Friday

I'm sorry I didn't update yesterday. The short version, for folks not connected to me on Facebook, is that Adam took Logan to the local hospital (we're away from home) yesterday to be evaluated. He'd been cranky and congested and complaining of tummy pain and extraordinarily whiny, so we decided it would be best to have him seen.

He had chest and abdominal x-rays, a CBC and they drew blood cultures. The chest x-ray was normal, and the abdominal one showed a lot of stool in his bowels. His CBC was okay save the platelet count, which was very low but not low enough to warrant a transfusion --in the 30s. It's not really a big surprise, since he's had frequent nosebleeds lately. They gave him a single dose of a broad-spectrum antibiotic and then sent him on his way.

He's pretty much completely incontinent right now, and unable to bear weight on his legs. And my heart? Completely broken. It desires healing, but it doesn't appear to be coming. And our current reality is just horrible. It's hard to care for the others when my heart is so, so broken. He's my little lamb and I can't fix him. And God, for one reason or another, isn't fixing him, either. I'm watching him fall apart, bit by bit, function by function. It's probably what it's like watching an older person deteriorate, but so much more painful, since we expect our elders to fall apart with time. It's not what we expect for our babies.

I've been doing a lot of thinking and reading about healing, and trying to embrace the healing that I suspect may already be there for Logan. But it's hard. It's hard to see it happening when he's such a shadow of the spritely, bright spirit he once was.

I feel a sense of hostility when I ask for prayers and others feel the need to respond assuring me that God has a plan and that it's not ours to know. I feel anger when I sense a refusal to pray for healing. And I do feel that way from time to time. There are people who probably have good intentions who can't seem to respect my wishes, and those people only add to the heartbreak. The heartache.

Anyway, this is disjointed, but it's where we are. I feel at times that if I could just embrace healing and love, that Logan would be made well. But given my history, it feels like a near-impossible task. Ah well. It is what it is.

On Intercessory Prayer

I've made no bones about it. I consider Logan's battle with cancer to be spiritual in nature. In my reading of the Word, I've become increasingly convinced --yes, convinced-- that we cannot ignore the evil that seeks to mar and destroy human life. When we refuse to admit that it exists, we're more susceptible to its nefarious deceptions.

I've also made no bones about expressing my desire for Logan's healing. As a direct result of that heartfelt, heart-driven desire, I've called on you to act as intercessors on his behalf. I've called on you to plead for healing, for mercy, for peace. I feel a profound sense of gratitude to all of you who have faithfully honored that request, taken up the armor of God Ephesians-style, and gone to war for my little sunshine.

With all of that said, I have to take a risk here and be honest about what doesn't help me. I get frustrated when I ask for intercessory prayer and meet with resistance. If you're not willing to pray for Logan's healing, please don't share your decision with me. It hurts me, it strips away my hope, it leaves me feeling alone and defeated. And I don't deserve that.

A huge part of this battle for me is a mental one. Do I have the faith to believe in healing? Do I have the faith to believe that God desires wellness? Do I have the faith to get up tomorrow morning and go about the business of life when we've been so badly battered by disease and uncertainty for the last year and a half? I want to have that faith. I want to have that belief. I thirst for it. But it's hard; harder than I can express via the written word. Does God NEED to know that lots of people want Logan to be well? Nah. But the knowledge, as a parent, gives me a sense of hope. I don't know why, exactly, but it does.

Anyway, I just wanted to get that out there. I cannot give up. I have to believe. I thank you for your intercessory prayers and for being true warriors for my son and our family.

Just Pray

A Merry Christmas to all of you. It's been a bittersweet day for us. Logan's outward condition has continued to deteriorate. Now he's unwilling to walk unassisted at all. Further, he won't walk without someone holding both of his hands and supporting much of his body weight as he leans forward. He is, put simply, very uncomfortable.

I'm so heartbroken that I can hardly bear the pain. All I wanted for Christmas --this one and all to come-- was improvement in his condition. And I didn't get it. I feel exhausted, betrayed, hopeless. We still don't know what's going on, but it's upsetting to think that the Avastin isn't working and that he's suffering so very much.

Look, I know you're all in holiday-mode. I know that some of you think of us maybe once every few days and then stop yourselves because it's too painful to do so. But please: I BEG you, in the most primal, desperate way I know how, to pray for Logan. To pray for that healing that feels so elusive right now. I'm scared to death. I'm struggling --absolutely struggling, flailing-- to hold onto hope. And I get it --there is more beyond this life. But our family is so precious to us. We need him.

Thank you for praying and for passing this on. Blessings.

More Avastin and a Leap of Faith

Yesterday, Logan received his third dose of Avastin. From all outward indications it's not really working, but we're pressing onward anyway, still hopeful that it IS indeed having a positive impact on his ravaged spinal cord and that we're just not seeing it yet. We'll find out on January 9, when he has his next MRI. That's just two days before my next birthday, #34.

Obviously, I have mixed feelings about the timing of the scan. As I see it, my birthday could wind up being a day of great joy, or one of almost unbearable sadness. I pray fervently for the former. I need a break. I need happy news. I need some relief.

The clinic visit, as I heard, was fine. Dr. T reiterated what he's been saying since September: He thinks, based on the most recent sets of images --the last from Thanksgiving week-- that it's spinal cord damage, and the neurosurgeon concurs. But it's very, very hard to tell. The trouble with walking can be attributed to any one of a number of root causes. The incontinence issues are baffling, as they seem to be on and off: Sometimes he realizes he needs to go and asks, others he seems unaware and has accidents. Since no one --but God, granted-- knows what's going on and we all want to give my poor little sunshine some relief, we're tapering the Decadron a tiny bit and praying --again, fervently-- that nothing new crops up, and that nothing gets worse. Given the complaints of pain in his knees when we try to get him to walk, Dr. T also gave him some hydrocodone. He also, with the psychiatrist's approval, went up a little on his sleep aid, since his body quickly figured out how to metabolize the original dose and as of the weekend, he was once again awaking 8 to 10 times overnight.

It would be spectacularly easy to give up right now. He looks bad, he feels bad, my heart is broken, and I'm exhausted. In what's probably a response to feeling like he doesn't get enough attention, Isaac has morphed into a monster who tantrums 4 to 6 times a day; screaming, crying, fist-beating, neck-vein-pulsating fits whenever we ask him to do something he doesn't want to do, whether it be going to dance class, speech therapy, everything. Abby too engages in loud, aggressive attention-seeking, often offering up irreverent, rude remarks to me and Adam. I know that some of you have offered to take them for us, but the sad reality is that it wouldn't do anything because Isaac and Abby want US. They want their family intact and normal again. And we can't give them that.

But even amid my own failings of faith, a few important points keep coming to me, mainly a) expect amazing things, and b) don't underestimate what God can do WHEN HE WANTS TO DO IT. It's really the latter that strikes me. As much as I hate seeing Logan suffer through his current complications, I'd do it all with a grateful heart if I knew that he'd be well again down the line. But I just don't know.

That's where the leap of faith comes in. We all take them now and then. But most of the time, if I dare to say it, those 'leaps' of faith are really more like jumps on a hopscotch board. Sometimes I think that were I a truly faithful person, this particular leap of faith wouldn't be anything more significant than that. But no, it's such a big leap that most of the time I can't muster the courage to do it. I'm not sure what it is that scares me so much; likely just The Unknown. I think it scares all of us, to some extent.

Anyway. It's been incredibly challenging to string my thoughts together here because I've alternately dealt with Abby and Isaac bickering and Logan chattering away and demanding attention; but of course, he's partially deaf so I have to shout my responses, most of them more than once. It's exhausting. And infuriating.

Please keep praying for Logan's complete and lasting healing. I know that God hears prayers. Despite the voice in my head that tells me to just give up because God doesn't care what I have to say, I'm asking that you all soldier on for my sunny boy. In terms of particulars, please pray that the Avastin will do its intended job and heal the spinal cord damage. Pray that he'll be protected from any attempted return of disease, and that his facial and auditory nerves will return to normal, allowing the facial palsy to disappear and the hearing in his left ear to return.

I am, as I have before, asking for a wave of prayers. A tidal wave. An earthquake, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic eruption. Bold intercessions asking for healing, for restoration, for peace, for comfort.

Thank you.

Saturday

It's incredible to think that Christmas is a mere week and change away. What happened to the holiday season?

I wish I had positive news to share, but I simply don't. Logan just isn't doing well. His walking is very poor, and in fact, he refuses to walk at all unless he's holding someone's hand. His bowel incontinence is also worse, though we aren't really sure if he's truly incontinent or if it hurts him so much to get up that he chooses to have accidents to avoid the pain. He complains that "the backs of his knees hurt" whenever we make him stand, and would be happiest if we carried him everywhere. Unfortunately, he's very heavy so it's hard --nearly impossible-- for me to manage him plus Brady plus Isaac --who runs off constantly-- while we're out and about. On top of that, the facial palsy is still active in full-force, which affects his speech and his hearing. It's all in all a very bad situation.

Why he's having the problems is a big unknown. It could be the radiation damage getting worse. It could in part be the result of having been on steroids for so long. It could be disease.

The only known entity is that it breaks my heart to see him suffering. We pray constantly for alleviation of his pain and symptoms, and it's frustrating --no, devastating-- to see his condition continue to disintegrate. Where is God? Why is He letting evil win? Why isn't He helping Logan? Is He, and we just can't see it? What's the truth? It's very unsettling to not know.

Despite the questions and the unsettling feeling of not knowing, we must choose to have faith. We must choose to believe that faith can move mountains. We must choose to believe that healing is there and that it's in the works. Logan wants to be here, even amid his suffering. He wants to be with his family. I know because I've asked him.

What's difficult for me is actually believing. I absolutely struggle with faith. At the same time, I feel like I need to have it, not because I feel like I can do a thing to change our situation, but because faith is an essential part of being.

You've all battled for Logan before, so I'm asking you to do it again. God asks us to pray ceaselessly for what our hearts desire, so I'm asking you, begging you really, to pray for Logan's healing. I never ask you to do this, but let yourself go to that untouchable place of being in my shoes, in Abby's shoes, in Adam's shoes. It's horribly painful, but to feel the urgency of our prayers, you have to do it and feel it and imagine, for just a minute, that he's your beloved little one. Your blessed little soul. I just know that God can move mountains, and I know that He does hear waves of prayers. I also know, that as Logan's suffered of late, I've not reached out for prayers as I had before. But I'm doing it now. I'm once again asking for prayers for healing, comfort, peace, wisdom, understanding, faith, hope, belief, and everything else we lack that God knows about. And it's important that I draw a distinction for those among you who jump to the 'Thy will be done' camp: we're looking for healing here, for restoration of our family. We KNOW that there is life beyond this one. Again, imagine the desire of your own heart were he your child.

Blessings to you.

A Birthday

Today Brady turned one year old. In some ways it's almost impossible to believe that it's already been a year since his birth. In others, it feels like he should've turned 5 or 10. My heart feels old and haggard, so it's strange to think that I'm mom to someone who's a single tender year of age.

On the Logan front, things aren't particularly rosy. Despite incessant prayers that things would improve, they've only gotten worse. He's having increasing difficulty with walking and with bowel incontinence. As usual, we don't know why these things are happening. And the fact that they are happening has taken me to a new place in terms of figuring out what I believe with respect to faith, healing and Christianity.

It's become apparent to me that modern Christianity features two very different factions when it comes to healing: Those who believe that we can exact healing via belief and action of the Holy Spirit (a.k.a. those who truly believe --with their whole hearts-- that we can cast mountains into the sea), and those who don't. My heart wants to believe that the former is true. The notion gives me comfort. And honestly, the thought draws me closer to God. When I've been able to embrace the concept, I've spent more time in the Word and felt more confident in my faith. When I haven't believed it to be true, I've felt a sense of hopeless reticence. A sense of why would I bother to pray if my prayers don't matter?

It's very hard for me to look at my sunshine now and believe that he could ever be okay again. He's suffering. Yet we cry out every day, multiple times a day, for God to have mercy on him. It's maddening to watch what's happened to him. It's maddening to not know what's going on that's causing the problems with walking and incontinence.

I'm asking you all to have faith in healing for Logan. I'm asking you to pray for God to have mercy on my sunshine and make him miraculously well. I'm not asking you to pray a simple, non-committal 'thy will be done' prayer. It sounds weird, I'm sure, but God WANTS us to ask for what our hearts desire. My heart desires healing and nothing less. So please: Ask for it. Ask for improvements in his mobility. For healing of his damaged spinal column. For restoration and renewal. For life here on this earth. Because regardless of my weariness and sadness and hopelessness, I know that God hears those prayers and that they matter. So please, I beg you to send them up. I also remind you very seriously that there is a spiritual component to Logan's health battle, and ask you to take up your armor in his defense. He's SO worthy. I can't tell you how worthy he is.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team.

Just Here

That about says it for me: I'm just here.

I've been quiet lately because I've not been in the best of mental states. I'm worn out by all of the drama. I'm tired of watching Logan suffer. I'm wondering if we'll ever see God's hand move. And honestly, I feel a little betrayed. I guess I'm just not a textbook 'good' Christian. When things get hard, I turn inward and worry. I can't just let it go like I should. I can't make myself trust. It's an unfortunate by-product of a life filled with lots of unpleasant experiences, lots of times when I've felt completely betrayed by God.

I know it's tempting for some of you to cut in here and disagree with me, set me straight, what have you, but it doesn't really help. Nope.

At any rate, I guess it's probably obvious by my tone that we haven't seen any improvements. As a matter of fact, he's gotten worse. He now refuses to walk without holding someone's hand, and is very unsteady on his feet. I don't know if it's an organic thing, or if he's just scared because he fell a few times this past week. But whatever the reason, it's exhausting --both physically and emotionally-- having a 5-year old who can't get around without a lot of help. Going up the stairs is a near-insurmountable chore, and he complains that his legs hurt whenever he has to move.

I'm at a point where I'm a new kind of brokenhearted. I'm brokenhearted that at the birthday party we attended today, he wasn't able to run around with the other little boys. I'm brokenhearted that two of the kids laughed and pointed at him. I know they're just kids, but that kind of thing is a knife to my heart. I'm brokenhearted that we've been begging and pleading for healing to come in a tangible, visible way, and not only do things not look better, but they look even less palatable than before.

I get up some mornings and want to lie in bed all day. I want to give up. I want to get in the car and just drive until I'm gone. My life, for lack of a better word and at the risk of sounding like a whiner, is hard. I want to give it to someone else. I want to loan it to the next person who laughs at Logan or tsk tsks at Isaac when he throws a loud tantrum in public. It would be lovely to just not be me, maybe just for a little while.

I really have no great words of faith right now. I wish I did. I wish I knew the truth. I wish life wasn't so hard. I wish God would just make it better. I wish I felt like He really and truly cares. But I don't think I do. Not right now. Of course, I'm like a foxtail in a field: I blow this way and that. So I know I'll change my mind again.

Anyway, thank you for being here for Logan. And for being strong when I can't muster up an ounce of energy of my own.

The Grand List

Ah, the advantages of sick children. Both Abby and Isaac went to sleep quickly. I fully expect at least Isaac to wake up more than once overnight, but I'm grateful for what I get, when I get it. Here's a listing of all of the issues Logan has as a result of his cancer treatment.

Spinal cord necrosis (damage from radiation)

Difficulty walking and weakness, particularly in the left leg (from spinal cord damage)

Facial palsy, left side, affecting speech, ability to smile, blink, and move most of the muscles (cause unknown, likely viral issue affecting the 7th and 8th nerves, which control the facial muscles and hearing, respectively)

Moderate hearing loss in the right ear (radiation-induced)

Hearing loss in the left ear (related to the facial palsy, so origin unknown)

Thyroid dysfunction (radiation damage)

Misaligned right eye (from the original tumor pressing on the 6th nerve, which controls eye movement)

Neuropathy-related tremors in the hands (from long-term steroid use)

Occasional incontinence issues (from spinal cord damage)

Residual unusual-looking areas in the brain, spine (likely dead tissue, scarring)

Minimal hair (from radiation; some grew in, but he has large bald spots)

Weight gain and excessive hunger (from long-term steroid use)

Moon face (from long-term steroid use)

Mood swings (from steroids)

Insomnia (steroids)

Stunted growth (spinal radiation)

Gallstone (from IV nutrition, which has been discontinued for a few months)

Tachycardia (elevated heartrate, began following first neurosurgery in August 2010)

Chronic cough and sinus congestion (radiation)

Looking at this list is a devastating blow to my mommy-heart. I wonder how on earth could he ever have a normal life with these challenges in his way. But then I realize something: I'm viewing things from a human perspective. GOD can wipe away every single one of these issues in the blink of an eye and restore Logan to full health. So as the widow pestered the unjust official for justice, I'm planning to continue pestering God for justice --in the form of healing-- for Logan. It's as simple as that. And I hope you'll join me. The most critical pieces are, of course, remaining free of cancer and healing of his spinal cord. But please choose any or all of them and pray for resolution, for healing, for wholeness. For God to bring restoration as He promises to do. After all, God is the Creator of Good things. It's evil that did this to my dear sunshine. I'm asking God to show evil that He's the real boss.

Illness and the Zone Defense

It's been... a day. That's about the nicest way I can describe it, and you know the old saying: If you don't have anything nice to say....

Abby began her day by vomiting, so she stayed home from school. An hour or so later, Isaac got up, ate an eighth of a bagel and a handful of Pirates Booty stolen from the pantry, complained that the latter didn't taste right and started spitting into the toilet. Then he complained that his eyes hurt. I sent him upstairs to hang out with Abby, who was watching TV in the master bedroom between wretching episodes. Five minutes later, he too threw up. Then Brady started crying for my attention from the first floor, and Logan, who was also downstairs, also summoned me, so I spent the next few hours running back and forth between the sick ward and the well ward. And then mercifully, Adam came home and took over as the Well Ward warden, while I holed away upstairs as controller of the Sick Ward. Not my favorite post, but someone has to do it since Logan hasn't yet shown signs of illness and we must do all we can to keep him well. And given that it was me who started this whole illness business Friday night, it's fair that I take the less savory role. So tonight, the quarantined area will live on, with Abby and Isaac bunking with me and Adam taking Isaac's bed in the boys' room. (I'm guessing I'll emerge once overnight to feed Brady, of course.) And then, as always, we'll see what tomorrow morning holds.

I'm sorry. I know some of you are completely repulsed by vomit, but it's our reality right now, and you know me: Big on the truth. (And The Truth.) Plus it hopefully has the added benefit of making you feel better about your own reality right now. :)

Anyway, as mentioned previously, we do not want Logan to catch this bug, so please, please, please pray that he'll remain unaffected. Pray for that hand of protection upon him.

I'll be honest about something else. It's been hard for me to ask for prayers lately because I haven't felt particularly protected despite having asked for them all along. But it certainly doesn't hurt to ask, and I'm hoping you'll oblige, and not just in the 'sure, yeah, praying for you' kind of way. No, in the 'I really and truly am stopping to pray for you all' way. In addition to restored health and healing, I'm also asking for renewed vigor and faith. Mine has waned lately in the face of so many ridiculous issues (because that's precisely what they are -- ridiculous, irritating potshots by evil) and I need invigorization. I need to see the Truth and the fiction and be able to separate them once again.

Hopefully, after the kids are asleep, I'll return with that itemized list of needs. Thank you for your prayers. Health and blessings to you.

Weak

Despite what I've always been told about the nature of God, sometimes I feel like I will never, ever be good enough to believe that God is good all the time. I know that probably sounds funny. It feels funny writing it. But it's a thought that's been going 'round and round in my head for weeks now, so I wanted to get it out. You know, just in case someone else out there might feel the same way, I wanted you to know that you're not alone.

I've been feeling particularly weak these past days, like my heart, my mind, my soul, my everything is just plain tuckered out. Sometimes, when I feel the walls closing in on me all over again --and believe me, those walls and I have been engaged in quite the Tango over the past many months-- I just find a wall somewhere, slide down it til my tush hits the turf and cry. Not because I particularly enjoy crying or because it helps me to cope any better with my less-than-envious circumstances, but because it's something I can control. At least, I can most of the time. Sometimes the tears come whether or not I want them to. But that's another bag of dog food.

Today was an okay day. Logan went to school without much of a fight and was pleasant most of the afternoon. The left side of his face is still mostly frozen, he's still walking badly, and he's still eating like a 400-pound junk-food addict, but at least his mood was acceptable. I think I'm feeling a lot of frustration because, to be blunt, I'm tired of the battle. I'm tiring of one strike after another. And I'm tired of not seeing improvement in my sunshine. I want him to wake up one morning with a fully functional face. I want him to be able to walk without pain and without a defined limp. I want to get him off the steroids once and for all. I want so much for him. And it infuriates me that I have to sit here and watch him suffer. It kills me that I can't make it better. I envy moms with healthy kids. It's not that I want to; I just can't help myself. I can't help missing what I once had. I can't help wanting it back so intensely that the pain of the desire burns holes in my heart.

But it is what it is. And I, at the moment, am extraordinarily weary. I need strength. I need healing for my son and wholeness for our cracked family. At some point, when I'm not so weary and when the sight of it won't break my heart, I want to type up a list of every issue Logan has right now, divide it up into sections, and ask for prayers for each specific item on the list on specific days. I know it would help me focus and not feel so overwhelmed by the mountain we face. And I hope it would help you, too.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team.

The Sick Stick

My weekend of fun began at about 9 PM Friday night with an increasingly uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It intensified until about 11 PM, when a combination of nausea, discomfort and frustration prompted me to make myself throw up. And then every 20 minutes until 5 AM, I found myself running to the restroom to toss my cookies. Almost 48 hours, several changes of clothes and a set of new sheets later, I'm no longer vomiting, but I still feel sick. Nauseated. I'd chalked the whole thing up to a piece of cheesecake I ate shortly before I started to feel ill, but that theory was shot when, earlier this evening, Brady threw up his dinner --two jars of baby food-- all over poor Adam. So, my friends, it seems as if the flu --or some other like-bug-- is upon us.

It's really very important that Logan be spared this illness, so please, I beg you to pray that he'll be shielded from the bug. My little sunshine has been through so much and does not need the flu added to his illness resume.

So how is he doing? Okay. He's not walking well at all, and is reliant on others to hold his hand. I don't know that he needs the help, per se, but he definitely feels more comfortable with someone helping him along. Of course I don't mind holding my little boy's hand; after all, I know there will be days down the line when he --and the others-- are long grown and resistant to doing so. But it breaks my heart to see my little dancer, my little mover and shaker, having so much trouble taking steps. It hurts me to realize that he walked better at 10 months than he does now at 5 years. But I have to remind myself that this is merely the now, and not the later. I'm working on knowing the heart of God and the truth of His healing power.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team and for continuing to pray for his full healing. Blessings.

More Avastin and a Reflection

Tomorrow, Logan will have his second infusion of Avastin. Although I fully believe --and am working on knowing-- that God has the power to heal him fully at this very second, I ask you to please pray that the drug will be effective. His spine needs intensive healing and the rest of his body needs protection from harm.

I admit that I'm still a little worried because he's still experiencing the facial palsy and we don't know what caused (or is causing, given that it's ongoing) the nerve inflammation. Although Dr. T scoured the literature and never found anything suggesting that it could be related to the Avastin, my mommy's heart is nervous anyway. I thank you for praying for complete, lasting healing and for protection from additional side effects of the medications he takes.

I have a lot I more that I could say, but I'm especially tired this evening. Before I go, though, I do want to relay a little tidbit that I off-handedly shared with a friend this morning. She thought it would make a worthy entry, so here goes.

As a Christian, I'm very familiar with the scriptural references that tell us to come to Jesus when we're weary. In need of rest. Broken-hearted. The concept came up again during the church service this past weekend (I can't remember exactly when, to be honest; and if I'm really honest, I'm not sure if it was actually spoken aloud or if the words were merely spoken directly to my heart). When I felt those familiar words, I had my usual kneejerk reaction: But I don't want to be broken-hearted. Just as I did what I always do --tried to emotionally pull away-- I felt more words cross my heart: But you're already broken-hearted. Why do you think your heart will break even more? Come rest!

I suppose it's a pretty basic concept: Come to Me and I will give you rest. But it's hard to do it because it's hard to admit that we're broken people; that our hearts are broken on a regular basis and that we're in need of rest. In need of healing. In need of restoration. I've spent a lot of time not wanting to rest in God because I've feared that doing so would somehow make me even more broken-hearted. It's silly, right?

Anyway, if this is you -- if you're resisting rest because you share my misguided notion that resting shows weakness or that doing so will increase your heartbreak, reconsider.

I'm not particularly thrilled with the way the past few paragraphs read, but the bare bones of what my heart wants to tell you is there, so I hope it speaks to someone.

Thank you so much for being part of Logan's team, for believing that we have the power, through Christ and the Holy Spirit, to move mountains, for hanging with me even when I seem like I've left the reservation, and for believing in healing. Love to you all.