News and a pocket of fun

My friends,

I have all sorts of news. I'll start with the good stuff.

The Best News: Finally, after months of prayer and hard work, I experienced some relief from my neurological symptoms last week, and for a few glorious days, I felt like I'd been released from prison.

The timing of this pocket of relief couldn't have been more perfect. My sister-in-law, who is training for the 2016 Olympics in Calgary, Canada, was in town with my brother to compete in her first heptathlon of the season at the Mt. Sac Invitational track meet. My dad and some dear family friends also happened to be in town last week, so we all attended her two-day meet together at my Alma Mater, Azusa Pacific University, where I reunited with some of my old teammates. I have all sorts of photos from that meet that I'll share later in this post.

The Disappointing News: I'm fighting a new infection, the presence of which seems to have reversed the progress I made last week. This has been the story of the semester — just as I'm seeing glimmers of healing, a new infection swoops in and devours them — and it's a narrative that has me discouraged. Would you pray that my immune system kicks into gear and I return to the place of freedom-from-prison that I felt last week?

The Other Disappointing-yet-Actionable News: I got another piece of this crazy health puzzle: the results of my more extensive genetic testing came back this week. Prior to ordering the test, I expected to have a number of genetic mutations because illnesses like mine are usually caused by a combination of genetic and environmental factors. I just didn't expect to have so many genetic mutations.

Of the 20 genes that were tested, 14 are mutated, and some of the mutations I have are especially blahblahblahblahughughugh. (I tried to think of a word to describe how I feel about these mutations, and that's the only thing I could think of). I'm hopeful I will be able to take action to compensate for some of these genetic defects, though I imagine doing so effectively will require a lot of research and a really good doctor. If you think of it, please pray for wisdom for me and my doctors as I take steps toward addressing the genetic component of my illness.

The Change-of-Plans News: Many of you have been praying about the new treatment I intended to try last Friday. At the last minute, I decided to postpone the treatment for at least a week so I could ride the wave of relief I was enjoying. I didn't want to throw myself back into prison if I could enjoy the break from my neurological symptoms that I so desperately needed. I'm especially glad I postponed treatment, because dealing with its aftermath while also dealing with a new infection would have been too difficult. I appreciate your continued prayer as I figure out the best timing to move forward with the treatment.

Okay, that's all the news I got, man. Now, for the feel-good stuff: track meet photos.

..................

On Wednesday morning, when my dad and I pulled into Azusa Pacific University, our old friend Simon called my dad's phone. I answered since my dad was driving, "Hey, Sarah!" Si said. "We're here."

WHAT?! You're HERE here? Like, at the meet?

Si, his wife Taylor, and their baby, Joanna, live in Arizona, and they were the last people I expected to see at the meet. But they were on a road trip to central California, and since they are our honorary siblings, they took a two-day pitstop in Azusa for the meet.

And oh sweet heavens, it was glorious to see them.

From left to right: me, Daddio, Taylor and Baby Jo, Simon, and my brother Aaron

Brother Aaron and our star athlete, Natasha

 

Over the course of our two days together, I got enough baby snuggles to fill my Baby Snuggle Tank...

..And enough girl time to fill my Girl Time Tank. Both tanks are very important and make life approximately 30 times sunnier.

We hadn't seen Baby Jo in 6 months, and we were all enamored with her. 

 

While I was snapping photos of Dad and Jo, Simon decided it would be nice to get a photo of Dad and Jo's twin hair-dos.

Dad's always such a good sport.


Oh my sweet heavens. How are we to handle the sweetness?

 Joanna liked to play with her sock. She'd twist and pull it and twist some more, until it was upside down. After awhile, Simon would notice her sock needed fixing, and he'd carefully return it to its upright and locked position (he's a pilot, see).

Years ago, after realizing afresh that God created good earthly fathers and mothers to teach us about His heart for us, I started practicing the discipline of noticing moms and dads caring for their kids. Whenever I saw a dad rocking a distraught baby on an airplane, or a mom laughing with delight over her child's attempt at a knock-knock joke, or a dad jumping up and down cheering when his daughter scored a goal, I imagined I was the child in the scenario and God was the parent.

As I sat there watching Simon and Joanna, I imagined God carefully sliding my sock around so it fit just right, and it hit me, the way it always does when I watch good parents and kids: God cares about the way our socks fit. And if he cares about that, certainly he cares about the big stuff, like betrayal, financial hardship, relational discord, sickness, and injustice in the workplace. Good moms and dads can remind us to pray with the confidence that God cares about everything we bring before him.

......

Okay, now for some action shots, but first, a disclaimer: I really need to invest in a good lens if I'm to capture any decent action shots. These will do, for now.


Oh hello, spongy Old Friend:

You are the holder of my team's puke, sweat, snot, and tears, and I love you for it. 

The Mt. Sac Invitational is a prestigious meet where many of the world's best athletes have their debut spring performances. All events are held at Mt. Sac College, with the exception of the heptathlon and decathlon, which APU hosts. 

On the first day of the heptathlon, the girls compete in the 100-meter hurdles, high jump, shot put, and 200-meter sprint. 

Tash had a great high jump on Wednesday — she went 1.86 meters (that's 6'1), and was only out-jumped by one other athlete.

The day is action-packed, so the athletes don't get much time between events. Here, Tash has come straight from the high jump and is warming up for the shot put. 

Notice the men in the dirt where the shot put will land. The man on the right with the rake is my friend, Bryan Clay. We trained together, and he is great. He's also an Olympic gold medalist in the decathlon. You can read about him and my other teammates here. The man in the blue shirt standing on the left side of the dirt pit is Ashton Eaton, another Olympic gold medalist and the current world record holder in the decathlon. They were a few of many Olympic athletes at this meet. 

I'm telling you: Azusa Pacific Track meets are the place to be if you want to watch some of the world's best athletes do their thing.

Hey brother Marc: do you see the girl in the red hat on the far left of the above photo? She ran track with you at Liberty and was at APU for the California Invitational!

One of my favorite parts of returning to APU this time of the year is seeing some of my old teammates. Some are coaching, some are helping run the meet, and some are just chilling, so I was unable to get a photo of all of us.

These are some of my favorite guys in the whole wide world (you can read about them and why I love them here). 

It's funny how after all these years, being with them still feels like home.

Left to right: Matt Sparks (we call him Sparks), my fellow hurdler and training partner; Rob Jarvis (I call him Jarv), and Bibi

And it's funny how after all these years, we still speculate about what kind of athletic performances we've got in us. And always, at every reunion meet, somebody's gotta do something crazy to find out. 

Last spring we decided we'd all join in the madness and compete in this year's Bryan Clay Invitational. I'd do the shot put (naturally); Bibi would do...something — we hadn't decided; and Sparks would do the long jump. Sparks started training in April of last year, and even sent us video footage of his training to spur us on in our own training regimes. 

Bibi responded to Sparks' video footage with this photo of his training regime:

 

 And I responded with a picture of a bag of potato chips I'd just polished off:

"I'm going for the high momentum/inertia approach to my event," Bibi said. I agreed.

None of us ended up formally competing last week, but Bibi wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to showcase the effects of those cheeseburgers (or something like that), so he and Bryan had a little javelin showdown. 

Bryan was nursing a knee injury....

And Bibi was sporting his work clothes...

 

...But it didn't matter, because these two have still. got it.  

Meanwhile, Tash was killing it in the 200-meter sprint. Oh man, these girls are starting to feel the pain right about here:

But the pain of the 200 is nothing compared to the pain of the 800-meter race. Here's the schedule of events on the second day of the hep:

Day 2: long jump, javelin, 800-meter race

The 800-meter race is arguably the most difficult race in all of track and field, and is rivaled only by the 400-meter hurdles (in my humble opinion). Having to run the 800 after six events spread over two days requires guts upon guts upon G.U.T.S.

The start of the 800

And man are these girls gutsy. When they'd all fallen across the finish line, I wanted to weep. So I did. There are some things I don't fight anymore now that I'm settling into my 30s. 

After the meet, we celebrated by eating. And the day after that, we ate some more:

Gosh you guys, I'll tell you what: last week was just what the doctor ordered. 

And there's this: Tash, you are the gutsiest, most faithful inspiration out on that track, and I'm glad to call you sister.

Happy Monday, friends. 

Cheering for ya,

SJ

© by scj

Happy Things

1. My brother and sister-in-law recently added a furry baby to their family. Everyone, meet Copper, the cutest puppy in all the land.





I am in love. I will probably become the most annoying Facetiming sister of life because I just want to see the puppy ALL THE TIME IN ALL THE PLACES. This whole living thousands of miles apart thing is getting harder and harder. I cannot even imagine how hard it will be when these two start having non-furry kids.


2. Eleven years ago I became very grown-up and bought pajama pants for myself for the first time. Though the pants were cheap — $11.99 at Walmart —they were flannel and reminded me of sugar plumb fairies, so I loved them with a monogamous, enduring love. Year after year I loved them and them only, wearing hole after hole in them, until one day, a few months ago, the waistband became so full of holes that the pants fell down around my ankles when I was walking to the bathroom.

And so, at the age of 31, I bought a pair of pajama pants for the second time ever in my adult life. They are light cotton and remind me of the Secret Garden, and when I bought them I assumed I wouldn't have to buy another pair of pajama pants until I was at least 42.

But then something happened — and I'm not sure what — but I got WILD AND CRAZY and bought ANOTHER pair of pajama pants.

Bedtime is so fun these days, and I have officially bought more pajamas in the last several months than I have in my entire adult life.

I don't mean to make you feel like an underachiever, but I'm a pajama record-setting MACHINE over here.


3. My mom has always had a habit of wearing her pajamas inside out because the seams and tags can be irritating. Growing up, I found the practice a little strange. And when I hit puberty I found it SO EMBARRASSING BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE'S PARENTS WEAR THEIR PAJAMAS INSIDE OUT, MOM.

But oh, life: you have a funny sense of humor.

I've drunk the inside-out-pajama Koolaid, you guys, and my embarrassing mom potential is off the charts.



4. This evening a friend from college who lives in Singapore sent me this photo:

With this sentence:

"Sarah is completely healthy."


5. I recently submitted my PhD program plan to Talbot Theological Seminary, which is sort of like saying, "Hey Talbot, will you be my boyfriend for the next five years?" This week, after reviewing and approving my plan, they were like, "Yes, we will be your boyfriend Sarah Jackson, and we will give you our Talbot Doctoral Studies portfolio to prove it." Leather portfolios are the Letterman jackets of grad school, you guys.

6. Sometimes your sister is in town for a whirlwind trip and you know she won't have time to stop by, but then she surprises you by showing up on your doorstep with flowers and groceries.

 

"These flowers look like meteors, like shooting stars," she said.


7. I've been experimenting with ways to curl my hair without heat this semester.

This method is particularly effective and is sponsored by Dr. Seuss.


8. This is a spring morning at my beloved Biola, right outside my office of the last six years:


  
My parents met in this very building many moons ago. My grandparents met here (at the original campus in downtown LA) many moons before that. My brother met his wife here, and I have the tremendous joy of teaching here. Biola has been special for our family — without it, we probably wouldn't exist.


9. I have news. Good news, bad news, and in-between news, and my goal is to post it tomorrow or Monday.


Happy Saturday, my friends.

I'm cheering for ya, Home Skillets.

-SJ



© by scj

A way forward

 Most nights this semester I lie in bed feeling like I'm standing at the edge of the Red Sea with the angry Egyptians breathing down my neck. I cannot see a way forward, cannot imagine how I will make it through another day. And yet, the sun rises each morning, my heart still beating, and the sea splits in two: a way forward. I'm able to dress, drive to work, and spend a couple of hours with my beloved students before falling back into bed, dizzy, nauseated, aching, throbbing, shaking with fever and fatigue. My bed has become a dear, cozy friend; and flannel sheets are one of life's best gifts.

I woke up wiggling my toes and fingers this morning. I think it's simply magical that I can move my appendages however I want, whenever I want, because of synapses firing in my brain. Have an itch that needs scratching? No worries, your body's magic will take care of that for you. Want to eat a bowl of fresh raspberries and cream? Just whip out a spoon and wonder at your spoon-holding magic.

Sometimes the muscles in my hands and legs twitch and tremor, reminding me that I have a neurological disorder, and that neurological disorders sometimes turn into neurological diseases that paralyze the body, sapping it of some of its magic. I beg God to spare me this kind of limitation, but I know he might not. And so I put on regular magic shows: I wiggle my fingers and toes like there's no tomorrow; I flex my legs, and spread my arms wide, and bend my elbows and knees.

There's other magic I'm afraid of losing. Some days I can feel something attacking my eyes. On these days the vision in my right eye is a little blurry, or the world grows a little darker, like my brain has selected an Instagram filter — X-Pro II, perhaps — for my eyes. Sometimes my eyes ache, and I remember that the cytomegalovirus, one of the viruses infecting me, causes blindness. One of my doctors doesn't think I need to be concerned about blindness right now, but sometimes I am. So I continue to be diligent about noticing things — all the things, all the time. Roses that look like they've been dipped in sunsets; lizards doing push-ups; fathers cradling their babies; toddlers licking, dripping, squishing soft serve ice cream; light dancing through trees and gilding spring leaves. I don't want to miss a thing, as long as I still have the magic of seeing.

There's other magic I fear I might lose. Some days my hearing disappears for just a second or two before returning to normal. Other days, my hearing is so sensitive normal life noises hurt my ears. The audiologist confirmed something is attacking my ears, so I beg God to spare me the loss of any of my senses. And then I listen to the birds, or Coldplay's new album, or the neighbor with a penchant for belting mariachi from her back porch. Yesterday I sat at the piano in one of my classrooms and played worship music while a gifted student sang. Sometimes I joined in with harmonies, and I tried to commit every moment of the magic to memory.

It's a heavy burden, knowing what could happen to my body if I can't find effective treatment. So I try not to interpret the symptoms, not to mentally scurry ahead to a potentially disastrous future. I try to live in the moment. But this moment I am in my body, and being in my body is the hardest responsibility God has ever given me. If it weren't for your prayers, I might give up hope that there's any way forward.

Here are some ways you can continue to pray:

1. There's a new treatment I want to try. My body is rejecting most food and medicine, which makes healing feel practically impossible, and this treatment might be able to eliminate my body's allergies and sensitivities. It would also address immune dysfunction, viral and bacterial infections, trauma, and chronic pain. I have my initial consultation with the doctors (a husband/wife team) this Monday, and I've scheduled my first treatment for Friday, April 15th. I'm not sure if I'll go through with the treatment just yet, though, as it will likely make me much sicker.

Would you pray for discernment as I figure out when to begin treatment? I feel like I need to try it now if I'm going to make it to the end of the semester; but I also fear it will make me too sick to finish the semester. Right now I'm inclined to try one treatment (I'll likely need upwards of 100 treatments, and I've heard the first 15 are hardest for patients like me) on Friday just to see how it goes. I'd love your prayers that the trial run doesn't cause any lasting problems.

Would you also pray for supernatural wisdom for the doctors as they diagnose and treat me?

2. There is an event next week — on Wednesday and Thursday —with some of my most favorite people, and I am longing to attend. Oh, you guys, I so want to go and be with my people. Would you pray for miraculous healing on those days?

3. You may remember that God provided an opportunity to meet with Dr. K., who has a clinic in San Diego that helps patients like me. I was scheduled to go into his clinic the week of Easter break for testing and treatment, but the Lord closed that door at the last minute. It seems like he wants me to wait on seeing Dr. K. Would you pray for wisdom as figure out when to reschedule with him and his team of doctors?

4. I'm planning to return to my folks' place for a chunk of time this summer like I did last summer, but I need wisdom about when to travel, since a number of my doctors are down here and treatments could make it hard to travel.


5. Mental and emotional stamina. 

6. Protection from the progression of disease, from complications, from new symptoms and limitations, from the schemes of Satan and his minions.

7. I have a list of other treatment possibilities, clinics and doctors I'd like to visit etc. in the next few months, and I need wisdom as I prioritize them all.


Thank you, my friends.

Do send me your prayer requests. I think of and pray for you often.

-Sarah

P.S. This week I asked God to send me flowers. I've only prayed this prayer a couple of times in my life, and each time I am amazed that he cares to respond. But he does. Oh he does. 

On Monday my dear friend, A, trekked across the desert with her 1-year-old in tow to bring me bone broth she's been accumulating for me all semester. Once she was here, she drove all over Orange County, taking me to the doctor, running errands etc. She continues to be my human angel.

When she got home, she sent me this photo with an explanation:

"My neighbor (I think you met her briefly once) knew I was going to visit you yesterday and had hoped to send me with these flowers for you... She's got two little ones and ended up not getting them to my doorstep early enough before I left on Monday... But I came home to them on Monday. So please know that people all over are thinking and praying for you. So I keep looking at these roses and thinking of you. They smell amazing and I hope you can imagine them... I will bring some next visit :)"


P.P.S. Many of you have asked how I'm faring with the stomach bug. Thank you for checking in. The bug did a number on my body. I'm still feeling its effects and it seems to have worsened my preexisting systemic and G.I. tract infections, but I have thankfully been able to remain faithful in my work responsibilities this week.



© by scj

A world that works like magic

This post is old, but the trees' spring finery prompted me to dig it up.


Not too long ago I finished re-reading the Harry Potter series. For ten glorious days I was immersed in the world of Hogwarts. I went to sleep under an enchanted starry ceiling, and I woke up to House Elves bustling about to prepare my breakfast. I ate treacle pudding (what in the WORLD is treacle pudding, by the way?), and I used my magic wand to fetch distant objects and make nearby objects invisible. I was Harry Potter fighting dementors one day, and Hermione Granger outsmarting Death Eaters the next. No big deal.

But then, I finished the series and had to return to work. It was a particularly wet and gloomy work day, and in the middle of a lesson with my college students I got a hankering for a steaming cup of tea. But the coffee cart was miles away, and class wouldn't be over for another hour. So what did I do? I reached for the magic wand I had stashed in my robe so I could summon a cup of tea. Naturally. 

We Jacksons have a habit of getting a leeeetle too into the books we're reading. 

Okay, okay. It's not a Jackson trait. It's a Sarah-trait. Somehow, though, I'd prefer to blame this on something beyond my control.

When I realized I was, in fact, NOT Harry Potter, my disappointment got me thinking. Wouldn't it have been lovely if God had made a world full of magic, like Narnia, or Hogwarts, or the Shire?!

Then, several days later, while on a walk, I saw this:

A magic wand. Long and slender, sturdy at the base and narrow at the tip, surrounded by dozens of other magic wands.

And magic of all magic, something was shooting out of its tip. Something unexpected. Something so different from the wand's soft, sappy core, you'd have to see it to believe it:

Leaves. Waxy, vibrant, and green.

And blossoms. Fragrant and delicate, in shades of pink, white, and yellow.

What makes this magic?

I'll tell you, but you won't believe me.

It's light. And water. And air. They are stirred together in the great blue sky cauldron, and they make wooden wands shoot out magic:

Berries.

Pods.

Prickle balls.

And cotton ball clusters.

All wooden wands, all imbibing the same sky-cauldron's potion, each wand's magic just a little different.

J.K. Rowling and C.S. Lewis couldn't have dreamt up this kind of magic. A stick absorbs sun, air, and water, making leaves sprout, followed by buds. The buds unfold into blossoms and the blossoms turn into fruit. Juicy, tart fruit with seeds. Smooth, fleshy fruit with pits. Vitamin-packed fruit in shades of brilliant orange, green, yellow, red, blue, purple — all the colors of the sun's magical light.

How can it be that the fruit from these magic wands powers our dusty bodies to produce millions of cells daily, and keeps blood pumping through our 60,000 miles of blood vessels?!

Magic for us to see. Magic for us to smell. Magic for us to touch. Magic for us to taste.

Magic to teach us at winter's end that death does not have the last word. For light, air and water are mixed together and make a barren tree sprout life.

These magic wands make it easy for me to believe in the magic the ancients taught. An apple is eaten and life with God is lost. A stick hits a rock and water gushes out. Trumpets are blown and city walls tumble. A leper bathes in the river and he is healed. God's son dies on a cross, and takes our sin upon himself. Three days pass, and he teaches us that death will not have the last word.

Magic.

Life-giving, fruit-growing magic.




© by scj

Thursday Things: Spring

A random list to celebrate the day before the day before the weekend:

1. A girlfriend of mine lives alone and sleeps with a butcher knife under her pillow, because: burglars. Awhile back, her new cleaning lady found the knife under the pillow and brought it into the kitchen to be washed, no questions asked. It was then that my friend knew she would keep the cleaning lady forever and ever, amen.


2. A sign you are getting older: when you and your girlfreeens are getting ready to go out and someone adds "pluck chin hairs" to the list of preparatory to-dos.
 

3. Last week, I was able to go on a short walk and discovered that the roses had bloomed while I was in bed. My neighbors are especially fond of roses, so every home has buffets of them lining the lawn. I was tempted to walk up into their yards to sniff-sample each variety, and was delighted to find one home with a bush hanging over the sidewalk. I must have stood at that bush for five minutes, drinking in every fragrant bloom.


4. My little brother and his wife are the only of my siblings with a front yard, so they are the first to carry on our family's Christmas tree --> Easter cross tradition.

Doesn't it look great?


5. I went to church last Sunday. I told you that already, but it was such a glorious experience, I had to tell you again.


6. One afternoon last week I was lying in bed feeling rather achy with longing. I longed to exercise, to play, to socialize, to dance, to work full time, to go to school full time, to travel, to find and marry a good man, to have babies, to eat chocolate and pasta and enchiladas and drink coffee thick with cream. All the longing swelled and caught in my throat and I was tempted to have a good pity party. Living with all those unsatisfied desires can make me feel like I've gotten the short end of the stick. But then I had a revelation:

I wouldn't have desire if the object of that desire didn't first exist. I wouldn't long for chocolate, for example, if cocoa beans-turned-to-chocolate didn't exist. We have so many desires because the world is full of so many objects of desire. Everywhere we look, God has created people, things, and opportunities that awaken deep longing because they are good and beautiful. And isn't it marvelous that God filled the world with so many glorious things when he didn't have to?

Isn't it marvelous that he made coffee beans, and taste buds, and white sandy beaches, and music, and mountain springs, and endocrine systems, and hands for holding, and eyes for gazing, and hearts for loving, and bodies for procreating, and minds for learning?

God's generosity is lavish, and our desires can be reminders of all the dazzling gifts he didn't have to put in the world but did. I think this means that our desires, unsatisfied though they may be, can ultimately be celebratory signposts pointing to God's goodness. Some of us just happen to get extra regular signpost-reminders. ;)

Happy Thursday, friends of mine.

Cheering for you, Home Skillets. 

-SJ


P.S. Thank you for all your prayers. I haven't seen any improvement yet, but I'm relieved to have so many people pleading for healing on my behalf.


© by scj

Prayer Request

My friends,

I'd thought I'd taken a couple of baby healing steps last week, and I was able to go to church and Grace Group on Sunday for the first time all semester. But Sunday night I woke up with what seems to be a stomach bug, and since then, my health has quickly spiraled back into a terrible place. The bug has triggered a new layer of symptoms, but it's also worsened my preexisting symptoms. Because of my body's fragility and my immune dysfunction, my body struggles to fight any sort of bug, so I'm hoping you can pray more specifically for me as I fight this. I fear this bug could drag on for quite some time, and I'm not sure I have the physical and mental stamina to endure it on top of my other health problems. Please also pray that it won't cause any complications.

Thanks, you guys.

-Sarah

For an update, click here!

© by scj

Because He Lives

Over the years, it's become tradition to post this Easter blog from the archives. Happy, glorious, wondrous Easter, my dear ones!

A Forward: 

When I was a little girl my mom would tiptoe into my bedroom after I’d snuggled under my comforter, sit on the edge of my bed, and rub my back while singing the old hymn, “Because he lives, I can face tomorrow…”

At the tender age of eight, I’d never had to “face tomorrow.” “Tomorrow” was full of tree forts, mud pies, homemade kites, and jellybeans. I loved tomorrow. It stood sparkling on the horizon, all swollen with fragrant hope.

But then I grew up, and “today” began to sag and crack under the weight of adulthood: chronic illness, years in bed, a pile of overwhelmingly large medical bills. “Today” often extinguishes tomorrow’s sparkle, and some days tomorrow seems downright dreadful.

But in the darkest moments I remember my mom singing the hymn from my childhood: “Because He lives I can face tomorrow.” It’s a promise I’ve clung to these six hard years, and it’s proven to be a sturdy promise strong enough to stand on and bold enough to whisper truth in my ear: “There are worse things than a sick body…”

Humankind, with all its goodness and beauty, is infected with something dark and sinister. We lie, cheat, and steal; we harbor hatred and perpetuate injustice; we often love ourselves better than we love other people. No matter our resolve to live and love perfectly, we fall short.

And it gets worse. One day, we will all most certainly die. There is no circumventing or reversing this reality. It’s a curse under which we all labor: eventually the universe will crush us, and we know it.

Death and a soul that’s marred by badness: these are worse than a sick body. Sickness comes and goes, but I’m stuck with my soul for life. And then I’m stuck with death forever.

Tomorrow’s not looking so great…

Except that today we celebrate Easter.

Today we remember the historical moment thousands of years ago when the Roman guards looked in Jesus’ tomb and saw it was empty.

Today we remember the hundreds of eyewitnesses who saw the crucified Jesus walking around, breathing easily, fully alive.

And today we celebrate the meaning of Christ’s death and resurrection for all who love and obey him: because he lives, all the bad stuff in our souls doesn’t have a future. Because he lives, death won’t have the last word. Because he lives, we can know God. We can face yesterday, today, and ten thousand tomorrows with God at our side, on our side.

It’s the story of the ages that’s changed my life. It could change yours, too, if it hasn't already.

............................

Late Saturday night, the day before Easter, I was about to climb into my childhood bed when my mom came to the bedroom door with light in her eyes.

"Guess what we need to do?" she asked me and my little sister, who was spending the night

"It's tradition!" she said, "And this is our last chance to do it before Aaron moves."

My mom has always tried to cultivate a culture of celebration in our house by creating traditions.  Our Easter tradition is one of my favorites.

Every Easter when we were kids my mom taught us about trees. Sturdy trees, slight trees, blossoming trees, and a forbidden tree.

She explained that long before the pine trees stood erect on the distant horizon, or the willow trees bowed beneath the blue sky, God existed, all by himself.

He didn't need people, or planets, or atoms to exist, but he wanted to create people and planets made of atoms, so he used words to make things appear from nowhere.

His life-breath spread stars across the sky, coaxed trees from the ground, and kissed life into man.

He loved the things he spoke into existence, but he was especially fond of the man and woman he created, my mom explained.

He showed them his love in many ways.  He gave them special names — Adam and Eve — and he let them live in a verdant paradise teeming with magnificent animals. It was cool and lush, and full of trees bearing fragrant fruit exploding with flavor. 

He also gave man and woman souls, created in His image.  Their souls were marvelous — they could create, imagine, and recognize beauty, goodness, and truth.  But most marvelous of all was their ability to love.  

They could choose to love and enjoy God's goodness, truth, and beauty, if they wanted, but God would never force them to love him. Love never forces others to reciprocate.  And Love is most delighted when the people he loves choose to love him back. So he gave them an opportunity to choose Him: He created a tree loaded with fruit that he asked Adam and Eve not to eat.  He hoped they would love him enough to trust and obey him.  

But when a crafty serpent enticed Adam and Eve with the prospect of becoming like God if they ate from the forbidden tree, they listened. They liked his proposal, so they they plucked the fruit and ate it. Their love for self motivated them rather than a love for God, and when their focus became inward they turned their backs to God.  

Anyone who rejects God is shunning the source of life and goodness, and choosing death and badness, my mom explained. That's why eating the fruit from the forbidden tree changed everything. Death, badness, ugliness, and lies—all the opposite of God—infected all humans and the earth they lived on.

It grieved God's loving heart.

Humans chose death and separation from God, and God's justice demanded they got what they chose. But God’s mercy drove him to make plans involving another tree. He would die in our place on this tree in order to satisfy God's justice, making it possible for humans to enjoy God's life and love forever, once again.

My mom wanted us to remember how Jesus hung on the hard, splintery wood of the tree, his broken body food—Bread—for us. Bread that, if we choose it, would satisfy our deepest soul hungers, giving us life and restored relationship with God.

And so every January we would cut the branches off our Christmas tree, and then saw the trunk in half. As our tiny fingers stripped the tree of its branches we would remember the day Jesus put on skin and came to earth so he could give us Life, Himself. 

We would store the trunk’s pieces in our garage until the day before Easter when we would fashion the two pieces of the trunk into the shape of a cross, and stick it in a bucket full of dirt and rocks.

My favorite job was placing flowers in the bucket at the base of the cross, a reminder that neither of the death-bearing trees had the last word because the Bread of Life gives us new life-that-conquers-death.

Then we would fasten a sign to the cross declaring "He is Risen!"  

And we would put the cross in our front yard.

Early the next morning the Easter sun would spill over the tips of the pine trees and cut through the darkness, 

an announcement to the world that darkness and death are no longer the victors, 

because He Lives.

© by scj

Open

Friends,

About five years ago I noticed I'd randomly throw my arms open wide when I was outside. I think it was my body's way of keeping me open to the world — of inviting it in even though it was full of viruses, and mold, and abuse, and accidents, and all sorts of scary things. This fall a friend who deals with ulcerative colitis told me her doctor recommended she throw her arms open when she went walking. "It will help your body heal," her doctor said. It turns out there's science behind this: what we do with our bodies affects our brains and spirits. Aren't we gloriously created?!

 (Thanks to my sneaky photographing friend Sean for capturing this shot!)

And hey, studies suggest this helps with depression, anxiety, and PTSD, too!


I say we all take a moment to welcome spring with our arms spread wide. Get those endorphins flowing!

And if you're feeling reeeally spring-y (and even — or maybe especially – if you're not), do a little dancin'. Here's proof it will help your mood:

Happy Spring, folks.

-SJ

P.S. I tried to go to church on Palm Sunday — I was just so hopeful— but my body poo-pooed the idea and I had to leave church after a few minutes. Would you pray God would give me a pocket of well-enough-being to celebrate Easter? Thank you, my friends.



© by scj

A well in the desert

I've gotten into a predictable rhythm this semester. Every weekday but Tuesday I teach a class first thing in the morning and then spend the rest of the day in bed. Saturday and Sunday are all-bed days. Tuesday is my activity-filled day during which I teach, attend my 3-hour PhD class, and tutor.

The time I spend in bed the rest of the week makes Tuesday possible. That, and the grace of God. I often imagine Jesus is standing at the helm of my body-vessel and quieting the stormy wind and waves on Tuesdays just enough that I can make it through the day.

I find myself living for Tuesdays because I get to be up among the living. Looking forward to them gets me through my weekly grind. Yesterday, though, I couldn't push through my symptoms, and I had to leave my PhD class early. I was heavy with disappointment.

Shortly after I got home from class, the afternoon sun flooded my bed with light. I slipped out of my dress clothes and into some comfy shorts, and I laid in that sunny patch for hour, breathing, and praying, and thinking through the month.

My disease is a shape-shifting disease, so every day my symptoms are a bit different. Many of them are constant. These are like the base of a cake. But the icing on the cake? It changes flavors and colors daily, sometimes minute by minute.

Side note: to make this already-terrible analogy more apt, please imagine the cake is made of poop and the icing is made of tar.

I really have no category for the symptoms I have most days, so they're hard to describe. I find myself comparing them to other diseases I've read about. A few months ago I started reading a book about a girl who had a brain infection and subsequent surgery to remove part of her brain and skull. I had to stop reading the book because her symptoms were so similar to some of mine. Descriptions of chemo also resonate with me.

Yesterday I felt the way I imagine stage four cancer feels — like every cell has been invaded by an insidious enemy that intends to kill. Sometimes, when I feel like this, I wish the earth would crack open and swallow me. I read the Psalms on these days. They make me feel less alone.

Recently, bearing my physical burdens has been especially hard. The last month has been full of grief anniversaries for me. Date after date after date marking crushing disappointments and painful discoveries. The turning of the season has also brought with it weather and smells that trigger sorrowful memories. Lately, I feel like grief has become a constant companion — a shadow I cannot shake.

And yet Psalm 23 reminds me that goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. Goodness and Mercy are the stickiest shadows of all.

And goodness: there have been so many good things this month.

My sister came to visit me last weekend.

She ran errands, washed dishes, drove me to the doctor, rubbed my back, and made me laugh. Having her was a tremendous gift. Rebecca, I love you times one million zillion.

This month I've had so many people lay their hands on me and pray for me; my PhD program director has taken special measures to support me and my health needs as I study; my dear aunt has daily emailed me beautiful prayers for healing and refreshment; a dear friend has agreed to help me research possible medications and treatments since I'm so inundated with medical research; and you guys, I know I've said it before, but THE ORANGE TREES ARE BLOOMING and I am in olfactory heaven.

All of this is like manna in the desert, delivered daily to sustain me. Sometimes, though, I need more than manna. Sometimes I need water. Water gushing from a rock, pooling in a sandy divot, gurgling out of a spring. Without water, I feel like I might just wither up and turn to dust.

Yesterday, I realized it's been a long while since I've stumbled across a well in the desert, and I am parched. I was too tired to ask God to put a well in my near future, but many of you have been asking on my behalf. And God, he's listening.

Today he gave me a well in the desert.

Though I didn't feel well when I taught this morning, I didn't feel as "cancerous" as I did yesterday. Shortly after I got home, my servant-hearted friend, Sean, picked me up to take me to the doctor. It was in the 80s here today, so we opened the sun roof, rolled down the windows, blasted Coldplay's new album, and drank in that orange blossom air.

After my appointment, my friend Sean and I noted that the beach was close. And gosh, that ocean air smelled good. "I think I could go to the beach for a few minutes as long as I could lie down," I said. "It could be good for my body to breathe in that sea breeze."

So we drove to beach and headed for the water's edge where we stood with our faces tipped to the sun and let the waves lick our toes while the breeze tousled and teased.

If my body had let me, I would've stood there watching the water for hours. Whenever I come to the beach I'm stunned afresh that God invented this stuff. This shimmering, undulating, life-sustaining body that thrashes, and foams, and gurgles, and roars, and bends the light into ribbons of color tells us something about God's mind. Wild.

Sean was a photo journalist extraordinaire today

After a few minutes at the water's edge I needed to lie down, so I snuggled into the sand. But gosh, that water beckoned; and my symptoms had, strangely, begun to quiet, so after awhile, I walked back to the water. And oh! I longed to go swimming, to feel normal and alive. I turned to Sean: "I wonder if my body would let me swim...? I wish I'd brought my suit..."

"Why don't you go in anyway?" he said. "Just see if your body can handle it. If not, come back and lie down."

So I did.

Going...

...going...

...gone!

I walked into the ocean, wearing a pencil skirt, and I let the waves rush over my tired body; and the sun chased away grief's shadow, and the seagulls sang, and for a few minutes I forgot I was stuck in a sick body.

 It was glorious.


Thank you for those of you who have been praying God would give me this well in the desert.


I love you, and I'm cheering for you,


Sarah






© by scj

Trinity

A couple of years ago, I started the spiritual practice of imagining what the Trinity might be doing in relation to me when I am resting in bed. I always start by asking God to give me pictures that help me understand his love and care for me. Sometimes he gives me startlingly vivid pictures; other times, he's quieter and I try to let scripture inform my imaginings.

I often imagine Jesus is cradling me and murmuring prayers to the Father on my behalf in a language I can't understand. The Father is always standing over us, sheltering us with wings woven together with fragrant, feathered beams of light. Somehow, he stretches to the heavens but is still just a few feet from me. He is so tender and responsive to the prayers of the Son. 

The Holy Spirit is breathing into me, praying. I think he must be giving me spiritual CPR. With each breath, a thread of light appears in my spirit and begins to grow longer and thicker. Soon, each thread splits into several threads of light, each of them also growing longer, thicker. Before long, my entire soul is glowing with veins of light — a spiritual cardiovascular system carrying Divine Life to my starved spaces.

It's a practice that is transforming my prayer life and helping me live more fully out of my divine daughter-ship and beloved-ness.

Today I've been praying for those of you who have sent me prayer requests (keep 'em coming!). I'm especially praying that you would know the protective favor of the Father, the tender care of the Son, and the life-giving power of the Holy Spirit.

Happy Sunday, my friends.

I'm cheering and praying for you today, Skillets.

Love,

SJ


© by scj

May

My friends,

This week I've regressed considerably, and my symptoms are often horrific. After getting so sick in January, I had hope that this semester would go something like this:

1. I ask you all to pray me out of this crisis
2. You pray
3. I gradually and continuously heal and tell you about each step of healing so we can celebrate answered prayer together.

But this journey continues to be so up and down, with far more downs than ups. I am not continuously healing — at least not in any discernible way — and so rather than continue to post updates detailing my ups and downs, I think I'm just going to ask you a really big favor:

Would you commit to praying for me through the end of the semester? This is journey is hard. I have no words, it's so very hard. And I know that even when there are signs of healing, I'll need you to continue to fight for me in the spiritual realm because of the likelihood of subsequent regression.

A student in my PhD program had a heart attack a week ago and almost died. His major organs stopped working, along with his heart, and the doctor told his wife there was no hope. She needed to let him go. She asked if they'd keep him hooked up to his life lines just two more hours, so the doctor did. Before the two hours were up, her husband woke up and was lucid. He was so excited to see her.

For the next week a massive crew of Christians prayed for him. First we prayed for his kidneys, and lo and behold, his kidneys started working. Then we prayed for another organ, and it started working. And so on and so forth until he was healthy enough to be discharged. The doctors are baffled. They've never seen anything like it.

I keep clinging to this hope that the same thing might happen with me. Maybe, with enough prayer, I'll see improvements every day, week, and month. Maybe, with enough prayer, I'll heal enough that every day isn't an excruciating battle. And maybe, one day, with enough prayer, I'll improve enough that I can return to a semi-normal life. Maybe it will be the sort of thing that baffles onlookers, that makes them wonder at a God who reaches into our dusty, dying bodies, and restores them.

I realize that God may not heal me. Somehow, a life of sickness may be God's best for me. It has been for many people before me. Because somehow, a life of sickness can do the same thing as a miraculous physical healing: it can make people wonder at a God who reaches into our hearts and restores them in the face of ongoing suffering. I suppose it's easier for me to accept the possibility of lots more sickness with all of you praying. Surely God must be doing something really good through all this if he's allowing, or causing, this sickness in spite of your fervent prayers.

But I'm still hoping for healing.

My semester ends the last week of May. If you would commit to praying for these things through May, I'd be so grateful:

1. Healing

2. Protection from the Enemy

3. Mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical stamina

4. Protection from greater sickness. I'm know that my current illness could morph into something worse. And to be honest, my doctor is surprised and encouraged that it hasn't. I imagine it hasn't because of your prayers.

5. Wisdom for me and my doctors as we determine what treatments to try. Protection from treatments that will do more harm than good.

And of course, I want to know how I can pray for you. I murmur prayers for you throughout the day when you come to mind. And when you email me, I pray for you. I don't know lots of you, but I love getting your emails. So keep sending prayer requests.

Thank you, my friends.

I'm cheering for ya, Home Skillets. 

-Sarah

P.S. The jasmine and orange trees are in bloom here this week. Windows are one of man's best inventions, and I'll bet heaven smells better than southern California right now. That BOGGLES my mind.



© by scj