I want to be totally serious for a while. Yes I am capable of doing this sometimes. Not often, so you’re in for a real treat! I’ve had something heavy on my mind for a long time now and have chosen not to burden people too much with my problems. But my family needs prayer now, and even though I have a plethora of amazing, loving, genuine friends that have given me more than my fair share of time in their talks with God, I need to ask for just a little bit more.

   Lisa does not look chronically ill. She’s not emaciated or bald or in a wheelchair. But looks can be deceiving, and the truth is that my daughter has a chronic illness called Ulcerative Colitis. This is an inflammation of the intestines and is classified as an autoimmune disorder, where the body is attacking itself. It causes everything from an almost constant need to use the bathroom, to joint pain, to exhaustion, and more. And that’s not all. The medication she is taking sometimes causes nausea, headaches, irritability, more joint pain, and exhaustion. Not a great compromise, huh? But it’s the best we can do for now.

  We have tried several medications, herbal supplements, doctors, and naturopaths. We have been on the low carb diet, the no carb diet, the no sugar diet, the eat-only-air diet, and so far, nothing has helped. And the saddest fact is that we’ve been told that in rare cases, nothing will.

  Here’s something crazy. I wish I worried about my daughter not being liked at school. I wish I worried about her falling and breaking her arm. I wish I worried about her self- esteem and boys being mean to her. These things would be a relief. Because what keeps me awake at night is worrying that my daughter will not be able to stand through graduation or her wedding ceremony without having to run to the restroom. Or worse, that my daughter will have her intestines removed and have to live the rest of her life with a colostomy bag. Will a prom dress cover one of those? Will any boy take a girl with one to the prom in the first place? I don’t know. But even worse still is the fact that constant inflammation can lead to cancer. Have you read the statistics on colon cancer? I have.

   I have spent so long crying, praying, doling out meds, and cooking air, and I’m tired. I think Lisa is too. Our next step is possibly trying to get her to an IBS specialist in Seattle Washington. We’ve heard she’s really good. Though I am afraid to get my hopes up after so many broken promises and false testimonials, we are choosing to hold on to this thread of hope offered 1,800 miles away if we can get her there.

   So please just pray, and ask others to pray as well. Ask your friends, your neighbors, other church members, whoever. Because I really want her better. They deem this disease as incurable, but I know that label applies to nothing because I know a Healer that can cure anything. And it would mean a lot if you could bring it to Him on Lisa’s behalf. 

   Thank you. 

So Many Times

I am going crazy because I can only play peek-a-boo so many times. My one year old Justin is obsessively obsessed with this game, as were his previous  four siblings. I use to think it was cute until I realized that I would spend approximately seven thousand hours of my life pretending to be shocked that my toddler had not disappeared into an unseen vortex every time I covered my eyes. Yet every day I feign amazement at the continuing presence of my child while shrieking a bit hysterically, “THERE YOU ARE!!!!”

I can also just read “Thomas the Tank Engine Runs Into Some Deadly Trouble but Manages to Save the Day through Piety, Hard Work, and/or Cooperation, Thus Teaching a Valuable Lesson to the Children”  to my five year old so many times. It’s gotten so bad that sometimes I page skip. You other slacking mothers out there know exactly what I’m talking about. Where you turn several pages at once and try to ad lib some quick nonsense that may have lead up to the new page in order to avoid reading the entire book. Every once in a while I’m clever enough to pull this off smoothly, but most of the time the little brat calls me out on it, and then I have to start all over. Yet there I sit every night at the mercy of a child’s whim, reading, reading, reading until I wish my voice box would just fall out already.

I can only listen silently, staring at the stereo with a look of intense concentration with my eleven-year-old daughter as Taylor Swift sings about-GASP- fairytales so many times. This child is constantly dragging me to do this very thing whenever she discovers a new, fantastic teenybopper song which sounds surprisingly just like the old, fantastic teenybopper song that I listened intently to yesterday. Yet over and over again I sit, pretending to be lost for words, forcing tears to well in my eyes over how poignant the music and touching the lyrics.

There are lots of other things that I can only do so many times. In fact, my days consist solely of these things. I watch dances, listen to inane science facts, play memory card games, tell that story about that one time when Dad did something stupid as a kid. The list is endless and overwhelming and drives my to the very end of my endurance sometimes, but, crazy as it sounds, I also love doing them.

Why? I guess it’s because I realize that someday they won’t want or need me to anymore.  Because someday, Peek-a-Boo will be nothing but a silly baby game, my kids will all be able to read for themselves, and my daughter may no longer care about my opinion of the distinction of the nuances between eerily similar songs. Because girls will no longer dance in tutus, and boys will no longer feel excited about baking soda/vinegar experiments. Because at that point in time, I know that I might feel a little nostalgic for these times that seem so insurmountable right now, but I’ll also feel good that I indulged my children while I could.

Because if you look at it in another way, you could hear me say, “I can only do this so many times,” and it means something totally different.