It's a contradiction of Biblical proportions.
And it's mine. I claim it.
God is the author of such mysteries. And His fingerprints are all over this one.
The last time we chatted I was waiting on some additional lab results. Tracking my blood.
Deciding whether or not to return for more mustard gas.
It hurt my heart to see the counts all messed up. It was such a slow, but encouraging process to build up the red cells and get that hemoglobin to an almost safe place.
Rookie mistakes
My first year classroom was so pretty. To me, at least. I spent too much, as teachers often do, to make it a cheerful home for my kids. Sitting in the corner of my pond rug was a chair that I had upholstered. It was a beautiful antique rocking chair and I really did a nice job on it. When I set about on a sewing project, I can do one well. I can't do ten or twenty well. Typically up to three or four are still OK.
Then they start to suck.
My mother can make thousands of something. And they're all fine. (She actually does have limits, but it doesn't feel like it if you've ever watched her go.)
Anyway, I had retied all the original spring work in the seat with jute cording. I did all the knots by the book. It was very sound before I added the high density foam, the real cotton wadding, the muslin case and then finally the deep scarlet chenille damask fabric, all hand stitched, steam stretched, and trimmed with decorative nailheads. It was nice. And I can still see the child who ran and jumped on it so forcefully she broke the metal framing in the center of the seat. Down underneath the deep scarlet chenille, the muslin case, the real cotton wadding, high density foam, all tied together with genuine jute twine were broken metal springs.
Ugh.
Undoing something I have done is just too much.
I don't like taking out a single seam. I triple stitch all the ends.
It's not coming apart without a fight.
Starting a project again? No can do.
HmMm.
No.
I stuffed that thing into the corner of my mom's garage amidst a pile of other old chairs in need of recovering. Maybe she'd like to fix it? I just knew I didn't want to look at it.
My next chair was one of those cheap black metal barstools from Walmart.
You know, I just got rid of that thing! It was fine. 16 years and thousands of kids. Totally fine.
I felt like I was staring at that red chair when I looked at the blood counts, though. Chemo had run full force and jumped into the middle of my hand nurtured blood numbers and it broke something.
If I didn't have a child, I think I would have just walked away.
But, I do have a child. I've actually got two of those things.
So, I stuffed that blood test in my Father's hands and asked Him to fix it.
And I prayed.
a Presbyterian at Pentecost
I have related to some of you that I am learning how to pray. Sounds silly for an old Christian to say. I read some articles recently that argued whether there were 30,000 or 40,000 denominations of Christianity. Denominations are a funny idea to me in and of themselves. Most people are born into theirs. My dad was that rebel preacher's kid who was definitely not going to raise his kids in any of those 30,000 or 40,000 types of establishments.
So, I actually had to research and choose one on my own.
I joined the frozen chosen. And the reformed version at that.
Presbyterians are lovely. They're so peaceful. So sure. And they have a very pretty hymnal.
I quite like them to this day. My membership is still in their capable hands.
But I will just tell you, they need to take a field trip to watch the Pentecostals pray. It would be a great staff development day for the church.
Because that. That.
It is something to behold.
God has answered
'Eliana' is Hebrew for 'God answered.'
Most of you reading this already know her story. Forgive me for telling it again.
When we went for our first ultrasound there was an anomaly. The tech saw something out of her pay grade to relate to me. So we were sent to the specialists where we discovered there were twins. Well, twin bodies with a single heart between them. Heart baby, or the "pump twin" had a 50/50 chance of survival and the other had a zero chance.
My boss asked if she could pray for me.
Yes, of course!
And what a funny sense of politeness to ask me, I thought.
A few weeks later my boss stopped me in the hall and asked if today was ok for our meeting.
Oh crap! What meeting have I forgotten this time?
Lord... do NOT tell me I have forgotten an SST!
It's not time for RBES...
What meeting? What meeting?
Our meeting? Sure, yeah.
To pray, she answered.
OHHH! She's actually going to PRAY. Like sit with me and pray.
I get the whole 'permission' thing now.
Yes. Today is great.
Guys. At least an hour. Two teachers and my principal sat around me with prayer books, bibles, holy oils. I know one naturally speaks in another language, but the rest was some of that tongues stuff. They put healing hands on my stomach. They declared Eli perfect in the name of Jesus.
And.
Eliana.
God Answered.
Just like that. And it was a beautiful, beautiful thing to behold all the heart surgeon and extra staff in the delivery room with nothing to do.
duct tape and Jesus
I never saw my Grandpa John preach in a church. He was an Assemblies of God pastor, though, for a long time. I heard him preach plenty while going about normal business. He preached when he walked. When he duct taped the gutters to the house bricks to run water over to the stray dog's bowls. When he drove down the road. When he duct taped a lamp to the wall in just the right spot to read clearly. When he ate. When he sat by you on the couch. When he visited anyone. When anyone visited him. When he took me to school. Funny the things you remember about people. Basically if duct tape didn't solve a problem, He took it to Jesus.
And though I never saw him preach in a church, I suspect he could have preached in any of the above praying ladies' churches.
My grandpa passed away many years ago. He left a lot of books. I have read a few of them. One was called Living Like a King's Kid.
It struck me how contrary to my nature this guy existed every day. So bold. So sure. So powerful. It was supernatural.
I wanted to live like a King's kid.
I tried it a few times but just couldn't get it to work.
I have no idea where that book is. But I'm just going to tell you. I've been praying lately like a pentecostal. Declaring things. Loosing things. Binding things.
Speaking to the earth like I have dominion among my congregation of trees. Telling the world what WILL happen as my feet tread up and down these dirt paths.
Of course, the world doesn't listen to me often.
But God does. He hears me yell out. And He whispers back.
And if I hear the whisper and heed the whisper, His voice gets a little bit louder.
And if I pray what the voice says, I see the strangest answers.
I've been warning some of you. I may start speaking in tongues before this is all over.
So far, you're safe. The only thing that has happened to my tongue is a loss for words.
No gains in that department.
But I did try to raise the dead the other day. Didn't work. It was just a caterpillar. Nobody would have even known. But the dead caterpillar is still dead. So no signs and wonders, either.
I did, though, tell a storm to stop. And no storm. Like right then. It was a tiny bit creepy. And then I wondered if I really wanted to wield all the power of God. Not sure about that.
Somewhere in the middle part of God teaching me how to pray, I was praying for that blood work.
I was looking for a complete miracle. Complete clarity from the results. Maybe just a perfectly normal, 'nothing wrong with me' lab so I could say- "I don't need your stinkin' Bendamustine"
And actually not need the Bendamustine.
So. They took the blood.
Couple days passed and no results.
James is asking me about booking rooms, arrangements for Eli, and travel plans. I shrugged, "I'm waiting on labs." End of business day Wed. No labs.
Thursday comes. No labs.
They don't work Fridays at the clinic. I'm supposed to get chemo the upcoming Tuesday.
I finally get an email with results! Still Thursday. But late in the evening.
So even with the time difference, nobody will see these things until Monday. I'm supposed to be hooked up on Tuesday.
Then I take a look at numbers. I'm just confused. No clarity there. Staring at them and not sure. Everything was a little better. Good news. But, gosh, the red counts, hemoglobin, and white counts were still way off.
What does it mean??
As my mind was trying to process, I got a phone call. The call was from Maryjo out on the west coast.
This is the lady who had been a patient with Burzynski in the past. The one who had pretty much been told what I was told and is here 26 years later to tell the tale.
I'm so glad she's here, too. Not just to help me.
No. She's just the kind of people we need more of in the world.
When you run across those people, you should scoop them up and never set them down.
In fact. If it took lymphoma to meet her, it's worth the lymphoma.
She went over the numbers with me. Asked a bunch of questions. Was working through the data with me to determine the best steps. Maryjo's voice is so petite. It's pretty and small and drizzled with kindness. The sweet voice stopped mid sentence.
"Dammit! No."
She noted that I didn't go to TX for the chemo.
Then she declared what needed to happen. Kind of like a Pentecostal prays.
(Maryjo is a hybrid -raised Catholic/ converted Judaism lady- not a Pentecostal, btw.)
And I knew. She was right.
I was pulled back to my senses. Back to what my gut had been saying. There was conviction.
What needed to happen had some semantic legal barriers in the way. 'Incurable' won't unlock magical rights from the governmental gods. I needed to be 'terminal.' So, I needed that law to change.
She gave me a writing assignment.
And then she called and emailed people.
And I called and emailed people.
Making laws change is going to be a long and highly inefficient process. Likely would never affect me, but rather help others down the line.
So, I also upgraded my juicer, as well as restocked and increased supplements.
I talked it all over with James and we were both good with no chemo as long as blood continued to improve. Decision made.
Sweet.
Indecisive people such as myself love when a decision is made. Even more so when it's right.
classifications are a people thing
If you have ever had the joy of spending a couple days with Eli, you will have likely noted one thing above all others. The sheer volume of words. She wakes quite often mid story.
Like sits straight up with a complete sentence coming out of her mouth that you can tell is somewhere in the middle of a conversation.
It is so strange. And the words pour out until she's asleep again. Just sometimes I've tried to slow them, or stop them
or for the Love of God
just put them in another room for a while.
But, I learn many things about her heart and mind. And those things move faster than her tongue. So as she prattled on in the backseat about dinosaurs, birds, and reptiles. Feathers and scales. Eggs and no eggs. There were blurred lines. And the lines between every group had exceptions. She began to ask so many questions about our classification system. And by the end of that conversation I was pretty sure Man created a mess with that system.Why do we have to group things? Ha. It's so hard.
It's kind of like race or perhaps church denominations. Yeah, we can find some cool differences in people whose roots are deep in different parts of the planet. But when it comes down to it. We are just all different shades of the same thing. Living creatures on the earth are just like that. The groups can be really cool. The differences are really neat sometimes.
I just wouldn't place too much faith in man's classification systems.
That being said. There is nothing wrong with organization. I think our desire and longing for order and classification comes from the One who laid out this very orderly universe.
It has a beautiful type of chaotic order.
So, organize away, all my OCD friends. I definitely need people like you.
It's not all roses
So. One of those praying ladies. The one with the holy oil. She is a remarkable person. Sometimes people think she's rude and ignores common courtesy like returning a "hello" in the hallway. But honestly, that happens because she's always ALWAYS talking to God. She didn't see you. Didn't hear you.
She has the most lovely marriage. The way she speaks about her adorable husband is so wonderful. You can tell they are best friends. Well, next to God.
I made a #marriagegoals kind of comment in reference to hers once. But is wasn't a hashtag. There were no hashtags then.
She stopped grading papers. Looked at me hard and apologized.
She doesn't speak badly about her marriage. She loves her dear husband. But she wanted me to know it wasn't all roses at her house. She wanted me to forgive her for portraying anything other than truth.
And she told me a tale. It's hers so I can't give it to you.
But I was never so happy to hear of someone's troubles.
I knew then. If this lady... This marriage... Had crap.
Wow.
Cool.
I can do this marriage thing. I got this.
It was like lasik for the soul. How clearly I could see past the appearance of perfection to the real story.
So. I'm telling you this, because when God teaches you stuff, like how to pray. It's not all roses.
It has lovely moments and horrible moments.
And my family gets tired and cranky.
Eli has bad days. James has bad days. I have bad days.
Good golly, even the dogs have bad days.
Everyone processes stresses differently and has highs and lows at different moments.
But the beautiful moments are with us in abundance.
And they drip like honey.
So sweet and so perfect.
slow and steady
I've been trudging along like a turtle. Learning perseverance along with prayer. They have a connection. I knew it wasn't a sprint. I did. I thought it was like a marathon.
Which was a bummer since I don't like to run. Marathons? Who ever thought that stuff up? Just stick the finish line up close enough to see and get that stuff over with. Sprint it.
I'm still somewhere in the process of understanding this race of life thing. I'll share more on that in another post. But, heads up- it's not either one.
It's more like a relay.
There is a baton.
We only run our leg.
Thank God.
summer is hot. and sticky.
It's not my favorite, if I'm honest. I only like it becuase it's not part of the year. Teachers have this beautiful 'reset' called summer. Which gives it all its beauty.
Otherwise. Yuck.
Humid. Hot. Bugs. Just yuck.
But as far as seasons go: I love fall.
My Jewish friends have got the calendar thing right. Sorry, Roman friends. Yours is wrong.
The new year should be in fall.
Clean, fresh, crisp air just fits new resolve. Renewed spirit. Renewed energy.
It is my season.
So this Rosh Hashanah Eli and I ate some apples and some honey. And we prayed with every slice. Declarations for this year. It's going to be a great one.
I am sure of it.
terrible and terribly good news
All this brings me to last Wednesday. I went to sleep praying fiercely. Guys I just found out there are three baptisms! Who knew? I want the fire one, too! I don't even know what it is. But I want it.
I want all of it! Like a greedy child I asked for everything. ALL of it God!
And I asked for a same day miracle. Not down the road. Not where I have to go connect some dot to dot picture to see the blessing. Just a send it and send it now kind of thing.
Now, I need to add that I wasn't demanding things from the creator God. Simply telling Him each promise He wrote and reminding Him He's not a liar. I mean. He wrote it. Not me.
And in case He's wondering. Yes.
Yes. I want all those promises! All of them.
Today, too. Not only Wednesday.
Anyway. Thursday morning I get a call that TX has decided to call me terminal and not just incurable!
This means I have been granted special rights by the government gods.
(Rights that actually belong to all of us: a gift of Nature and Nature's God, according to our founders.)
They wanted me back Friday. But Monday will have to do.
I hit the road later today, guys.
sidenote
Of all the things a mind can do while hearing a supernatural answer to prayer over the phone. I began to fear/worry about the funds.
In the middle of receiving a blessing!
I know.
How wrong is that?
Oh my.
I repented. I did. And I prayed while trying to listen and comprehend what Dr. Burzynski was saying to me.
Doubts and prayers battling/ trying to understand what was happening with the law and the paperwork/ trying to understand the Polish man on the phone/ mentally sorting logistics of being in TX so soon. I was reeling. To be sure.
This treatment does not bear the FDA approval stamp, like say...a mustard gas or glyphosate does.
That means it isn't a covered thing according to my healthcare provider.
So, I gave that to God.
And His sweet angel Maryjo called again.
She has a friend named Faye. I have never met Faye, nor she me.
But I pray like a Pentecostal- that every soul reading these words gets to be Faye someday.
I want to be Faye.
When Maryjo told me Faye is paying for part (not a small part) of the treatment, I remembered who He is.
Guys. Keep praying.
I recommend a field trip to a Holy Roller congregation.
Share what you learn with your other denominations. Blur that classification line a little more.
And please be aware that I am not asking you guys for money. I am not asking you for pity. None of that!! You guys have ALREADY given to me. THANK YOU!
But, if you would pray over this. I'd really love that. So much.
Jesus has called me terminal to declare by His stripes that I am healed.
Epic win.