Bigger Picture Moments: On turning 30

I thought it would be harder

this birthday

to say goodbye to my twenties

and enter 30.

But I'm ready.

Ready to bid farewell to a decade that began

like a wild ride on an enormous ocean wave

and one that's ending with toes dipped into high tide

settled onto the stable ground of Faith

rather than the tumultuousness sea of self.

These past ten years have been all about realizing that

I am not the ends to all means.

That the Earth spins for more than just me.

That self is in competition with Spirit.

That there's more to me than just me.

I count.

One by one I number the years,

and I see the blessings unfold

from messes, sea glass polished shiny by waves.

I see grace swell up and carry me onto shore and

love salve the wind and sun burnt onto my weathered skin.

This birthday

there's no dread

or twinges of sadness

just gratitude for the days I've known

and praise for the ones still spread out ahead.

Link at Melissa's!

    

Thinking, that's All: Healed

I remember now what it's like to feel mostly normal but the novelty of such a feeling has yet to wear thin.

Because more than remembering what it's like to feel normal, I remember vividly what it's like to feel so very sick.

The kind of sick that doesn't necessarily loudly broadcast itself in exact diagnosis with exact prescription or reveal itself on the face, though those closest to me have breathed sighs of relief at the return of a healthy glow spread across the bridge of my face and cheeks and at the return of curves to my body.

Three short months ago, in addition to digestive distress, candida overgrowth and imbalanced hormones, I was on the fast track to kidney failure and the brink of developing an autoimmune disease, different systems in my body having their communications efforts jumbled and skewed, making it impossible to walk a straight line or break down proteins or convert B vitamins.

See, in my laborious attempts to heal my gut and restore the delicate gut-flora balance, I accidentally threw other delicate parts of my body out of whack; I'd failed to understand that my body is more complex than what I understood -- that it's fine tuned and created to function in the fullness of deep nutrition. That its biochemistry is detailed and specific and that years of treating my body like a simple machine had led to malfunction.

That years of making health be determined by scale number and eating with only calories and taste in mind rather than nutrition and micronutrients couldn't be fixed by a restrictive diet aimed at only bringing one of the obvious imbalances -- the candida in my digestive system -- back into a stasis.

You see, one can't just starve out an invasive opportunist like candida without, too, starving herself, her own body. That's what I didn't know when I began cleansing with The Body Ecology diet. But that's another story for another day.

Today's story is about healing. And how I can claim the miracle of being healed because honestly that's all it can be determined as.

I'd been to quite a few doctors, quite a few specialists and only one had a real grasp on the magnitude of the situation and even then there was more going on than what was easily recognized without getting into the genetics and biochemistry of my specific body.

And that's where grace comes in.

I met Ann at G's preschool; we quickly came to realize we both faced many of the same healthy eating challenges and so it wasn't a surprise when we learned we both saw the same chiropractor. Brief after-school conversations led to snippets of hearing each other's health struggles, but it wasn't until an early summer pool party that we actually had a chance to talk beyond chasing kids out the door.

By then, I knew I'd hit a plateau in healing. My body had detoxed to an extreme, my weight kept plummeting and my period was beginning to be more or a stranger than a monthly guest: it was like I could see the promised land but just couldn't cross over. I was just stuck.

In my crying out to God, I prayed, I pleaded for a miracle -- for Him to send me someone who could see the whole picture, the entirety of His creation or for miraculous healing.

He gave me both.

Ann's friend, who was in bad shape health wise took Ann with her to see a doctor -- a biochemist and trauma surgeon by training who bases her practice on caring for patients who have exhausted every other medical route and treats through integrative nutritional medicine, everything grounded in biochemistry and genetics. Ann then made an appointment for herself and encouraged me to do the same.

It took months to get in, and honestly, I didn't know what to think when I met Kerry -- I mean, she'd basically told me more about my body than any doctor ever had. And the scary thing was she was so spot on about what I was feeling and what my body was and wasn't doing that when she told me my next steps were kidney failure and developing the same auto-immune disease my mother has, I knew she as part of the answer to my prayer for healing.

I'm about to round out 90 days of treatment with Kerry, and the progress my body has made in healing from a deep cellular and biochemical standpoint is quite beautifully amazing.

****

Every week, I have the privilege of sitting down with my senior pastor to hear what's on his mind so I can transfer his thoughts onto our church's blog or our church's facebook page.

It's one of the highlights of my social media job at Immanuel.

Last week, he shared with me his excitement for our annual Thanksgiving service, where our church family members are welcomed and encouraged to take the microphone during the service and voice what they are thankful to God for.

Before we conclude our meeting he asked me if I remembered the story where Jesus healed ten lepers in Luke 17:11-19.

I nod.

"Only one came back to thank Jesus," he'd said. "Only one. Ten were healed, but only one thanked Him ... I once heard that gratitude is only as sincere as the effort we make to express it. The Bible teaches that it's not enough to be grateful in our hearts, that we should be going out of our way to express it."

I scramble to write what he's said, soaking it into my heart.

"It may have been that all ten lepers had gratitude, but Jesus talks about the one who was sincere in his effort to express it -- the one who went out of his way to express it."

The one who came back to say thank you.

****

She's checking me out, reading my body to make sure everything is firing well despite some persistent tenderness just beneath my breastbone.

After she's done, she announces that I have some inflammation in that joint beneath it that's causing the intense soreness.

But that's not the big story -- the big story is that so many of the parts of my body that were struggling to be anywhere close to balance have become either awesomely balanced are at the verge of being in a beautiful homeostasis.

Only small components of my immune system and digestive tract need to come into order along with a reduction in inflammation.

We are worlds away, she says, from where we started.

I sigh audible praise to God and express thanks to Kerry for taking the time to help figure out this amazingly complex body He gave me.

But in my heart, I know my quiet gratitude is not enough.

****
It's early Sunday morning, and we trek into church to both work and celebrate God during the Thanksgiving service.

I'm not planning to go near a microphone during the service.

But we sing loudly, passionately about the 10,000 reasons for our hearts to praise Him, and I'm pretty much jumping out of my chair moments later because a verse has been following me and I can feel it pressing up from my heart and into words and out my lips.

"Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:4-7

I give thanks.

For His word. For His mercy. For His grace. For His healing. For feeling so very close to normal again. For remembering what sickness feels like and the promise of hope that always accompanied it.

And when I come home, I can't help but pour my words of gratitude into black on white, a permanent testament to the His healing hand.

I can't help but come back to Him, go out of my way, to take the gratitude in my heart and let is spill out of my lips in a song of praise. 

My song of thanksgiving, indeed.

Linking with Ann and living a covenant of gratitude. 

Bigger Picture Moments: I Am Ready

After the leaves break free of the trees and race away leaving behind barren branches, I know it won't be long.

Winter around here is a full-invasion of forces -- the whipping winds, the blustery cold, the retreat of the sun ... each hand-delivering the winter blues that nestle seasonly into my mind.

Halloween afternoon, and I sigh as I layer my clothing; I pull hand warmers onto my hands, wrap the boys in scarves and hats and gloves and then squeeze them into costumes all while wondering why on Earth we live where we live, why we call home this six-months-out-of-the-year cold lay of land.

We decide to brave the elements and trick or treat the neighborhood behind ours; we take the small, tight, beaten path through the preserve to our destination rather than the trail or main road via car.

In glorious surprise, we come face to face with the parts of winter we don't often see as magnificent color spread out during our single-file march through trees and bushes skirting the edge of one of our prairie wetland marshes.

I'm reminded that beauty doesn't flee during the quick march of winter into our neck of the woods.

Rather, it's me.

I'm the one who retreats, waves the white flag of wool-socks, heavy scarves, down coats as I sink into the indoors while winter settles for its stay.

And.

I'm reminded that sometimes we just have to suit up

layer

by layer

by layer

to not just brave the elements

but enjoy them.

   

*****

Starting NEXT week, we will be gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts every Thursday through the end of November. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
This week link up your BPM moment at Alita's. And next week, come to the table ready to feast on gratitude at Brook's. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Everyday Life: The Whispers that Get You Through

He's a wildcard.

Sneaky, charming and cute, determined -- that's our spunky 3 year old.

I can barely take my eyes away from him before he's off and into something new, and every time we think he's grown just a little bit out of his wily ways, he brings us back into the moment, the reality in which we live.

And that reality is that he is predictably unpredictable, a wildcard in the truest sense.

Saturday afternoon, my boys were outside clearing out the garage with John, and I was running out the door, bordering on being late to an appointment.

Bordering on being rushed but not yet frazzled.

Bordering on making a quick, hurried exit.

But Saturday was my sabbath rest day, so I resisted the urge to jet out the door, jump into the car and take off, waving to my boys.

I climbed into the driver's seat as I was saying goodbye to John, put my keys in the ignition when a small whisper prompted me to ask, "Honey, where's E?"

We looked around, and he was nowhere in easy sight.

I almost shut the car door and left, hand on the key, ready to turn when another whisper said, "Find him first."

We began walking past the cars toward the edge of the driveway when my friend, who was leaving at the same time, said to us just as we reached the back of my Highlander and looked down, "There's a baby under your car."

And there he was -- our youngest, our baby -- hands under his grinning chin nestled under my car, body pressed against the driveway.

Heart pounding, I scooped him from beneath the car and scolded him for playing somewhere so dangerous before refocusing and audibly giving praise.

Audibly thanking God, dozens and dozens and dozens of times, for that small, soft Voice in my brain.

And for the ears to hear.

And for answering the heart cry I pleaded Friday, totally not knowing what I was actually praying for but somehow knew was needed.

And for allowing this lesson about how rushing never makes life better to sink into my thick, hard head.

And for the Whispers quietly spoken that graciously get us through.

Thinking, That's All: The Flag

Every year it sneaks up on me.

I don't notice until I'm strolling around the neighborhood the night before Memorial Day, blissfully and ignorantly enjoying the long weekend, that our streets are lined with a plethora of red, white and blue, stars and stripes.

And?

We don't have a flag flying in front of our own house.

Again, I've forgotten to purchase the very symbol used for displaying our gratitude and gratefulness to the service men and women who have laid down their lives for the freedom we enjoy in this country.

It's got to be something like growing up as as the only kid on the block and not having a Christmas tree come December.

Except without the flag and its freedom, a family might not be able to celebrate Christmas or any of the other holidays we embrace during December at all.

So maybe it's a little more than not having a Christmas tree, and I've just never totally verbalized it in my own head before.

But the little things we do in our everyday life and take for granted are wrapped up in the freedom my family so much enjoys. Like just today, and I doubt we even thought about it, we dipped our toes into some of that goodness found wrapped in the freedom our flag proclaims.



We worshiped vividly, sang our hearts out and partook in communion at church ...

and I checked in publicly on Facebook  {because we're allowed Internet access to all sites}

and it wasn't against the law that we were in a place of worship

and I read Time magazine articles criticizing our government

that the United States Postal Service delivered to my mailbox

and E and I went on a walk where we spent most of the time saying aloud "Thank you, God, for ..."

and my neighbors just smiled instead of reporting us to the police.

None of that came without a price; lots, so many men and women have paid it with their lives, with the best of their years spent in service to the citizens who hold tight to this freedom even when they don't realize it.

And I don't even have a flag in front of my house, flying in gratitude because I have the right to have forgotten.

I know the spouses, the children, the mothers, the fathers, the friends of these fallen soldiers haven't had the choice of having forgotten.

I assure you, as I go about my day and the days to come, enjoying my various freedoms however big or seemingly small, I will remember.

And the flag?

It will become a permanent resident standing victoriously, billowing from the steps of our front porch.

Lest we never have the audacity to forget again. 

G., 21 months, Memorial Day Parade, 2009 

Living Healthfully: A Mirage in the Desert

Editor's Note November 2012: If you are looking for information on restoring your digestive system, please know that The Body Ecology Diet helped me, but it didn't completely restore my health. My body actually stalled out on the the diet, and I needed to go off it to heal other parts of my body. You can read about my last steps in healing by clicking here. 

At first it was so very much about arriving at destination deep dish pizza.

If I could just make it to the point of indulgence without suffering from a debilitating stomach ache and nausea in the aftermath of such a feast, I'd have successfully arrived at the end of my super-restrictive dieting. 

My eyes were set on a finish line of Lou Malnati's and a piece of Baklava by my January 2013 birthday. 

But at the start of 15 weeks{!!}on the Body Ecology Diet*, which has been aimed at restoring my inner body ecology and recovering my health from a candida overgrowth in my gut, it's becoming clearer now that the finish line I'd set eyes on was a mirage. 

Not an insanely delusional mirage like that of shack taking the shape of a well in the middle of the desert; it's been much more like that of an actual well taking the shape of an actual well ... but one that bears only still, stagnant water.

The kind of mirage that looked so good and so refreshing in the distance but dips its bucket into bitter, smelly water ... 

That's where I find myself at the completion of 14 weeks of eating only vegetables, eggs, protein, good fats and no sugar; I am approaching the well that looked so promising -- my GI tract having been healed graciously by God, in part through this way of fresh and whole eating -- and finding I could dip my bucket in ... but why would I want to?

As I'm approaching the well, there's some sort of off-stench wafting through the air, a screaming, halting warning to bypass. 

I don't dare drink it because I'm realizing this isn't the finish line. 

Though I couldn't see it until I got nice and close to the well, there's actually this fresh spring-fed river flowing just a few miles beyond it.

And destination deep dish pizza just doesn't hold a candle to fresh, whole foods anymore, to health. 

Instead of craving cheese and crust, I'm finding myself craving the foods that make me feel how the healthiness I've felt while eating what I've considered to be desert manna:

Energized, healthy, light, satisfied. 

I just don't want to lose that. 

Now that my body seems to have overcome a good portion of the gut flora imbalance and defeated a good deal of the bad candida, I only want to grow stronger and stronger.

I don't want to take steps back toward the heaviness, the bloating, the stomach pain, the brain fog, the irritability, the intense cravings; it just doesn't seem worth it for a slice of deep dish anymore. Or a piece of coffee cake on a special morning. Or even an occasional frozen cup of sweet java and cream. 

And taking that step back ward actually seems like it would be a welcoming invitation to have to walk through that desert of painful detoxing again; I don't want to relive the hives, the night-sweats, the chills, the exhaustion, the stomach pain, the anxiety, the tightness in my chest and the weakness in my bones. 

This way of eating, this desert manna diet, isn't just a diet aimed at merely sustaining energy and fixing an impaired digestive system; this way of eating is more a lifestyle geared at healing the whole body.

I believe this is how we were intended to eat -- food grown from the soil, unaltered and whole -- food harvested from growing healthy animals in the wide-open space of pasture. 

I'm trading in the dirty well water for the fresh-running river and praising God for the revelation of a promised land overflowing with honey. 

Because I'm just not willing to settle any more for a mirage being my destination point. 

{It's such a huge praise to bring news of such healing! Though I'm not at 100 percent, by the grace of God I am worlds away from where I began in the beginning of January. 

Would you offer praise on my behalf for his goodness in healing my body? And would you also pray for wisdom and discernment as I very {epicly} slowly add back in some of the whole, fresh foods that have a bit of sugar content during these coming weeks? I'll be doing quite a bit of listening to my body to make sure the candida that remains isn't being fed by the new additions of things like Granny Smith Apples and plain Greek Yogurt.}

*I have been following the Body Ecology Diet along with some additional protocol {and food restrictions from the experts at The Candida Diet forum.

Thinking, That's All: A bump

A bump.

It's likely unworthy of any attention or special notice, my favorite nurse says as she examines the slightly stretched, raised skin on one side of my nose.

It's not hugely obvious, but it's there -- a bump that should probably be checked out.

I leave the office with each hand clasping that of a little boy, a recommendation card for a dermatologist slid into the back pocket of my jeans.

As we step outside of the office and our faces meet sunshine, my boys unlock their fingers from my own and are running wild in two seconds flat.

And so is my mind.

I scramble to capture all that has broken free.

I buckle little behinds into car seats and wish that my fleeting thoughts were as easily bound before I settle on one thought.

Could we just have a break? 

My heart and mind long for simple days spent wrapped up in the moments that spread out easily before us, free of tangled thoughts and unrest and dis-ease.

We've known these days, gifts we carelessly unwrapped and tossed aside for each new one that came perfectly wrapped in the new ribbon of each morning's sunrise.

We gobbled them up, gluttonous almost, devouring a harvest in which we'd barely toiled, just barely uttering thanks as the sun set daily behind the horizon.

What did we know then of love that came easily without sacrifice

of health that bloomed like clockwork leaves on trees

or of thankfulness for simply another day

of the Gardener's goodness.

My skin is all sorts of stretched out thin from growing and growing and growing during this time of His planting and sowing seeds of gratitude and trust into our hearts, into our minds.

Breaks don't come during the growing season, and I know, I admit, that I surely want to bear fruit come harvest. 

There is a wrestling in breaking out of the tight-wound bud. And there is stretching in growth, in maturing, in coming to full bloom.

I abandon wild-grown thoughts instead giving my attention to the wild love strapped into two car seats behind me.

We talk about everything and nothing, and I cannot remember the details beyond smiles from the tender attention of a mother to her sons.

He weeds and waters and suns and grows through the clumps, the bumps of dirt, and there's a resignation of details on my part about what He'll use to fertilize and pull those weeds replaced with simple prayers of thank you and a begging to not leave me this way.

And He won't; because this is the kind of love that tends carefully with out break without abandon and without fail.

Bigger Picture Moments: What I Almost Missed

He carefully plucked a tiny violet flower from the Earth and brought it inside as a love offering for me.

At four, not much is done gently, but this gift, he knew, required delicate care.

Here mom! Look! he says bursting in through the patio door, I brought you this beautiful flower so you can look at it inside the house. 


I was in the middle of cooking dinner, my hands in too many pots, trying not to burn and overboil, and I almost missed it.

But then he says,

I'll put it in water, so it can have a drink and stay alive.

And stay alive.

I abandon dinner, turn my back on the too many pots and instead oooohh and ahhh over the flower's  loveliness, its faint smell of spring.

It needs water to stay alive, to revive after the picking, I repeat.



I catch glimpses of its brilliant purple through out the next day.

I marvel over its soft, royal petals and I think to myself, I've almost sold my soul, my heart for supposed gifts that are bigger, flashier but far less lovely.

But this gift?

These gifts that keep bringing more gifts?

They came free, picked just for me by a Loving Hand who seems to keep no memory of the times I've really blown it, the times I've almost sold myself in exchange for what seemed to be silver and shiny.

And I almost missed it all, all of it.



But grace flows, and so I didn't.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week at Jade's! Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Bigger Picture Moment: Eyes to See

I am runningrunningrunning around the house fetching underwear that's been strewn across each stair step, unfortunate victims of a toddler who went on an anti-folded-laundry tirade -- this, of course, in between quick trips of picking up little messes scattered by small and big hands alike.

On my way down the stairs, as the pre-bedtime bath splashes and carry on upstairs with John as the lifeguard referee, I catch a glimpse of gold spilling in through the window in a brilliant stream of light.

I abandon the forsaken laundry, scurry down the remaining stairs, grab my camera, fumble for gloves, fling open the door and inhale the beauty like it's the first breathe of air I've breathed in weeks that isn't tinged with the smog of clutter and mess, exposed skin prickling from the touch cold November air, the touch of beauty from the divine.

I stand, staring, enjoying in abandon of who might be watching

without care to my mismatched, juxtaposed outfit

in thankfulness for the cold in my lungs, the vibrant purple bleeding into red and firestorms of orange

in gratitude that the Painter gifts snapshots of loveliness, gifts us eyes to see.

 

During the month of November, we are gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your moment at Sarah's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Bigger Picture Moment: Right Where I Belong {Gratitude}

The afternoon before we're to make the trek home to Illinois from Harrisburg, fat snow flakes are falling from a ceiling of haloed thickness, from puffy grey-white clouds.

And I am wondering if we'll make it home as planned. 

Forecasters sling signs of warning across the television screen and lights flicker through out the hotel hallways as I walk in the company of flesh embodying the hearts I've come to consider soul sisters.

I pray -- Oh, God, I know this is where I'm meant to be in this time and space.

And I am thankful.

I am eye-deep in gratitude to be pressed shoulder to shoulder with kindred spirits, the women I love who are journeying this motherhood road alongside me, His very presence swelling in our hearts.

But, still, tomorrow, please take me to the arms, take me to the flesh in which I share oneness; take me to the man with whom you've interwoven my heart strings.

And in the meantime, let there peace that I am right where I belong.

****

Headlights flicker, dance through the fog while sprinkles of rain tap against the windshield.

I could drive this stretch of road with my eye closed, I think, not because I know the curves as well as the ones on my own body nor because I follow them, the tires of my car pressed against this very pavement almost daily

but rather because I can feel the force of my husband's body, only less than a mile away, pulling my heart toward home.

Yes, my body is the magnetic ball being woven through the maze of streets by the force of soul attraction anchored in a well of love within the four walls I call home. 

The car nearly parks itself, and I jump-fly out of the driver's seat, headlights fading across the garage door, the backs of my legs and I fall into strong arms that are open and waiting for me, pulling me in before my feet can carry me out of the hallway. 

And, again, in a different time and space, I am right where He wants me; I am right where I belong. 

****

I wake to two small bodies pressed on each side of my own. I am the newly restored ingredient of the mommy sandwich. We lounge in bed, two boys snuggled against my skin.

There are dishes to wash, laundry piles to fold, sheets to change, breakfasts to make, lists to tackle, but for the moment, again, a different time and space, I know, I'm exactly where I should be.

So with palms turned up and wells overflowing, I give thanks for knowing that in these moments, I'm certain I'm right where I belong. 

During the month of November, we are gathering our harvest of blessings and naming them one by one, sharing the gratitude in our hearts. Won't you join us? Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with thanksgiving in your heart. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your moment at Lenae's this week. Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Try to visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Disclosure: Our trip to Relevant was generously sponsored by Chevy’s Driving the Midwest who has given us a tank of gas and a Traverse to get there. Our ride was also fueled by Kawa Japanese and Asian Cuisine, Dr. Reena Jacobs of The Healing Groves, Curves of Lake County, Bigger Picture Blogs and Little Lake County, each of whom have provided one tank of gas for the trip. All opinions expressed are our own.