Monday, July 30, 2012

Healing and Divine Mercy: In Between

I've been working on this series for a long time. Since Easter, in fact. I thought I would save it, to give you something interesting to read while I am up during the night changing diapers and feeding a baby and only half-awake during the day, trying to make sure a few meals make it to the table and I don't set anything on fire. I will publish it in four parts.

This is the fourth and final post in a series in which I explore how to ask for healing from diabetes without losing faith, and without experiencing disappointment when it doesn't happen immediately.

I finally realized that diabetes is, in fact, a problem.

When I asked for healing, and didn't receive it, it was, in fact, very disappointing, and made me worry that maybe God wasn't faithful towards me, or loving towards me. He was holding out on me, so I thought, just like Eve thought that God was somehow keeping her from something she deserved or needed.

Then, I was reminded that God wanted me to ask for his mercy, and that I just needed to wait. Just like if Eve had waited, she would have received the great perfection she desired.

So now, I am figuring out what to do in the meantime. What to do in the meantime, until I am healed? Especially if this lasts the duration of my earthly life and I don't see healing until the resurrection of the body at the end of time?

Well, I don't have an awesome answer to that question, but here's what I've been doing.

I pray, because Christ asked us to pray. He asks us dozens of times in the Gospels, and he renewed his request in his revelations to Sister Faustina. "Let the sinner not be afraid to approach Me. The flames of mercy are burning Me - clamoring to be spent; I want to pour them out upon these souls." Prayer draws us close to his heart, and a non-immediate answer requires us to quell our childish fears and trust him every single moment.

I keep doing my best to manage my diabetes, to safeguard my earthly life for my children and others who depend on me. If my health is exactly what I'm asking God to restore, so that my life may be enhanced and prolonged, then treating my body like a piece of junk will never get me closer to the end that I seek. If my body is a gift that God has given to me, treating it like a piece of junk will probably actually make him angry. So I do my best to give it the care it needs.

I imagine what a life without diabetes might look like if it happens before the end of my earthly life. Maybe I could have more children. Maybe I will drink a milkshake without feeling guilty. Maybe I will give all the money that I would have spent on doctor's appointments and health insurance for the rest of my life to someone else who needs it. Maybe I will give thanks for my health every day. Maybe...

I meditate on the glories of heaven. Even if I am healed tomorrow, I will still almost certainly suffer death as he did. My health will not be permanent if it is restored to me before the resurrection of the body at the end of time. So pondering healing makes me mourn the loss of health that all human beings experience at death, whether their health in life has been good or poor, and punts me into meditation on the beauties of heaven, where health never ceases.

I am afraid that if God doesn't heal me, it's because I'm just not good enough, or he doesn't love me enough. I am afraid of living with diabetes for the rest of my life. I am afraid that my kidneys will fail, and I will die before I get to see my grandchildren grow up. I am afraid for every child that will be conceived in me in the future, that he or she will suffer birth defects because of my condition. I am afraid that I will not have the self-discipline to control my blood sugars - that some day I will just give up - and suffer the consequences.

This quote strikes the heart my fear (Notebook 1, Entry 2 in the Diary of Sister Faustina). For me, the fear was and has been that, if I pray for healing and don't receive it, it will mean that God doesn't love me. But in truth, my relationship with God comes first, even before healing. He need not prove his love to me in healing because he has already proved it on the cross. The present moment is sufficient for God to lavish his love upon us, and for us to know and respond to God's love. I will be healed in heaven, I may be healed before then, but God's love is for me at every moment between now and then:

When I look into the future, I am frightened,
But why plunge into the future?
Only the present moment is precious to me,
As the future may never enter my soul at all.

O present moment, you belong to me, whole and entire.
I desire to use you as best I can.
And although I am weak and small,
You grant me the grace of your omnipotence.

And so, trusting in Your mercy,
I walk through life like a little child,
Offering you each day this heart
Burning with love for Your greater glory.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Chapter 7: In Which We Go to an Enchanted Place, and The Doctors Leave Us There (Alone)

We got news from the Statesman's kidney testing.

The bad news: he only has one functional kidney. The other one is a tiny sliver of renal cortex and a whole bunch of cysts, and it doesn't produce any urine.

The good news: The other kidney has EXCELLENT function, according to the doctor, and there is NO evidence of obstruction and NO reflux, which means he will not need surgery.

The urologist recommends further testing in six months, but as far as I'm concerned, this has moved from the category of "serious defect" to "interesting fact to share at cocktail parties." No contact sports (unless you count growing up with two brothers a contact sport), but I didn't want him to play football anyway.

And as one final thought: do you know for sure that you have two kidneys? Think about that one for a little while...

Friday, July 27, 2012

Only a Diabetic Mother...

...would be faced with the following conundrum.

The baby had just finished nursing. It was about 9 o'clock. I was bouncing and rocking him gently for a few minutes, until he fell into a deep-enough sleep to put in bed without rousing. And then, my blood sugar started to drop.

I could feel it coming on. I denied that it was happening for about 2 minutes, and then realized that it was, in fact, still happening, and I had to choose a course of action in light of the mental fog and weakness descending upon me.

My options were three:

1) Hope that the baby falls deep asleep soon enough for me to put him in his bed without waking, before I involuntarily drop him to the floor or pass out sitting in my chair. But if this takes a while, I will be up a creek.

2) Put the baby down and run to get juice, hoping the baby doesn't wake before I get back to coax him back into sleep. This is dangerous territory, and extremely unlikely to result in my bedtime being any sooner than midnight.

3) Carry the baby into the kitchen and try to get some juice for myself without breaking any glass on the tile floor.

I elected option 3). I found myself confronting a bottle of lemonade in the refrigerator (fortunately not buried behind the milk!), and a glass on the counter that looked mostly clean but that had surely been used by someone other than myself recently.

I lifted my leg and propped my son's swaddled bum onto it. I opened the refrigerator with my free hand, and barely wedged my elbow in front of the door to keep it from closing before I could grab my sugary prize. Gripping the cold lemonade bottle, I positioned my forearm underneath said child's bum, and attempted a few more bounces to ward off the squirming that had followed the cold disruption. The sound of the sloshing of the lemonade in the bottle may or may not have made the squirming worse.

I walked to the counter, placed the baby's butt onto it, and bounced his shoulders and head up and down with my other arm. I almost knocked the lemonade bottle and my child's butt off the counter trying to unscrew it, almost spilled the lemonade all over my child, leg, and the floor while pouring it, and finally ended up with a too-full glass of lemonade.

I quickly placed my forearm underneath the wiggling infant's bum, hand gripping the too-full glass, and watched carefully as the liquid in the glass rose up and down, uncomfortably close to the rim, while I bounced my way and my child back to the bedroom, collapsed into my trusty nursing chair, and resumed my attempts to get the babe off to slumber-ville, while doing my best to imbibe diabetic salvation.

I mean, it's practically like sitting on the beach, sipping a glass of something cool and refreshing. Right?

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Postpartum Blood Sugar Management

With my first baby, Jenn warned me to turn off my pump immediately after birth or else my blood sugar would get terribly low, based on her experience. I followed that advice, but just found that my blood sugar was up in the 200s by morning. I actually don't remember what happened after that, because I wasn't anticipating writing a blog post about it. I also didn't think I'd need to store such information in my brain, which was already overloaded with information such as "how to change a diaper without being peed on," because I was planning to tell my husband we couldn't have any more children.

(That was just three years ago, and as you can see, I would not recommend making decisions about future childbearing in the first 3 weeks after the baby is born. Just don't. Unless you plan to resume sexual activity during that time. Which I also wouldn't recommend.)

With the last two babies, I lowered my basal rates and bolus ratios immediately to avoid the hassle of dealing with lows, but I found that I didn't start to get lows until my milk came in. With Braveheart, I woke up in a sweaty low at 5:00a and drank all the juice I could get my hands on. I don't remember what the number was (somewhere in the 30s), but it was about 36 hours after his birth. With the Statesman, it was also about 36 hours after birth. I noticed one feeding during which he seemed to be gulping quite a bit more than usual, which I attributed to the milk beginning to come in, and about an hour later my blood sugar was 34. Just this morning, at my 6-week check-up, my OB told me about finding an unconscious Type I diabetic woman in her postpartum recovery room during morning rounds with a blood sugar of 12. 12! Oh, my! Holly, over at Arnold & Me, found she regularly ran low while breastfeeding early on.

So here are some observations I've made about managing insulin rates postpartum.

It's OK to run a little high while you're in the hospital and getting used to your baby. Much better than being low when you're trying to handle a newborn. A few days just won't kill you. (Blood sugar of 12. 12! Oh, my!) Maybe try something like 1/2 your normal basal rates, and take 1-2 carbs per unit off your bolus ratio. That's what I did this time around, and it worked out OK.

Err on the side of underestimating carbs while you're in the hospital. And don't even bother counting carbs for vegetables or fruit or ketchup while you're in the hospital. Keep your Gatorade or juice of choice close by.

Keep checking your blood sugar as frequently as you did during pregnancy, at least for the first week. You may not be able to tell if you're about to pass out because you were awake for four out of eight sleeping hours last night or because your blood sugar is low. Extra information will also help you figure out how to adjust your insulin rates.

You might spend a lot of the first month tweaking your basal rates and bolus ratios. I find I am adjusting my basal rates and bolus ratios almost every day, or every other day. Mostly down. I'm actually below pre-pregnancy bolus ratios by this point (6 weeks), and still tweaking down. I only wait two days before making a move to correct a trend (say, lows after lunch two days in a row). That's how I do it during pregnancy, too.

You may notice a correlation between weight loss of 5 pounds or more and a decreased need for insulin, particularly bolus ratios. After Braveheart was born, I was still adjusting my insulin rates downwards until I bottomed out on my weight loss around 8 months out.

You won't need to eat as much to raise the same low blood sugar you had during pregnancy. If it took 20 grams of carb to raise a blood sugar of 60 during pregnancy, it will only take 10 postpartum. Or something like that. I don't know what your numbers are, but I found it took a whole bottle of Gatorade during pregnancy, and now it only takes a half.

There are lows during the early weeks of breastfeeding, but it does get better. Now that I'm six weeks out, I love not chasing the lows like I did during pregnancy. If my 2-hour postprandial is 105, I won't be protecting a bottle of Gatorade from two toddlers until my next meal, because, happily, I will be drinking water instead! And that means I spend less time plotting my next encounter with food and more time with my babies. Awesome.

UPDATE: I forgot that I wrote about this when Braveheart was three months old. Oh well. Fortunately, it's pretty similar stuff.

Monday, July 23, 2012

Healing and Divine Mercy: The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I've been working on this series for a long time. Since Easter, in fact. I thought I would save it, to give you something interesting to read while I am up during the night changing diapers and feeding a baby and only half-awake during the day, trying to make sure a few meals make it to the table and I don't set anything on fire. I will publish it in four parts.

This post is a continuation of my journey to be able to seek healing from my diabetes, in faith.

In my last post, I wrote about how asking for something specific and not getting the answer you were looking for, such as healing from diabetes, is kind of a blow. In spite of all the things I can positively affirm about God's power, love, and faithfulness, my first reaction to the disappointment is to blame God and call him the exact opposite of everything I used to affirm to be true about him. And of course, I just stopped asking to be healed.

But, as Elizabeth Ann Seton notes, it is madness to expect that suffering will never come my way. "As to sickness and death itself," she writes, "we know that they are the common attendants of human life. They are our certain portion at one period or other, and it would be madness to be unhappy because I am treated like the rest of human beings."

The Sunday after Easter, also known as the last day of the Easter Octave or the second Sunday of Easter, is also known to Catholics as "Divine Mercy Sunday." This year, on Divine Mercy Sunday, I was once again reminded of this uncomfortable truth: Jesus still wants us to pray for his mercy. He pleads for us to ask for his mercy. He says he is tortured by our failure to ask for his mercy.

Here I was, faced with a conundrum. Christ wants me to ask for his mercy, he wants me to seek healing while he offers it, while it may be found, before he returns in judgment. And I want to do what Christ asks me to do. And yet, I felt like and feared that I would ask and ask and ask and ask and never receive his mercy in the form of healing.

So what to do?

Now, I am finally in a position to state that being free from diabetes would be a good thing. I am finally in a position to state that my fear and disappointment with non-immediate healing is a problem with me, not God. But how to live in between? How to move past the fear and disappointment? How to not feel hurt by God when my experience is screaming at me, "he doesn't care, you are not good enough, and it's not going to happen"?

I could just deny it with my words, which is the first step. It's not true, God does care and you are good enough, whether it happens or not. But the disappointment lingers. How will it be resolved?

I received the answer to this deep conundrum just 6 days later, when I attended an academic lecture with my husband. Not specifically related to his subject matter, the lecturer made the following remark: "One of the really tragic things about the fall is that if Adam and Eve had persisted in faith for just a little longer, God would have given them what they wanted. They wanted to be 'like God,' and God intended to raise them to a heavenly glory even more perfect than their natural created state, following a brief time of faith and trust and obedience in the garden. But they failed the test, because they didn't want to wait."


"God would have given them what they wanted." Healing. "Following a brief time of faith and trust and obedience." My life here on earth. "They didn't want to wait." Because I am like a petulant child, and worried that God is holding out on me, and I don't really believe in the promises of heaven.

I just have to wait.

How often do I tell the Pious One that he has to wait to go to the park? That he has to wait until daddy comes home? That he has to wait until he is bigger to do "x"? That he has to wait until his brother is finished with that toy to play with it? You know what? I tell him that all the time. How many times do I tell Braveheart that he has to wait 30 seconds until we are done praying to eat his food? That he has to wait for me to come pick him up until I can wipe the chicken juice off my hands? That he has to wait until the stop light turns green for me to move the car again? That he has to wait until the radio announcer is done talking for the music to start? I tell him these things all. the. time. How many times does the Statesman cry and cry because, well, I don't know why he's crying, and I just need to get to the bathroom before my bladder explodes and then I can figure it out...?

So I am like a child after all. But fortunately, even my toddlers do listen to me. And they wait. "Become like little children," God says. And wait, even if you don't always understand.

Maybe I will be healed of diabetes tomorrow (in which case my health will once again be taken from me at death, anyway). Maybe I will be healed of diabetes when modern science discovers a reliable cure for diabetes (in which case my health will once again be taken from me at death, anyway). Maybe I will be healed of diabetes in a miraculous healing 30 years from now (in which case my health will once again be taken from me at death, anyway). Or maybe...I will simply have to wait. Until the resurrection of the body at the end of time. And then, my health will never be taken from me again. Ever.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Chapter 6: In Which I Am "Unbounced"

You probably have no idea what I mean by these vague chapter references to Winnie-the-Pooh, because probably no one spends as much time reading Winnie-the-Pooh as I do. But just trust me, when you check out the book on tape from the library and it's the only one your 3-year-old wants to listen to, you're going to listen to it a lot. You may, in fact, start imagining the titles of all your blog posts a la A.A. Milne.

Anyway, the reference of my title for this post is a chapter "In Which Tigger Is Unbounced." In it, Rabbit concocts a plan to take the energetic Tigger down a notch. He is too bouncy, according to Rabbit and, so Rabbit's theory goes, he needs to be made to feel small and sad for just a moment to get rid of his bounces.

Well, it's my turn to feel just a little small and sad. It turns out that the maternal-fetal specialist was right, and the Statesman has a multicystic dysplastic kidney.

I was extremely frustrated with her when I left off, but I'm thinking that, in the spirit of humility, I may write her a letter to let her know how the birth went, send her a picture of him, tell her about what we've learned about his kidneys, and let her know that she eventually did get around to the right diagnosis. It might help her in the future, and it would certainly serve as a humble reminder to me.

We've gone in for lots of testing since he was born. A renal ultrasound, which showed persistent hydronephrosis on both sides and renal cysts on the right. A voiding cystourethrogram (VCUG), which involves a urinary catheter and, no matter how sweet the tech is (and ours was very sweet!), will hurt your child. A Mag 3/Lasix nuclear study, which involves injecting radioactive dye into your child's blood stream while said child is wrapped up in the mother of all velcro swaddles. Oh, and a blood draw to measure creatinine. I never thought a blood draw on a one-month-old baby would a nearly forgettable experience...

In reality, this is what it looks like with your baby all strapped up for the Mag 3/Lasix renal scan:

 The fourth trimester is not supposed to involve needles and radioactive dye.

So the only thing I know right now is that his right kidney is completely non-functional, but I think his left one is pretty normal (except for the hydronephrosis). That, and he is super-fat and happy.

We'll know more soon.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Healing and Divine Mercy: The Problem is Not God

This post is a continuation of my journey to figure out why it's been so hard for me to ask God for healing from diabetes.

When I left off, I had just come face-to-face with the truth about me: that diabetes is a disease and a problem. This process is, in fact, ongoing, because it is a very uncomfortable truth to live with. The perfection of my body is one way that I measure my worth as a human being, so to say that I have a disease that I can't fix presents a psychological challenge. It involves holding in tension my dignity as a human person, body and soul, with my ongoing corruption, body and soul, as I strive for greater perfection, body and soul.

Once I had tackled my self-deception about whether or not I even needed greater bodily perfection, the second obstacle I encountered to asking for healing was my understanding of the truth about God. So here's what I know about God.
  • He is powerful. That is to say, he CAN heal. See: the miracles of Jesus.
  • He is loving. That is to say, he DESIRES the wholeness and healing of our bodies. See: the death and resurrection of Lazarus, when Christ wept over his friend's demise.
  • He is faithful. That is to say, he RESPONDS to our groanings, because he has freely bound himself to us. See: the Gospels. Faith small as a mustard seed, "ask and it shall be given unto you," and so forth.
Phew. That seems easy enough. God can heal, he wants to heal, and he humbles himself to answer our requests. So I ask, and it will be given unto me.

Hey, wait a minute. How come I still have diabetes?

It probably sounds dumb to people who have a better grasp on eternal truths than I do, and I'm sure it sounds dumb to people who have more faith than I do, but this is a leap that my mind makes with relative ease. The fact that I still have diabetes, in spite of having, you know, kind of casually asking that it not be so, is a serious obstacle in my prayers for healing. The first time I ventured to ask God to heal me, I threw in an extra sentence or two at the end of my meditation ("Oh, and if you could heal my diabetes, that would be great"), and I was totally disappointed when I went to check my blood sugar an hour later and it was low.

So if God can heal me, he wants to heal me, and he answers my faithful requests, then what gives?

Most often, I just think I'm so bad and so worthless that it's not worth his time or energy. His love doesn't go quite so far as to reach me and my diabetes, even if he was willing to save me from eternal hellfire. He's holding out on me. He doesn't really want what's best for me. In fact, he might not even be paying attention. Or worse, he actually wants something bad for me! How come he can't see how much I need this taken away? Maybe I will have diabetes in heaven, after all.

Bonus points if you can pinpoint the biblical character whose sin I'm imitating (you're not allowed to guess, "all of them," even though you'd be totally right).

That's right, Eve. She knew God, and his goodness, faithfulness, and power. But the snake somehow convinced her that God was holding out on her! Seems like I'm following in her footsteps a lot these days - what with the pain and difficulty in childbearing and all. I think the Church says she did go to heaven eventually, right...? I sure hope I follow her there, too.

So if I know that God is unchanging and just, I just said,"I don't believe it. He's a petulant child whose whims rule the day." If I state with my lips that God is good, I just said in my heart, "Maybe to some people, but not to me." If I see God to be love on the cross of Christ, I just said, bitterly, in my soul, "If you really loved me, you would give me what I asked for when I asked for it." (Now who sounds like a petulant child?) If God is powerful, I just doubted him, saying, "Yeah, but he doesn't use his power to actually help people."

It's amazing how I use the circumstances of my life as a proof against God. If it just doesn't make sense to me, or it seems more right to do it in a different way, I accuse God of some wrongdoing. If anything, the circumstances of my life should serve as a proof against me, because heaven knows the list of my sins and faults is long, long, long. But what fault had Christ, the man who is God? None. None at all.

My question is a bad one. "If God can heal me, he wants to heal me, and he answers my faithful requests, then what gives?" packs a metaphysical punch."God is not good" does not logically follow from "I have diabetes." Just like "God is not good" does not logically follow from "Don't eat the fruit." Not all fruit is good for you, after all, as the moldy oranges languishing in the drawer of my refrigerator will attest. The question also assumes that God owes me something, and that my relationship to God is a mechanical one. Like a vending machine. But God bears no resemblance to any kind of machine. And for that matter, neither do I, which is part of the reason I hate being treated like a statistic that can be "managed."

So "what gives" is, in fact, the infinite judgment and wisdom of God. "What gives" is the interpersonal dynamic between two people, where nothing is automatic. "What gives" is God's justice, which actually delivers bodily corruption as a punishment for sin. "What gives" is the stuff of faith. "What gives" is the trials and temptations of life that purify our souls.

In my first post, I talked about how I realized I had a problem. Then, when I brought it to God, I found a convenient new way to jettison my problem (diabetes), and it somehow became a problem with God. But it is still my problem, not a problem with God, and I'd do well to stop taking counsel from that stinkin' snake!

Monday, July 9, 2012

Healing and Divine Mercy: I Have A Problem

I've been working on this series for a long time. Since Easter, in fact. I thought I would save it to give you something interesting to read while I am up during the night changing diapers, feeding a baby and only half-awake during the day, trying to make sure a few meals make it to the table and I don't set anything on fire. I will publish it in four parts.

Recently, a friend who has celiac told me that she had been encouraged by another woman to pray for healing from her disease. The woman, a religious sister, reported having been miraculously healed of the same disease in recent years. Several other nuns from her order were also subsequently healed of celiac, following an increase in their faith after seeing their sister freed from the affliction.

As a result, I have recently been contemplating what it would mean for me to ask Jesus to heal me of my diabetes. I haven't done it on a consistent basis, but have become increasingly puzzled about why I can't quite bring myself to do so. This series follows my journey to uncover why I just can't quite say those words, "Lord, please remove this burden from me," without a real mental reservation.

The first time I was confronted by the idea that God might actually desire something different for me, something other than diabetes, was when diabetes came up during a conversation with a casual acquaintance in college. To pass the time sitting around a small table, waiting for a few others to join us, he was politely inquiring about what it was like to live with the disease. I told him I couldn't remember anything else, so it seemed pretty normal to me. Besides that, I had no other life-threatening or even life-altering complications. So I felt pretty good about myself. His response, which came after a thoughtful pause, really surprised me.

"Well, at least you won't have to deal with that in heaven."

I didn't have time to respond before our meeting was underway, but I sputtered, confused, hurt, and without words. Excuse me? I thought to myself. How dare you imply that my body is somehow insufficient! I am a very healthy Type I diabetic, and you have no idea how good I am at it. This is normal life, buddy. I was actually offended!

Many of you may remember that I have lived with Type I diabetes ever since age 9, and I truly don't remember what it was like not to have it. My parents, in their wisdom, treated it so matter-of-factly that within months, I thought it was really cool. I would show my friends how I pricked my finger to make blood come out and gave myself shots. When people, in a horrified way, asked me, "doesn't that HURT?", I used to take a great deal of pleasure in shrugging my shoulders, playing tough, and responding, "Not really. I'm used to it." Diabetes became not only a completely normal part of my life, but my ability to manage it and tolerate the pain and inconvenience also became a source of pride.

So it's easy to understand how I became blind to the patently obvious fact that my body IS imperfect, and why my friend's remark so flattened my proud manner. This confusion about the disease got me through difficult adolescent years, when I was insecure about everything else except blood sugar management, and it is certainly understandable to a degree. It developed as a no-nonsense, no-self-pitying, coping mechanism for dealing with a disease that reality demanded I learn to deal with for the rest of my life.

But let's make no mistake. My pride obscured the truth, and created confusion. Internally, I had puffed up my chest with pride and asserted my competence at disease management as a substitute for true health and normalcy.

However, my casual acquaintance was right, and he meant the remark in complete kindness and encouragement. My hearty pride did not prevent him, as it had prevented so many others, from identifying the real truth about my situation. Others might have been wowed by my diabetic competence or my tolerance of pain, but he saw the truth plainly. He did not condemn my pride (he probably had no idea how deep my pride went!), but his statement of the plain truth crushed it.

Based on reading this blog, you may have noticed that I am still trying to get comfortable with the idea that I am ill. I have a disease. My life is harder because of it. My body is Not the Way It's Supposed to Be. Because of it, my life will be inconvenient at best and prematurely shortened at worst. It may even, much to my great chagrin, affect the way I give birth to my children (gulp). Whatever lasting scars I may bear, and whatever natural virtues or good character traits that I develop in response to it, my body will not suffer the decay and deficiency of diabetes in heaven, because diabetes is a disease. Diabetes will not exist in heaven, and my body will be more perfect as a result.

To be sure, this was the first obstacle I had to overcome before asking our good Lord for healing: recognition that I have a problem. "Hi, my name is Beth, and I am a diabetic." Diabetes is a disease. I have learned how to manage and cope with the disease, and those lessons are supernaturally valuable. Those lessons may have even been difficult to come by in any other way. But diabetes is a disease, a problem, and Not the Way I'm Supposed to Be. Seeking healing in faith will require a firm foundation in this truth.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Happy Anniversary

Happy anniversary to us! As a friend once commented to her husband after the birth of one of their children, I'm considering hiring him out as a doula. Best labor (and life) companion I've got.