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It’s been a rough season for us in the Burleigh house. We’ve battled months of illness, from my vertigo in the fall, to ear infections, viral throat infections, rib splitting coughs, fevers, vomit, you name it…  Some of the worst bugs we’ve weathered as a little family. On top of that, my husband has weathered difficulties in his job, and my parents have faced difficult health questions and diagnoses. And, then there’s my whole health saga. Recently, I received the results of my final MRI — I did indeed have a stroke; and there are no answers which yield any certainty. It was possibly caused by this, but may also have been caused by that, or it could be something else entirely. There’s absolutely no certainty.

After months and months of all these trials, I find myself fixing dinner, my mind racing, searching for the bright side. There always is one, right? Where is that darn bright side? I know it’s there somewhere. But where, in all of this, is it? In the middle of the vomit, the wild two year old tantrums, the hair pulling, the vertigo, the ear infections, the stroke… where are you, bright side?

I’ve recently been working on a Sunday school lesson on the sovereignty and the goodness of God. My premise is that God is both totally sovereign and totally good (a long ago lesson from the Jerry King days — Thank you, Jerry!). It’s daring to believe. Because it means that in the midst of vomit and ear infections, job changes, and strokes, God is absolutely in control, and even though that stuff feels junky, he’s still good. I’ve come to realize through this winter of many trials that I cannot allow the fallenness and brokenness of our world color my view of God. I must begin with the firm believe that he is good, and I must use that unwavering belief as a lens through which I see everything else.

If I look at life through the lens of our fallen world, I will see a broken God.

And that’s not the truth at all. The depravity of our world and of the human condition does not have any baring on God’s goodness. Instead, I stand firm in the belief that he is good, and I use that knowledge to process all the junk I encounter.

If God is good, then how should I interpret the reality of my fallen world? Personally, I choose to believe that, even when it doesn’t appear to be so, God ALWAYS has my very best interest in mind, and he is working for the greater good of HIS kingdom. You see, this world, this life, really isn’t about me and my happiness, my health, my comfort, my anything. It’s about him and his glory. And so if I have to go through some “light and momentary trials” I can trust fully that they will not compare to the “eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (2 Cor 4:17). It stinks to have poopy seasons in life where everything just seems wrong, hard, bad, gross, day after day. It has worn on me these past few months. The final MRI was just the icing on the cake.

But, I have pinned down that elusive bright side in this: Rather than perceiving life through the lens of my broken circumstances, I must see my broken circumstances through the lens of God’s goodness.

Rather than focusing on all that’s wrong with my world (which is just depressing) I can choose to focus on a good and loving God who is truly working for my good, according to the purpose for which he has called me. So, no matter how dark the circumstances may look, the bright side remains in my good and loving Father God. And I find that once I turn my focus to him instead of on all the junk, my problems become much smaller, much less significant, much less depressing. What we have gone through in these last six months is nothing compared to what others have endured. And it all dims as I fix my mind on the fact that my good Father loves me. That is more than enough for me.

Have you ever found yourself at a crossroad in life? Here you are, looking down your path, envisioning your hopes, your dreams, your plans. But suddenly you are stopped. There’s a crossroads. And the road that God seems to be indicating for you to take is the one going in the other direction from where all your hopes, dreams and plans lie.

These moments can take your breath away, as you feel your dreams turning to ashes. Feelings run the gamut from anger to fear to grief to a deep, deep sadness. This is not what I expected. It’s not what I hoped for. It’s not what I envisioned for my life.

Crossroads come in many forms in life: A financial crisis, a failed marriage, a tragic loss, a difficult diagnosis, a job loss, a broken friendship. Sometimes we see it coming, but sometimes, it hits us out of nowhere and leaves us panting, bruised, bleeding, shocked.

Many have followed the sage of my health issues since fall of 2015. I suffered months of vertigo, experienced hearing loss, and was diagnosed as a stroke victim. It was all rather alarming, to say the least. I feel way too young and way too healthy to be having so many health problems. Plus, I’ve got enough going on with all of Sophie’s trials — I don’t need trials of my own! Right? So, over the past six months I have undergone a plethora of tests, all seeking a source for this vertigo, hearing loss, stroke. There have been no answers. Nothing has come up anywhere.

In what I thought would be my final neurology appointment last week, I began posing the difficult questions in my heart. If we can’t determine anything else that caused this stroke, then it’s likely it happened because of one of my pregnancies? Which pregnancy? What caused it? Would I be likely to stroke again in another pregnancy? What are the statistics on that? Could it be a worse stroke? With true compassion, my neurologist told me that my questions were likely unanswerable, but that yes, my likelihood of stroking again in a future pregnancy was increased because of the past stroke, and that yes, strokes are unpredictable demons that can be completely life-altering. A risk of stroke is not to be trifled with.

Why is this a crossroads? you ask. Because I wasn’t totally sure that I was finished having children. I love my two blessings immensely. I will never take for granted the gifts that I have been given in them. But it’s like I said before, we’ve all pictured life a certain way, only to realize that maybe it’s not going to look that way. Maybe. I haven’t gotten any further than maybe yet. I’m allowing myself time to process, to grieve, to pray, to consider. My neurologist has ordered one final MRI to ensure that nothing about my imaging has changed. It’s his hail mary at finding out anything at all that can help me in this difficult decision. Perhaps what showed on the first scan was what’s known as an artifact — it’s not actually there, but the MRI machine makes a mistake. (I can’t even think about the irony…) Or, perhaps it has changed some and this gives us a new direction to look. Or, it may be the same, and my questions will go unanswered. Maybe. So, I’ll stand a while longer at this crossroads. I’ll ponder. I’ll pray.

But in these moments, at life’s crossroads, I have one reassurance: He’s a good, good Father.

Even if God’s path for my life is not what I envisioned, I can walk forward into his path, knowing that he is good. Yes, I may need time to grieve the losses of things that I never actually had, but dreamed about and planned on. I need to go through the process of surrendering those things to God. Perhaps in walking on his path, he has other good things in store for me. Or perhaps his path saves me from unimaginable pain. Perhaps his path will indeed hold the very things that I must now surrender to him. I can’t know; I can’t predict the future. But I can choose. Even though I can’t see what his path for me may hold, I can choose it in full confidence because of his goodness.

I made this choice with Sophie when her life began to unfold in a completely different fashion than I expected, and I make it again with my own future. I want to be on God’s path, because ultimately, I know that on my own I lack the wisdom to choose the best path for myself. If I planned out my future, I would undoubtedly mess something up, badly. Even in walking in God’s plan for me, I may still mess things up. But I want my heart to be pointed in the right direction, my feet to be on his path.

Can we just take a minute to say “yes” to Jesus, even if everything in life looks terribly wrong? Can we just acknowledge that he’s in control AND he’s good? Though my emotions all over the place, with my heart, my mind, and my will, I choose God’s path; I choose his plan. There is sadness in letting go of my own plan, but there is peace in knowing I’m choosing the plan crafted by the only wise God who is indeed a good, good Father.

As I stood in church one recent Sunday singing a familiar chorus, one line in particular jumped out at me. Tears of gladness filled my eyes as I sang “Mourning turns to songs of praise / Our God saves, our God saves.”  I began to fully realize that I have, largely, exited the chapter of mourning the absence of communication with Sophie. I am overflowing with joy because she is finally using speech to communicate. I waited three and a half years to hear her speak. It was a long wait. So, it’s taken a long time for my heart and mind to finally realize that the wait is over.

It. Is. Over. Sophie can talk!

The words of this song washed joy over my heart, and I turned to a familiar Scripture containing the image of sorrow turned to joy. Phrases from Jeremiah 31 leapt off the page at me, their truth resonating in so many ways with this journey I have been on:

“‘But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,’ declares the Lord.

‘I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.’

‘Restrain your voice from weeping and your eyes from tears, for your work will be  rewarded,’ declares the Lord.

‘So there is hope for your future,’ declares the Lord.

‘Just as I watched over them to uproot and tear down, and to overthrow, destroy, and bring disaster, so I will watch over them to build and to plant,’ declares the Lord.”

For so many months and years, I’ve carried a heaviness with me because of Sophie’s reality. Most of this has been tied up in a desire to hear her speak. The older she got, the more evident her speech gap became, and the more my heart bled. It’s been so hard to see my baby struggle. I was so worried (yes, I confess, Lord) that she would never speak, or that it would take years for her to add words to her vocabulary. I read many stories of apraxic children who had taken private speech therapy for years and only gained a few words per year. The journey overwhelmed me. My heart mourned over what seemed lost to us in these silent years. As I sang that chorus on Sunday, my heart fully realized that the silent years are actually over. I can rejoice in what God has done in Sophie’s life. Because her transition to verbal communication has truly been miraculous. Yes, she is probably only 75% intelligible at home and maybe 25% intelligible to the outside world. But she’s only been speaking for five months. And she has literally hundreds of words. Hundreds. She knows every letter in the alphabet, every animal, every household object, every food item, names of significant people, places, and toys, and she can count to twenty. Her vocabulary development in five months is literally inexplicable and indescribable. I knew at her diagnosis that the apraxia journey could take us years for this kind of progress. Let’s just say I had lowered my expectations quite a bit. But why? It is, after all, an awesome God who is guiding her life.

I used to pray that Sophie would just wake up one morning speaking clearly in complete sentences. Well, that didn’t happen. But somewhere along the way in these last four years, God changed me. It wasn’t necessarily my circumstances that changed; but it was my heart. In each of the passages where the Bible gives images of sorrow turned to joy, God never promises that our circumstances will change. He just says that he will give us beauty instead of ashes, gladness instead of mourning, joy instead of sorrow. Those things are within us. They are not based in our circumstances. Nothing about our circumstances needs to change for us to embrace beauty, joy, and gladness. I have grown to trust God more as we have walked through Sophie’s story. And now I realize that this struggle has brought much more glory God than Sophie’s life could have without her struggle. We can rejoice in her amazing progress and praise God for this growth in her life. I wonder, would I really be able to see the beauty of all of this without the struggle? Would I praise the Lord as much as I ought to? I’m not sure. But as we celebrate Sophie’s entrance into the world of verbal communication, I know that my heart is singing praises to Jesus and my feet are moving to a song of gladness as we hear Sophie’s sweet voice in our lives.

This year for Christmas I was given not one, not two, but three lighthouse Christmas ornaments for my tree. Some might feel disappointment over receiving so many similar things, but not I. I have long loved lighthouses; we frequently visited one as I was growing up, so they are already special to me. Over the past week I have pondered the importance of the lighthouse. I’ve thought about those desperate situations where sailors were swallowed up by the darkness and the blackness of the sea, needing to reach the land. That beam of light, it was their only savior. It alone pointed them in the way they should go.

This Christmas was one of those moments where I felt like God thought it appropriate to use a megaphone to speak his message to my heart. I’ll see to it that she gets not just one lighthouse, but three, so that maybe she’ll hear me. And I’ll even speak this word out loud to her through one of her family members. Alright. Got it. Loud and clear, Lord.

The word was this: With the year that you have had, so many trials and ups and downs, know that the Lord is your beacon of light, always showing you the way you should go, always directing you to the truth. He will thus make you a light to others.

This word caused me to reflect on the year we’ve had. With two little ones, I don’t often pause and spend much time in reflection, though this time of year, that is often the trend in our culture. I’ve asked myself: What was 2015 like for me? What do I hope for in 2016?

What was 2015 like for me? From sleepless nights last winter due to our young son, along with stringent dietary restrictions from a milk allergy, to a relapse of trichotillomania and an apraxia diagnosis for Sophie, to the failure of my own health this fall, and a possible genetic diagnosis for Sophie, 2015 has been a year of many challenges.

More specifically, 2015 held a lot of heartbreak for me over Sophie’s differences; it was a very hard year in that regard. I’ve wrestled with the enemy (and, quite frankly, with the Lord) over her relapse into hair-pulling, her diagnosis with apraxia, setting out on a long journey of speech therapy, and a possible genetic mutation. These are hard truths that our family has faced. They have years-long, if not life-long, implications. They are not what I hoped for as 2015 began.

Even though this synopsis seems to point towards a tough year, I haven’t thought about it as a tough year until now because there have been a lot of good occurrences in 2015, too. We’ve taken great delight in the emerging personality of our son (and his improvements in sleeping), and we’ve watched our daughter learn to communicate through words. It still makes my heart soar to see her progression with verbal communication in the past six months. In addition, we’ve been blessed with a financial outpouring which will keep Sophie in private speech for the foreseeable future. I’ve been blessed to continue staying at home with my children, and I’ve made great strides in my writing (this was the year of the blog!).

In my reflections, I indeed see the aforementioned ups and downs. And truly, at every single up, every single down, I’ve seen God’s loving hand directing us, holding us, comforting us, strengthening us, guiding us, giving us glimpses of his deep love for us. It’s all too easy to feel lost in the darkness of my broken reality, to feel like my heart, my life, is a bunch of broken, meaningless pieces. But whenever my thoughts and my gaze began to stray into the darkness, he shone the perfect piece of truth that I needed to see. (Remember when He showed me Sophie’s friends at school? Or when Sophie began saying all her letters without any prompting?) He has met me at each and every turn. He has been the guiding light, the source of truth, through all of the mayhem. He has, indeed, been our lighthouse, our constant beacon, shining the truth of his goodness into our lives.  Although our circumstances may not have always been good, we have seen that our God is very good to us right in the middle of heartbreaking circumstances.

What do I hope for in 2016? More of God’s goodness. No matter the trials, I just want to see more of his goodness in my life. And I know that often times, for me, I can’t see God’s goodness as clearly unless I’m in the midst of trials and brokenness. So be it, if more of that should come. But I’m refusing to sit here in the grip of my brokenness. Rather, I’m moving forward, pressing in, striving to be a better version of myself in the power of Christ Jesus. Maybe all these broken pieces of my life will be shaped into a beautiful mosaic, through which my Lighthouse can shine his light.

What did this amazing ear doctor have to say??

Well, the tests are in. And they do not currently show a problem with my vestibular system, which would be causing vertigo. I’m not sure whether to jump up and down because that is GOOD news, or to be a little frustrated that I still have no answers for the two months of vertigo I experienced. The doctor said that if my vertigo should return, they would like to retest me (Oh, joy!) to see if I score on a larger margin of “abnormal” than I did this time. (Apparently, 17% is not abnormal enough to be considered actually abnormal. Okaaaaay. 25% is that magic number, and I’m 8% off. So, it’s really not outside the realm of possibility that there is in fact something going on there.) He did not feel, at this time, that Meniere’s was a probable cause. Something about changeable hearing and positional room-spinning vertigo. I’m glad that we can tentatively scratch that off the list.

Another helpful tidbit that he did reveal, though, was the location of my stroke. The damage did occur on the right side (where I have hearing problems and scored abnormally on the vestibular test), in the area of my brain that controls balance. Okay. So, that could actually explain why I’ve become very motion sensitive since my mini-stroke of two years ago. A possible explanation.

He also said that disembarkment syndrome was a possibility, especially given my sensitivity to motion, though it usually presents with “more severity” (really? I felt it was pretty severe at the time…) and does not “last as long as” my case did. (This is actually contrary to what I’ve read about that condition though, so I’m not so quick to rule that one out, even though he is technically the expert and I am not.)

As for my hearing loss… More tests. He felt there were two possible explanations for that (because stroke doesn’t usually explain it, and because I passed the vestibular test, which could also explain it), which can be confirmed by a CT scan. So, one more time, I will go in for tests. But seriously, guys, if this test is fine, I’m just done. And if it’s not, I may need surgery down the road if my hearing gets too bad. Evidently, my ear bones and drum are not responding properly — they are somewhat immobilized. (This explains why the loud screeching of my son is so incredibly painful in my right ear!! — my right ear has no reflexes.) There are two conditions that can cause this; they can be exacerbated by pregnancy, so as far as the timeline is concerned, they fit. They don’t cause dizziness, but they fit otherwise.

And how am I feeling? Pretty good, really. I haven’t had a lasting dizzy spell in about six weeks — no complaints there! I still have momentary dizziness, but it’s only momentary. My hearing is still not good in one ear, but God has placed numerous women in my life, whom I look up to, who have dealt with similar hearing loss, so that doesn’t concern me terribly. The popping and crackling sounds are annoying, but they come and go and typically don’t interfere with my life a whole lot.

Since I’m feeling good,  I’m just about ready to take these two months and wrap them up and put them away with a giant question mark on the bag, somewhere in the back of my mental closet, and not worry about them anymore. We’ve done ALL. the. tests. And nothing. Nothing. Dollars and dollars, and hours and hours later, nothing. I’ve thrown fistfuls of time and money at this health mystery, and I’m ready to be done with that. Again, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because it is GOOD news that all my tests are “normal.” But, to have no answer for my episodes of vertigo is still slightly disconcerting. It’s troubling in terms of the future, though, I know in my heart that my future is secure in God’s hands. If he could save me from a stroke that I didn’t even realize I was having, then he can continue to carry me as we go forward. He’s got it. Sometimes faith is more important than answers. So we’ll just go with that.

“He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear.” (Ps. 112:7-8)

It’s interesting that I’m sitting here working on a lesson about peace for my high school crew, all the while battling anxious thoughts about my own health. Next week I will undergo testing for Meniere’s Disease, which is a disorder affecting the inner ear. There is no cure for this disease. Typically, it results in deafness in the affected ear. It would explain everything that I have been experiencing, from the intermittent vertigo, to the hearing loss, to the crackling in my right ear. Unfortunately, it fits. That doesn’t mean that I have it; but my mind has been reeling from just the possibility. For Pete’s sake, I’m 32 years old! I’m not supposed to be one of those people in “poor health.” And when the crackling began to occur in my left ear also, my adrenaline inched up towards the ceiling. If both ears are affected, I could lose my hearing altogether. It’s one of those “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone” moments. I cannot hear my children at night. I cannot hear my husband’s voice sometimes. I cannot hear what my cat is up to, until she’s making a ruckus in my room, terrifying me of another possible bat invasion. Hearing is a precious thing. And right now, my hearing loss is still minimal. Yet, all those sounds are already gone. My heart quickens with unspoken questions: What if it is Meniere’s? What if it does attack both ears? What if I learned sign language with my daughter for my future?! There are so many questions flooding my mind.

But today I worked through the Psalms, recording verses that have brought me peace, hoping they will bring peace to my Sunday school students. And I happened upon this one — “He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord. His heart is secure, he will have no fear.” I noticed first that this Psalm never indicates that bad news won’t come. But what it does promise is that we don’t need to have fear of that bad news. Why? Because our Psalmist trusts the Lord, so his heart is steadfast. I love that word — steadfast. It seems so sturdy, so immovable, so secure. It’s because my heart is secure in the Lord that I can look down the barrel of a possible Meniere’s diagnosis and feel a steadfast peace invade my heart. Like David, I realize that this physical world is full of threats, imperfections, diseases, and brokenness. It would be naive, at best, to assume that none of this will ever affect me. I know that it’s going to affect me. But I also know that it’s ok. Because I, too, was made for someday, for another place, where all of those imperfections are banished forever. And until then, I can be ok with today. If December 14th comes with a Meniere’s diagnosis, then I will ask God for the grace to be ok with that day. And each day after, I will continue to seek his grace to be ok with this temporary struggle, day by day. May my heart be steadfast, trusting in the Lord.

I just spent a lovely Thanksgiving celebration with my dear parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my sweet niece and nephew. It was completely delightful. I find myself beyond thankful this year in particular for my sweet mother.

You see, it’s been 20 years since I nearly lost her to advanced, aggressive breast cancer. 20 years! I can still picture myself as a 12 year old girl, visiting the Cleveland Clinic on Thanksgiving to see my mom who was recovering from a bone marrow transplant. The cafeteria was swamped, so we figured we’d get a bite on the way home. But, 20 years ago, nothing was open on Thanksgiving. So, my sweet daddy fixed us PB&J late at night when we got home from the hospital. (So very thankful for him, too!) This is perhaps my most memorable Thanksgiving. Sometimes those hard times are the ones that we remember the most. When I realized that this year marked 20 more years of having my mother rather than living without her, the memories just began to flow.

I’m so thankful that she was able to shop for every fancy dress with me. Every homecoming, every prom.

I’m so thankful that she was there for every important ceremony, graduation, sporting event.

I’m so thankful that she readied me for my wedding.

I’m so thankful that she was there for every baby shower and to see her grand babies just hours after they were born.

I’m so thankful for all the times she has come to stay with me, to serve my family, after babies have come, or when my husband has traveled.

I’m so thankful for every holiday we’ve spent together — 32 Thanksgivings, which could have been 12; 31 Christmases which could have been 11; 32 birthdays which might have been 12.

So many late night conversations.

So many prayers.

So many meals fixed for me, my brother, our friends.

So much nurturing.

What in the world would my life look like without my sweet mother’s nurturing, serving, loving spirit? I can’t even begin to imagine.

As I’ve reflected on the immense, immeasurable impact that my dear mother has had on my life, I have realized the immense, immeasurable value in what it is that I am spending my life doing right now. My mother has poured herself out like a drink offering for her family, for me. She is a huge blessing to me. Her life has been about serving Jesus by serving her family. This is a beautiful way to spend a life, especially one given back, one that was so nearly snatched away. What a gift. I hope that my children will likewise see me as a gift and a servant who poured herself out to help them become something beautiful. I owe so much of who I am to my dear mother. And so I am, this Thanksgiving, so incredibly thankful for her, for the past 20 years of living in her love.

To daughters and sons, don’t ever undervalue your mother and the sacrifice she is making for you every single day. She is sacrificing everything for you.

To mothers, what you are doing matters so much more than it feels like, so much more than you could ever see. Your life as a mother is a beautiful thing.

To my mother, thanks for being there. I simply love you.

And to God, thanks for blessing me with such an awesome woman to be my mother, and for letting me keep her here 20 years ago.

I know I’ve written a great deal about Sophie’s various appointments over the years — neurologist, neurosurgeon, ophthalmologist, geneticist, etc. But for the first time I’ve now had my own appointment with one such specialist — the neurologist.

This little Irish man entered my exam room and wowed me with his knowledge of neurology. Very impressive indeed. He listened. He thought. He showed compassion. He explained. He ordered tests. He referred.

He listened to my entire history and asked me many questions about my dizzy spells as he tried to help me pinpoint when this stroke may have happened. The verdict is still out on that one. He did conclude that it was likely a pregnancy related stroke (not sure how to feel about that), either when I was in such poor health at the end with Sophie, or when I experienced my first (and most extreme) vertigo while early in my pregnancy with Micah. My bet is on the latter because it was the very first time I experienced anything like that, and it was extremely bad, though I was also borderline pre-eclamptic with Sophie at the end, so we can’t rule that out either. The stroke, however, was about the size of a pen tip. Very small. Very minor. Even so, he has ordered many blood tests, and an MRA to rule out serious problems that could also have caused the stroke. More tests. Fun, fun.

And he does not conclude, interestingly, in spite of the unifying diagnosis theory, that the stroke explains my symptoms. The timeline, we have all concluded, just doesn’t fit. My dizziness that began in September has been completely different from all that I experienced beforehand. In previous episodes of vertigo, my wold spun, I felt nauseated, I had to lay down. This most recent issue with dizziness leaves me feeling more like a drunkard, stumbling around, feeling like I’m trying to walk on a boat out to sea. NOT a cool feeling to live your life with. This, in conjunction with my hearing loss and crackling sounds in my ear, led the neurologist to conclude that I may have a problem with my inner ear. Hence the referral to ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat).

My doctor actually said to me, “If you were my sister, this is the doctor that I would want you to see.” I was very impressed with the compassion in these words. To this doctor, I felt like a person, not just a weird case, a mystery to be solved. My neurologist has personal experience as a patient of this ENT and claims his excellence, can pull strings to get me in soon, and has his own hearing because of the handiwork of this physician. So, I will see this amazing ENT sometime in the near future.

In the meantime, I will undergo all my tests, and I will begin a type of physical therapy which he says has “high efficacy” with vertigo sufferers. (I learned that whether your world is spinning or you feel like you are moving, off balance, etc, it is all classified as vertigo.) My hope is that the tests will reveal no serious issues, that the PT will help me continue to overcome my dizzy spells, and that the ENT will have further wisdom for me. I will also follow up with the neurologist in four weeks.

As for how I’m feeling, my dizziness continues to decrease. Praise Jesus! I am to the point now where most days I feel pretty normal. Occasionally, I will have mild moments where I feel dizzy, but they do not turn into full blow dizzy episodes. I am still being careful to avoid my triggers, but I find that many of them no longer trigger dizziness.
*I CAN once again walk and push the stroller
*I CAN get down on the floor with my kids, even in the mornings
*I CAN turn back and forth quickly (as when going from the fridge to the stove to the sink, etc)
*I was ABLE to RUN down the hill with my kids at the park this past week, which is an awesome blessing! (Slopes, stairs, and uneven footing have and still do cause some trouble for me.)

In addition, I threw caution to the wind last night at our church chili cook off because I desperately wanted to take Sophie on her first hayride. I admit, I did not feel awesome while on the hayride or thereafter, but the effects were so much less than I anticipated! Plus, Sophie keeps asking me today if we can go on another hayride and hear Mr. Shane and Mr. Todd sing again. It was well worth any consequential dizziness that I may yet experience!

Thank you Jesus for your healing touch!

It has been five days since my MRI, and just three days since I learned that I’m a stroke victim. The more time passes, the more questions arise. I saw my OB on Friday to discuss the events of my past pregnancies and birth control pills. She stated that the pill I was on was one that was often given to those prone for stroke because it contains no estrogen. (Sorry if this is TMI, but I don’t know how else to explain without, well, explaining.) So, she felt that the pill likely had no contribution to my stroke. As I explained the end of my pregnancy with Sophie, for she was not my doctor at that point in time, she still felt that my blood pressure being only slightly outside the normal range and the fact that I passed tests for pre-eclampsia would make it unlikely that I stroked at that time. However, unless I had a blood pressure spike that I’m unaware of and never felt, or I have a clotting disorder that I’m unaware of, then that’s the only time I know for sure that my blood pressure was elevated. (For me, it was VERY high at that point, even though it was just outside the range considered “normal.”) In my mind, Sophie’s story just got a whole lot more miraculous. To me, given the info that I have right now, it’s most likely that my stroke occurred during her final weeks in utero. Until I see the neurologist, and even then, we may never know if that’s the case.

What this doesn’t explain is why my dizziness showed up to stay on Sept 7, 2015 and has not improved since that point. This doesn’t explain why I’ve had three episodes of sheer vertigo in the past two years. Perhaps seeing the neurologist will shed some light on why, three and a half years later, my coordination is deteriorating. The appointment with neurology is, unfortunately, still pending. The doctors’ office is having a hard time finding a place that can accept me before November. You would think at 32 I’d make an interesting case study. But I guess they’re just busy people.

If I am on your prayer list, please lift up these requests:

*that my appointment date with neurology would be as soon as possible with the neurologist that God selects
*that I would continue to adjust to the constant dizziness and maintain care of my children and home in a safe manner
*that my symptoms would diminish and that I would be strengthened and healed
*that I would not miss any opportunities that God has for me to testify for his goodness in the midst of this

I am confident that God is using my life for his glory, and so I’m content with that. I’m not walking around expecting to stroke out at any moment. I recognize God’s protection on me, and on my daughter, is even greater than I ever realized. His truth remains constant even when my feelings wobble. Thanks for upholding us in your prayers!

I’m 32 years old, and I’ve just been told that I recently suffered a stroke. Your shock is my shock. This was the last thing I expected to be told about the results of my MRI. Now, in hindsight, I see that it does explain my symptoms. But nobody would have suggested that before my brain scan. It wasn’t even on our radar. After the shock has worn off, I’m just a little overwhelmed. I love my family more than my next breath, and I hate the thought that my heath would threaten to take me away from them. In these moments as I consider what really matters, I know that God is able to do what my heart most desires: He is able to turn my children’s hearts towards him that they might know him and love him all the days of their lives. In short, nothing else matters. Whether I am here or not, I know that God is able to do that. I cannot even begin to crack open the door on the grief-filled thought that my children would grow up without a mother, my husband without a wife. It’s more than I can contemplate. But I can trust Jesus.

Right now I have more questions about this than answers. I don’t know for sure what caused the stroke (high blood pressure during my first pregnancy, blood clots after either birth, birth control pills, high cholesterol, heart arrhythmia, to name a few frightening possibilities), or when it happened. I don’t know if I’m likely to have another one. I don’t know if my lack of balance and coordination, my dizziness, are here to stay or if they will abate, why they waited this long to show up. (I’m told that the imaging showed that my stroke was older, within the past several years, not the past several weeks when my symptoms spiked.) I do know that I will see a neurologist, soon, we hope, and get some more clarity and answers. And I do know that my Father was not far off whenever this occurred. He was there in that moment, and he is here with me in this one.

And I’m also incredibly thankful. This event was obviously so minor that I didn’t even realize what was happening. I have no permanent paralysis. I’m alive. I can hear (mostly). I can see. I can speak. I can care for my children, my husband. I’m thankful. I’m adjusting to the care that I need to take when I’m moving — carry less, make more trips; step carefully; keep my eyes on what I’m doing. I’ll spill more, but if you know me, you know that’s always been an issue. Andrew has a term for this. He says I’ve “pulled a Catherine” when anyone drops anything. I’ll be pulling more “Catherines” to be sure. But that’s ok. Because I’m still here.

And I still know that my God is faithful. I still know that I always have hope in him. He has chosen this race marked out for me, every step, every day, including the finish line. And I believe in his goodness. In processing this stroke, this future, with my husband, I told him that God doesn’t promise us a life without pain. But he does offer us hope and promises to walk with us through it all. I know that he will be with my family each step of the way. I trust that his plan is bigger and better than mine.