Will you remember me when your last breath reminds you there is none left?
If a baby bunny can nourish itself from my well-tendered garden intended for me
Could the disease inside of me eat away at my strength til there is none left to redeem?
Yeah that last one doesn’t encourage me much so I better stop right there. I’m struggling to make sense of the 12 hours of seizure attacks that ended yesterday. Periodic re-occurrences continued of course leaving me afraid to go to bed whenever I got brave enough to go to bed. Wretchedness with writhing, head-banging, moaning, and more greet me in the first stages of “sleep” every night. Make sense out of that one! These episodes make me suspicious of anything that might trigger them. Inside my heart I am angry, I am hurt. I am exasperated. I am . . .
I am in need of renewal inside and out. Where are you Lord? Fill my spirit with your unending grace. Please make your presence known such that I might endure, recover from this hell. I submit to You my king. There is none like You. For your glory. Amen. JJ
Don’t you just love a good movie? The kind where you cannot predict the end until it ends or one where you find out what happened to the characters from the first of the series? Yes, everyone loves a good story with a happy ending. As for me, I’m just glad for happy moments!
I decided that it was time to update my video log of the most challenging aspects of the illness I am battling. Included in my “sequel” are some photos of happy moments and some notes meant to be of encouragement at the end of the story. Overall I admit that it’s kind of tough to watch. Sometimes my beloved, Steve, and I (in our attempts to cope with this daily saga) get into a numbing routine where I go off into a back bedroom for a wretched episode then he comes by later to check on me. I’m safe in bed: I won’t fall out or anything like that. He prays as he endures the horrifying vocalizations echoing throughout the house, knowing that there is virtually nothing he can do to lessen the burden. We simply ride it out until the next one comes along, whenever that may be.
Gratefully we have discovered some things that consistently trigger the seizure-attack episodes or make them worse. We don’t do these things where possible! I mean that with nine gatherings last week in celebration of two weddings it was pretty tough to eliminate all extraneous factors. We did our best. I made it through five events relatively o.k., was Skyped into another, left two early, skipped a reception, and was carried away from the second to last event after the introduction of the happy newlyweds. Not bad for a massively ramped up schedule and for someone battling Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome. Or is it Lyme disease? Biotoxin illness? Non-epileptic seizures? No one really knows for sure.
So here it is. No popcorn needed. A tissue might be worthwhile. All prayers are welcome. I am looking forward to the day when this illness is resolved. In the meantime I stand on the Rock of my salvation, trusting in my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to go with me and deliver me in due time. One day in this life or in heaven, I WILL BE FREE. It’s the promise in which all of us who call upon the name of the Lord can rest. Thank you Jesus for your amazing grace.
There is good news to report: my brother will be moving into a better rehabilitation facility soon! His fiancé is now his legal guardian and has received preliminary acceptance of his admission into the rehab. unit of a skilled nursing facility close to their home in Port Huron, Michigan. Michael’s Medicaid is now approved which makes this transfer possible. Lord willing he will be there within a week.
My heart is breaking that I have not been able to see him since our initial visit to him at St. Johns Hospital April 15th. St. Johns dumped him into an inner city nursing home when a place became available who would accept someone with “Medicaid pending.” The social workers claimed that they contacted 35 facilities before St. Francis accepted him. While we are grateful that this search for a place ended up extending his inpatient rehabilitation 10 more days, the place he got transferred to isn’t much more than “3 hots and a cot.” Oh I guess they give him his medication too and an occasional bed bath. Not much for a 53 year old man who has just suffered a severe stroke and needs considerably more care.
I am sad that there has been no follow up on his medical needs after the initial physician visit. (He has a tumor on a kidney that was to be scheduled for biopsy but nothing has happened.) The staff at St. Francis has lost or been unable to locate most of his clothing. Michael sits in a “geri chair” for much of the day which is a large vinyl recliner chair: completely dependent upon others to be moved out of his room, into the dining room, or possibly into the T.V. room. I understand that the building is very old with stained walls, stench of incontinent residents, and constant sounds of demented residents or staff milling about. Michael has gotten weaker from inactivity. His weight continues to be down even with the meals and treats brought to him by his fiancé and our cousin, Lisa. Lisa is an optometrist on staff with the facility but that has made little difference in meeting Michael’s care needs. Lisa witnessed a nurse writing her requests in the nursing 24-hour care log. Nothing happened: 1) he continues to crave cigarettes whereas a nicotine patch would ease his chemical dependency and 2) he never got the wheelchair promised upon admission and supposedly recommended by the physical therapist. I am convinced that the poor, sack-of-potatoes positioning in the recliner chair has contributed to his worsening left shoulder pain. Such is life post stroke with left hemiplegia and no rehabilitative care.
In the meantime Sister Bear has secured a television/DVD player, wheelchair, walker, and bedside commode for him. However with the lack of security for his personal items and transportation issues getting the items to him from their respective locations (wheelchair and commode in Mt. Clemens, walker in Adrian, and T.V. here with me in Indiana) everything is on hold until he moves into a better place. Lord willing everything will move forward soon as various family members have offered assistance to get these items to him and his fiancé (also named Lisa!). Lord willing I will be able to visit him at Marwood in Port Huron in about 2 weeks. Surely my serious respiratory infection will be resolved by then and travel arrangements will come together; the seizure attacks have lessened some as well, gratefully. I would have never tolerated visiting Mike at St. Francis due to the extremely high potential risk of environmental triggers for seizures. Even the outdoor patio would have been an impossible place to visit coupled with the resident smokers. Knowing all of this contributed to my heartbreak of late. There was nothing I could do but keep in touch with everyone, secure the equipment, pray, and wait.
So I wonder what it has been like for Mike to be so debilitated, alone except for some weekly visits, in a dumpy and dirty living environment? I understand that he had his Bibles brought to him and pictures taped to the wall next to his bed. His fiancé Lisa says that he was trying to do his exercises on his own as best as he could. Without being able to get up and bear weight on his left arm or leg, however, the benefits of exercise would be limited. The risk for complications has been elevated with some realized as ongoing pain and weakening instead of continued progress. He was too debilitated to return home from St. Johns Hospital without 24-hour physical assistance and considerable accessibility modifications. Hopefully he will be more mobile and independent when it’s time to leave Marwood and go home. In the meantime he has had a lot of time to think about many things. I hope he reached out to the Lord, the person of Jesus Christ, in his time of need. I hope he will find some purpose, some meaning for this desolate oasis of time.
Most communication between us has been cut off since Mike arrived at St. Francis due to the sorry state of their phone system. (No surprise that the place is rated one out of five stars.) After getting through to talk to him on his first day there, the facility phone was always busy when I called. Twice I happened to call when his fiancé Lisa was visiting so I could hear his voice for a few moments. The last time there were so many loud voices and screaming in the background that the words were tough to hear. I can picture the scene in that place very easily. I worked in all types of care centers from the inner city to private pay life care communities as an occupational therapist. Many times I completed those wheelchair screening assessments and crawled around dirty, stuffed storage rooms and sheds until I could find a wheelchair with matching parts for a new resident. Oh well. When you don’t have insurance you get what you get. I guess that Mike was actually fortunate to not be dumped in a homeless shelter. At least there were security fences around the building and a guard at the front door. The boarded up homes across the street were intimidating to fiancé and cousin Lisa yet they visited anyways. I sure wish I could have gone to see him too. I miss my brother.
I look forward to seeing Mike and holding him for a long time when I do. There is much sadness for all that he has lost. There is also much anticipation for all that the Lord has in store for him and his fiancé Lisa too. I believe that the Lord has His hand on him in that Mike’s life was spared. Just under half of all persons who experience a cerebral vascular accident don’t survive. Mike’s cognitive abilities and ability to communicate have been spared. His ability to swallow foods from a regular diet was quickly restored. In my clinical experience these rarely happen in a person with severe left hemiplegia. We are all hopeful that his ability to function will improve over time as well. The rule of thumb is that the most rapid recovery occurs within the first 3-6 months post stroke. He is six weeks out from his onset date of April 13th and continues to feel new sensations in his affected arm and leg. And now his next phase of rehabilitation is about to begin bringing new hope for more return of function. This time I’ll bet at least a quarter that Mike will be very motivated for physical, occupational, and speech therapy! That will be very good to see indeed.
Until then, please join me in praying for Mike and his fiancé Lisa. Lisa has a teenage son, Alex, who loves Mike and hasn’t seen him since April. There’s a golden retriever named Garfield who misses him too. The new place is closer to their home so I hope all of them will get together sometime soon; even dogs are allowed to visit at Marwood! Oh I am grateful for such blessings. Yes, there is good news this day with the promise of even more to come. Thank you Jesus for your enduring grace and mercy. Go before us, strengthen our faith, bring healing to our dear Michael for your glory Lord. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
I remember the day Steve first took me out kayaking. He was careful to put me in the more stable of his two kayaks: the white one with the yellow deck (Epic Endurance). Or was it the yellow plastic one (Sirocco)? Perhaps I was too nervous to recall the color! All I remember was trying to trust my new boyfriend while fearing toppling into the water. Becoming a drowned rat was not my intention during one of our early dates together! Besides, he was an aspiring kayak racer and I had already shared with him my many other types of canoeing/boating experiences thoughout my lifetime. Yes I can swim. Oh the mixture of thoughts that ran through my head as I got in that tippy little thing . . .
With an unwelcomed nudge (shove?) on the stern from my teacher I was able to paddle out some from the park launching site he had so carefully selected, turn around then return to the shore a few times. When it was time to go he carefully straddled the boat to stabilize it and instructed me on in the finer points of a gracious dismount. That action requires straddling your legs wide apart to either side of the wide cockpit of an elongated diamond-shaped seafarer. Ladies: that’s not the view I had hoped to offer my intended beloved at this stage of our relationship if you know what I mean? And my feet got wet and muddy to boot since this would be a couple of years before acquiring my own proper pair of water shoes from our local mega-grocery store. (That was another rite of passage that came later!) Steve expertly cleaned off the boats and attached them to the roof racks of his truck. Oh, so that’s how those beastly black metal frames filling the bed of his periwinkle-striped truck work! (I remember seeing them on our first date in the west suburbs of Chicago. A rare sight in suburbia for sure! Who is this guy?)
Steve rapidly progressed that summer as he shifted from a recreational to a competitive United States Canoe Association (USCA) racer. I watched closely as he increasingly dedicated himself to all things paddling: studying the equipment, kayak dimensions, paddling technique videos, and outings with both Indiana racers and the Fort Wayne kayaking group. Hmmm. I had an important decision to make. Either I would master this paddling thing or spend lots of afternoons home alone as he perfected his craft away from home without me. To insist that he stay home with me would get in the way of the paddling athlete he was becoming. After all, I did enjoy the fruits of all that cycling and marathon racing. 🙂
Steve aka River Bear
Our first USCA Nationals was an amazing experience. Cars, campers, trucks, wagons, and anything to which you could strap a boat (can you say Amish buggy?) were crammed along the shore of the St. Joe River in South Bend, Indiana. There were young and middle aged men in either spandex or neoprene everywhere! My training as an occupational therapist has often helped me appreciate the beauty of God’s human form just long enough to remember that I must bounce my eyes to other lovely things lest my heart go to dishonoring places! Sish. You would think that everyone was a competitor given the hundreds of colorful vessels sprinkling the shoreline that day. Excitement and anticipation were in the air. Steve competed in the sea kayaking class and finished respectfully for his first Nationals. A former Olympian named Matt smoked the pack by minutes: a dramatic sight to see. I’d never seen a racing canoe (C-1) or an Olympic-class ICF kayak before: narrower, tippier, and lighter than 2 bowling balls side-by-side and pushed effortlessly against the current of any river with carbon fiber, bent or winged paddles, respectively. I didn’t see any that looked appealing to me just yet! My learning curve would surely keep me beyond reach of these river rats in vessels as wide as a hewn log floating downstream to a lumber yard.
Steve could give you more details on how he progressed to lighter and faster sea kayaks, trading up or buying-and-selling with guys throughout the Midwest. For the two of us we had settled on a Hobie Oasis when the Lord provided the needed resources: a tandem bright blue pedal-driven barge-by-comparison, complete with cup-holders and 100 pounds of stability. We had fun taking the Hobie out on local lakes many Sundays that summer after Steve had raced all day somewhere in northern Indiana on most Saturdays. We could use it as a swim platform or explore native shorelines and never fear the wakes of ski boats zooming by. The only drawback was the slow peddling speed. With both of us peddling we still maxed out at around 4 MPH. Adding power from the wimpy plastic kayak paddles didn’t make much of a difference. It takes a long time to get anywhere at that speed! We were always struggling to keep up with the recreational paddlers of the FW Kayaking group and getting water lilies or seaweed caught in the drive system under the boat (think bicycle crank shaft above and swim fins below). Sure we could trade up for the shorter fins. Somehow I had a feeling that I was going to learn to paddle eventually. Could I become strong enough to power my own vessel? I started looking around at kayak designs when at races. I looked over Steve’s shoulder many times as he was watching frightful ocean-going surf ski racing You Tube videos. Good golly! So where is the middle ground?
Julie and a friend’s son Ty in a recreational race with the Hobie Oasis
In many sports you are only as good as your gear. You can’t blame your gear for poor performance most of the time (or at least your spouse will remind you of the financial cost of trying to get it right!) but you can spend less energy where it doesn’t need to go when your equipment is lighter and your technique is streamlined to match. This is where it is beneficial to be married to an athlete of the sport in which you are choosing to dabble! With my own better gear I was about to start looking a bit more accomplished than my ability! The next stage began in Warren, Pennsylvania.
I knew it when I saw it. We were pulling into the parking lot of the beautiful park that would be the home base for the Warren USCA Nationals. She was bright orange and gray, strapped to the roof of a racer from New Jersey, and wearing a big red-and-white “For Sale” sign. The boat, not the guy! My dad had just sent me an unexpected financial gift that happened to be idling in my checkbook. I had seen the fiberglass lay up of the Think Fit on display at our first trip to Nationals the previous summer. Something about it resonated with me: a sea kayak that wasn’t too narrow, was significantly lighter than the plastic beasts like the Hobie that the recreational paddlers tended to favor, and yet was respectable even by the racing crowd. Very few Think Fits were available in the Midwest. It looked intimidating and skill-building all the same. She was going home with me. I was sure of it long before I said anything to Steve.
The bonding experience would change my view of kayaking forever. Think about it: what’s the worst fear a person might have when getting into a tiny vessel on unknown waters? Drowning? Even if you know how to swim there are variables on open water that can kill you. A jet boat can run you over, a swirling eddy can entrap you under a log, the current can take you where you don’t want to go, and a spider can tether down from a tree branch from above and frightfully let you know that you are not paddling alone . . . It’s the stuff waking nightmares are made of. You know, that twilight time just before you fall asleep? I would have many recollections of my first time in the Think Fit after that maiden voyage. It’s the stuff you tell stories about when out to dinner after a day of racing or touring.
Steve stabilized the Think Fit in the midst of the current of the Alleghany River to help me get a feel for it. This is a bit misleading for many reasons including these top two: 1) a boat (like a bicycle) is more stable as you move forward instead of sitting stationary and 2) the rate of the current (or the overpowering wind on a bicycle) can challenge the skill level of all of us. The Core of Army Engineers had released a bit too much water from the dam earlier that day to correct the water levels for the race competitors. So instead of a gentle 2-3 MPH current, we’re talking 5-6 MPH! The last time I stood in current like that was as a kid when helping groom a trail at day camp. I had slid off the trail into the swirling waters of the Clinton River, feeling the rush pull me away from the shore as I struggled to get back onto dry land. Where were the other kids? Who knows. All I knew is that I was scared and I had to spend the rest of the day in soggy shoes and shorts! Bummer. Or there were the times as a kid that we created a current walking around the periphery of our 24-foot backyard pool. After about a dozen times pool-walking around the circle we had created an awesome current for crazy fun, sweeping us away unless we hung onto the sides! The feel of rushing water returned few decades later when I felt the undertow when swimming in the ocean along the Gulf of Mexico . . . Now there’s a real sense of danger right there.
Steve had me paddle towards him then drew me back along the shore for a repeat mini-paddle. I could feel the rush of the water making the paddling easier. No problem. His presence boosted my confidence too. Then I started venturing out a little more, requiring less help from him to turn around. I barely had a handle on the rudder steering mechanism as I tried to make a turn before a large tree hanging over the river. Before I knew it I was pushed into a horizontal branch and began rolling over in slow-motion. I grabbed a branch within reach above me, nearly panicked, and somehow remembered to hang onto the very expensive boat that wasn’t mine. Everything flashed before me in an instant: I’m glad I am wearing a life jacket. I can’t hold the boat and the paddle at the same time. The boat isn’t paid for so I can’t let go. I am horizontal and the current is stronger than I could ever imagine. How long can I hold on? If I let go will I be strewn down the river backwards for miles before anyone ever finds me? I will be stranded somewhere with snakes, barbs or worse as it gets dark. Why are the men watching right now and not doing anything? I could die! I don’t know what to do and I am panicking!
In a moment like that you must make a different decision: will you become overwhelmed with fear and land in a worse outcome because of it or will you take a deep breath and try to figure something out. Even Steve was standing knee-deep in water along the shore watching me, speechless! Would he even be able to hear me over the roar of the rushing water anyways? Yes, I have to try anyways. First step, I yelled, “I need to be rescued.” He quickly came out of shock, took off his glasses/watch/keys, and started towards me. Second step, “I am letting go of the boat.” That cued him to grab the boat, make an awesome deep water re-entry into it, grab the paddle and make his way towards me. Third step and just as he got to me, I let go of the tree branch and my only security on earth in that moment. I quickly drifted into the stern of the boat and grabbed hold. He said something to me and I have no idea what it was. I held on with whatever energy was left in my trembling body. Did I mention that the waters were quite cool?
Even Steve was having trouble righting the boat to return to shore as I realized that I could help him do so. I started kicking my legs as if I were hanging onto a kick board in a lap pool. Yeah, more like a lap pool with a swim machine on steroids that is! We readily got going in the right direction and Steve paddled us into shore. When I could feel the sandy bottom of the shoreline I dragged myself out of the water. Steve dismounted out of the boat, emptied it and laid it on the shore. The two idiots that were watching the whole time and did nothing to help, said nothing, checked their phones, and walked over the hill back into the parking lot beyond. In that park were hundreds of experienced canoe and kayak racers who had no idea of the crisis occurring for me at the take-out where all of them had ended their respective races within the previous hour. I collapsed into Steve’s arms in horror, fear, grief, terror, and relief that I had not drowned. It was my worst fear you know. The second was drifting aimlessly backwards down the river forever. Both landed me in a bucket full of tears that seemed like they would never end.
These days I understand that you can swim in waters with a stout current. These days I know some navigational and survival skills should I ever be faced with that scenario again. These days I know that I could have drifted downriver with the boat as a float and with the protection of my life vest to keep my head above water in most circumstances. These days I know that Steve would have signaled for help and did whatever it would take to find me should I have become stranded along the river down from the take out. And these days I know that I could have turned myself around almost instantly if I would have been swept away with the current. I have learned a lot since that day five years ago.
When I got my wits about me I looked at that orange and gray Think Fit kayak and knew I had another decision to make. We would be leaving town the next day and the boat that I thought would be right for me would also be leaving to make a cross-country trip in the opposite direction from where we live in Indiana. This was the boat I had landed upon after investigating the options and it was about to go away. The crisis that I experienced was a rite of passage in many ways. Sure, it’s unlikely to find such perilous conditions in the waterways of Indiana so why worry about it ever happening again. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that I had faced my worst fear of what could go wrong in a human-powered craft. I had faced it and survived. I had faced it and gained some new skills. And in the process I had bonded with my new Think Fit kayak. I bought it and took her home with me. It was the only possible outcome that I could imagine. I became a kayaker that day!
Julie in her Think Fit sea kayak
There’s more. See Part 2 for a little more of my paddling story. Then get into your own boat somewhere on some friendly waters this summer and get going eh? Oh the adventures that await you! Did I tell you the one about the nest of great blue herons in the remote pond at the end of the Golden Lake chain o’ lakes? :J
The prophet Haggai in the Old Testament had to remind the nation of Israel that the current day was as good as any to rebuild the temple of the Lord. They were preoccupied with the day-to-day events of their lives, much like we have with some variations. These days we have Twitter updates flashing or beeping us the latest trivial matters we used to not care about to the stress of keeping up with the accelerating pace of life. It takes more effort than ever to SLOOOOOW DOWN and smell the roses.
Ooops! Did I fertilize them with Rose tone when I cut them down on Saturday? Shoot. I better fertilize the William Battin climbers now because they are growing and wait to feed the Knock Out rose bushes since they are still dormant . . . And off I go again . . .
When Pastor Paul Mowery preached on the book of Haggai recently he asked the congregation a question about the things we once promised the Lord. What did I feel led to do as a young Christian or during a time of spiritual growth that I am not doing today? What happened? Was the inspiration transformed into another purpose or forgotten altogether? Hmmmm. Even when facing times of crisis this is a question that benefits from our reflection. If all things work together for the good of those who are called according to His purpose (Romans 8:28) then it is possible to further our ministry purpose even in fast-paced or challenging times. And for most of us, these are challenging, fast-paced times!
Some of you know that my brother (Michael) had a stoke 9 days ago. Today Mike will be transferred from an acute cardiac/telemetry floor in a hospital to the rehabilitation unit. We are encouraged by this news! This means that he is stable enough to tolerate up to 3 hours of physical, occupational, and speech therapy per day in addition to having his funding issues largely resolved. (He does not have health insurance and is applying for the Medicaid Extension Program.) Mike continues on a “pureed diet” and “thickened liquids” (aka Pepsi!) with one-to-one feeding for swallowing safety. He has not moved his left arm or leg yet since the onset of the stroke one week ago. While his speech slowly improves, I understand that his mental status varies in the finer points of reality orientation testing. This has delayed the filing of his Power of Attorney for Healthcare status needed in case of an adverse event. And lastly, there’s a decision pending of whether or not he will have surgery to place stents in his carotid arteries: with high blood pressure, the occlusions were the cause of the right CVA. All-in-all, Mike is embarking on the next leg of a long journey of recovery; we are grateful that that next step is beginning today.
One of the most significant events from my visit to see him last Tuesday was his statement through garbled speech, “I need Jesus.” When he said that I was speechless myself. I was still responding to the horror of seeing my brother so severely disabled as he lain in bed with his waxy bed rest complexion, sunken left side of his face, catheter-and-wires attached to his skinny frame, and lifeless look in his eyes. I had to dash into the hallway as my eyes flooded with tears! The night before we travelled out of State to see him had been a nightmare anticipating that moment as it triggered residual grieving from the loss of my last grandparent, parents, and youngest brother over the previous 11 years. So the the next day in the midst of my own emotions, my dear brother reminded me of what was most important. Yes, “I need Jesus too.”
What Jesus has for Mike will of course be different from what He has for me. Our health challenges are different yet both bring significant physical weaknesses. The seizure attack episodes have increased to over 4 hours per day now with the worst ones occurring after waking up in the morning and after dark in the evening. I can do nothing but lie in bed and ride them out. I no longer can tolerate the high CBD hemp oil that gave me relief last month. It doesn’t work anymore anyways. Another medical doctor has set me adrift after only 2 months of working with him! Gratefully there is a Dr. in his practice (a biotoxin expert) with whom I am scheduled to follow-up with next week. Gratefully I have already completed the preliminary lab work she requires. In the meantime I have about 6 hours each day where I can function at a reduced level. And now in the face of my brother’s devastating stroke, I see how very fortunate I am. I am optimistic for a full recovery from the biotoxin illness that I once thought was Lyme disease. Sometimes it takes 2 1/2 years to find the answers for which we seek, and for which the Lord may bring. It takes what it takes as I wait on the Lord. And in the meantime I have built a firm foundation in trusting Him through what ever may come. I didn’t say it was a perfect one! It is solid in Jesus Christ and His Word.
Mike is yet at the beginning of building his foundation. Indeed he will need Jesus to do the tasks ahead of him both for his own recovery and to be a wise steward of the love relationships in his life: that with his fiancé (Lisa) and Lisa’s son (Alex). Gilbert the dog should be fine. 🙂 I am sad that his journey looks insurmountable in the beginning. The obstacles appear tremendous in the humble opinion of an occupational therapist on a medical leave. All of my training is rushing forth wondering about the potential for new complications and very real permanent disability. I am going to need help lying all of that before the Great Physician for His wondrous omnipotence and care. With Jesus, all things are possible and Mike’s illness will not be wasted. Mike has professed faith in the Lord, Jesus Christ. The Lord will meet him on his bed of sickness and redeem it for His glory. In that we can be sure. (Psalm 41:3)
The call to build can be a frightful one in our own strength. I submit to you that we cannot build anything of lasting value in our own strength. The outward man and the trappings of the stuff of his life will fade away in due time. Only things rendered unto the Lord and completed with His leading will last. Yes, Mike’s call to rebuild his body begins today with a transfer to the rehabilitation floor of the hospital. My own call to rebuild comes with revisiting the biotoxin protocol I discovered over 2 years ago. He and I are like every one of us who faces the question of what will consume our time, energy, and talents in the next 18 waking hours let alone the rest of our lives. So what will we do with our discretionary resources? How much discretionary resource does each one of us really have? And are we spending it for what will last or for what is, in the end, meaningless dust in the wind?
As for me, I know that I am called to write about my experiences within the context of the will of the Father in my life. Writing poetry was my outlet ten years ago when I could hardly write a complete sentence due to my emotional pain. Today I leave you with the words of the second wisest man (King Solomon) to ever live after Jesus Christ. I left these words in Mike’s room in scripted on a tiny plaque that encouraged me so long ago when faced with the task of rebuilding my life. May they encourage you too, Gentle Reader. Let us both begin to gather ourselves that which is needed to build something of lasting significance, beginning today.
Jesus is for the Wounded 
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