's the verse that flashed on the screen:

For God has not given us a spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind. (2 Timothy 1:7)

I grabbed Bill's arm. "Hey, that's the verse Amy just texted me. She and Mom were praying that for me this morning!" I could barely keep my voice to a whisper.

"Weird," he whispered back.

"Not weird, wonderful," I said. "That's God."

The sermon was perfect for my situation. What stuck with me most was the admonition to be persistent in my faith, to expect opposition from the enemy but to keep my eyes on God's promises.

I walked out of the church in awe, humbled at God's grace. I felt ashamed to need so many reassurances, and grateful for His patience with me. I felt very loved. But I still felt terribly sad and tired.

Bill and Allyson dropped me at the airport that afternoon for my flight to Portland. I passed through security numbly and then wandered through the airport looking for something to eat, wayward tears slipping down my cheeks at random moments. I didn't even bother to brush them away. The airport was so crowded that strangers kept bumping me, yet I felt utterly invisible.

I called Amy and Mom from the gate and told them the story of the pastor's message. We were all excited about how God had so clearly spoken to Amy about my fear, and how he'd given me exactly the same message twice in one hour.

But I was still teary when I ended the call and walked down the jetway. God, I thought, could you please sit me next to someone kind? But then I dismissed the idea, for of course the seat assignments had been arranged long before.

The girl next to me did seem quite pleasant, and she willingly loaned me her only pen for the first hour of the flight while I poured out my heart in my journal. After that she took a nap, and I read several chapters of The Hunger Games, which was quite captivating but not at all cheerful.

I closed the book when I was down to the last three chapters, saving the rest for the return flight this Saturday. I closed my eyes then, but sleep wouldn't come. Instead, the scary thoughts tried to worm their way back in. "You're all alone on this plane. There's no one to talk to, no one who understands. You're probably going crazy."

I opened my eyes and stared out over the wing at the fluffiest white clouds I'd ever seen. The sky was full of God's majesty, but all I wanted was a friend to hold my hand. I turned away from the window with a sigh. My seatmate was awake, and she was looking at me. "Are you enjoying that?" she asked, gesturing to my book.

I shook my head slightly to clear my thoughts. "Hunger Games? Oh, yes. It's a great book. Have you read it?"

She had, and she also saw the movie, which she said was good but nowhere near as good as the book. We talked easily for a few minutes, and then gradually the conversation turned more serious. I learned that she is a nurse manager who works in an addiction treatment center, and that they work with their patients to help them overcome negative thought patterns.

So I took a deep breath and told her about my negative thought patterns. She was kind, compassionate, and very reassuring. We talked about scriptures that apply to my situation, agreeing that the only way to combat the lies is by replacing them with truth.

We talked for over an hour. As the plane made its final approach, I told her how I'd prayed that God would put me next to someone kind, and I thanked her for ministering to a stranger. She told me I'd ministered to her just as much. She'd had a hard trip, and she hated to have missed church, and the best thing that could have happened was having someone to talk about Jesus with. She also confessed that she never talks to people on planes--neither do I--and that she is very shy and doesn't like to start conversations with strangers. So neither of us had a doubt that God had orchestrated our encounter.

When we pulled into the gate, I finally thought to introduce myself. She said her name was Molly. When we parted ways at the terminal, she gave me a hug. I smiled all the way to the hotel as I marveled at God's providence. He knew all along what I would ask, and He'd already granted my request. At the same time, he met Molly's need even though she hadn't asked anything.

In the two days since, God has continued to lavish me with little signs of his love. I've laughed with colleagues whom I haven't seen in two years, eaten salmon that melted in my mouth, walked everywhere in the most glorious weather, drunk in the sight of towering trees that belong on a serenity poster, and eaten cookies and scones lovingly made by the locals on my team. Today at lunch was the icing on the cake. I met a girl from class who is a fervent Christian. She's my age, and we seem to have a lot in common. We shared tips for insomnia, and we talked about Jesus. When lunch was over, she gave me a hug, and I called her my sister.

I was positively grinning as I walked back to class because I realized that truly I had just found a sister I'd never met before. How incredible is that? I have sisters and brothers everywhere. How could I ever feel alone?

Again, I'll readily admit that this trial is far from over, but at this moment I am overflowing with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit (Romans 15:13). And the next time I feel like I'm drowning, I know God will pull me out of the deep waters. He will rescue me from my powerful enemy who is too strong for me, and he will bring me out into a spacious place. He will rescue me because he delights in me (Psalm 18:16-19).

Now, a request for you. Please don't worry about me. Instead, pray for me when I come to mind. As Paul says in 2 Corinthians 1, I felt in my heart the sentence of death, but it happened so that I might not rely on myself but on God, who raises the dead. "He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope, that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers" (emphasis added).

You keep helping me by your prayers, and God will continue to deliver me.

Steps Up to the Very Gates

As you've seen from my last few posts, I've been going through a very difficult season in my life. I've been able to see spiritual growth from day one, mainly because all of my pain and fear has drawn me to Jesus day in and day out, morning to night. But the sorrow has worn me out. There have been days--and sometimes just hours--when I could lift up my eyes to see what God is surely doing. Times when I could say with all my heart, "Lord, I trust you. I surrender my broken dreams to you because I know that what you have planned for me is so much better."

But those moments of faith were not able to stand against each fresh wave of pain and disappointment. The disappointment was often with myself. Why can I not learn the lesson and move on? Why am I so weak? Why can't I have a steadfast heart?

In the past week or so, I did have some breakthroughs. I could feel God changing my heart, and it excited me. But the enemy redoubled his efforts, and I felt so beaten down that I longed for heaven. "I'm so tired," I sobbed to God. "I'm tired of hurting, hurting, hurting. This is too hard for me.... No, I know your plan is good. Not my will, but yours. But please help me see past this storm to believe I will have joy again."

On one of those down days, I called one of my dear aunts. She prayed with me and really encouraged me, and she admonished me to reach out to friends and family for prayer when I am down. So I did that. I sent texts to all my friends when my heart was hurting. I held hands with my sister and prayed for deliverance. And I called two other aunts when I felt like giving up. Through all of that, I received just enough encouragement to go on a little longer.

And then came yesterday. Oh, hallelujah! It started in the morning when my dear friend Gentle phoned to let me know she'd been praying for me the day before. That alone encouraged me because I hadn't told her how despondent I'd felt on Wednesday. She said she asked God for a verse to pray over me, and he gave her Deuteronomy 30:11-13, which at first didn't make a lot of sense to her:

¹¹ Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach. ¹² It is not up in heaven, so that you have to ask, “Who will ascend into heaven to get it and proclaim it to us so we may obey it?” ¹³ Nor is it beyond the sea, so that you have to ask, “Who will cross the sea to get it and proclaim it to us so we may obey it?” ¹⁴ No, the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may obey it.

It took her quite awhile to figure out why the verse sounded so familiar; she had seen it in Joyce Meyer's Battlefield of the Mind. That book happened to be sitting on her nightstand, and she flipped through it eagerly, only to find the verse inside an entire chapter devoted to why God allows us to walk through difficult times.

So yesterday morning, Gentle read me the verses and some of the chapter from the Battlefield book, which she is going to lend me. I was greatly encouraged, but still felt that dull ache in my heart.

In the afternoon, I found a confirmation of the word God gave Gentle from a most unlikely source, an email from Ethan's percussion teacher. At the end of all the band business for the coming weeks, he wrote a couple of paragraphs about how the kids have been responding to the challenges of their rigorous practice and performance schedule. This sentence in particular leapt off the screen and stirred something in my spirit:

I aim to create an opportunity for the students to feel like they are being pushed too hard towards something they cannot achieve only for them to find out that they have achieved what they thought not possible and that in the end anything is possible.

I was floored. I thanked God profusely for this confirmation and for what He is going to achieve in me through this thing that I thought was too difficult for me. God, you are so good! I thought.

I guess God knows me well enough to know that delivering a message two times in one day wasn't quite enough. In order for it to really get planted in my spirit and burst into bloom, I needed to hear it a third time.

I had missed my morning quiet time yesterday because I'd had insomnia the night before, so I planned to do my Bible study last night. But the evening didn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped because Bill is out of town, and it just takes me a lot longer to get through all the chores and routines without him. So by the time I had a chance to work on my Bible study it was nearly 10:00, the bedtime I'd set for myself.

I hemmed and hawed. I needed my sleep. I'd lost sleep the night before, and I know that I don't deal as well with stresses and challenges when I'm tired. But I needed to hear from God. I don't deal well at all with challenges and stresses when I haven't spent time with God.

"I love you more than sleep," I said at last, settling crosslegged on the floor of my closet with my Bible and Beth Moore's Breaking Free study, which has been a lifeline to me during these struggles. The topic for the day was The Display of His Glory.

I came wide awake when I read these sentences in paragraph two:

...God's glory [is] the way He makes Himself known or shows Himself mighty. Therefore, when God seeks to glorify Himself through an individual, He proves who He is by causing the believer to be what is otherwise impossible and to do what is otherwise impossible.

Three times, the same message! I read on feverishly.

I found that, according to 2 Corinthians 4:7, God's glory that shines through us is held in our earthly bodies, "jars of clay," to show "that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us."

Of course! I thought. This is why I've been so weak. So that I would know it is only God's power that delivers me, not my own strength. Of course this trial is too difficult to me. That's why God has not left me to go through it alone.

I wanted to stop right there and glory in this knowledge, but I just had to keep reading.

Beth led me through the account of the Israelites crying out to God for deliverance from their slavery (Exodus 2). I read about God striking down the firstborn of all the Egyptians while passing over the Israelites and about Pharaoh letting them go (Exodus 12). And then I read about how they left loaded down with the riches of their enemies, willingly handed over: gold, silver, jewelry, costly fabrics.  

Next came a quote from Streams in the Desert, by Mrs. Charles E. Cowman:

The gospel is so arranged and the gift of God so great that you may take the very enemies that fight you and the forces that are arrayed against you and make them steps up to the very gates of heaven and into the presence of God.... God wants every one of his children to be more than a conqueror.... You know when one army is more than conqueror it is likely to drive the other from the field, to get all the ammunition, the food and supplies, and to take posessession of the whole.... There are spoils to be taken!

Now, this next part of the story may shock you. You might even think I'm a lunatic. But I'm willing to take that chance....

When I read the part about stepping all over my enemy and up to the very gates of heaven, I cried out, "Hallelujah!" And then I read it again. And again. And then I stood up in my closet and danced for joy. I spun in circles and jumped up and down and laughed. I cried and laughed some more. And then I praised God for about 20 minutes.

"Yes, yes!" I repeated over and over. "I am more than a conqueror through Jesus who loves me!"

Yes.

I'm sure this trial is far from over, but I WILL hang onto this treasure from the darkness. Not only am I going to survive this trial, but when I come out on the other side, I will be stronger than ever before. And not only that, but the things that the enemy has been trying to steal with me, God will restore them double. I don't know how that works in this case, but I believe it. I am going to emerge from this dark valley loaded down with riches, the spoils from my enemy who thought he would destroy me.

Again, I wanted to just go to bed and fall asleep rejoicing, but I felt compelled to read on. And I'm glad I did, because then I saw the most delicious irony as I read on about the deliverance of the Israelites (Exodus 35). Guess what they did with all that plunder? They gave it right back to God. They freely offered gold, silver, bronze, fine yarns and linens, and acacia wood for the tabernacle and its furnishings. They gave olive oil and spices for the anointing oil and the incense. And they gave precious stones to be mounted on the priests' garments.

So they took the possessions of their enemies and used them to glorify God! Hallelujah!

And that, my friends, is why I sat down at 6:30 in the morning to tell you about all of this. I want God to be glorified through my life. I want to tell others of his all-surpassing power, so that other people who are suffering devastating trials can find the courage to believe their deliverance is coming. Consider yourself told.

Interrupted By Love

Over the last week or so, I felt I was winning the battle against my ongoing personal struggle. The key was praising God for my circumstances. Each time I felt hurt or resentful, I immediately praised God for the work He's been doing in my heart. I praised Him because I trust His plan, and I know He can bring something good out of everything that happens in my life (Romans 8:28).

On Thursday morning, I reflected on the victory I'd experienced over my negative thinking and wondered whether I was truly changing my thought patterns, or just suppressing my negative emotions. "I want to keep praising you," I prayed, "but I don't want to stuff down all my emotions. Help me find the balance."

It was that same day that I suffered a big setback. My heart hurt all day long. I felt alone, angry, even bitter. I tried to praise God and thank Him for continuing to conform me to His likeness, but it didn't work. That is to say, maybe praising God made some difference in the spiritual realm, but my thoughts and emotions continued to spiral. I even knew that I was being disobedient to dwell on these negative feelings instead of surrendering them to Jesus, but I felt powerless to stop.

I was up most of the night on Thursday, and on Friday I felt a deeper, duller sadness as well as a tightness in my chest that signalled the old anxiety returning. It was a busy day with no time for moping because we'd taken Allyson to the Hawaiian Falls water park to celebrate the last day of summer break. She was fearless, riding the steepest water slides without hesitation, flushed with triumph when she reached the bottom. I enjoyed seeing her have fun and also enjoyed riding the slides myself on some level, but the stone in my heart just felt colder and colder as the day wore on.

Last night, Bill had hockey, so Allyson and I spent some quality time reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and then comparing the scene of Aslan's death and resurrection with Jesus's crucifixion and resurrection story in the book of Matthew. This was a precious time to me, but I was still looking forward to some quiet time in my prayer closet.

Naturally, Allyson's willingness to settle down was inversely proportional to my desperate need for some alone time. I prayed with her, cuddled, with her, brought her drinks, and finally started threatening to spank. Nothing helped.

At her request, I stayed in the TV room, a stone's throw from her bedroom, instead of going into my closet to pray. Instead of praying out loud, I poured out my heart in my journal, writing out my prayer for God to help me let go of my own desires and submit to His will.

All the while, Satan harangued me with lies: "You haven't made any progress at all.... You haven't changed one bit.... You're back at square one.... You don't have what it takes to follow Jesus. Maybe you should just give up."

"I can't give up," I thought. "What other hope do I have except in Jesus? Please, God. Please."

Just then, Allyson hollered, "Mommy, please come cuddle me again!"

I groaned. "No," I yelled. "I already cuddled you."

"Please!"

"Go to SLEEP!!"

"Please, Mommy. I'm really scared."

I stomped into her room. "Okay, just for a minute, but you need to go to SLEEP. I am so tired and it's been a long day and I'm sad and I really, really need to pray and you keep interrupting."

When I heard my own harsh words, remorse pierced my heart, and I started to cry. Through all of my struggles for the last three months, I've tried to shield Allyson from my sorrow and not burden her with my pain. But there was no holding these tears back.

I collapsed onto my knees and laid my forehead on the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry," I whispered, and then I just sobbed.

Gentle fingers rubbed at my scalp, tangling in my short hair. "Everything's going to be okay, Mommy."

I sniffled. "That feels nice, Allyson."

"It feels nice to me too. I love to rub your hair."

As she rubbed my hair, Allyson kept up a stream of soothing words that no doubt came straight from my Father. "Everything will get better, Mommy. It doesn't feel like anything is changing, but remember how you told me that God does things in His own time? We just have to be patient and keep believing. And we need to rejoice and feel in our hearts like our prayer is already answered."

"You're right, baby. Will you pray for me tonight?"

"I will if you'll start."

So I repented aloud for clinging to my self pity and desiring my own will. Allyson piped up then and prayed that God would help us feel His love settling over us. We took turns praying whatever came to our hearts.

After we said amen, Allyson tugged at my arm. "Come up on the bed with me so I can really cuddle you."

I climbed in obediently and pulled her to my chest. She nestled under my arm and nuzzled my neck. And then she started to chatter. Part of me figured I should tell her to go to sleep, but I didn't want to spoil the sweetness.

"I think it's hard for people to change," she said. "Especially adults, because they've been the same way a long time."

"Yes, it is. Especially when we want to go our own way. But going our own way brings us heartache. I know this from experience, Allyson."

"It's like when we go to Canada," she mused. "Think about us flying all that way, and when we're almost there, I remember that I left Allum at home. We can't go back for him because we're almost there."

"No, we couldn't go back." I smiled, wondering where she was going with this cute analogy.

"It's like that with you, Mommy. You've gone a long way on this path with Jesus. You can't go back now."

Chills ran down my arms. There was no way she could have known my thoughts of giving up. Surely God was speaking directly through my six-year-old daughter!

"Thank you for reminding me of that, sweetie. You're right. I can't turn back now."

Just then I heard Bill's truck pull into the driveway. "Okay, no more tears," I said. "I don't want Daddy to find me crying."

But Allyson wasn't finished. "Remember what you told me. Sometimes you have to let your tears out. If you hold them in, it makes you sad much longer. But if you let the tears out, you'll feel better."

"Yes, baby." I kissed her cheek, but then she puckered her lips for a kiss on the mouth, and we made a smacking sound. "You are such a treasure, Allyson. I'm so thankful to have you in my life."

"Me too, Mommy. Now will you ask Daddy to come snuggle with me? I've been waiting and waiting for him to come home."

While Bill snuggled with Allyson, I tucked myself into bed. Heeding Allyson's advice, I let the tears pour out in a torrent as I whispered my prayers, surrendering all of my desires and asking God to change my heart, to make my heart want what He wants for me. It hurt so much, but as I cried and gave up on my own hopes, a peace settled over me that truly surpassed my understanding. And I slept like a baby.

Today, I can't stop smiling over how God "interrupted" my prayer time to shower me with love through my sweet girl. Oh, how He loves me!

My Treasure and Me This Afternoon

Back to Bacon in No Time

Today was just a wonderful day, all around. We were amazed at how much better Dad looked, and at his good spirits. When Rick and his daughter Mindy went to his room, he tried very hard to communicate something very important. They found a piece of paper and a pen and held them out for him to write...

Base?

Somehow they figured out that he was talking about baseball, but what about it? He gestured to Rick's phone, and after some discussion they realized he wanted them to check the Rangers' scores. "I'm not sure you really want to know," Rick warned. "It was pretty bad."

He nodded that he did indeed want to know, so Rick broke the news. The Rangers had lost three straight games to the Yankees.

When Rick recounted the story back in the crowded waiting room, we were all encouraged. If Dad was well enough to wonder about baseball, that had to be a good sign.

Amy and I went in next, and the smile that lit Dad's eyes at the sight of us warmed my heart. He reached for my hand and I clutched it for the duration of my visit. When Amy left the room, I stood quietly and watched his eyelids getting heavy.

"Dad," I said, "I'm going to pray some scriptures over you now, but you don't really have to listen. You just close your eyes and rest."

He nodded, eyes closed.

I prayed all of Psalm 139 over him, with two minor modifications. "If Dad goes up to the heavens, you are there. If he goes into the operating room, you are there.... When Dad awakes from surgery, you will still be with him."

At that second tweak, Dad squeezed my hand firmly. He hadn't been asleep after all. We just grinned at each other then. "I love you so much, Dad. I'm thankful to be here holding your hand." He nodded.

His ICU nurse, Sarah, came in then. Very short and jolly, she appeared to be Indian. She rubbed Dad's bald head and looked in his eyes. "You are such a sweet baba," she said. "You are going to be just fine. You know that, right?"

He smiled.

"He's always smiling, this one. He is always a sweet baba. Yes, you will be fine. You will be back with me very soon."

My eyes filled with tears. "We appreciate your kindness," I said.

She beamed. 

Sarah's predictions were correct. Dad came through the surgery with flying colors. His blood pressure was good, his bowel tissue was healthy, and they were able to reconnect the cut sections. The surgeon told us afterward that he has lost very little of his small intestine, and his nutrient absorption will not be affected. Everything should work just as it did before.

When he asked for questions, Mom informed him that Dad has been eating bacon three times a week. "Shouldn't he stop that?" she asked.

He laughed. "If your husband makes it through all this and gets back home, I think bacon will be the least of his worries. Yes, he should be up to eating bacon again soon."

"Let him eat his bacon, Mom," several of us said.

When Mom and I went to his room back in ICU, we were surprised to find him wide awake. His breathing tube had been removed, and he was anxious to talk after two days of enforced silence.

First he described two dreams. During his first surgery on Tuesday, he dreamed that I hit a grand slam for the Rangers. During today's surgery, he dreamed that Rick's son Mitchell was pitching for the Yankees.

After that, he gave Mom instructions about several of his weekly mowing customers. "Tell them I won't be able to mow for the rest of the year," he said. I smiled at the implication that he'll be back out there mowing next spring. I have no doubt that he will.

Next he told us how he felt when he was wheeled down the hall for his surgery. "I got very anxious," he said. "My whole body got stiff, and I didn't want to go into surgery."

I imagined the horror of feeling that anxious and not even being able to communicate. But I was wrong. Dad was perfectly able to communicate with the only One who could help him.

"I prayed, 'Lord, help me. I don't want to go into surgery like this. Help me be quiet and have peace.' Immediately, I became perfectly calm. I wasn't afraid at all."

My eyes grew wet. Dad had found a treasure in the darkness! "Praise the Lord!" I said.

When Rick, Mindy, and I went in to say goodbye this afternoon, Rick happily informed Dad that the Rangers were leading the Yankees by four runs in the ninth inning. "But the bad news is the Yankees are now up to bat."

"It's okay," I said. "With Mitchell pitching, we have nothing to worry about."

It was so good to see Dad laugh.

Please Pray for Dad

After three days in the hospital, my dad had emergency surgery last night for a bowel obstruction. He was supposed to have a second surgery today to reattach the cut sections of his small intestine, but his blood pressure was too low.

Here are the details that I've posted on Dad's blog:

8/14/12:

Dad was in surgery for only about an hour and had a successful result, so far. They resected two segments of bowel, one which was kinked and dead, and another which had adhered to his abdominal wall. Both were due to scar tissue from his previous gallbladder surgery. The dead section perforated when they touched it, but no damage was done. The doctor told us if they had waited until tomorrow as originally planned, it might have perforated and caused systemic infection. So we are very thankful.

He came through the surgery quite well considering how sick he is. His blood pressure was good. The doctor remarked that, given how sick he is, it's a wonder he was able to sit in the hospital bed for three days.

They didn't close the incision yet because they need to watch his small intestine. There was a large section that they were very concerned about at the beginning of the surgery, but once they untwisted the kinked section, it started looking better. If they don't find any other diseased sections in his small intestine tomorrow, they will do surgery in the afternoon to reconnect his bowel.

In the meantime, he is on a respirator and they are keeping him sedated so he won't get agitated. They plan to take him off the respirator in the morning, briefly, so his lungs won't get used to not breathing.

Please pray for his heart and lungs to stay strong and pray against infection, which is the biggest danger. And pray for a successful surgery tomorrow afternoon. After that he will likely be in the ICU for at least a week and will remain in the hospital until he is able to eat again.

This could be a very difficult recovery for him, so please pray that Dad's spirits remain good.

Thank you.

8/15/12:

Dad was doing much better today, off the ventilator and intermittently awake and alert. He smiled and squeezed our hands and wrote notes on a tablet. He was unable to speak because he still has a breathing tube.

They were not able to perform the second operation today because his blood pressure was too low. For that reason, they reduced his sedation to help bring it up and also are giving him medication to increase his blood pressure. 

His doctor told us they will have to operate in tomorrow regardless. They will be able to reattach his bowel under three conditions:

1) They don't find any more dead tissue to remove.

2) His blood pressure is high enough.

3) He is off the BP med or on a very low dose. This is because the medication is a pressor, which restricts his blood vessels. In order for the bowels to reconnect and heal properly, they will need good perfusion (blood flow).

If they have to keep him on a higher dose of medication, or if they have to resect more bowel, they will not reattach it but will create up to three ostomies. This means they will pull the detached bowel sections up to the surface of his abdomen and he will no longer have normal bowel function. This would be a permanent arrangement as it would be too dangerous to perform surgery again later. 

So please continue to pray for dad:

-protection from infection

-blood pressure to come to a safe level

-relief from pain

-a successful surgery

We are not clear on the time of his surgery tomorrow, most likely mid afternoon. Thank you for your love and support!

Mom and Dad at one of Dad's Favorite Places - Nov 2011

Couldn't Be Aunt Sarah

Some of you may want to sit down for this one....

About six weeks ago a thought occurred to me that I never would have expected. Out of the blue, I decided I wanted a tattoo. I don't mean that I wanted a cool tattoo to make myself feel young and hip and a little dangerous. I mean I wanted a particular tattoo, not as a decoration, but as a declaration.

This was no small decision for me; I have to admit that in the past I'd been guilty of judging people with tattoos, especially women. I thought it was a little on the trashy side, to be honest. So I prayed about it for a few weeks before I mentioned it to anyone. Most of all, I wanted to honor God with my body, his temple. I didn't find anything in the Bible to discourage me; in fact, while I was praying about the decision I ran across a scripture in Isaiah about the Israelites writing on their hands, "The Lord's,"--a label remarkably similar to what I had in mind. How did they write it on their hands, I wondered. Could they have used tattoos?

After a few weeks, I felt confident in my decision, and I began to make preparations. I asked my ex-husband where he and his wife had gotten their tattoos, and then I called my sister, a gifted artist whose usual medium is cakes.

"Emily, I need a favor."

"Sure, what?"

"Brace yourself.... I want you to draw me a tattoo."

"What??"

"A tattoo."
"For you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure about this?"

After I assured her that I'd thought this through and prayed about it, she said she'd be happy to do the drawing. I told her I wanted a cross--rugged, not ornate--with a banner draped over that said "His."

She said she'd get it ready as soon as possible, and she also agreed to keep this to herself.

Her 15-year-old daughter Hillary saw her drawing and asked what she was making. "It's a tattoo design," she said.

"Who's it for?"

"I can't tell you."

When Hillary saw the design, she immediately thought of me. "That reminds me of Aunt Sarah. But it couldn't be Aunt Sarah. She would NEVER get a tattoo."

Emily just smiled.

So when Hillary saw me slink out of their house a few days later carrying the tattoo in its photo envelope, she was utterly shocked. And so was the rest of my family when they saw it yesterday, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

This past Thursday I showed up at the tattoo parlor with a canteen of water, Emily's drawing, and my husband, for moral support. Once the artist, Jamie, had set everything up, he invited me to climb up on the table. "You do know this is going to hurt, right?" he asked.

I smiled grimly. "Yes, I know."

"This your first one?"

"Yes."

"It won't be so bad. Imagine getting a bad sunburn and then having someone draw on it with a ballpoint pen."

That's not so bad, I thought.

Bill interjected, "No, it's more like a cat scratch."

"On a sunburn?"

He nodded. I decided I liked Jamie's analogy better.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. "Well, I've been through natural childbirth with absolutely no drugs," I said, both to impress him and to reassure myself. "It can't be much worse than that."

"You'll be fine, then," Jamie said. "This should be a piece of cake."

He started by applying a template to my foot, the site I'd chosen because it will give me the option to cover it up if I want to.

As we waited for it to dry, I sat trembling on the table.

Trying to Be Brave

He turned on the tattoo needle (gun?). "You're going to remember that buzzing," Bill said.

"Yep," Jamie said. "I dream about it at night."

It reminded me of buzzing bees, and it felt a lot like a bee sting--a bee sting that lasted 40 minutes! I think it hurt worse than I expected, but I took it like a woman. I didn't cry, or whine. I just gritted my teeth and clutched Bill's hand. Sometimes I almost got used to it, but then he would go over a bone and I would drawn in my breath and clench my teeth. Apparently the top of the foot is one of the most painful places to get a tattoo, definitely not recommended for your first. But as this is my only, I couldn't save it for the second.

About 5 Minutes In, No Turning Back Now

Here's a mystery. Even though the pain was relentless, a combination of generalized stinging plus sharp sticks moving randomly over my foot, the time went by fairly quickly. We made small talk and listened to stories from Jamie's 20 years of tattooing. Another mystery was that I could never tell where he was tattooing unless I looked, which I tried not to do. He'd be down near my toes, but I'd swear he was up at the top. Bizarre.

Anyway, I made it through. I had no choice once he got started; no way I was going home with a quarter of a tattoo.

He did a phenomenal job, exactly like Emily's pencil drawing but in beautiful color. "Sweet!" Bill said as he took a picture.

I chose purple for royalty (because I'm a daughter of the King, of course!).

Here it is the next morning, after my foot had swollen considerably.

Now, on day four, the swelling is mostly down and my foot is only a bit tender. So far I have no regrets. Someday when I am old and wrinkled, and I'm embarrassed to have a three-inch cross on my foot, I figure I'll put on my orthopedic shoes and no one will be the wiser. In the meantime, I will savor this reminder that I am HIS, every day of my life.

Shocked?

My New Look

On Saturday I did something I've half wanted to do for years, but was afraid. I got all my hair cut off! I love it, I think, though I'm still getting used to it. Here's how it looked when I came home from the salon:

I was really nervous about fixing it myself, but it's easy. All I have to do is run my fingers through it, and it takes less than five minutes to blow dry. Nice!

Good thing it's easy, because there will be no more waking up and just running a brush through my hair. I've got some major bed-head going on each day!

Can you believe I posted that picture? Me either. Enjoy.