The Future Queen and I: What Kate & I Have in Common (Part 4)

Being completely honest, before I go any further in this series I have to let you know that I do not remember everything perfectly.  My first pregnancy was over ten years ago, and the good Lord granted me a certain degree of “amnesia” to help me deal with it.  Otherwise, there is no way on His green earth that I would have gone through it again – and yes, spoiler alert, my baby and I did survive the first one, and I went on to have a second one, with virtually the same experience yet again.

I tell you this so that you will understand that I know I’m leaving out big parts of my story, and possibly getting some things out of order.  I know this because as I’m posting it on my blog, I have friends and family who were by my side during it all now reminding me of some things that I had totally forgotten – some good and some bad.  I truly wish I had written it all down, kept a diary of it all.  Hindsight is 20-20, as they say.  At the time all of this was going on, though, I just wanted to survive it and keep my baby alive.  That is all I could think about, and some days I couldn’t even think about that.

But back to the story:  Once I arrived home from my week in the hospital, I settled into bed with my Zofran pump and IV fluids.  Again, these measures were not alleviating the constant nausea, nor were they completely controlling the vomiting.  However, they were keeping my baby and me alive in that they helped to decrease the vomiting episodes to less than 20 times per day.

The weight loss continued.  I was losing an average of 1 to 2 pounds per week now.  I was still unable to keep anything down, including water.  Friends and family were bringing me every drink under the sun in the hopes that we’d discover something that would stay down.  We really wanted to be able to get off the IV fluids.  Being hooked up to the IV 24/7 was completely debilitating, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  But then again, so was being nauseated 24/7. 

Eventually we found that I could tolerate citrus Gatorade better than anything.  Did you know that it is the most difficult flavor of Gatorade to find?  My husband became the ultimate hunter/gatherer of citrus Gatorade, though, and kept me stocked up.  However, the strange thing is that even when I was eventually (many weeks into the pregnancy) able to keep down a significant amount of this liquid, it was still never enough to keep me from becoming dehydrated within 30 minutes if the IV fluids were removed (this strange thing has never been explained).  Therefore, I continued with the IV fluids and the Zofran drug pump throughout the rest of my pregnancy.  This means anytime I left the house, which was pretty much only for doctor’s appointments from this point on (except for a couple of cases which I’ll talk about later), it involved traveling with the wonderful IV pole and fluid pouch and wearing the lovely Zofran drug pump like a fanny pack around my waist.  Stylish, but it has yet to catch on with the hipster pregnancy set. 

Once I had settled in after the first hospital visit, the cycle persisted, but at a lesser rate for the most part.  I was hospitalized a couple more times for dehydration before we worked out the best ratio of everything, though.  When I was home, I was bedridden due to the extreme nausea, fatigue, and dizziness.  Since James and my mother both worked, I was often alone for long hours during the day.  I rarely had to get up to go to the bathroom because I stayed on the verge of dehydration, even with the IV.  Frankly, there just wasn’t anything left to eliminate that way.  However, when I did go I had to use ketone sticks to check my urine.  If the “pH” of my urine reached dangerous levels, this would mean that I was not obtaining enough fluids.  As long as we kept the IV fluids going, this stayed at an acceptable level.  If the IV was removed, or even slowed down too far, this marker would immediately show dangerous levels of “ketones” in my urine, and we would have to do a “bolus” of IV fluids, or I would have to make a trip back to the hospital to get it all balanced again.

So, I stayed in bed for hours on end.  For the first couple of weeks I didn’t have a television or computer in my bedroom to keep me occupied, and I really didn’t care because I was still too weak to even sit up or keep my eyes open for long.  Instead, we kept the CD of “Pachelbel Canon in D with Ocean Sounds” playing over and over and over all day long to keep me as relaxed as possible.  Weird, yes, but it worked somehow.  And, I prayed…a lot.  If I was awake, I was praying, or in some cases, crying out loud to God.

And He was with me.  There was a book that I had that I had purchased on that very first week after I found out I was pregnant.  It was called “For This Child I Prayed” by Stormie Omartian.  (This book is pictured below and available at:   http://stormieomartian.com/product_details.html?product_name=.Christmas+Special.%3Cbr%3E%3Cbr%3EItem+M06-CHLD-GB%3Cbr%3E%3Cbr%3EFOR+THIS+CHILD+I+PRAYED%3Cbr%3E)  The prayers and the pictures were incredibly soothing to me, and whenever I was able, I read and prayed the words of this book for my baby over and over and over, almost every day throughout my pregnancy.  It brought me such comfort, and I knew, deep down in my soul that the Lord was looking after my baby.  I am being completely honest with you here when I tell you that I had a very deep peace about this.  I believed whole-heartedly that this baby would be born strong and healthy.  After what had happened to me just before I found out I was pregnant (read Part 1), I knew that God had a PURPOSE for this child, and was looking after him (or her – I didn’t know which at the time).  Honestly, I believed the baby would survive, but I wasn’t sure that I would.

 

However, even with the calm I was experiencing for my child, it did not prevent worry and despair and depression from creeping in from time to time.  Actually most days I felt some form of mental and emotional anguish.  Again, there was no explanation offered at this point for what was happening.  Though my doctor was very kind, and was very concerned, I still felt that he was questioning my sanity a bit.  Some of the medical workers I was around actually treated me like it was my fault, and I could not understand this.  I knew that this was completely out of my control – so why would anyone treat me this way when I was suffering so much and still worried about the overall health of my baby?

I continued going to see my doctor every week at this point.  Every week we’d go through the excruciating process of getting me ready to go out with the drug pump and IV, and drive the 30 minutes to the doctor’s office, stopping for me to throw up a couple of times along the way, usually.  Every week I would step on the scale and it would show a weight loss of at least one or two pounds.  And every week I’d be on pins and needles until I heard my baby’s heartbeat once again.  And every week my doctor would try to reassure me, but at the same time he would almost scold me, telling me that I really needed to drink and try to eat more.  I explained again, in tears, that I could not – that I was drinking and drinking tons of citrus Gatorade, but it wouldn’t always stay down.  He would “threaten” me with the picc line for TPN (Total Parenteral Nutrition) again.  But again, I tried to explain, I was seriously doing the best I could – why couldn’t they understand it?  I felt like a crazy person.

One day James arranged to have wireless internet connection installed for me, so I could at least surf the internet and email people from my bed.  He also installed a television in our bedroom.  How sadistic was it that I watched the Food Channel obsessively throughout my pregnancy once I was able to hold my head up?  Rachel Ray and Paula Deen became my go to girls!  I couldn’t eat or stand the smell of food, but I got to where I could at least watch.  Sick, I tell you.

I began searching the internet for an explanation of my symptoms.  Surely to goodness I wasn’t the only woman alive going through this, was I?  And you know what?  I soon found that I wasn’t.  However, what I found nearly sent me into a tailspin of deeper despair and emotional upheaval.

One day while searching online, I found a website in which women were describing symptoms very similar to mine during their pregnancies.  They were posting on a webpage’s “chat boards” about their experiences.  These women were, like me, searching for answers and hoping to find some encouragement, and some reassurance that they were not “crazy”, and that they were not to blame for this.

Their stories were brutal.  Many of these women were describing scenarios in which their doctors and everyone around them refused to accept the severity of their sickness, telling them to suck it up and deal with it.  Many described doctors and medical professionals mocking them, and husbands (abusive husbands, in my opinion) forcing them to continue to wait on them hand and foot, cooking and cleaning and performing “wifely duties” even as they were wasting away before their eyes.  Many of these women confessed to secretly having an abortion, and then telling everyone around them that they had miscarried.  The pain they were living with was almost unbearable.   My heart began breaking.  I spent hours in bed for days, reading their stories, weeping endlessly. 

James became very worried when I shared these stories with him and he saw how it was affecting me.  However, I reassured him that this was what I needed to hear.  Even though my heart broke for these women, and especially for these unborn children, I knew now that I was not crazy and not alone.  I was also completely overwhelmed when I understood the level of support and encouragement I had already been receiving from my loved ones compared to so many of these women.  And, I learned there was actually a name for this condition:  Hyperemesis Gravidarum.   There they were.  There were the two words that proved that this was not “all in my head.”  I was not crazy.  I felt like I could breathe again.

I devoured every bit of information I could about HG.  I was disturbed to find out that not much was known about it in the United States, however Canada and Great Britain had both performed studies on the condition.  At that time, they were reporting that they believed that .02 percent of all pregnancies were sufferers of HG.  And of this percentage, unbelievably, 98% ended in miscarriage or abortion.

This truly did me in.  I could not imagine…this baby, this child that I had prayed and prayed for…I could not imagine giving up and aborting him or her!  However, I realized at this point that I had support, and I had IV fluids and a Zofran drug pump, helping me to survive this.  I was able to stay in bed all day because I had loved ones who loved me and who wanted to take care of me, and a doctor who was willing to try every treatment under the sun.  No one was mocking me, no one was forcing me to get up and cook or clean or do anything else.  They were just there – helping me, praying for the baby and me, and literally willing to do anything to help me survive.  And most of all, I had faith.  I was truly blessed.  I could not imagine going through this hell wearing the shoes of some of these other women whose stories were tearing me apart.  I don’t believe I would have resorted to abortion, though I do not judge those who did AT ALL.  It is not my place to do so.  I simply ache for them.  But, on the other hand, I also don’t believe that I would have been alive by this point without all of the care and support and faith I had been given.

The next time I went to see my physician, I took many of these articles on HG with me to show him.  He had heard of it, and he agreed that this was what I was suffering from.  I believe that he had already determined that, but probably did not share it with me for the very reason that he had come to know me so well, and he knew I would immediately go and read everything I could about it – which would only serve to upset me even more.  Yes, that’s true, and I forgave him for that.   However, even though it was painful to read these stories, I cannot adequately describe the relief I felt at knowing there was a name for this condition, and that it was not my fault (even though the cause is still unknown). 

Still losing weight at this point, my doctor decided to send me to a perinatologist - a physician who specializes in high risk pregnancies - for a consultation.   I was excited about going to see someone who might have more knowledge about this condition, and perhaps some suggestions for controlling it and ensuring a healthier pregnancy.  At this point I was existing on IV fluids and citrus Gatorade, and unable to keep down the pre-natal vitamins.  If you have HG, I recommend that you do NOT read all of the books and articles on how to have a “healthy pregnancy.”  It will only serve to throw you further into despair at how you are unable to do the things that we all know you need to do when you’re pregnant – like eat healthful foods, exercise, take your vitamins, etc… I was hoping for some more answers.

Little did I know that when I walked into the office of that perinatologist, I would be walking into the pit of hell…

(To be continued…)

The Future Queen and I: What Kate & I Have in Common (Part 3)

Today I heard that Kate, The Duchess of Cambridge, was suffering a health setback with her "acute morning sickness."  As Prince William said, "I don't know why they call it morning sickness.  They should call it "all day and all night sickness.""

Amen.

 

For the short update on Kate in today's news, click here:  http://www.charter.net/tv/3/player/vendor/E!%20Pop%20of%20Culture/player/fiveminute/asset/gnrc_18242601

 

Lovely, huh?  This is how I spent nearly my entire pregnancy.  Not exactly the beautiful "glow of pregnancy" you hear about!  Notice the attractive IV pole, the wet washcloth hanging above my head, the towel hanging at the side of the bed, the puke bowl on one nightstand, and the various drinks that people brought for me to try, to see if I could keep them down.  I see some Gatorade, a Tennessee Guzzler full of water, and a Pal's Tea among the array.  Oh, and the bottle of Tums, and Rolaids, and you name it...

So, I ended up spending about a week in the hospital my seventh week of pregnancy.  As I said, I was severely dehydrated, to the point of talking out of my head and having no urine output whatsoever.  I had also lost a total of 26 pounds in two weeks, and, as you can imagine, we were incredibly fearful of what all this could mean for the baby I was carrying.  So, besides all of the physical problems, I was an emotional and mental wreck, drowning in worry and depression.

During my hospital stay, they kept me hooked up to IV fluids because the vomiting/dry heaves continued – and when I say “continued”, I mean they continued day and night.  We stopped keeping count after I had dry heaved for the 50^th time in one day.  The intravenous fluids were the only way to keep me hydrated and conscious. 

They also began trying several drugs to see if they could alleviate some of the nausea and slow down the vomiting.  First up was Phenergan.  Now, I’m sure most of you have heard of this drug, and are familiar with the lovely suppository form of it that we all got to experience during childhood whenever we got the "stomach bug."  Luckily for me, they have this in a form that works intravenously, so the IV hook-up was very convenient.  However, though the hospital staff was exceptionally wonderful every time I was admitted throughout the course of my pregnancies, I do have a distinct recollection of one very painful experience.  The first time they administered the Phenergan intravenously, the nurse forgot to dilute it, and she also shot it into the IV really close to my arm.  Well, let me tell you – undiluted Phenergan HURTS!  It felt like a steel rod was being jammed up my arm.  I was in pain from this for about an hour, and ever since then, I have made sure to ask before any drug is administered if it needs to be diluted.  Keep this in mind yourself, just in case.

Phenergan did nothing for the nausea – it did serve to kill my arm and keep me in a semi-conscious state, though.  I definitely felt drugged.  The next drug we tried was Reglan.  Nothing.  They might as well have shot me up with water.

Finally, they gave me Zofran, an anti-nausea medication that was given to cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy treatment.  Zofran was a miracle drug for me.  It did not stop the vomiting completely.  We’re talking about going from throwing up more than 50 times a day to throwing up around 20 times a day, which was a vast improvement.  It also helped to alleviate the nausea to the point that I could think clearly for periods of time greater than five minutes.  Unfortunately, taking Zofran by mouth was not working, because I could not keep from throwing up long enough for it to take effect, or keep it in my system.  The solution was a drug pump, which allowed it to be administered via a pump that kept it coming into my system continuously.  This worked much better than taking it by mouth because the flow of the drug was continuous.  The downside of this was that you had to change the entrance site every other day, which consisted of sticking a small needle into my thigh each time, and later into my stomach, when my thighs became too black & blue and the muscle tissue too saturated and “hard” to be able to take it.

James tried to learn how to do this for me, so he could help out on days when I was feeling too sick to even sit up.  However, the first time he tried to do this from home without a nurse on hand to supervise, he forgot to take the plastic cap off the needle, and tried jabbing it into my thigh several times before realizing the problem.  The crazy thing is that he almost succeeded in jabbing the entire thing into my leg, cap and all!  Bless his heart; he still brings that up to this day, feeling horrible about it!

After a few days using the Zofran pump in the hospital, we seemed to be making progress and we were looking forward to getting me out of the hospital and back home.  However, every time they removed the intravenous fluids, I would immediately become dehydrated again.  The strange thing is that this would happen with 30 minutes or so of removing the IV.  To this day, no one has figured that one out.  I tend to dehydrate easily, even when I have a stomach virus, and often have to go to the hospital for fluids when I get a stomach virus for this reason.  So, I seem to have a natural tendency to become dehydrated for some crazy reason.  Of course, this did nothing to help my condition during pregnancy.

After a couple of days of this nonsense, the doctors were becoming very frustrated.  I was even beginning to feel like they were accusing me of having a mental disorder that was “causing” this somehow.  I really did think I was going nuts.  This took an incredible toll on me emotionally. 

My doctor considered a picc (parentally inserted central catheter) line for total parenteral nutrition (TPN), however, he was very concerned about the risk of infection and pneumothorax with this, and how it could affect the baby.  I was in agreement that if there was any way to avoid this we should.  However, we could not find a way to get my system balanced out without the IV fluids.  Even with the Zofran drug pump going full force, the removal of the IV would set me back to ground zero where I was vomiting and becoming dehydrated in a vicious cycle.

However, my doctor was persistent, and he finally decided that the only way I would get to go home was to send me home with both the Zofran pump AND the IV fluids.  And so, that is how I came to get my very own home health nurse, who was, simply put, a complete blessing to me throughout the pregnancy and beyond.  She visited me at home every three days to change my IV site and take my vitals.  James and I took care of changing out the Zofran pump site every other day.   Also, James became very adept at changing out the IV fluids in between the nurse's visits.  What a man! 

Even with all of this “help”, I still continued to vomit several times a day.  Overall, I lost a total of 40 pounds before the weight loss leveled out.  And, this was not the end.  There was still no “diagnosis” and no explanation offered for what was going on.  I was in a period of horrible mental and emotional anguish, worrying about the health of our baby, and believing that I must somehow be to blame for all of this.  And the sad part was that no one around me offered me any reassurance that it wasn’t my fault.  Somehow, every solution offered included "crackers and ginger ale."  They simply did not know….and the worst was yet to come.

(To Be Continued in Part 4:  http://tronworld.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-future-queen-and-i-what-kate-i-have_11.html )

The Future Queen and I: What Kate & I Have in Common (Part Two)

PART TWO  (If you missed Part One of this "saga" (yesterday's blog post), you can read it here: http://tronworld.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-future-queen-and-i-what-kate-i-have.html ) :

After returning home that evening from the emotionally exhausting trip to and from Nashville, l fell into bed for a deep sleep.  I woke up the very next morning, still feeling exhausted, but my husband and I had plans to go to a seminar at church.  I remember I didn’t feel like eating that morning, but I drank some orange juice, which I regretted for the next few hours.  I had a horrible burning sensation in my stomach and chest.  I had never experienced heartburn before, but I imagined this was what it would feel like.

By the end of the seminar, I was hungry, yet feeling nauseated, had “heartburn”, and was extremely tired.  I asked James to pull into a drug store and go grab me some crackers and some anti-acid medication….and then, I had an epiphany.  I said, “And um, would you pick up a pregnancy test, too?”  James looked at me like I had just grown two heads, and then said, “You know, if you need those first two items, I don’t really think there’s a need to get the third!”  But, he came back with not just one, but two tests.

We were both nervous, and couldn’t even talk about the possibility of what might be happening.  Wasn’t it less than 24 hours ago that I was pulled over in a parking lot, sobbing and praying about wanting to begin a family?  Could it really be?

Even though home was less than a thirty minute drive away, we were both too anxious to wait another minute.  We passed by the road turning off to the home of some close friends who lived along the way, and decided to make a “pit stop.”  They were surprised to see us, but welcomed us in.  I excused myself to their powder room, and emerged a few minutes later with an incredulous look on my face.  James knew immediately what was going on. 

It was positive.

No way!  This couldn’t be!  Could it?  There was no possible way!  We had not been “trying” for long, really.  We wanted this, but we weren’t really ready, were we?  I mean, I had not read even one “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book, ever!

But it was real!  We confirmed it a few hours later with the second test, and then Monday morning I scheduled a visit to the OB/Gyn to officially confirm it.  It was really real!  I was just barely four months pregnant for the first time!

Dazed and confused, I pretty much recall this time as a “foggy time.”  I was in a state of bliss and immediately began reading everything I could get my hands on about pregnancy and babies.  I was so excited!  Of course I had to make a couple of trips to the local “baby superstores” to begin making lists, and buying baby nursery decorating books!  Oh, and I had to start those pre-natal vitamins, and make sure that I was eating the healthiest of health foods and walking every single day!

I had gained some weight recently, and was the heaviest I had ever weighed in my life at that point, so I was concerned about gaining too much weight.  Diabetes runs in my family, so I was a little anxious that if I gained too much I might be at risk for gestational diabetes, or have a higher birth weight baby, which I had been reading was not healthy for the baby and could lead to many health problems for it later, if not sooner, in life.  These were some of the concerns that were running through my mind that very first week.

We also had a vacation planned to Hilton Head Island that week.  The plan was that I would be going down with my parents, my sister, her husband, and two children early in the week, and James would join us a couple days later after he finished some projects at work.  We had delayed going by one day so that I could make the trip to the doctor, but once that was done and we had shared the news with the rest of the family, we were on our way.  On the drive down, however, I found myself feeling extremely sick.  We attributed it to some pregnancy nausea exacerbated by the winding roads on the “shortcuts” my dad insisted on taking.  I had to lie down in the car the entire way, and once we arrived at the beach, the “motion sickness” never went away.  Oh, and the “heartburn” persisted, which was painfully annoying. 

I tried to walk on the beach some that week.  Desperately trying to distract myself from the nausea, I busied myself by shopping in some of the beautiful baby stores on the island and making a few purchases of generally useless but irresistible baby items such as books, outfits, and bibs that cost entirely too much.  But, it was my first pregnancy, our first child.  I was determined that everything would be “practically perfect” in every way.  If only this blasted nausea would go away!  We were sure it would.  My mamaw, mother, and sister had all experienced pretty horrific “morning sickness,” but it had subsided within a few weeks, they assured me. 

The trip to Hilton Head was soon over, but the trip home was even worse than the drive down.  A couple days later at home, I threw up for the first time.  I remember thinking, “Oh no…and so it begins!”  I did feel a sense of temporary relief after throwing up.  However, this was extremely short-lived.  The nausea came back with a vengeance only a few minutes later, and stayed.  The cycle had begun:  vomiting, a few minutes of relief, and then the return of severe nausea, heartburn, and even dizziness settling in until I finally vomited again.  I was throwing up several times a day at this point, and even during the night.  So much for so-called “morning” sickness!

The sixth week of pregnancy James and I were scheduled to take a dream vacation to California.  James planned to attend some legal seminars for a few days with some attorney friends, and I was to accompany them.  We would be staying at some lavish resorts in San Francisco, Carmel, and all along the coast, and I would get to spend my time shopping, going to spas, and sight-seeing to my heart’s content.  I had been looking forward to this for such a long time!

However, by the day we were scheduled to leave, we knew that there was no way I could make this trip.  We knew that my “morning sickness” was something a little out of the ordinary, but we still thought at this point that we’d find a way to manage it and it would get better within a few weeks.  However, I was definitely in no condition to make the flight or enjoy the special vacation we had planned.

James, who had been waiting on me hand and foot, however, had spent a lot of money on the reservations for this trip and on the legal seminars he would attend.  He also needed the continuing legal education credits he would earn.  So, we decided that he would go without me.  I was incredibly sad, but I had my parents, sister, and some friends who would check in on me from time to time.

James on the dream vacation, without me.

The view from what was to have been "my room" at one of the Cali resorts.

 

By this time, the “morning sickness,” which was lasting all day and all night, was becoming ridiculous.  To add insult to injury, I became sick with the worst sinus infection and case of bronchitis I had ever experienced in my life.  While I lay in my bed, puking my guts out constantly and struggling to breathe, James was sending me pictures of himself and his lawyer friends at these incredible resorts, five-star hotels, and fabulous restaurants on the gorgeous West Coast, living it up.  I wanted to die, literally.  I felt that bad and that sorry for myself at that time.  Despite the fact that I was experiencing a deep joy like nothing I had ever known with the knowledge that I would be holding our baby by the end of the year, I was also the most miserable I had ever been in my entire life. 

I remember that week was very dark, very lonely, and VERY scary.  I could do nothing but lie in bed, day and night.  I remember I listened to the soothing sounds of a CD of Pachelbel Canon in D with ocean and seagull sounds mixed in, over and over and over.  It was almost hypnotic, and it helped me to relax a little as it lulled me in and out of a very restless sleep.  I kind of remember people coming in and out of the house to check on me from time to time that week, bringing me drinks and food which I could not keep down.  I remember praying for my baby, begging God to please protect my child even though I was sorely inadequate and apparently too “defective” to do so myself.  I remember alternating between feelings of hope and hopelessness, guilt and anger, confusion and depression.  And I remember continuously drifting in and out of semi-consciousness.  It was like a fog, some kind of crazy dream – but the dream was becoming a nightmare.

When James returned home, he was distraught to find me so sick.  It was obvious to him how much my condition had deteriorated after being gone a week, and I could see in his eyes how worried he truly was.  At this point, I was losing weight rapidly, and I couldn’t keep anything down, even water.  Well-meaning people kept advising me to “eat crackers” and “drink ginger ale” and trust me, I had tried everything.  But nothing, absolutely nothing, would stay down.  We were beginning to become really concerned about the baby’s development and how it might be affected due to my inability to provide adequate nutrition. 

A few days later, the beginning of week seven of the pregnancy, James came home from work to find me talking out of my head.  I couldn’t speak well, and when I did nothing coming out of my mouth was making sense.  I was wild-eyed, freezing, twisting my hair into knots, and scratching my skin to pieces.  Something was wrong, horribly wrong. 

James called the doctor and was told to immediately bring me to his office.  Once the doctor saw me, he admitted me to the hospital immediately.  I was almost completely dehydrated.   I had nothing in me, and had lost 26 pounds since they had seen me less than two weeks before.   Before I could even realize what was going on, they began pumping fluid into my veins intravenously and trying to get my blood pressure and heart rate normalized again.  All of this craziness was going on, I had been unable to keep food or liquids down for days, and yet I continued to dry heave – over and over and over again.   The severe nausea and intense contractions of my digestive system never subsided and I was not feeling any relief - not even for a moment.  It was as if my body was violently trying to purge itself of something foreign.  What was going on?  Little did we know that this was only the beginning…

(To be continued in Part 3:  http://tronworld.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-future-queen-and-i-what-kate-i-have_10.html )

The Future Queen and I: What Kate & I Have in Common (Part One)

Part One

Many times I have tried to write this story, and every time I’ve abandoned the effort.  It is so difficult to go back to this dark place in my history.  However, I’ve intended to share it, eventually, so that it might help someone else traveling that lonely, dark road of the “HG pregnancy.” 

HG, or Hyperemesis Gravidarum, is described by the American Pregnancy Association as “a condition characterized by severe nausea, vomiting, weight loss, and electrolyte disturbance. Mild cases are treated with dietary changes, rest and antacids. More severe cases often require a stay in the hospital so that the mother can receive fluid and nutrition through an intravenous line (IV).”  In my case, I experienced the extreme forms of this condition during both of my pregnancies.

At this very moment, Prince William’s bride, Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, is hospitalized in England, suffering from this condition.  (Link to a story on the Today Show on NBC this morning about the Duchess: http://video.today.msnbc.msn.com/today/50068137#50068137 ).  When I read an article announcing this last night (http://todayhealth.today.com/_news/2012/12/03/15648748-hyperemesis-gravidarum-you-just-feel-like-youre-dying?lite), which happened to be my first son’s 10^th birthday, I couldn’t help but cry for her.  Even though I know that she will undoubtedly receive the best possible care throughout her pregnancy, all the memories of those feelings of tremendous worry, loneliness, and, at times, despair I felt during my pregnancies came rushing back.  I immediately stopped reading to pray for her, for the health of the new baby, and for Kate’s physical, emotional, and mental condition – because believe me, it is all at stake here.

HG was very rare and mostly unheard of during my first go-round with the condition.  In fact, I diagnosed myself after doing much research on the internet between vomiting episodes while lying in bed.  Thankfully, I had an obstetrician who had heard of it, and agreed that this was what I had, much to my relief.  I’ll explain what I mean by that in a bit.

But first, I want to explain how much I had wanted a baby, and had prayed for this.  James and I had been married for thirteen years at this point.  I was 33 years old, and had spent all of those years focused on my career and “getting ahead.”  However, that year the Lord began changing me in so many ways, the most drastic being that He gave me a desire to start a family.  In fact, the desire was so strong that James and I decided that I would quit working and focus on this, and on making our home life more family-focused.

You see, over all those years of working so hard, somewhere along the way James and I had become more like “roommates” than a couple.  We were two ships sailing off to sea during the day, returning to port late in the evening, sometimes not even exchanging a word before calling it a night.  In fact, we had entertained the idea of divorce for a brief moment, when we came to the realization that we were not committed as a couple.  We had stopped going to church, and not only were we not committed as a couple, but we were also not committed to the Lord.  This was a very dark time in our lives, and I look back over it now with such regret.

Thankfully, a friend at the time invited us to attend his church one Sunday.  It was a non-denominational, contemporary service, very different from the traditional protestant church we had been attending before we gave up going months before.  Something about it spoke to our spirits, waking us up, so to speak.  We went back the next Sunday, and the next, and before we knew it we were involved in a small home group of extremely loving and devoted Christian families, many with small children.  

To say we were convicted by these incredible families is to put it very lightly.  The best way to explain it is to say that they had something that we wanted.  It wasn’t just their closeness, or their obvious devotion to one another, it was also, or mostly, their closeness and devotion to the Lord that we were missing in our own lives and now desiring so strongly.  Their witness to us was so strong, and it became obvious the Lord had led us to them.  Before we knew it, James and I were falling in love again - both with God and with each other.

The Lord worked in our lives in so many ways during those next couple of years.  To say we did a 180 degree turnaround in our lives would be a severe understatement!  And it was at this time that the desire to start a family began to grow strong for both of us.  However, we knew that we needed to make even more changes in our lifestyle in order to make this work.  “Two ships passing in the night” would not make a strong port in which to raise children.  We decided that I would quit working outside the home for a while, and that we would focus on creating a new and different home life, one that would be completely focused on growing a family whose focus was to love and serve God.

It was only a few short weeks after quitting my job that I attended a conference with some friends in Nashville.  I drove down and back by myself, though, because I wanted to get home a day early to attend an event at church with my husband the next morning.  The hours alone in the car gave me so much time to think and pray.  I had not been feeling very well during the entire trip, and was especially emotional – which I attributed to being in the throes of that monthly hormonal thing.

While driving over the mountain entering Knoxville from the west side, a dark blue Jeep passed me.  I happened to glance over and I noticed there was a lady driving with a young man, maybe 13 or 14 years old, in the passenger seat.  Within those few split seconds I saw them talking and laughing, and all the sudden I began sobbing uncontrollably!  It is so difficult to explain because nothing like this had ever happened to me before, but it was almost as if I’d seen a vision of my future!  At that moment the desire to have a child became overpowering to me.  I cried for miles and miles, and realized that I was crying out to God, “Please answer my prayer for a family!  I want to have a child, Lord!”    

I was feeling so full of regret for waiting so many years, selfishly pursuing my own dreams which had turned out to be so empty, so hollow.  Was I too old?  Had I waited too long?  Had the window of opportunity opened and shut somewhere along the way when I was too busy, too full of myself to even notice? 

As I drove into the city of Knoxville, I saw a huge black billboard through my tears.  Back then, someone had begun a campaign of a series of billboards around the country that were supposed to be words from God.  These said things such as “You know that ‘Love thy neighbor thing’?  I meant that. – God”, and, “Don’t make me come down there. – God.”  Well, this particular one said, “We need to talk. – God”.  I don’t think he could have made it any clearer.

 

So, at that exact moment, I took an exit, pulled into a parking lot, pulled out my Bible and began reading and praying.  I can’t remember what I read, and I can’t remember what I prayed.  But I do remember an unbelievable calmness settling over me.  My tears dried, and I drove home the rest of the way in complete peace, knowing that God was sovereign, and that His plan was in place for me, for my family.

(To be continued in Part 2:  http://tronworld.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-future-queen-and-i-what-kate-i-have_4.html )

You got troubles? Rejoice!

Do you think the Lord meant it when He told us to rejoice in our sufferings?  Well, He took the trouble to tell us at least three times, through three different New Testament authors (Paul, James, & Peter), so He must have meant it!

"We can rejoice too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.  And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation." - Romans 5:3-4

"Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.  For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow.  So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing." - James 1:2-4

"So be truly glad.  There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while.  These trials will show that your faith is genuine.  It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold - though your faith is far more precious than gold.  So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world."  - 1 Peter 1:6-7

When you believe by faith that you have been saved by Christ's sacrifice on the cross, then you are no longer in a "hostile relationship" with God.  You are now at peace with God, in a relationship of love and acceptance - even to the point that He accepts you as His own son/daughter (Romans 8:16).

It's true that even though we have this loving, peaceful relationship with God now, we may still not always "feel" calm or tranquil in our daily lives.  This is because we are not at peace with this world, and we may still experience conflict from time to time.  However, even amidst this conflict, we can live with the peace of knowing that we are not in conflict with God, and that the trials we are currently facing are to strengthen us in endurance and character, and in the confident hope of our salvation.  This is the meaning of true peace and joy within, no matter what your "worldly circumstances."

So, look at your current troubles with that "eternal perspective," and rejoice in knowing that God is using them to strengthen you, and grow you even closer to Him and more like Christ, in whose sufferings we are sharing, knowing that Christ overcame them all, even death!  That same power of Christ that overcame death is the same power within you to overcome your daily troubles (1 John 5:4).  We may share in his sufferings now from time to time, but we give praise that one day we will share in His glory and honor!

TIDINGS OF COMFORT & JOY

This time of year is the most depressing of all for so many.  Yet, caught up in the hustle and bustle, so many of us forget to stop, pray for, care for, and reach out to those that may be hurting.

Some feel invisible during this season of parties, gifting, singing, and togetherness.  Whether by choice or by circumstance, some truly are alone...invisible.  No matter who you are, no matter how you are hurting, you need to know that GOD SEES YOU.  He knows you, and He is always with you.

Almighty God, the Creator of this universe, is reaching out to you....when you feel like you are alone, you are not.

When the enemy is leading you to believe that you are not worthy of a relationship with God, or with anyone else, do not be deceived!  God is pursuing YOU! 

No matter what you have done, no matter where you are in your life, know that your Creator loves you, and He desires a relationship with YOU.  "He knows when you've been sleeping...He knows when you're awake...He knows if you've been bad OR good"... and He loves you anyway!

You are not alone, and you are never "too far" from God.  And since He is already with you...all you have to do is reach out to Him.  His comfort is so close, and it is yours...just accept it.

I hope the prayer of the Psalmist, Psalm 139:1-18, will serve to bring comfort to someone who needs to hear this Word today.  And I hope it is a reminder to others of us to reach out to someone in need of comfort or fellowship during this season.  Let this be our prayer...

"O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.  You know my thoughts even when I'm far way.
You see me when I travel and when I rest at home.  You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me. 
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!

I can never escape from your Spirit!  I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;  If I go down to the grave, you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning, if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me, and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me and the light around me to become night -
but even in the darkness I cannot hide from you. 
To you the night shines as bright as day.  Darkness and light are the same to you.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous - how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion,
as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.
You saw me before I was born.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
They cannot be numbered!
I can't even count them;  they outnumber the grains of sand!
And when I wake up, you are still with me!

Some gave all...what must I give?

Some thoughts to share on Memorial Day:

Today, many are celebrating the 'beginning of summer'.  For others, we are also in prayerful thanksgiving and remembrance of those who have sacrificed "ALL' for us, that we may continue to enjoy the freedom to celebrate our lives. 

Today, as I enjoy the privilege of sitting on the beach, in peace, enjoying the precious gift of loved ones around me, it's difficult to imagine the sacrifices being made by others, for others, all around this great world. 

There is guilt...guilt that I am "on vacation" on this of all days, while others are carrying the banner of freedom into deserts and jungles in faraway lands, understanding that today is not a "vacation day" for them, and in fact it could be the day they "give all" for the purpose of freedom, in which they believe so greatly. 

There is guilt that I am enjoying the spoils of freedom and luxury while men, women, and even children are living in foreign lands, not understanding the language or customs, knowing that they could be back "home", having hotdogs and hamburgers by the beach or lake or pool like the rest of us.  Yet, they choose to risk their lives to bring the Word of God to peoples yet unreached with the Good News.

I often wonder, what is expected of me?  What am I called to sacrifice...for loved ones, for others, for God?  Why haven't I been called to "give all"?  Yes, I've been called to "give some", at times, but in light of others, it truly seems a pittance.

Who knows?  Maybe one day I will be called to give "much more", maybe even "all".  I know I daily finding myself praying, asking the Lord to guide me, showing me how to "give more".  Yet, I confess, I don't often (ever????!) find myself praying, "Lord, show me how to give ALL!"  I do find myself thinking that "all" is something I'll be willing to give... one day...when I've done "everything else"....

Right now in a class I'm taking, we are studying the Christian martyrs.  Martyrdom is not something that God called or expected of all of the early Christians.  However, many believed it was the ultimate act of service, and therefore willingly gave all on behalf of the Christian faith so that others may believe and continue to practice their faith in freedom.  Some even 'volunteered' to be martyred, though many believed that this wasn't really the best way to answer God's call  - many who volunteered to die actually renounced God when push came to shove and the moment of death was upon them, and thus hindered the message of the Gospel.

If I am ever called to answer to the duty of sacrifice, I would hope that I would submit in faith and trust that it is the ultimate calling for "the greater good", as those heroes in our military and the Christian martyrs before us have done so gallantly.  This is something I have wondered since a very, very young age:  Would I be willing to die so that others might live?  I hope so!

However, today, on Memorial Day, as I reflect upon all of this, I am comforted greatly by the Scripture, from Psalms 51, in which David said to God:  "You do not desire a sacrifice, or I would offer one.  You do not want a burnt offering. The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit.  You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.  Look with favor on Zion and help her; rebuild the walls of Jerusalem.  Then you will be pleased with sacrifices offered in the right spirit..."

God doesn't call everyone of us to "give all", though most certainly some are called to this supreme sacrifice.  And to them, I am forever and truly humbled and grateful. 

But as for the rest of us, what He desires more than anything is a repentant heart.  Is that really too much to give, in light of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and the martyrs before us?  Can we offer the Lord our heart, all of it, in the "right spirit"?

It's something to think about...and for which to pray:  "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." (Psalm 51:10)

Blessings to you all, and my sincere, heartfelt gratitude to the men and women who "gave all", and to their families who have suffered great loss on our behalf as well.  Words are not enough...

A blessed Memorial Day to all,

Love,
Tron

PLAYGROUND RULES: Boundless or Boundaries?

So, blogging yesterday seems to have opened up the floodgates!

Driving down the road today, one or two of the bazillion fragmented thoughts flying through my brain took root and began forming into something I thought might actually be worth considering, so I thought I'd just start the brain drain here.  Why not?

This all started when the hubster called to let me know the "schedule" for the evening (we never have time to actually talk about things like this in the morning...morning conversations are for essential things like "because I SAID you HAVE to wear pants!" and "you just CAN'T have Dr. Pepper and chocolate for breakfast!" - and that's just the hubster and me, talking to each other!).  Anway, he asked me if I minded going solo with our youngest son tonight while he and the older one tended to their busy schedules.  So, I started trying to think of stuff to do with my youngest son, just the two of us. 

The first thing to pop in my head was to go to a playground somewhere.  He LOVES playgrounds!  Almost as much as he loves staying home and playing with his DSi or watching Ben10 DVDs (don't ask).

So, where to go?  My favorite is the "Blue Playground", which is located in our old neighborhood.  It's pretty.  It's safe.  We still know lots of the folks in that neighborhood.  It's appropriate for his age.  AND, most importantly, it is compact and has a BIG FENCE all the way around it, with a GATE to lock him in!  This means that I can take him in and just let him HAVE AT IT!  I can even take a seat on a bench and just watch, until I have to push him on the swing, or pick him up out of the mulch when he face plants.

                                               My oldest, on the "Blue Playground", age 2.

I love that fence and gate, and praise the person who had them put there.  It makes my playground experience so much nicer, and the young one loves the feeling of being able to run willy-nilly all over the place like a "big boy".

But then, that "other" playground popped into my head.  It's the "BIG Playground", the one at our local state park, and WOW!  Is it ever amazing!  Treehouses, slides, see-saws, & swings galore, and there's even a trail with little scenes from The Narnia Chronicles throughout!  If that playground had been there when I was a kid, I would have begged my parents to let me move in!

                                                My youngest at the "BIG Playground", age 4.

And something else special about this playground is that it's a "boundless playground".  It was designed to accommodate those with disabilities, and many wonderful folks went all out on the design and building of this beautiful addition to our community.  We love it, and are so grateful for it!

But, did I mention that, in creating such accessibility for everyone to this miraculous playground, a fence is nowhere to be found.  It is incredibly OPEN, and I mean OPEN...all the way around.

And, there are big woods close by.  And lots of cars and trucks driving through.  And a creek.  And strange people playing "frisbee golf" (whatever that is) in the lot next to it. 

                                            This is not a fence - it's a bridge, over the creek.

And, oh yeah, did I mention... THE LAKE!!!

Yes, there is a big ol' lake, just a few yard beyond this fabulous playground.   But, let's give thanks for the cars and trucks the kids would have to dodge first, before the lake would actually be a big threat to them.  Whew.

So, even though we love this playground, and the kids beg to go there often, it's not always my first choice.  First of all, I can't sit on my behind the entire time we're there.  In fact, I don't get to sit at all.  I have to follow little dude, and bigger dude, around constantly, and climb and run and jump and push and pull and see-saw and dig in the sand and have a second set of eyes out of the back of my head to make sure they are safe and sound the entire time we are there!  It's stressful!  I can't stand the thought of them getting lost or hurt, or even worse, there! 

You know, the kids aren't concerned about the sidewalk that could trip them up, the creek that probably has snakes, the woods that are big and dark, the strangers - not even gonna think about that one, or the lake - again, can't think about it,...they don't know about these things.  They can't see what is right outside the boundaries of their "boundless playground".  But I do see it, and I am concerned.  I want to prevent anything bad from happening to them.  I want them to enjoy this special place without having to worry about anything.

                                                   "BIG Playground" Treehouse...Cool!

And it seems that more accidents happen there - falling off equipment, skinned knees from falling on the sidewalks, other kids - bigger kids- pushing and knocking each other around to get to go "first", parents shouting with not-so-appropriate language, falling in the creek, even bee stings!

So, I have to make some major rules when we go to the "BIG Park":  Don't get out of my sight.  Don't talk to strangers.  Don't run.  Don't throw sand.  Don't eat sand.  Don't, don't, don't...

Yep, I'm saving the trip to "BIG Park" for a time when the hubster can accompany us and help out!  The "Blue Park" sounds just fine right now, thankyouverymuch.

So, in my brain, as all of these thoughts flew through within a span of about 3 seconds today, the thought caught root that all of this kind of relates to my own life...and how tempting it is to beg the Lord to let me live "without boundaries", to be able to run and jump and skip through my life with abandon, playing to my heart's content, doing those amazing things that bring me such happiness, flitting from swing to slide to see-saw...it's what I WANT!  I deserve that, right?  Boundless.  No boundaries.  Ah, freedom!  Right???

                                            Doe River Gorge - Me, flying free, on the "Sweet
                                            Chariot", swinging from the trees....(2011)

Or is it?  Is it really freedom? 

When I think about it, a life without boundaries is kind of, well, scary.  There are lots of "bad things" out there that can "get in" when there are no boundaries.  And, sometimes, well...I might step out away from the good things on my own, going just a little "too far"...into danger.

And sometimes, going too far, I find myself drowning...in the unknown...and it gets scarier, and deeper, the further I go.

I've always believed that two of the most precious gifts I can give my children are unconditional love and SECURITY.  If a child feels SECURE in the love and safety of their parents, they feel free to be themselves, and to take the risks necessary in life to grow and become the person they are supposed to be.

I once heard someone say that a child needs rules and boundaries in order to feel secure.  If a two year old believes that he/she is the one in control, and that there are no boundaries, no rules, then yes, of course, that child will "act out"...because he/she is SCARED!  I mean, think about it!  This child is thinking, "Wow, if I can control this big person, then WHO is going to protect ME here???!!!" 

That's a scary thought for a two year old!

If a child is insecure, scared, and/or feeling unloved, he/she will spend their lives trying to find that love and security.  And often, unfortunately, this leads to actions that are hazardous to themselves as they try to please others, and give in to societal pressures and expectations to prove that they are "worthy".  And, without rules, without boundaries, they run willy-nilly into trouble, and wind up getting hurt.  Really hurt.  Sometimes irreversably hurt.

I want my children to KNOW that they are loved, that they are worthy of love, unconditionally.

I was blessed, and am still blessed, to have experienced this type of love and security from my own parents.   Yes, there were those darn rules that my parents had.  I didn't always like them.  I rebelled from time to time.  BUT, they were for my own good, and they kept me from lots of harm, I know now.  And, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my parents loved me because they cared enough to do the tough thing, and "fence me in" sometimes - even when I was begging, and fighting them every step of the way, to run free.  But their rules kept me from so much harm that I surely would have brought upon myself, and in turn, allowed me to grow into the person I am today (tadaaa!), with only a few scars and bruises to show for it along the way.

It's the same way in my relationship with God.  He has rules, ya know.  I don't always like them.  Sometimes, I just want to run free!  I just want to chase my own desires!  Hey - I'm not hurting anybody else, right?  Personal freedom at all costs, right?  Let's run, let's go, get out of my way y'all!

Sometimes I fight Him!  Sometimes I beg him to let me go, or to just give me what I want.  I don't want his rules, his boundaries, his fences!

But sometimes, I don't see what I'm running into.  The sidewalk.  The creek.  The woods.  The strangers.  The lake.  The unknown....

Oh yeah, that's kind of scary.  I didn't see that coming.  I didn't see how the choice to spend my money that way could lead to problems, to great loss, great embarassment.  And, oh, wow...I didn't see how choosing that lifestyle could hurt the ones I really love.  And, um, oops...I didn't see that stranger there...yeah, that one - the one that looked so nice and promised me great things - before stealing my innocence...

It's funny, how I can't see what's ahead, what's "out there".  But the One looking out for me does.  He sees all, knows all.  Just like I can look out and see the dangers - the cars, the strangers, the lake - for my own children,  the Lord sees those dangers lying ahead for me, and wants to keep me from them. 

And yet, he wants me to have freedom, within His boundaries, to run and explore and play and enjoy all that He has provided for me.  So, I need to appreciate that, and enjoy the freedom He gives me, without the need to run "willy-nilly" straight into harm's way.

That is true freedom.  That is what we call "freedom in Christ"!   It is freedom that has boundaries that provide the love and security we need to really live and explore and become the ones that He has created us to be!

I love this freedom.  But I love it within some boundaries...and the boundaries I choose are the boundaries of God...His rules, His perfect law.  His boundaries are there for my "good", for my protection, so that I may enjoy the limitlessness of His love and blessings for me.  And, even more, His freedom allows me to freely love others, and offer myself to them in love and friendship and security, which comes from HIM. 

And that's what I call "freely living".

"For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don't use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love."  -Galatians 5:13

Love,
Tron :)

What The World Needs Now, Is....?

Yes, it's been a loooooong time since I last posted, I know.  Sorry!

It's not that I haven't had anything to say...it's the opposite.  My problem is that my thoughts are all over the place, and I keep thinking that this blog is the spot where I need to FOCUS on something spectacular and important that will draw the masses back here each and every day so that I can have a life like The Pioneer Woman.

And yet, it's been ages since I posted because I can't pull my act together!  Imagine that.  And every day I deal with the stress I put upon myself that "today is the day that I'm going to pull this blog thing together and make it happen", and then end up disappointing myself, once again, by the end of the day when I realize the blog hasn't written itself.

So, what's different about today, you ask?  Have I finally found the key?  The missing link?  The glue that pulls the corners of my crazy mind all together into one mass that has some semblance of a cohesive thought process?

No.  I haven't found that key, link, or glue.  What I found, though, was a spark...something sparked me, and it was enough to get me to the keyboard to share one thing with you that is so meaningful, so profound, so IMPORTANT, that it just could not be put off.

The spark...was an attack, on me, and on some others I love.  I'm not sure that the person even knows that he/she attacked me, or my loved ones, personally.  But this person did something harmful - something that he/she does not even realize the full effects of the harm done.  And, I am quite sure this person did this out of complete ignorance, not bothering to do the research that should have been done before diving into maliciously attacking others...others of whom he/she has NO understanding.

And, in so doing, this person afforded others NO GRACE.

GRACE is, according to one definition, the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful.

Imagine, is it so hard to hold your tongue long enough to take a moment, a mere moment, to consider the others whom your words may affect?

Take it a step further:  Imagine if, in that moment, you realize that your words could actually harm another, physically, emotionally, or in any way.  Is it so hard to hold back those words completely?

And now, let's take it one step even further:  Imagine that you actually put yourself in that person's shoes, and truly considered that their circumstances are beyond what your mind could even conceivably imagine.  Really, imagine that you, from your world, cannot even imagine the world that this person has been born into because your person hood, your backgrounds, your surroundings, your wounds, your scars, are so vastly different.  Would it be so hard to grant this person the favor of your pardon for their failings?  Or to even go that extra mile and extend them a reprieve, forgiveness, and even, dare I say it, understanding?  Here are a few other words used to define Grace that would fit in this instance:  goodwill, mercy, clemency, exemption, even indulgence.

Yes, what this world needs now is GRACE, sweet GRACE!  Is that too much to ask?  In a world in which we are so quick to become offended, so rushed to judgement, so eager to condemn and convict and lock up and throw away the key, GRACE may just be too much to ask of one another...it seems.

And yet, there is One who freely gave it, who sacrificed it all for our sake, though we have done and can do nothing to earn it.

Truly, we need DIVINE GRACE, which is truly something we humans do not deserve, and yet have been given freely.   And all we have to do is accept it.  Believe it.

And so, though this person has not afforded GRACE to me, or to my loved ones affected by this, I am going to grant them GRACE.  I am not going to respond to this person.  I am not even going to attempt to mount a defense.  Instead, I am going to pray for this person.  Love this person.  And, yes, even extend the hand of friendship to this person.  This person may never even realize what he/she has done, and honestly, it is my prayer that this person finds out the TRUE meaning of GRACE.

And please know, I am not deserving of ANY praise for this, for it is ONLY by the Power of the Holy Spirit's work in my life that I am able to do this.

I have experienced GRACE in my own life.  If ever one deserved to die for wronging another, I do, for I have sinned against the very one who died for me.  And yet, He gave me GRACE, yes, LOVE.  And I love, because He first loved me.  AMAZING GRACE!!!