this day will always be sacred to me

Mar 27, 2018 by

On March 27, 2012, my dear Jessica’s father laid his hands on my head and gave me a priesthood blessing. It was not the blessing I expected or desired. It was far more powerful than any blessing I had ever received in my life. It felt HUGE and full of peace and goodness and His power all at the same time.

God asked me to find my ancestors and to do their temple work for them. I have been dedicated to this work since then (though it took me two weeks to get started). This is big. Really big. I don’t usually stick with anything for very long at all. The fact that I have spent thousands of hours, enlisted hundreds of people in my temple army, and stuck with it week after week shows what a powerful message God gave to me that day. It was a message with staying power, a message that changed me in a way I cannot describe.

I am so, so grateful for that blessing, for that invitation from my Father to find my father’s family and allow them to experience the joy of building a relationship with Jesus Christ founded in temple ordinances.

This past Friday, we had a group of 22 dear friends meet in the temple to do 106 sealings to commemorate the 6th anniversary of my priesthood blessing. It was sacred and joy-filled and glorious.

God knew the healing I needed was far more than the physical blessing I was seeking that day. He knew my soul needed the buttressing of my ancestors to make it through the physical and emotional challenges of the past six years. He knew I needed their love and protection and joy. He knew I needed more of Him and His son. Through family history work, He has blessed me with all of these things. God is good and He is in the details of our lives. Hallelujah forever and always to the God I love.

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losing patience and finding love

Mar 8, 2018 by

My boy has been grumpy. Grumpy isn’t even the right word for it as it is SO FAR beyond grumpy. Full of mountains of rage? Obstinate beyond all conception? Having never raised a teenage boy before, I really have no idea what is normal. I have wondered if this is some crazy, anger-filled period that all boys go through (and if so, how on earth have generations of mothers survived it?) or if something is going on inside of him that is outside the bounds of normal.

Today is the umpteenth day of the grumps and I almost lost my cool completely and screamed at him for his refusal to do his math and his angry words and dagger eyes. But I didn’t. I calmly explained his lesson to him again and again and again. When he still refused to even try, I told him he could choose to do housework or math. After folding laundry and doing dishes, he finally lashed out at me.

“How many other kids have to have a mom who can’t ride bikes with them? How many other kids have a mom who can’t really do anything with them?”

Oh my. Big feelings right there.

I was a bit tempted to lash right back at him and say “I JUST bought a bike and we WILL be riding together and STOP your whining about how hard your life is and do your math. For heaven’s sakes, you have parents who love you and food to eat and hundreds of Legos and gobs of books and clothes to wear and you live in America and are not in a war zone!”

But I didn’t. I responded with a soft voice and said, “Oh buddy, I know. I know it is hard to have a mama who can’t do all the things you wish she could.”

At some point, I did remind him that I will be bike riding with him as soon as the snow melts and that we are going to have some epic adventures. And then he started crying and said, “What chance is there that you won’t get hurt again when you ride your bike and you will be in bed for another two years? Not very big!”

So fear and sadness are at the bottom of this grumpiness. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but it sure does give me a window into his soul.

I know my broken body is not the worst thing in the world, not by a long ways. I know our lives are full of blessings and rich with beautiful friendships and awesome adventures. But today I saw for a brief moment how very heartbreaking it is for my tender little boy to have a mama whose body doesn’t work like normal. More love, more patience, more nurturing, that is what this boy on the cusp of manhood needs from me.

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six years

Feb 20, 2018 by

It is early morning on February 20, the sixth anniversary of my hip injury. The thoughts and emotions and heartache and joy and pain and gratitude of the past six years are swirling around in my soul. I can’t actually capture the magnitude of this experience in our lives, but I want to try to share some of my thoughts so I can always remember this moment of the journey.

We are at a place in the healing journey I didn’t know we would ever arrive. Over the past six years, I have been in wheelchairs, braces, splints, and tape continuously. At least one, and usually many at the same time, body parts have been injured and needing to be held together. Hips, sacrum, ribs, wrists, hands, ankles, feet, knees, jaw, vertebrae, elbows, shoulders, and face along with all the muscles and fascial layers associated with those joints. Thanks to hundreds of stem cell injections, I have been out of all my braces since August and have been out of tape since late December. I am actually, factually exercising multiple times a week – muscle building is happening!

AND I BOUGHT A BIKE! Yesterday, in honor of this sixth anniversary, I decided to celebrate in a big way and buy an upright bike. Last week while I was in San Diego after my stem cell treatments, Tami and I rented cruiser style bikes to ride from the beach to a darling restaurant we discovered in January. We rode about a mile and I was in HEAVEN!

It was hard as heck on my leg muscles, but it didn’t hurt my pelvis, so the wheels in my brain started churning. I came home and talked to Jeremy, my amazing PT, about biking. He initially vetoed the idea saying there is no way my pelvis could handle the force of being upright on a bike. After looking at crank forward bikes (which use a very different geometry from normal upright bikes), talking with Jeremy some more, and testing out all our local options, I found a bike that doesn’t hurt my pelvis AND I BOUGHT IT!

This beauty is the Felt Verza Cruz. It has crank forward pedals that open up the hip area, an adjustable, giant, comfort seat that can slide on that funky, curved seat post, and an upright handlebar position so I don’t have pressure on my very weak elbows and wrists. For any of you locals, Dave’s Bike Shop has them in stock and will take care of you.

Yesterday, Keziah and Fisher loaded up the trailer with all the bikes and we went over to the lake to ride in the 20 degree frigidness. It was SO cold. AND it was so fun to be on a bike and riding with my kids.

In a time I almost cannot remember, we were a cycling family. We rode our bikes everywhere, violin lessons, the grocery store, the park. In the first year we were married, Richard and I sold his old Hyundai and bought bikes so we could ride all over Boise. When Blythe was born, we bought a bike trailer and hauled her around with us. In the evenings, I would take my bike out and ride 10-30 miles on a regular basis. It was my time to be with God. Thirteen years ago, I had to stop riding my upright bike after my pelvis was damaged in a car accident when I was 40 weeks pregnant with Fisher. I didn’t let that keep me from cycling for long – when Fisher was about a year old I bought a high racing recumbent bike and happily rode my cares away many a night until that fateful February day in 2012 when everything changed…seemingly forever.

I have held on to that recumbent bike as a symbol that I would not give up the hope of healing. Doctor after doctor told me I would never ride it again and I should sell it. But I held on to that dream of someday getting back on my recumbent. But I never once believed I might be able to ride an upright bike with my family again.

And now I am. Not a normal upright, but an upright nonetheless. It is a miracle. An absolute miracle.

And so today, my heart is full and my eyes are leaking tears of gratitude. While I have a long, long way to go to get my body strong and functioning well again, right now I am grateful for the past six years of beautifully hard challenges.

  • My Heavenly Father’s tender care. He has whispered to my heart to trust Him. He has held me when my soul has been wracked with grief. He has taken away pain. He has sent angels, both earthly and heavenly, to minister to me. Oh, how I love Him.
  • Richard. This man. This magnanimous, gentle, full-of-love-for-me superhero. He would never think of himself as a superhero, but he is. He takes care of me with a steadfast, patient, always encouraging love that gives me wings to fly even if I’m stuck in bed.
  • My amazing children. Oh, the tears. These kiddos have been through a lot. They have had to watch their mother seize on the floor, speak incoherently, be carried out of buildings, and sob her soul out. They have had to be cooks and cleaners for years. They have put up with an often cranky mama, endless doctor’s appointments, and a lack of stability in their lives for a long, long time. The other night when I was trying to express my gratitude to them, Keziah said, “I don’t really remember life before you were injured, so this just seems normal and not a big deal.” Mom being injured is their normal and they have adapted beautifully. There have been hard days, really hard days of broken hearts and angry words, but there have also been many days full of laughter, learning, and a whole lotta love. I am so, so proud of them and the people they have become over the past six years.
  • My extended family. My mom and siblings and my dad and my aunts and uncles and cousins have blessed my life so much. They have paid for treatments, sent encouraging notes, prayed for me, cleaned my house, nurtured my children, and so much more. They have shown me the power of family again and again. My mom especially has gone above and beyond. She is fighting her own huge battles and she has showered me with love and encouragement on a nearly daily basis.
  • My absolutely incredible friends. I am richly blessed to have a huge community of homeschooling friends who have wrapped me up in their hearts and taken care of our family. We could not have walked this journey without them. Meals, hugs, rides, and rescues are just the tip of the iceberg. So frequently on my darkest days, a friend would come and lift my spirits or love on my children, and that would be a lifeline to get us through the hard. Many, many events and activities have been interrupted by my having a seizure or by another of my body’s needs and people have responded with love and patience every time. My dear friends have listened and laughed and cried and mourned and hoped and dreamed and everything in between. They are amazing. Oh, how I love the amazing women in my life. I’ve also been deeply touched by my church and online communities. I cannot express how life-giving the words and hugs and meals and encouragement have been. So many times when I didn’t know how we would go on, someone would reach out with a heart full of love and somehow we would make it through.
  • Stem cells and all that goes with these amazing treatments – the miraculous healing they have given, the money for treatments, and the many trips to Mexico that Tami has left her family for, taken care of me, and been a superhero in all the ways. She has sacrificed much and I’m so, so grateful. There is no way I could have done this without her. Oh, how I love her! Dr. Calzada’s treatments have given me a life again. When I first saw him in January 2015, I was hardly able to digest food, was having seizures on a regular basis, could not bend my hip more than 150ish degrees, had a torn LCL along with many other injuries, and had little hope of ever improving. I had been on a continuous downhill spiral with my neurological symptoms getting worse each month that went by. Each injury made my nervous system more hypersensitive and there seemed to be no way to prevent the injuries as simply rolling over in bed would dislocate multiple joints. I have been blessed to be able to go to Mexico 11 times. Each trip has been hard and wonderful and painful and full of healing. I’m so grateful for the miracle God has given me and the help that has been showered upon me to enable me to go.
  • My ancestors. On March 27, 2012 I was given a powerful priesthood blessing in which God asked me to find my ancestors and do their temple work for them. I was incredulous that He would ask anything of me when I couldn’t even walk and I was angry that He wouldn’t heal me on the spot and instead was asking me to spend my very limited time finding dead people that I didn’t care about at all. My attitude quickly changed and I fell in love with my ancestors. Researching my family lines, spending time in the temple, and orchestrating an army of people who are helping me do the ordinance work, has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. My ancestors are now dear friends. I know they have helped carry me through the past six years. They have spoken words of comfort to my soul, taken away the pain of injury, and protected our family from multiple tragedies. I’m so grateful God knew exactly what I needed and asked me to find them.
  • Jeremy, my amazeballs manual therapist. I can’t even imagine where I would be without him. He knows my body and what it needs and is able to put things back in place like a magician. He has stuck with me through injury after injury and patiently helped my body on this crazy adventure. His wisdom, gentle encouragement, and kick-butt skills have been an integral part of getting me to the place I’m at now.
  • The pain. I’m grateful for the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual pain of the past six years. I have many wrinkles on my face that testify of the physical pain. I wish they weren’t there, but I guess they are badges of honor given to those who survive the hard. I hope my levels of empathy and kindness have grown in response to the mental and emotional pain. And I’m deeply grateful for the spiritual changes I’ve been blessed with as I’ve come to depend upon God and hear His voice more clearly. The price that I’ve paid to come to know Him more intimately is worth it. I would do it all again to have this relationship with my Heavenly Father.
  • The lessons. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of things I have learned and there is not space or time to recount them all. Here are a few. God loves me. My husband will stick with me through all the mess and yuck and hard. Miracles happen. A smile can change a life. Sometimes a long cry is necessary. Grieving can be beautiful and it is an essential step on the path of healing. People are good and kind and come in all sorts of superhero packages. Covenants with God provide power in my life. Hugs fill my heart. Hope is critical to a soul’s survival. I’m braver than I believed, stronger than I knew, and loved more than I ever knew was possible.
  • Thank you. Thank you for the big and thank you for the small. A huge thank you to each one of you who have blessed my life and walked this journey with me. Thank you for your love, encouragement, friendship, and hope. The importance of your influence in my life and the life of my family is immeasurable. We have needed each one of you and are so, so grateful you have been part of our journey.

    I have no idea what the next year or six years will bring. But on this day, my heart is grateful for where we’ve been, what we’ve gone through, and where we are right now.

    She looked back and marveled how far she had come. She didn’t wonder how she made it. She already knew the answer. Only with God’s help had she powered through. For without His strength, she could do nothing.

    I just read through the past anniversary posts and boy, howdy, it has been a ride. If you want to check them out, here they are:

    2013
    2014
    2015
    2016
    2017 – must have missed writing about it!

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letting him in

Jan 18, 2018 by

There is really no way to put the feelings and experiences of the past ten days into words, but I want to remember this time, so I am going to try.

Monday, January 8, was the five-year anniversary of the first time I passed out and had a seizure. I think because of the way my brain catalogs dates of all kinds, anniversaries of hard days are often hard for me.

This one was a doozy. I started bawling in the morning and didn’t stop for about 36 hours. January 8, 2013 played out in my mind over and over again. I saw myself collapsing to the floor, shaking, trying to find my head that was floating far away from my body, and saying all sorts of nonsensical gibberish. As the day wore on, grief filled my soul. I could not stop thinking about how hard the past five years of passing out and seizing have been, the pain and suffering of the injuries, the lost abilities, and the seemingly never ending heart rate issues. Then I thought about my children and all the things they have missed out on by having a fragile, broken mother who is unable to run and play with them.

Then the guilt came. I started thinking about the burden I am to so many people. Pictures came into my mind of the many meals, events, and outings which have been interrupted by my body’s needs. I thought of the money, time, and effort that have been given to me again and again and was overcome with guilt that so many people have given so much to not only help me get my life back, but to also just get me through each day.

Oh my, it was rough.

On Monday, during the crying-fest, a friend called and said we should go to Mexico to get the mesenchymal cells that are far stronger than the animal stem cells I have been receiving. I wanted them so badly, so intensely, but the guilt took over and I started telling God, “No way, this is too much. My life is not worth this much money.” All sorts of emotions were swirling inside of me – guilt at the possibility of getting them, fear that they wouldn’t help, overwhelming grief – and I could not process it all. I could feel the possibility of a big miracle, but I was terrified to actually believe it or to even let myself hope for it. All I could do was cry.

On Tuesday evening, Tami called and after talking for a long time, I finally let out a chuckle. That was the beginning of coming back to myself. Then Kami kidnapped me and took me to The Greatest Showman which did my heart a world of good and reminded me that dreams and hopes and love are worth fighting for.

By Thursday, I was feeling much better, but still fairly ambivalent about accepting the opportunity to go and get the mesenchymal cells. God showed up in big ways again and sent my friend, Karami, with a message. She told me God was working on my heart and to let Him do his work without judgment, without fear, but instead, to let Him in and to be gentle with myself while He is working. I shared some of my feelings about the mesenchymal cells and she said “Trace, I think you have gotten comfortable with THIS level of a miracle, but God has TTTTTTHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSS big of a miracle for you.”

Those words opened my heart to a flood of ideas. For the next several days I pondered them and I realized I was telling God, “it’s too much.” I had to dig deep and really think about my beliefs about miracles and healing and God’s hand in my life. How could I say I would accept all of the atonement of Jesus Christ, that I believed I could be forgiven of my sins, cleansed every whit, comforted, redeemed, and claimed by the God of heaven and earth, and yet not be willing to take in the possibility of miraculous healing?

More tears. More digging in the scriptures. More pondering.

I left for Mexico on Monday. I received my normal stem cell treatments on Tuesday in my back and hips. Afterwards, we went to The Greatest Showman where I was given messages of hope again and then the temple where we did initiatory work for my ancestors and shared beautiful, sacred moments with those on both sides of the veil. Each experience opened me up a little more to the work God is doing in my life. I cannot explain it, but I felt like a chisel was tapping at my soul, opening me up to His purposes one tap at a time.

On Wednesday, as I laid waiting for the mesenchymal cells, I poured out my heart to God. I told him that I was finally open to whatever healing He has for me, big or small, I was ready. As I opened my arms wide and told Him I was ready to submit fully, tears flowed out of me again. After the IV started, I opened my Daring to Hope book and right there in front of me was exactly the message I needed to hear at that moment.

Katie Davis Majors is referring to the woman with the issue of blood…and to each of us.

I resonate deeply with this woman. I can see her pushing through the crowd, reaching out for Jesus’ hem. I can feel the strain, that desperate reaching, longing to touch Him, just even the very edge of His robe. A longing for only Him. I imagine her inner pleading after tying so long to be healed: Please, please.

And I am like the woman with the issue of blood, except I am the woman with the issue of doubt. I am the woman with the issue of sin, with the issue of flesh, with the issue of forgetfulness. I am the woman who wants to snap my arms shut and protect, fold my arms tight around my chest to guard my heart, which is still so raw and exposed, protect if from being broken yet again. I want to gather my children to myself and shelter them from the ugly hurt of this world. My mind wanders too quickly from He can To I can’t, and my focus turns to earthly struggles before it rests in my Heavenly Father.

Hope is the great expectancy of this woman that Jesus will help her. Hope is our great expectancy that we will know HIm in all our circumstances, even the seemingly hopeless ones. Hope is this mocked-by-the-world, nonsensical reaching through the crowd just to touch Him. To the cynical, it seems like a waste. Why reach in such a crowd? Everyone is touching Him. You’re wasting your time. What if nothing happens? We risk great embarrassment to hope in this way, don’t we? But the reaching shows something about the woman’s heart, something about my heart: a faith undeterred by the world or our circumstances, a faith that believes in what we cannot see. My expectancy grows my heart toward God, grows room in my heart for more of Him, and allows me to see Him here, wherever here is.

Sure, daring to hope feels a little too much like playing with fire, especially when we have been burned before. To hope exposes me, just like the bleeding woman. It lays me bare and vulnerable because I can’t fix this and can’t control the outcome. My hope puts me right up next to Jesus, torn open and defenseless, completely at His mercy, completely surrendered.

Oh. My. Goodness. The tears poured out of me. The cells dripped in. My soul opened up to God and I begged Him to come in deeper, to pour His power and light and mercy and miracles into every one of the 21 million stem cells entering my body and every fiber of my being.

Holiness.

His holiness filled the room and wrapped me up and there are no words to describe it.

I do not know what healing these cells will bring, what healing God has in store for me, but I do know, emphatically, He is with me. I am in His hands and He is taking care of me in beautiful, soul-filling ways.

May I always remember.

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summer has arrived!

Jun 13, 2017 by

June is nearly half over and summer is here! We just completed our 14th year of Swim Camp. There were 49 families camping with us, 110 kids in lessons, and many other children not in lessons. SO MUCH FUN.

The next few weeks are full of family reunions and camping with Tami (cousin), Mikelle (sister), and my mama on the banks of a beautiful, slow-moving river the kids will play in all day long. This summer we will also have our regular trip to the Wind Rivers, a wedding for my niece, Andie, in Fort Collins, and many days at our local lakes and rivers to kayak and paddleboard and soak up sunshine.

Summer time is just what I need. Amazing how it comes around every year at just the right time to fill my soul up with family, nature, time on the water, blue skies, and Vitamin D from that glorious sun.

I am recovering from my trip to Mexico for stem cell treatments four weeks ago and I can feel my torn ligaments healing. It is ever so slow, but it is working. We went kayaking and paddleboarding on Memorial Day and my hands were able to paddle. It hurt my shoulder with the still recovering subscapularis tear to pull on the paddleboard, but kayaking was okay. It must engage a slightly different set of body parts. My goal is to be in my boat and on my board as much as possible so I can grow some serious muscle. Last summer I was able to grow 5 lbs of muscle between May and September because of all the kayaking I did. I lost nearly all of it over this long winter of injuries. Now, I want to grow more and then NOT get injured and be able to keep growing muscle all winter long.

Bring on the sun and sea (or beautiful rivers and man-made lakes which populate Idaho!). Bring on the family time. Bring on the camping in the majestic mountains and fresh air. Oh, how I love summer.

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he carries me

Apr 4, 2017 by

I had a pretty big epiphany this weekend during General Conference. I started to have this epiphany during the 2015 October Conference when President Monson seemed to nearly collapse at the pulpit, but it came even more strongly into my heart and mind this time.

President Monson, our prophet, is not doing very well physically. Richard and Dallin told me that at the Priesthood session on Saturday night, he only spoke for a few minutes and his words were so slurred that captions were used so the audience could understand him. On Sunday morning, he again spoke for just a short while, but his voice was clear and strong and completely understandable. He was able to announce five new temples and share a message on daily scripture reading and pondering. He did not attend the Sunday afternoon session because he was too weary.

As his situation settled into my heart, a new understanding of my own life started growing. So very often, I can muster the energy, the capacity, the presence to show up and do something big…like present at a conference or teach a class or throw a party or go on an adventure. But then I crash. Hard. I will pass out, have seizures, spend a whole day in bed, stop digesting food, have a crazy heart rate, or the whole shebang of other symptoms of dysautonomia. I often think to myself, I must be making this whole thing up. Because if I can get up and do the BIG THING, whatever it is, I should be able to do big things all the time and be just fine. So, I must be making this up or wimping out or just not having enough grit to do ALL THE THINGS.

This may be a long-term struggle for me, this internal yo-yoing back and forth, but as I heard his voice on Sunday morning and stared at his empty chair on Sunday afternoon, I felt God whispering comfort and peace to my soul. I felt Him telling me that He is helping me do the BIG THINGS and that just because I can sometimes do them does not mean I can always do them.

My mind still doesn’t really understand how I can do a thing one day and not be able to do the same thing the next day, but somehow, in those sacred moments of Conference, He let me know it is the reality of my life and that I am not making anything up, am not a wimp, and am certainly not lacking grit. He helped me to understand, through watching our brave prophet’s example, that He can and will sustain me in doing the big things, at least some of the time.

Beautiful lesson from my loving Father.

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five days till our hugs

Mar 30, 2017 by

Our girl comes home in FIVE days. Oh, my goodness! It is so hard to believe that her mission, the thing she prepared for her whole life, is coming to a close.

I had all sorts of goals for while she was gone. I was going to lose twenty pounds. I was going to be not passing out, not injured…I was going to have made so much improvement physically that we would both know it was a mission miracle. I was going to make her a quilt with all sorts of cool mission pictures on it. I was going to have a darling room for her. I was going to have all her emails and photos printed out and made into a book. Certainly the yard would be de-junkified, the garage organized, and the house clean. At the very least, all of her weekly emails would be posted here on my blog for the sake of posterity.

The reality is that none of those things are going to happen. Perhaps some of them could have happened if I hadn’t been hit hard this month with new injuries and dozens of passing out episodes. We are focusing on surviving and thriving on the essentials…morning snuggles, nighttime read-alouds, and people fed some sort of sustenance (most likely not made by me).

Instead of the aforementioned list, our missionary will come home to a real family with real challenges and heaps of love for her that will be shown with lots of hugs, homemade signs, listening ears, and maybe some ice cream. The Pinterest version of a missionary homecoming isn’t all that necessary and I probably shouldn’t have let myself go down that road in the first place since I can’t even figure out how to make dinner or write a blog post on any sort of regular schedule.

Richard has been able to rip out Keziah’s poorly organized closet and build a new space that we are hoping will hold two young ladies’ clothing. Keziah has purchased two new twin beds for both of them and we were able to get new mattresses and bedding. So, she has an awesome place to sleep and a place to put her clothing. Total win, right?

In other news, my body is a mess right now. A hot mess. On the 10th of March, while STANDING and watching Annesley dance her heart out at an Irish Dance performance, my foot dislocated AND a ligament tore. I was doing NOTHING at all, just standing. The next day, while shifting myself in bed, I reinjured my right hand that we have spent the past 17 months healing. I had been out of my splint completely for two months and had been working out of it for about four. It is SO sore. I am back to not being able to write or mouse or do my hair. My foot is incredibly painful. I spend a lot of time in my wheelchair. When I do walk, I am hobbling around, all taped up in an effort to hold the bones in place. My left hand is still in a brace from the fall on October 29th and my left shoulder, though much better since the stem cell shots into the subscapularis tear in January, is still hurting and not able to do much. On top of all that, these new injuries have wrecked havoc with my nervous system and it is going haywire. The prior issues of food not digesting, heart rate skyrocketing and plummeting, passing out, seizures, and constant exhaustion are now pretty constant and I am tuckered out.

This is NOT the state I wanted to be in to welcome my girl home. But it is reality. It is the ride we are on right now and I am determined to make the best of it and not give in to despair and throwing in the towel. January and February were amazing months where I felt normal and capable and had SO MUCH HOPE that I would never pass out again. Everything changed in March and I am learning once again to turn to Him, to listen to His voice of peace and love, and make the best of what I do have control over.

Five days till we get to hug our girl and listen to her stories. Five days to make peace with the reality and NOT make my family crazy for everything we are not.

Life is good. For realsies.

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eyes to see and ears to hear

Dec 10, 2016 by

Perceptions are a funny thing. They determine how we see things, how we understand the world around us, how we evaluate other’s motives, and yet, they are so often wrong. Last night I had one of those moments when I realized, once again, how incorrectly I can perceive the world.

Last night was our Ward Christmas Party. When I finished eating, my heart rate went up like it usually does, and I leaned back in my chair and tried to relax and think calming thoughts to help it come back down. But all the stimulation of kids running around, people talking to me, and the mass chaos of hundreds of people being in the same room together were too much for my nervous system to process. I tried closing my eyes and breathing deeply for awhile and that helped it calm down somewhat. Eventually Richard left to go figure out a way to get our car right up by the door and I counted heartbeats, willing them to sloooooowwwwww down and tried everything I knew to calm my system. The men were all working hard taking down tables and chairs, but could see something was wrong with me and left my table and chairs alone.

Fisher, my dear son who hates to be an inconvenience to anyone, came over and said, “Mom, can you move?” Barely lifting my head, I mumbled, “No, no I can’t.” I thought, “Oh, my heavens, can’t he see I am on the verge of passing out? Does he really care more about inconveniencing the men putting away tables than he does about my body’s needs?” He asked again, “Mom, can you move?” Again, I mumbled “No” and tried to get him to understand that I wasn’t using the table and it could be put away as long as they didn’t move my chairs or try to move me. Not satisfied with my answer, he persisted, “Mom, can you move? They are playing basketball.” In my nearly unconscious state of mind, I nearly exploded inside thinking, “Seriously! He is wanting to play basketball when I am having an episode? He wants me to move so they have more room to play!” But I couldn’t say anything because I was fighting with everything I had to stay conscious and calm. Finally, he said, “Mom, I’m worried the ball is going to hit you and hurt you. We’ve got to move you because they are playing basketball.”

I opened my eyes and looked around and saw that there was a group of teens playing basketball and I was right on the 3-point line. They were running all over the floor and the ball was flying wildly near me. I had had no idea any of that was happening and the boys had no idea anything was wrong with me, they were just trying to have fun. Grasping the situation, I told Fisher, “I can’t move, so you are going to have to protect me from the ball.” His response, “That is what I have been doing, I just think you would be safer if we could move you away from here.”

Oh, my goodness, the tears of gratitude welled up inside me for this good, good boy of mine. He wasn’t embarrassed of me. He wasn’t worried about inconveniencing the clean-up crew. He wasn’t wanting to play basketball and have more room on the court. He was watching over me and protecting me without anyone asking him to and without me even realizing what he was doing.

So often I respond too quickly, long before I understand the real situation. I am grateful for a body that was unable to speak and lash out in irritation and was instead able to hear his quiet voice, full of love, trying to help me.

Eyes to see and ears to hear and hearts to understand…those are the gifts I yearn for.

p.s. Yes, I did pass out a few minutes later. As we slowly made our way out to the car, my body collapsed in the hallway with Richard and several other men catching me and taking care of me. I am surrounded by angels, both heavenly and earthly ones. Thank you to those of you who so willingly walk this journey with me.

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four weeks with this crazy, dislocating pile of bones

Apr 16, 2016 by

Four weeks ago I did a little baby cartwheel called a monkey jump at gym. It is just a little hop with your feet while your hands are on the ground. A small child didn’t understand what I was asking him to do, so after explaining it multiple times I finally did one. I never thought it would hurt me. And certainly never imagined it would cause the big mess I am in now. All I was thinking about was how this precious child couldn’t understand what I was saying and the only way to help him understand was to show him.

My hand isn’t getting any better. At all. The bones will not stay in place. I am having an MRI on Monday to look for torn ligaments. They are probably not torn as my ligaments don’t normally tear, they normally stretch for a gazillion miles and lay there limp and weak not holding bones where they need to be.

Right now Jeremy has it taped up with about 12 layers of criss-crossing tape.

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Then I wear my hand brace on top of all those tape layers. With all the tape and bracing, I can barely move it. Do you see the lasso-type tape around my ring finger? It is to hold that bone up. There are four layers of tape there and it is still sagging. Do you see that?

I am under strict orders to not use my hand for anything. It is nearly impossible, but I am trying. Really trying. I need a How-To guide on how to function without your dominant hand. I cannot figure out how to get contacts in and out. How to brush my teeth. How to wipe. My left hand is not competent at doing any of those things, so even if I go the whole day not using my right hand, I still can’t figure out how to not do those things.

Once the MRI results come back, we will decide how to proceed. Jeremy and I both think I need a hard cast to completely immobilize my hand. Knowing I need it and being happy about the prospect of being in a hard cast for the entire summer are two very different things. I am still holding on to my kayaking dreams for this year, but am coming face to face with the reality that I may not be able to paddle for many months to come.

ARGH. The heartache is nearly more than I can bear. I love being on the water, gliding across the lake or coasting down a river. It is close to the feeling I have cycling and the only outdoor activity my body can handle. So I am not giving it up yet. I am hoping and praying and dreaming of miraculous healing while at the same time trying to open my heart to accepting this new injury and the ramifications it is handing me.

Writing is what I miss most. I feel like part of my brain is gone because I can’t write anything down. I can’t take notes on the books I am reading or write in my bullet journal or attend a lecture and record what I am learning. It is painful to my writing-loving soul. An integral part of my life has been removed and while it may seem like a small thing, it feels huge to me. Writing with pen in hand is a very different experience for me than typing or speaking into an electronic device.

We are slowly figuring out how to function without mom’s right hand and my left hand is getting slightly more competent at household tasks. We will figure this out, I am sure. In the meantime, I will be sporting lots of ponytails and glasses.

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