Something that’s of worth

Hey how about playing this:  The Heart of Worship

When the music fades
And all is stripped away
And I simply come

Longing just to bring
Something that’s of worth
That will bless Your heart

I’ll bring You more than a song
For a song in itself
Is not what You have required

You search much deeper within
Through the way things appear
You’re looking into my heart

I’m coming back to the heart of worship
And it’s all about You
It’s all about You, Jesus

I’m sorry, Lord for the thing I’ve made it
And it’s all about You
It’s all about You, Jesus

King of endless worth
No one could express
How much You deserve

Though I’m weak and poor
All I have is Yours
Every single breath

It’s all about You…

Matt Redman speaks to my heart with his ballad on guitar:  words I can’t seem to get out any other way.  You see I have laryngitis!  Tee hee.  It hasn’t been fun lately on top of everything else so Ima gonna keep it simple and just dwell in the presence of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ . . .  Dwell with me for a spell, Gentle Reader.  The lover of your soul is waiting!  :J

Biotoxin illness not Lyme disease for me

As of yesterday and my second appointment with a biotoxin illness specialist, my hunt for healing will focus on biotoxin illness and not Lyme disease.  Perhaps you noticed awhile back that I changed the name of this blog?  Join me in finding “Hope Beyond” the challenges of today; for me this blog will always give the praise and glory to the Lord, Jesus Christ when victory comes . . .

I found a remarkable video on You Tube that summarizes mold and biotoxin illness.  Please look beyond the promo for his colleague’s book and his mentioning of “ME” or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.  I do not have ME although I understand that biotoxin illness and ME are similar, much like fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome have similar manifestations.  Now that my diagnosis is clearer, I will be largely following the treatment protocol of Dr. Richie Shoemaker at:  http://www.survivingmold.com as coached by one of his trained physicians.

See whatcha think and let me know in the comments below.  There is hope!  Just Julie

Just ‘Cause You’re Sick Doesn’t Mean You Can’t…..

Some great insights from a fellow sojourner who is near to the side of recovery from Lyme disease. Perhaps I can add making jewelry? :J

jeanvieve7's avatarMy Color Is Lyme

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Yes you are in bed most of the time. Yes you feel like that possum that got hit by the truck. Yes you are kind of stuck and down in the dumps. You can’t do most of the things you want to do, so it is easy to get depressed, feel worthless and a burden on society. We’ve all been there, no matter what point in our illness we are in right now.

So since it is so easy to focus on the “can’ts” (which lead to feeling worthless), here are some “can’s” you can do right from your bed. And please don’t put these ideas down as cheesy, maybe some are but it’s the little things that sometimes make the day brighter.

 

Image1. Write Thank You Cards “just because”. Are there people in your life that you love and appreciate? How good would it feel to surprise them…

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The Genius Between Us

If you lived in the Midwest of the United States in the mid-1960’s chances are good that you knew about slot car racing.  It was the craze back then for hobbyists, car enthusiasts, boys, and the girls with brothers!

And if you were into performance slot car racing, then you would have selected either a Mura, Champion, or Dyna-Rewind motor to win.  Not familiar with it?  Check out these pictures:

 

Dad's Slot Car
Dad’s Slot Car

 

Dyna-Rewind Motor
Dyna-Rewind Motor
Typical Slot Car Race Track
Typical Slot Car Race Track

 

 

 

 

 

 

A slot car racing enthusiast in the mid to late 1960s would bring his best cars in a wooden gear box to a local track.  For about $.50 he (or she) could rent a lane and race whomever showed up that evening for 30 minutes.  Competition was always fierce with fans and racers taking turns spotting cars around the track that had spun out or flown off in the heat of the battle.  Each car had rubber tires, an electric motor, chassis, body, and plastic tongue-with-flat-metal-brushes on the bottom.  The cars ran on a track with a groove in the middle of the lane and tiny metal or wire filaments on either side of the groove (which conducted the electricity as it made contact with the metal brushes).  Each “driver” held a controller by which he (or she) could adjust the speed of the car by squeezing or releasing the lever on the handle.  If you went too fast your car would either spin out or fly off the track!  While the latter was quite spectacular it would often damage the car beyond repair — at least until the next Thursday night of racing!

Formal competitions and even professional drivers became legendary.  In 1966 one racer in particular began beating the pants off of everyone in the Detroit area and carrying off all the trophies with his car powered by a special motor.  Ted Lech had discovered how to make the motors faster by employing the adhesives, balancing principles, and rewinding concepts from his work at the General Motors Tech Center in Warren, Michigan.  Soon others were clamoring to purchase the motors.  Ted and his co-worker, “Bud” Stordahl created Dyna-Rewind and were quickly overwhelmed when orders came in from just about everywhere (including the UK and Japan) with each successive motor.  In an interview with Pete Hagenbuch in the Car Model magazine of July 1967, “Mr. Motor” as they called him reveals the genius behind Dyna-Rewind motors.  All was well and very exciting, however the slot car racing industry was beginning to diminish when toy manufacturers could not keep up with the performance output of the small-shop car guys.  But the small-shop car guys couldn’t support the overall industry either.  Then suddenly Ted Lech absconded with some of the business assets and vanished in 1969, never to be heard from again in the slot car racing world.  Bud Stordahl closed Dyna-Rewind.

What happened?  Well I guess you could say that not everyone handles success well.  Ted Lech was my father:  born March 30, 1937 in the Detroit, Michigan area.  He married my mother, RoseAnne, in 1959 and I was born 9 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days later.  We were living in a trailer park when I was born:  a red and white mobile home at the beginning of the block.  There was a sidewalk out front in which I rode my red and white tricycle with a bell and streamers on each of the handle bars.  I loved riding my bike.  Life was good for a 3 year old!

We moved into a house that my dad had selected in a new subdivision in Warren sometime in 1963.  Michael was 2, I was 3, and Robert was on his way into the world thus necessitating the move up to a 3 bedroom ranch.  We didn’t have much furniture so there was plenty of room in which we kids would play.  The best spot was the basement:  we could make all the noise we wanted to ’cause mom would just close the door at the top of the stairs into the kitchen!  We had the coolest toys with which to play down there too.  I remember a wooden train set on wheels that my dad had made where the cars hooked together and were big enough to hold each of us kids in our own train car.  When we were lucky dad would whoosh us around the basement, carefully navigating around the black metal poles supporting the house upstairs!  And if he would open the hamper shoot on us as we rolled under the hinged box he made in the ceiling, well that was really cool!  Splat!

My dad built Dyna-Rewind in the basement of that house.  I have come to understand that some of the operation was at the home of his business partner, Bud Stordahl, but I do not have any recollection of  him or seeing the part of the operation that was in his garage in Birmingham.  After all, I was a young kid back then.  What I remember is all of the wooden tables that my dad had built and the increasing amount of tools and machinery that filled the basement.  I remember playing with most of it, especially the rewinding machine, drill press, semi-circular magnets, black plastic display boxes with a clear lid, and even the motors.  On a good day my dad would take us with him to race at “The Groove Raceway” in Royal Oak or perhaps another local track.  In time he would take Mike and Rob more than me; perhaps I had developed other more girl-y interests too with my best friend who lived next door (Tammy Orlando).  My brothers had a blast during their time with my dad.  Mike became quite good at slot car racing and his ability to beat most anyone in games of all kinds continues to this day!

Flash forward to 2013.  Out of the blue, my brother Mike makes contact with a French gentleman, Philippe de Lespinay, who was writing a new book to expand on his first publication, Vintage Slot Cars.  Mike met with Mr. de Lespinaly, and shared the wooden gear box he had gotten from our dad containing a collection of Dyna-Rewind motors, slot cars, and my dad’s own hand-painted favorite too.  Within a year from now the LA Slot Car Racing Museum is scheduled to open in California.  I’m glad Mike didn’t sell out the family mementos, caving to Mr. de Lespinay’s repeated requests to both of us!  I have one motor with a wire still attached to it.  This was my memento actually from my brother Robert’s mobile home in Monument, Colorado when we were settling his affairs after he passed away in 2003.  I displayed that motor where I could see it each morning for a long time.  I already had several empty black plastic boxes like the one pictured above.  A couple of them still store my unused gum wrappers from my 300+ foot gum wrapper chain tossed out long ago.  Sure wish I had some of those magnets used inside the metal motor housing.  We used to see how high we could stack them up before tumbling over and . . .

My brother called me about the book after his interview with Mr. de Lespinay a couple of weeks ago.  So when Mike offered the opportunity for me to fill in my own details of this story I jumped in too.  Mr. Stordahl had misreported some facts and perhaps was still a little sore about the sudden closing of the business in 1971.  Evidently my father stole some of the business proceeds when he left with his technical genius as well.  I am sad about that.  The details of his leaving left scars with me too for a very long time.  He had gone to California with another woman and did not return for a few months.  The heartache for my mother and us three kids continued after his return to the Detroit area, through their divorce, and deepened when he left a second time:  for decades.  No one really knew where he was when he finally left Michigan.  When we did discover that he was in Florida (and I later learned that he had also lived in Texas for a time) there was really no need for me to contact him.  I had grown up, gone away to college, and moved to the Chicago suburbs to start my career in occupational therapy.  Life had moved on.  Sure I missed him.  But life had to move on you see.  My Heavenly Father filled in the gaps.

Flash forward about 30 years and our father has since reconciled with Mike and me.  In 2007 my mother passed away and would never have contact with him before she died.   She had moved on as well so I am not sure that it would have mattered to her anyways.  Thaddeus Lech Jr. died in his 30-foot travel trailer along the Gulf Coast of Florida in 2011.  He had become a renowned local fisherman; I can prove it with a few hundred photos I inherited of him holding up virtually every kind of fish that either spawned or was native to the Florida panhandle region of the Gulf of Mexico.  He was also renowned in the automotive industry:  inventor and co-inventor for Borg-Warner Automotive, holding over 20 patents for various types of clutch assembly and drive train components.  His genius had continued!  It makes sense that it would.  When I was a kid he’d crafted the most phenomenal gerbil cages you could ever imagine for our pets Agatha, Ralph, and Dee.  If I insert the word “sundeck” here you might be able to imagine the other rooms, elevated walkway, and security door too . . .

Everyone has a “past.”  Everyone makes mistakes.  Sometimes there are reasons for those mistakes and sometimes it’s simply the manifestation of sin in our lives.  My childhood is filled with a few more sad stories than happy ones yet gratefully the sorrow has faded away.  There is much more to the story of my father that could be written here to fill in the details.  Others have attempted to share the sordid details perhaps to give the retelling of Mr. Motor’s story a little more spice.  I do not believe that is necessary at this time.  When my father contacted Mike then me before my father passed away, we were able to both get re-acquainted and speak words of regret, words of forgiveness.  I got to hear stories I never knew about myself as a girl and about this adventurous, brilliant, complicated man.  His smile and sense of humor warmed my heart in a place I did not know existed when I had moved on so many decades ago.  To hear the words, “I love you” was a salve I did not know I was craving for when they finally came at just the right time.  Even my husband, Steve, was touched by my dad’s gentleness, incredible way of handling the characters of the travel trailer park he had managed, and sense of humor.  They hit it off well:  car guys always do.

I hope the sequel to Vintage Slot Cars is a success.  I hope that racing fans from around the world visit the LA Slot Car Museum and talk about the amazingly fast Dyna-Rewind motors.  As for the genius between my brothers and me in the photographs below:  I will always love you dad.  Thank you for the memories.  With my orange motor labeled with the foil Dyna-Rewind sticker and stray wire hanging by a thread, I’m good.

Ted Lech for Slot Car Book

Flowers for Algernon?

Flowers for Algernon

Another temporary setback in my health tonight ended by a couple of drops of tea tree oil masking the noxious scent of perfume.  I don’t do perfume very well and am grateful for this suggestion of a friend familiar with essential oils.  Thank you Lord for Cindy and tea tree oil!

Sigh.  How am I supposed to be around people when the scent of any products they might wear with fragrances can trigger seizures?  I feel like a prisoner in my own home.  If I linger away from my cocoon then I am at risk.  And if a guest visits our home not wearing perfume but carrying a coat or wearing clothing scented from another day, BINGO.  I get sick.

I endured three major setbacks including last night and three other times this past week.  Setbacks that is, from significant improvements that came from taking high CBD hemp oil.  I was enjoying some sweet moments of near-normalcy!  At least the overall episodes are shorter.  I guess there is something else going on that is preventing the treatment from holding . . . .

Is it diet?  How can it be when consuming a strict Candida, mold-free, and low oxalate diet?  Could it be methylation or residual biotoxin illness issues?  Perhaps and I’ll be pursuing these at a new clinic next week.  Is neuro-Lyme the culprit after all and I need to get back into antibiotic therapy?  The Rife machine made me worse.  I’m not so sure about Lyme disease anymore as my genetic markers are more significant for mold illness than Lyme disease.  Still:  who knows?

In the 1966 novel Flowers for Algernon, Daniel Keyes portrays a mentally disabled man who gains intelligence after being selected for an experimental brain surgery.  The surgery was shown to be successful in a laboratory rat whose intelligence increases 3x after the procedure.  Charlie, the main character, undergoes the procedure himself as the story follows him from his menial janitorial position to falling in love with one of the teachers at the school in which he works.  Charlie quits his job about the time that the rat begins to decline.  The improvements did not last.  Charlie buries his little friend in a cheese box in the backyard near the close of the story.

I worked on the set of the stage play of Flowers for Algernon at my high school.  The sorrow of the scene pictured above when played out even by a wiry teenager was very emotional for all of us backstage.  I will never forget it.  For me it represented finding hope then moving forward in life with new skills and possibilities.  My life was already very painful at age 15.  The story touched my heart as we brought it to life for our peers and parents.  My tears had no where to go as I stood in the dark backstage, waiting to bring out props for the next scene.  When I got home the lockdown continued in the chaotic and unsafe environment of my childhood.  My sorrow was locked away for many years.  After much healing and decades of living, the Lord brought back this particular story to mind recently with the frustration of the illness that I am enduring:  I came upon a reason to have hope from seizures only to have that hope dashed against the wall.  Again.  It feels like death.

Sadness fills my eyes.  Of course I want to be well.  Every time I grasp for air, stabilize my neck for fear of my head breaking off, emit some guttural utterance from the forceful involuntary movements of every appendage in rotation or unison from a seizure attack I become very aware that I could die from them.  I stare blankly into space or hold my eyes closed to keep the room from moving.  Keeping my eyes open brings dizziness and nausea; keeping my eyes closed brings increased fear and a lost sense of time.  While still awake I sometimes can talk.  The words are strained and speaking (like trying to move) runs the risk of exacerbating the attacks further.  If the episode goes on too long then neurological collapse follows.  I either have to lie motionless until function returns or my beloved Steve transfers me out of bed and carries me to the bathroom or bed.  This more severe level of seizure occurs late at night when he needs to be getting ready for bed to be able to work the next morning.  It’s my private hell.  It’s his private hell.  It’s the private hell on earth that is our burden to endure at this time.  (See my non-epileptic seizure video for more information.)

To see a loved one losing the battle over illness, over injury is one of life’s greatest sorrows.  Even for a Christian, experiencing it yourself will challenge everything you know about grace, endurance, meaning, and more.  Flowers for Algernon is a fictional tale about a rat and a man who found answers but those answers did not last.  The story touches a cord deep within me.  Oh to taste the goodness of life and have it taken away!  I have searched for goodness for a long time.  One of the great opportunities of this life is to seize the sweetness that abounds, hold it lightly as it shines for a time, then let it go gracefully when we must either move on or the script of our lives writes it off the page.  It must be the Lord’s plan but why?  Such answers often never come.  Moving on can be the reward for grieving well.  Then there’s the fruit of living with loss that is ongoing:  when the disappointment never really goes away.  This is when you really know who you are.  This is when you really know Whose you are.  Paradoxically speaking, it can be the time when you are truly ALIVE.

I am a child of the King held in the shadow of His wings, His loving arms just like I quoted yesterday in Psalm 139.  This night I bring forth an invitation for my Lord to:

23 Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. 24 See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

My Lord sees me!  Even so, this illness is one of my greatest mysteries from all of the events that have transpired in my life.  In the past my Lord has graced me with seeing some good come from the evil, some divine plans that have emerged from the chaos through which the deepest desires of my heart have come true.  I will hold onto His words that:

17 How precious to me are your thoughts, God!
How vast is the sum of them!
18 Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand—
when I awake, I am still with you.

At every turn, with each moment of sorrow I no longer ask:

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

Indeed you have led me through it all.  I can trust from Psalm 142 that:

When my spirit grows faint within me,
it is you who watch over my way.

And as it reads in Psalm 100 we will all:

Know that the Lord is God.   It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

We will:

Enter his gates with thanksgiving and his courts with praise; give thanks to him and praise his name. For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Rest will come for you, Gentle Reader and me too as we read in Psalm 121 that:

The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

With that I bid you good night.  I’ll be fine.  Join me in trusting the Lord that you will be too, eh?