Thanksgiving in Grief

 

Thanksgiving.  How could I have ever known before losing Wyatt that holidays could bring a pain that slices deeper and wider than any knife?  As families are gathered around the table and all the children are present in homes large and small, there is wholeness that can be felt.  The deep sigh settles in as parents look around and realize the joy of togetherness – though life may not be perfect, there is a permeating sense of rightness in the world when we can tuck our babies into bed, safe and sound after a heavy meal of turkey and potatoes, heart light with love, stomachs full and blessed. 

 

That word – blessed.  It has been the cause of much confusion in my heart and much searching. Am I still blessed when my table sits raw with grief as four of us sit down and the empty chair remains?  How do I have a thankful heart when everything in me wants to scream that “This is not fair!?”  When prayers of thanks tend to center around the gratefulness in hearts for wellness, safety and provision…where was our safety that day when Wyatt went to heaven because of a complete freak accident?  The odds of it NOT happening were so much greater than the chance that it could ever happen again.  In fact, the investigation showed that it probably couldn’t.  “Could not be re-created if you tried.”  Really, God?  How am I supposed to feel about that?  Where was our safety, blessing and provision?  What about all the prayers I prayed daily for the protection by His angel armies over my children?  Prone to anxiety and able to imagine every terrible thing that could happen, I used to be plagued with worry over my children’s safety.  That is why I was always “overbearing” with my boys when it came to things that may involve danger.  I was the parent who told Eli as he began driving his brothers around town about the responsibility he held in his hands.  I would look him in the eye many times before he left our driveway and say, “Eli, you hold three precious lives in your hands.  You hold my whole world behind that wheel.  Please drive careful.  Do not get on your phone or play with the music.  Just drive.  I love you.” 

 

Here I sit on my couch Thanksgiving morning.  The house is clean and calm, and the fog has settled deeply around our house on a hill.  The sound of a tractor outside lumbers on as Levi is putting his hand to staying busy and my washing machine hums with its constant load.  My children are asleep upstairs in their warm beds…but one is not here.  There is one bed that sits so horrifyingly empty.  He is nowhere to be found, yet I go to visit him at a grave.  We are going through the motions of living and breathing, and I have been dreading today with all the pieces of my shattered heart.

 

I walk into stores and feel sucker-punched in the gut.  The Christmas music almost brings me to my knees.  Thankfully, the masks help hide tears and trembling lips as I duck my head and hope to not see anyone I know.  Most the time if I try to talk, I will break.  It’s easier to be anonymous and reside behind the plastic veil I wear, so thin, it will crumble the second I am in my car.  The celebration of the season has not reached my heart…and yet the quiet presence of the Lord remains.  

 

I am writing because I feel led to share what today is like for us, a family who is grieving…living through Thanksgiving.  I have been to the depths of Sheol and I have flooded my bed with tears.  I understand the heart of Jacob as he grieved for his son Joseph, “’…and he said, surely I will go down to Sheol in mourning for my son.’  And His father wept for him.”  Genesis 37:35

 

I have questioned how my heart can participate in a day that can almost feel like a mockery to my reality.  When others get to post about how #Blessed they are, I stare at an empty seat at the table.  How do I not allow my heart to grow bitter, broken by life and festering with toxic suffering?  My heart has cried out many times, “What do you want from me, Lord?”

 

In brokenness and utter defeat, I have found that I must dig down to the very bedrock of Truth, past all the things that would distract and keep me from finding the true treasure.  Food on the table – yes, a blessing when others have so much less.  A house?   Check that box.  I am so thankful.  A bed to fall into every night with covers over my head – thankful.  Provision financially and all the gifts we have been given – yes.  Thank you, God.  These are all good gifts!  And now here’s where it gets tricky…what about that thankful heart when health suffers, or terminal illness’ presence is the unwelcome guest at the table?  That hurts.  The family who has lost financially or provisionally can at least say, “We are all together and that’s what really matters.  I can lose it all, but the people I love are what matter.”  Those are the platitudes we use to get through life.  However, when you lose a child, all that falls into a dung heap while you are left covered in ashes with literally NOTHING you can say to make it better.  The Lord has allowed all the platitudes to fall by the wayside, all the things that distract to be burned to a crisp; yet He has asked me to mine down deep with blistered hands and a weary frame.  I must zoom out and adjust my perspective in a whole new way. 

 

For the Chamberlain family this Thanksgiving, we will be thanking God for the gift of His Son.  That is the foundation, the bedrock, the never-changing Truth.  It is simple, and yet takes the greatest amount of faith the Lord has ever required from me.  I will never be thankful that my son lost his life on a terrible day in April, but I can be on-my-knees thankful that Jesus Christ made a way for my son to be ushered into heaven and that WYATT GAINED ETERNAL LIFE.  I won’t be whispering prayers of thanks for our safety or wellness, but I will be telling Jesus I am so grateful He is with me and walks beside me.  I can be thankful that through all of life’s suffering, it is not worth even comparing to the glory that will be revealed to us someday (Romans 8:18). 

 

The Truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ never changes.  He is showing himself to be my Father and my good, gentle Shepherd.  This does not mean that I won’t be on the floor dripping with snot and tears today and countless times in the future.  I will still be dry heaving over a toilet when the grief hits in overwhelming waves, and I am going to struggle on a daily level in the battle over my mind.  It is a constant war unlike anything there are words to describe.  I feel like I took a blow to the gut that day and time froze; I have still not been able to take a breath.  There is no air.  I don’t know how to describe it in any other way.

 

But God.  There is no other.  Where else would I go?  I have searched to the depths, and He remains. 

 

May the Lord fill you with His unchanging truth today in a world that changes like the tide and winds. May you dig past all the wonderful gifts that can distract, and find the bedrock of Jesus Christ that will build your house strong, so that when the winds and the waves come, you do not fall.   With tears in my eyes, I beseech you to love every minute with your children and tell them what a treasure they are.  Teach them to love the Lord their God above all else.  There is not a minute we spent in family devotions that I regret.  Not one.  When you tuck your little’s into bed tonight, thank God for them and then give them fully to the Father who loves them even more than you do.  And celebrate mightily for their physical presence in your life. 

 

For those that suffer in some way alongside our family this year, I hope that you remember the God who is WITH you. Remember you do not walk alone. It seems fitting to end with this Psalm.

 

Psalm 18

I love You, O LORD, my strength. 

The Lord is my pillar, and my fortress,

And my deliverer.

My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge;

My shield, and the horn of my

Salvation, my high tower. 

I will call on the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,

And I will be saved from my enemies.

The cords of death encircled me,

And the torrents of destruction terrified me. 

The cords of Sheol surrounded me; the snares of death confronted me.

In my distress I called on the LORD,

And cried for help to my God;

He heard my voice from His temple,

And my cry for help came before Him to His ears.

…(vs16) He sent from above, He took me;

He drew me out of many waters.

He delivered me from my strong enemy

My Wyatt

How did we get here?  How did the landscape before me become a vast pit of smoking ash, broken shards, and confusion?  I don’t recognize the path laid out before me; it is none I was ever going to be called to walk.  Yet here I am.  Here we are.  We are strangers and aliens in a land that no longer is home, looking toward heaven – the only hope for our pain – and yet continuing to wake up, breathing, day after day with no end in sight.  We miss our Wyatt.  We are here and he is not.  How can this be?  I ask myself that question every single day. 

All of us parents can think of a million things we would rather walk through than to walk through this.  I was one of you – once.  Now, I am a mother who has lived the worst of every nightmare I have ever had in all of life, multiplied and crammed into one horrific day that spills it’s awful poison out onto the rest of our days.  I have buried my heart in the ground.  It is every bit as terrible as you would imagine.  Squeeze out of your heart every last drop of grief and terror you can imagine at the thought of losing your child, roll it and savor it as you would the last drop of water in a never-ending desert and then multiply that by itself.  That is the length and breadth of sorrow upon sorrow we feel every day…missing our Wyatt.  I often say that there are no words to explain this ache, and there are not.  Nor should there be.  I don’t long for anyone to feel this unspeakable loss.  It is beyond comprehension.

Every day we get up and breathe.  Every day we walk forward, trudging through the deepest swamp with only light for our next step.  I go through the daily tasks.  I take care of my family.  I fold my boys laundry and long to touch Wyatt’s clothing, and see it come through the wash… but it is put away in his dresser and sits alone in his closet.  I long for him to show signs of life in our house, so that I can pour my mommy heart into taking care of him.  I have heard it said that grief is just love that has nowhere to go. No way to reach out and connect.  Open arms, empty.

His one wheel sits at the door like it always has.  It gets cobwebs underneath it that I consistently clear, but the one wheel never moves from its place.  It is abandoned, along with his shoes beside it.  His helmet sits on a bench above, untouched.  All I have now are remnants of my child, but never my child.  Not on this earth.  The emptiness is greater than any loss I could ever imagine.  Like the deepest darkest pit that stretches on into forever, there is nothing that really fills it.

I take four plates out of the cabinet at mealtimes…not five.  I buy a little less food.  I never realized how much he ate until the day came that there were so many leftovers from dinners that I had to realign my expectations of food consumption.  And appetites.  Maybe we are eating less too.  I could never keep enough ketchup in the house.  He put it on everything and ate copious amounts of it with burgers, any meat we had for dinner and mid-day leftovers.  But now, every time I open the fridge, the Costco size ketchup sits as a constant reminder that it is still there.  And Wyatt is not.

The middle seat in the car is a foe that stares me in the face.  I can’t seem to escape it.  Five is such a full number…four is…not.  Our very home radiates the ache of emptiness, not because the four in this home are not enough for each other, but because the one who is not here would complete us.  We are a family of five and always will be.  The one that is missing is forever in our every heartbeat, but not by our side in this life.  The one who was goofy, made us laugh, antagonized us all and was truly the fuel to our flame.  The very dynamic of our home has changed without him here.  We all stumble along, dazed and living on autopilot, still shocked months later that this is reality.  We can’t quite grasp onto this existence. 

People have asked me how we are doing.  We are hanging in there.  We truly are.  We are fighting to go on.  We choose to keep breathing and moving forward, but our hearts have not quite left the spot where we saw him last.  We have post-traumatic stress disorder and flashbacks of a day more terrible than visions of what I would imagine hell itself.  The day we fought our hardest to keep him here, while heaven welcomed him.  My mommy heart knows what my eyes saw…he was with the Lord from the moment it happened.  But the problem is, we weren’t.  While the Lord carried him in peace, we breathed and lived through his last day, his last minutes, his last seconds and we have trauma and grief all tangled into an ugly wave that crashes into us at moments we expect it least as well as moments we know are coming like a hurricane gale we can’t control. 

So many things are different in our lives now.  Most television and movies have too many visuals that instantly trigger a horrible memory.  Sleep is an enemy to conquer every night.  Living daily requires more energy than a years’ worth of trouble used to take, and the Lord is asking that our faith be stronger than it ever has been before.  This is what the valley of the shadow of death looks like.

I choose not to sugar coat my words, because that would not be truth.  Being a believer in Jesus Christ and having the FULL ASSURANCE of heaven for eternity does not take away the sting of loss on this earth.  Last week I was reading in 1 Corinthians 15:36, where it states that the last enemy to be destroyed is death.  Yes, to be apart from the body is to be present with Christ.  YES!  I agree and amen!  But that does not excuse our weary souls from walking through the pain and destruction that death causes ON THIS EARTH.  So that is where we are – sojourners clinging to the truth that has not changed in Jesus Christ yet hurting so deeply.  This requires faith.  We believe that we know a God who is good while trusting Him when things on this earth are the opposite of good.  We know that He has the final say – that He has the ultimate victory.  We are standing upon the truth that death will be conquered forever and is in fact an enemy that was never supposed to be on this earth; we contend with it because we are a fallen human race living in a fallen world.  Do I believe that God took my child from me on this earth?  No.  I believe the enemy did that – he caused Wyatt to be taken from our arms.  But I know with every breath unto my last that it was Jesus who picked him up and carried him to safety, and Him alone who can make good out of all the enemy planned as evil. 

There are no cherry-picked answers here – deep is calling unto deep in this broken heart of mine, as I long for my Wyatt, cry open mouthed, breathless, and ugly, weeping for my boy.  There are no easy answers when you walk a broken road, clinging to faith when there are so many shadows and blinding pain that fills every step.  There were no cherry-picked answers for Martha and Mary when they grieved their dear brother, Lazarus who was in the tomb.  Do we ever stop to wonder why Jesus cried with them, even though he knew the end of the story?  He, above all others, knew Lazarus would be raised to live on this earth again, yet Jesus also knew a deeper hope than any we have on this earth.  He knew all about heaven.  Why did he cry?  I think I may have a greater understanding now.  Because the last enemy is death.  Death is sad, death is ugly, and our souls were not really made for death.  There was no death in the garden that God created long ago.

The death that came to a garden at the beginning of time was contended with in another garden.  Jesus knew the end of the story when he prayed through the night in the garden of Gethsemane.  His blood that poured out through sweat wet the robes of the Son of God.  Jesus knew the end of the story when he prayed that night.  He chose to suffer for us.  He chose to walk this earth, a man acquainted with sorrow, so that he could minister to us in our sorrow.  He walked every painful step ahead of us, so that in our deepest, darkest, and most lonely valley, we would never truly be alone or without hope.  Whether we walk it because our own sin put us there or whether we walk it due to the sin that lives in this world, our own deepest valley in the shadow of death need not be the end of us.   And the physical shadow of death was not the end of my Wyatt.  I know fully where he is…and I know who my God is.  The God I don’t understand – the God I prayed to who seems to have not answered my prayers. The God who is allowing my family to ache and suffer through this pain.  That God.  That is the One who still loves us, who still sees us and who holds my Wyatt even now.

I don’t understand.  I don’t think I ever will.  I have been more than heartbroken and confused.  This accident should not have happened.  We are careful parents.  Our kids wear helmets, have speed limits, bedtime curfew, boundaries, and rules.  Wyatt was so careful with guns and obeyed gun safety in every way he was taught.  He did nothing wrong.  The gun discharged without the trigger being pulled.  If Wyatt would have been one half inch to the right, it would not have been tragic.  It was a freak accident.  There are layers to that statement.  It feels targeted.  It feels so unfair.  It feels so lonely and beyond belief.  Where is my hope when the night hours stretch on and panic is so deep in my chest that it overcomes my human ability to contain it?  Where is my hope when I kneel at my sons grave, broken…so very…broken?  Where do I look when my heart can’t seem to stand up yet, so it sits right there with Wyatt- on the mountain, on the ground where I last held him in my arms…

I look to Jesus.  I don’t have answers, but I know my God.  The enemy will take his shots – and he did.  He aimed so incredibly well and laid bare our hearts.  We are bent down in the dirt; all else that could be sifted and shaken has fallen away.  The only thing left is our hope in Jesus, our only anchor in the storm.  There is no more mirage of what life can offer – no amount of fun, money, vacations, fulfilled wish lists, laughter or social engagements will ever take away the ache and emptiness in our hearts.  The fluff in our lives has been burned on the altar of pain, and all that is left is all that will remain for eternity.  Life has become vividly clear and yet shadows of gray all at the same time. There is nothing – NOTHING- here on this earth that will ever bring my Wyatt back. 

But if you ask me to, I will tell you all day long about the reason why we yet have hope.  HEAVEN.  Only because of JESUS.  He reaches out to ALL HUMANITY -every color, race, and culture- and pulls us up from the depths.  He paid the price for all our sin and made a way for us to be forgiven before the God of heaven and earth.  He lovingly clothes us in robes of righteousness not our own.  He bridged the chasm for Wyatt to be carried in the Saviors arms, straight to wholeness and safety.  And if asked, He will do the same for you – for me. 

Our lives are a vapor, and we never know when it will waft up and be done.  Wyatt’s last day was not any different than the day previous…we just didn’t know what was ahead of us.  I have heard that we never really do before tragedy hits.  I can attest to it.  I pray that all my days, I will cling to Christ and not give an inch to the enemy.  I pray that my boys and my husband will follow Jesus fiercely and that the plan set against us for evil would blow back tenfold into the enemies’ face and that we would be a tool used for God’s good.  I pray that we would be quietly strong in the Lord and that though evil come against us, that we would stand.  Not in our own strength, for that has already passed us by, but in the sturdy truth founded on God’s Word alone.  I pray that we would not believe everything we see, when we live in a wasteland of suffering and there seems to be no hope in sight…but that, like saints of old, we would live for a promise and a land not yet given to us.  A land where my precious Wyatt is living now.

My Wyatt was full of adventure.  This picture describes him in so many ways.

How could we know that this was our last Christmas together...

That smile...pure joy.  I know there is joy and contentment in heaven that is so much better than anything the thrills of this earth has to offer.  

This is how I picture him in heaven, probably cruising on a very fast one-wheel through the skies.  

This was the last picture my precious sister-in-law had of Wyatt on her camera roll.  

"Bye Auntie.  Until we meet again..."

Wyatt, our hearts are absolutely broken into irreparable pieces without you.  I really don't know how we go on living and breathing.  The ache is unbearable.  I know you are safe, and more alive than ever.  I just don't know how long it will be before we see you again and I miss you so much.  My heart is fractured into a million pieces.  I miss your hugs, your laughter, your eyes that twinkle, your sense of adventure and your energy that would drive me crazy and make me laugh.  I miss saying good-night to you and feeling your little man-frame try to avoid my snuggles.  Your grin, your gusto that you greeted every day with and your friendship are deep holes of loss in our home.  I don't know how we will do this, but we will try our best to be strong in the Lord.  I am so proud of you, my Wyatt.  My deepest prayer for all your life, above all else, was that you would love Jesus, choose Him as your own and that we could spend eternity together.  That prayer was answered.  I will hold tight and remember this.  With every beat of my heart, I will miss you every single day I am alive. Some day I will get there, and throw my arms around your neck...I will squeeze you so tight and my head will rest right on your shoulder like it always did since you grew taller than me.  We will laugh and dance in the presence of Jesus!  

I love you forever, Wyatt.  I love being your mommy. Some day I will hold you again.  

 

our finish line and happy new year!

After twelve weeks of IV's and thirteen weeks in Germany, we are HOME!  We got into our little home town late Christmas night and it was such a wonderful gift.  It has been a flurry as we finalized German visas and paperwork during the last weeks in Germany, packed up three months of living into five  pieces of luggage and made the long trek home.  There have been so many thoughts juggling for first place in my head that it has taken me a while to be able to sort through them all and get this post out.  I hope everyone had such a wonderful Christmas, and cheers to the New Year!  I love the New Year because it is a time of new beginnings.  I feel the Lord giving us new beginnings this year, in a whole new way.  I am so blessed and deeply thankful to share where He has our family right now.

Twelve weeks is a long time to be away from home.  Twelve weeks is a long time to be in treatment, four days a week.  It truly felt like a marathon journey and it was worth EVERY SINGLE SECOND.  I wish I could shout that...it was worth it!  It was worth every tear and every arm held out yet again, receiving another intravenous infusion.  It was worth every fear that our huge investment was built upon a leap of faith and lots of research, yet knowing that I could not predict the future healing for our family.  I will say this...at this point, we are confident that each of us who went through treatment in Germany are LYME FREE.  This is the most precious blessing and answer to prayer that we could have hoped for.  We followed the stories of so many people who came to Germany sick and left healed...and now that is our story too.  I am on my knees in absolute thanks to Jesus for this.

This is not just wonderful, this is life-changing for our family.  It feels like a new beginning.  My oldest didn't have very many symptoms, just more exhaustion than is normal for a teenager and he got sick so much he couldn't complete a season of sports.  He had to withdraw.  He has energy now and time will prove his endurance level.  Due to the anti-inflammatory properties of the IV's he received, his asthma is also much better, as evidenced by the cold that took hold of him this past week that he has gotten through so well.  Normally with a harsh cold like this is, we would be hooked up to a nebulizer every four hours getting him through the first two days.  But that is not our story any more.

My middle child was the sickest and though his body is still getting better (it's not magic; the body has to heal and regenerate) the changes we see in him brings me to tears of joy in this mommy heart.  He hasn't had a headache in six weeks.  He doesn't have unlimited amounts of energy but he has an endurance and a stamina and bounces back within hours instead of being down for the count for a week.  He has hope and a sparkle in his eyes again.  He does not look haggard and sunken anymore.  And he grew about two or three inches!  He had the largest Lyme load out of my three boys and we are headed back in mid-January to give him a few more weeks of treatment.  Our doctors words were, "He came here.... really not well" and I would have to agree with her.  After further blood testing, our doctor is working on fixing an abnormally high antibody count (not in relation to a western blot), showing evidence of a long-term chronic infection, similar to having chronic EBV.

My youngest was utterly exhausted before treatment; so much so that it was incredibly hard to stay awake during the school day.  His legs would be so tired that he would rather sit inside than go out on recess.  We are a structured family with bed time hours, limited amounts of screen time and a backyard that begs to be played in.  To say this was abnormal for a boy his age would be an understatement.  The biggest struggle other than exhaustion was his legs would ache and be so tired he just didn't want to walk or exert energy.  Since the end of treatment he has no leg pain and his energy level is rising!  So much of this journey after the bacterial infection is gone is about rebuilding strength and becoming normal again.  The body does not regenerate overnight, yet it is truly amazing to see the changes in them simply because they do not have a spirochete load in their body anymore.

I am also incredibly better and healing.  I went to Germany not feeling terrible, yet I had the largest Lyme load out of my whole family tested.  It is so clear to me that it was God's mercy and grace to me that He kept me feeling capable through it all.  My brain is not in a fog and the best way I can describe the freedom I feel inside my body is this: It's like I was getting through life struggling against an invisible tide.  You know how you can try to run in water, or run against the tide that is trying to pull you out?  No matter how much sleep I got, not matter how healthy I ate or how much I tried to overcome by sheer stubborn force, I was still fighting something deep inside that was winning.  My oldest described it by a "lightness" inside that he didn't used to have.  It's an amazing difference.  I will have a few more weeks of treatment along with my middle child, just to allow my body to be built up and finish the healing journey.  Our doctor is so good about not only eliminating the infection, but building the body back up so that the natural immune system is rock solid and killing the bad stuff!  We are so excited to finish and have this journey in the rear-view mirror.  I know the healing will continue even more as we are home in the months that follow, much the same anyone would after having a long-term illness.

We have been so blessed by all the prayer and encouragement.  We have felt EVERY SINGLE PRAYER.  Not one was in vain.  The Lord carried us in His arms while we missed home and dreaded another day of treatment, while we struggled through communication barriers and felt sick and longed for the familiar things of home that would comfort.  The Lord carried us with so many cards, letters, prayers, messages and love from all of you.  Our hearts are grateful beyond what words can express.  Thank you.

Oh how she won these boys' hearts.  She is amazing. 

These two are truly wonderful people that we will miss!

We saw a lot of this place!  They were great to us.  We drove some 

miles in this car...

the road to week eight

We are done with week eight and it's hard to believe we still have another month here!  Time seems to pass a little slower when your "normal" becomes all twisted upside down and the holidays call your name from home.  Still, we are so silently joyful at the progress we are seeing and it bubbles out of the deep places of our hearts.

When we came here, I was holding down my health and energy level fairly decently, taking over a full load of college credits and being mom to sick children.  Two of my three boys were not doing well on a daily level and life had become somewhat unmanageable in terms of getting through daily activities.  When you start to kill off Lyme, you typically become sicker before you get better because of the toxic die-off that is often called "herxing."  It is so different than what we know of using antibiotics to get better from a bacterial infection (like strep throat for instance) because as the bacteria dies off, our bodies clear it out and we usually feel better within 12-24 hours.  In contrast, when Lyme dies off, our bodies naturally release cytokines in response to an immune reaction that happens in our body.  Sometimes these cytokines and Lyme toxins (dead spirochetes) are not cleared fast enough and the body feels the full reaction of inflammation and cell response to the invading pathogen.

...when a picture is worth a thousand words.

Levi joined us at week seven after three weeks of missing him.  He got us through one more tough week, then at week eight, we started to see the cloud lifting.  Each of us have more energy and we get out of the house more often to use our legs and breathe fresh air.  As Christmas lights begin to go up around town, I know it will parallel our journey to health and healing, culminating in a celebration of thanks.  We are not totally healed yet and there are still symptoms that get us down, but I know that we are on our way to freedom from Lyme and this makes my heart sing!

Last weekend we were able to drive a few hours south to see some sights and this weekend our main event is Starbucks!  Oh the joy in my heart at seeing words on a menu I can actually read and being able to order something I know a little bit about!  It's not the extended Starbucks menu, but I can order a Toffee Nut (holiday special) Latte with coconut milk, half sweet and they won't look at me like I am crazy!  No, I am not supposed to have it, but some things in life are just worth it.

We ate our home-packed lunch here amidst cowbells and sunshine.

I could listen to cow bells all day.

Where's Waldo?  Just kidding- can you see the church on the hill?

I see the light in my middle child's eyes that has been lacking and as they all feel better I see the energy and some of the crazy that a house full of growing teenage boys should naturally have.  They can hardly keep their hands to themselves as wrestling on our floor becomes a main staple of entertainment for them!  I am just sorry for all our neighbors.

We will celebrate Thanksgiving this coming weekend with so much thanks to God in our hearts.  We miss home so intensely but we are profoundly grateful for this season in life where God is providing in mighty ways and teaching us so much.  Thanks to each of you for your prayers and support - words really cannot do justice to say thanks enough for the ways you have been an absolute blessing...truly, the hands and feet of Jesus as we walk through a difficult season.

I snapped this picture out the car window as we drove by.  

There's no fanfare, it's not on the map, 

just alongside a rural road out in the country-side.

It made me think about the ways that God

works in our lives...not in the spotlight, but in the background; 

in the quiet honesty and aloneness of our hearts, just us and God.

I love my Levi-Ben.  He is our rock and takes care of us so well.  

the end of week five

The weather here has turned fully fall-ish and the golden hues remind me of home.  Yesterday was a chicken soup kind of day as the clouds overhead never fully released their contents, but instead misted down upon us hour by hour, with gusts of wind that reminded me of the Oregon coast.  Our bodies enjoyed the excuse to stay indoors and read books.  But even with tired and achy bodies, we are seeing glimpses of healing.

Our doctor does not expect to see changes in our symptoms for the first six weeks because it is the die-off period, the time in treatment when spirochete and bacterial elimination is occurring as Lyme loses the upper hand, and the bodies immune system grows stronger and stronger.  Already I have seen changes in Wyatt's face especially, as his eyes look less gaunt and the paleness of his face begins to fade.  Today, I was mentioning this to our doctor, and she asked Wyatt if he was feeling better.  He gave a tentative yes.  As she dug deeper and asked if he had more energy, his answer squeezed my heart.

He said, "I have bursts of energy.  More of them.  Like, before I would get a burst, but if I spent it, I would be sick all that day or the week.  Now I can spend my energy and I will be tired, but then I will get another burst.  I won't be sick."  

My heart literally hurt and I could not stop the tears at hearing this from his mouth, him so simply framing the reality of his life for the past few years...things I have tried to put into words.  He has fought hard against even admitting to himself that he gets sick after spending his energy, stubbornly trying to prove himself well and push past all the pain and exhaustion...and here he is, able to fully acknowledge the limitations his body has had because now he can see the difference; like pops of sunshine through the clouds after a long stormy season, forgetting what the sun looked like.  Hearing him talk about energy as a commodity the way we adults understand time and money as a commodity made my heart cry.  These are things a child should not need to know about. But he does.  He has had to manage his energy like precious drops out of a mostly empty bottle.

This is a window into the world of so many parents who watch their child struggle with chronic illness.  The inner wave of panic never really leaves as you struggle through doctors appointments and hold back false hope that rises every time you think you may have the answer.  Antibiotics, herbals, tinctures, neurology appointments and doctor after doctor, all the while mourning an immune system that seems to be losing the fight as said child is in the pediatric office week after week from one virus or another, bacterial infections, lab work-ups and random issues.  It is my greatest hope and prayer that we go home to a new reality and a fresh start.

Eli and Ben are both very tired but have bursts of energy as well.  Symptoms still make us sick but there are wonderful glimmers of hope!  Most days are full days which is good.  We go to treatment for three plus hours four days a week, fill prescriptions, grocery shop (another post for another day...), cook three meals a day from home (holler out to all my home-school friends who cook ALL DAY LONG!) and always swallow so.much.medicine.  Mostly it is natural medicine that works in conjunction with our doctors protocol to heal the gut, get rid of bacteria and establish balance in our body.

Today was a great day, and after treatment we all felt well enough to take the long way home, through a local park.  The sun was out and it was such a joy to buy the boys dairy-free sorbet as a splurge because it's Friday and we get to let our veins heal for two days.  (Ben informed me that he loves Fridays.)  After running about (like teenagers do at an empty child's park) we are now back at home resting.  Our bodies are tired again, but we know something is healing inside of us- I can truly see it!

This coming Monday is the start of week six and I can see the sun on the horizon, no matter what the weather is overhead.  God is so present and He is so good.  Our hearts could not be more grateful or humbled at where He has us right now.  We miss our family and loved ones but we are forging ahead!

Eli snapped this picture as unbidden tears fell from my eyes,
 opening a precious box from home.

#Brothers #InItTogether #TheyAreMoreBondedThanTheyKnow

Beautiful Schwabisch Hall

Bricks without Straw

It is chilling to read that Pharaoh was a slave-driving force that sounds very similar to the force that held the same people group captive thousands of years later during World War II.  Pharaoh made incessant demands on God's people and he made them work.  They were tasked with making bricks and Pharaoh put slave drivers over them.  So great was the Israelites suffering that they cried out to God for help.  Pharaoh even tried to kill their babies.  In all of this, the Israelites continued to multiply and stand up under the heavy load.  Yet upon request that they be allowed to travel three days journey into the desert to worship Yahweh, the request was denied and they were shamed for trying to escape working.  They were told they were lazy.  Work must be done.  WORK SETS YOU FREE is carved into heavy metal on the front gate at Dachau, one of the very first "work camps" that was opened before the war began.  How these words must have mocked them as they walked through the gates and into the enemies hands.

The enemy has always wanted to keep Gods' people in chains- captive- and tell us that we must work harder to be free.  He shames us and tells Gods precious people lies that cause grief and despair.  We become stuck in an endless cycle of trying to give ourselves our own freedom, a respite from the enemies onslaught of defeat.  But just like the day when time began, when we struggle for our own freedom the enemy entrenches us further; he drives a hard bargain.

Moses was tasked by God with the job of being His mouth to Pharaoh and the person He was going to use to bring freedom from the oppression His people were enduring.  Hope was on the horizon.  Yet when Moses asked Pharaoh to let them go into the desert to worship the Lord, Pharaoh refused, then proceeded to make the labor forced upon the Jews more severe.  He would no longer supply the straw that they used to make their bricks, yet the same quota of bricks must be met each day.  When the foremen could not succeed in this impossible task because the Israelites were "scattered all over Egypt to gather stubble to use for straw" they were beaten.  When they stood up for themselves to Pharaoh, he again accused Gods people of being lazy.  The choke-hold around their necks got tighter as he reiterated his demands: they would be given no straw, and the same daily quota must be met.  I imagine this must have been a bit like expecting construction to continue without any lumber mills.  The already almost impossible task of producing large quantities of bricks just became impossible.

How could God promise freedom for this people and yet all earthly signs point to even more hopeless defeat than before?  They told Moses, " Ever since I went to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has brought trouble upon this people and you have not rescued your people at all."  Hopelessness.  Defeat.  And did you catch the accusation in their voice?  They had dared hope...but then sorrow crushed their hearts yet again.  How could they know that Gods ways are not their own?  How could they know that their eyes would see the mighty hand of God freeing them from impossible situations?  We know because we read ahead...but these were real people with real heartache and real battles they fought daily both physically and mentally.

Exodus 4:31 says "And when they heard that the LORD was concerned about them and had seen their misery, they bowed down and worshiped him."  What is it about the Lords great compassion for us that just undoes us?  And oh the struggle of human nature that doubts the Lords goodness when trial and tribulation overtake us...when we don't understand why the Lord would promise good but we just walk through life's storms.  We become like the Israelites stuck in captivity who don't realize that the LORD fights for us.  When we struggle in our own strength to overcome the enemy hold on our lives we forget that work is not what makes us free.  Our natural tendency to strive to become something that we can be in man's eyes, whether it be skillful or admired, powerful or be seen as good enough can become stumbling blocks as we stand in full view of the Lord.  He knows our hearts and He knows how we struggle...our God is a God of standards and He is Holy, but He is also a God of mercy.

There are battles in our life that we fight against an enemy just as real as the Pharaoh we read about in times past.  There is a war that rages for our soul, and a God who already paid the price to win it.  The enemy will always cause defeat and shame to rage unhindered in our souls... while the Lord beckons us to His side to find the forgiveness and quiet peace that only He can give.  Oh how He longs for His children to have freedom in Him and to be set free from the chains of sin that entangle.  This is the gospel message- this is the hope that is held out for us because He lived on this earth, died taking on the full dead weight of human sin of all mankind for all time, and then triumphed over the grave when he rose three days later.  This is our victory!  I hope with all my heart that if you are reading this, you know the Jesus who loves you and died to free you from your captors chains.  I hope that we who know and love Jesus as our Savior choose daily to throw off the chains and dare to walk forward in hope even when our hearts are broken and we cannot see how to walk forward in freedom...when trial overtakes us, when sin chokes us and when the enemies taunts are real enough to cause our hearts to tremble with fear.

Sometimes we wait...and wait for the Lords answer.  I don't believe that just because we are eternally saved that we will be saved from all life's trials.  Time and again we read in Scripture about hero's of the faith who went through heart-crushing times, and they had their own failures (big ones).  But time and again we see a heavenly story unfold and it tells the same tale of a God who sees, who loves, and who saves.  As the Israelites were fleeing Pharaoh and were trapped against the sea...no going forward and no going back...the Lord moved.

 "The Egyptians pursued them, and all Pharaoh's horses and chariots and horsemen followed them into the sea.  During the last watch of the night the LORD looked down from the pillar of fire and cloud at the Egyptian army and threw it into confusion.  He made the wheels of their chariots come off so that they had difficulty driving.  And the Egyptians said, "Let's get away from the Israelites!  The LORD is fighting for them against Egypt."  

Exodus 14:23-25

Our freedom comes when the LORD fights for us.  It makes me want to make sure I am striving for the LORDs battles, and not my own agenda.  It makes me grateful that through the struggle and when we are most in need, we see the Lords greatest miracles.  It makes me thankful that my God covers over all my sin, and loves me when I am most unlovable.  And he loves you, too.

"In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed.  In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling."  

Exodus 15:13

This is the song of Moses, recorded after the Lord threw the enemy army into confusion and then proceeded to part a wall of water, allowing the Israelite people to walk free to the other side. Tests of faith were still to come for the Israelites but they had a God who was fighting for them.  And He fights for us too.  His love is unfailing and He is faithful to lead us, His people.  He is a God of eternity who has always faithfully walked among His people and is still moving among us today, reminding us of stories just like this one to give us faith when our hearts doubt.  He is good.  He sees. and best of all- He redeems.

A peek into week four and more

Here we are approaching week four of treatment.  I struggle with knowing what to write; there are so many thoughts and emotions that compete for attention in my heart.  I am not sure I can share completely; some things are too hard for a mommy to explain.  I debate internally regarding what I should write and how much of our journey my children want in the public eye.  They don't want to be sick- they don't want to be those kids with Lyme.  These are the reasons why this post has been belabored mentally and somewhat dreaded.  I want to only share the fun things.  I would rather not be real, and just stick to the surface details - the ones that are not vulnerable to speculation and the ones that can be picked at without my heart being affected.  But that is not this journey, and after much prayer I have decided that it is not what the Lord has called me to.  So I have decided I will write truth.  Not a reckless dialogue of emotions...but a vulnerable picture into our world.

Lyme Disease is becoming more of a topic in southern Oregon, our home state.  What was not talked about ten years ago (at least I didn't hear of it) has become a frustrating and sometimes divisive topic among the community and everyone seems to know someone who has been recently diagnosed with it.  Opinions and suspicious questions abound as we all try to grapple with the idea of Lyme Disease and the shock (and denial) that our home town would be a breeding ground for it.  I really didn't believe it myself until out of exasperation I agreed to take a test.  The reality of seeing the test come back showing I was positive for borrelia spirochetes in my body cannot be expressed in words, having seen the devastating effects of it in my nephew.  When did I get it?  I don't know.  Was it one of the many ticks I pulled off myself after a full day of running through my childhood fields and climbing trees?  Back in that day, they were no more alarming than a really creepy fly (that happened to be attached) and taking one off was not worth the mention.  Times have changed and ignorance is not a luxury any more.  Knowing that I more than likely passed it to my children has been devastating and angering to my heart.  Watching my child suffer through seizures that wrack his body in pain and tears my heart apart with panic that makes it almost explode...no diagnosis available from multiple specialists...yet I have read many of the same stories like ours.  Parents watching their children be sick and seize from an unnamed disease until finally, one doctor says..."You know, I just want to do one test, to rule out Lyme Disease..." Seizures are the most devastating symptom in our family, but it is definitely not the only one.

So here we are, after my children have been up and down the freeway seeing multiple pediatric specialists for neurological disorders, endocrine disorders and working with a doctor in Portland to lower the spirochete load in their bodies after all three tested positive.  Just to be sure, we tested three times, three different tests, none covered by insurance.  We weren't looking for this to be our story.

We are here because of the success rate with this doctor.  We have heard (and seen) story after story of people who come terribly sick...some with feeding tubes, in wheelchairs and cognitively incapable of much.  This is the truth of the what Lyme can do unhindered in the human body, when the immune system can no longer hold back the tidal wave of spirochetes.  My children came sick but not near as sick as many others.  I have had the blessing of meeting a handful in the past and even several in the past week who have been healed and made Germany home.

My sis-in-law, Stephanie, Adrianna (click here for Adrianna's Lyme Fight) and I

Our days are full here.  We have treatment four days a week with a break on Wednesday.  We eat a diet for gut health and intestinal healing which has included personalized food intolerance tests. This test dials in what foods your body is testing sensitive to and causing inflammation.  Full disclosure mom moment here: I love eggs.  I cook eggs when it's dinner time and I have no plan - all the sudden it become breakfast for dinner!  Its protein and I am a serious protein fan.  I have cooked eggs so much my kids get sick of eggs.  I hard boil eggs, throw them in lunches (my kids love me for that), eat them with avocados on toast and quiche is one of my favorite dishes.  So imagine my laughter when one of the highest rated food sensitivities for ALL OF US came back as EGGS!  And imagine Levi's delight when he realized he would no longer have to contend with unrefrigerated eggs here!  God makes us LAUGH.  So, we are off of eggs.  Also, no dairy or wheat.  Along with a handful of other really normal food that we will abstain from for five weeks.  Gut health, baby!

We started feeling the effects of Lyme die-off around week two.  Knees that were achy now felt like they may break.  Feet felt like lead weights and our legs were sure they had been lifting heavy furniture all day and were about to give out at the next step.  Pain is a familiar companion and all the worst of the Lyme symptoms seem to flare as they put up a fight to survive.  My oldest and I have symptoms that track most similarly and my younger two have been holding up better than I expected.  They sleep and rest then get up and GO.  A favorite has been the freedom they have to walk down to the toy store and buy silly trinkets or just have the joy of looking and dreaming.  This I am happy to give them, as I look at tired veins that will be found again the next day.

This part is the hardest for my heart to contain as I watch their faces day after day hold out their arm for another IV.  Their bravery humbles my heart and I hold back tears at the raw parts of life they are experiencing at such a young age.  It is such a mixture of sorrow and thanks...that God made this possible...that they may be able to run and play day in and day out like their friends do.  That there will be no more headaches on the couch with blankets over their eyes and frantic parents looking for ibuprofen wondering how much worse it should get before we go in....to know that they can make it to a full day of school without falling asleep the second they get home for the rest of the night.  We look toward the day when the calendar is not a mess of doctor appointments and weekend trips to the specialists...to not watch their bodies struggle through a sport or struggle through a friends birthday party, head swimming with exhaustion and whispering in my ear that they are sick and need to go home, then tears on the way home because they are sick while their friends get to play.  To not have to measure out their days according to how much energy they can expend, knowing the next day will have to be a rest day...to know that they will not pass this disease on to their wife some day (yes, it is transmitted that way) and then watch their own children suffer the effects of it....this is why we are here.  And God is holding us so tight.

This season is such an interesting one.  I feel my heart stretched so tight like a rubber band that might break, but always there is a silent peace and even joy deep beneath the surface that holds me steady.  We have been able to drive places while Levi is here and drink in the beauty and history that is a steady normal here.  We are not a perfect family and our neighbors in the next apartment probably think we are loud.  I have made the kids wash each others feet on more than one occasion for a random "you're a dirt bag" comment made to another brother, lol.  And I probably owe them a few feet washing gigs too. But all-in-all, this has been precious to be together, even in the short spans of time that Levi is here. I can feel God knitting our imperfect hearts together in eternal ways and providing laughter daily.

One of my favorite verses is below.  I love that our God is compassionate and sees his little lambs that need His arm of protection.  I am so thankful for the God He is.

Isaiah 40:11

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.