I don’t adapt well to sudden change. I know I developed that character trait as a result of a chaotic childhood, where sudden change stemmed from eminent danger or was followed by the loss of something that made me feel secure. That isn’t to say that I don’t like change. I actually thrive on change. I just need time to prepare; to plan; to run every scenario through my mind. Once I have thoroughly processed change, I am an enthusiastic participant.
In early 2018, I was about ten months into a battle with granulomatous mastitis and my body refused to heal. Doctors offered little hope, medicine was ineffective and I was desperate for answers. I turned to God asking for a miracle and instead He laid it on my heart to purge my diet. I sought out different fasts and settled on the popular Daniel Fast. I spent several weeks preparing, reading books and articles detailing different versions of the fast. Some allowed fish, others called for eliminating cooked vegetables, citing the benefits of eating foods raw. I took the culmination of information I had collected and developed a game-plan. I cut out all meats, dairy, sugar, gluten & eggs, but I allowed raw honey and tortilla chips. I chose to stick with the fast for the entire month of February, a full twenty-eight days, rather than the traditional twenty-one days most Daniel plans call for.
Once I had done my research, plotted my course and set a date, I called a family meeting. My husband, an avid Coke drinker, knew that I had been researching fasts, but my children, ages seven and eight then, were unprepared for what I was going to ask of them. I presented my case – My body was in poor health, the doctors had done all they could do, pharmaceuticals were ineffective, and I felt led to fast. I explained that because I was the one who did the majority of the grocery shopping and prepared most of our meals, my fast was going to affect the foods that were available to the entire family. And then, I did the unthinkable. I asked my family to fast sugar with me – for twenty-eight days. My children, jaws on the floor, were sure there was no way they could go an entire month without sugar. Didn’t I know that Valentine’s Day was in February? And did I forget that there were at least four of their cousin’s birthdays in February? Before I could answer, my husband, ever supportive of my crazy endeavors, came to my rescue. He explained that if anyone was going to perish from sugar starvation it would be him. But he reminded the kids that he loved me, that the family operated better when mom was at her best, and that I wasn’t asking them to give up everything, just one thing. And then, this man I love – this bacon-loving, meat-eating, soda-drinking man – went all in. He told me he would walk by my side, give up all I was giving up, and he told the kids they would survive twenty-eight days with no sugar.
And so, we embarked on a month-long journey of rabbit food, as my husband calls it. Just seven days into the fast, my children’s behavior was similar to that of a drug addict going through withdraws. Ask me how I know, and we can talk more about my childhood. I recall one Sunday morning my son saw that grandma had brought her delicious butter cupcakes to the church potluck. When he realized he couldn’t have one, he threw himself onto the church pew and cried. This behavior was completely out of character, and honestly, quite embarrassing. It was that day that I realized that sugar addiction was a real thing. By day twenty-one, much to my delight and amazement, the wound that refused to heal was healed. Also, by day twenty-one, all I could think about was meat. My mouth salivated at the thought of a juicy steak, hot off the grill. There were a few rough days that last week but we all survived. On February 28th, my kids had cake at my nephew’s birthday party, breaking their sugar fast. On March 1st, my husband and I had eggs for breakfast.
I spent the next four months walking backwards, adding in all of the foods that I had eliminated – first eggs, then dairy, then meat and sugar. And in walking backwards, my body also regressed. The mastitis returned and I spent the next eight months battling the same physical ailments, working with the same hopeless doctors and taking a variety of medications that never worked, and in some cases even made things worse. So, on February 1, 2019, I went back to Daniel and his diet of pulse and water (Daniel 1:12). This time, my husband opted to let me walk alone and the kids nearly cried when they thought I was going to ask them to give up their precious sugar! I went full-speed ahead, alone. Just like the previous year, three weeks was enough to cause healing in my body, but I went the full twenty-eight days, feeling grateful that it wasn’t a leap year. This time, my wounds returned in less than two months and I was beside myself. What did God want me to do? Didn’t He see my sacrifice? What was I lacking, that He wouldn’t hear my cry? I asked every question, except the one that really mattered: Why did I keep going back to my old ways, when my body found healing with proper nutrition?
In 2019, I battled ailment after ailment, which led to surgeries and procedures, harsh medications that had some pretty harsh consequences. I gave up all food and did a juice fast for an extended period of time. I even gave up food altogether for a few days. While my physical health declined, my mental health succumbed to the voices of shame and doubt.
Shame speaks so loudly, like an oblivious toddler who hasn’t yet learned what an inside voice is.
She is cruel and intentional in her attacks. There were periods of time that I gave up on myself, surrendered to the disease.
In 2020, I somehow mustered the will-power to do the Daniel fast, and again my body found its reprieve, at least from the mastitis. I began to recover mentally, finding moments of hope amidst the daily battle I fought with pain. At this time, I lived in pain every moment of every day, having developed abdominal wall endometriosis – an extremely rare condition that causes endometrial tissue to grow in the abdominal wall. By 2020, I had been dealing with the pain of this growth for more than two years. The doctors didn’t believe me, attempted to put me on anti-depressants, and refused medical procedures that would eventually reveal what I had known for a long time. I woke up in pain, I laughed in pain, I sat in pain, I slept in pain and I walked in pain. Pain and I were never apart. In the summer of 2020, I underwent surgery to remove the mass that plagued me, and just four months later, I went back to the operating room for a surgery that would leave my body permanently disfigured.
Here we are, now, in 2021. Several more auto-immune diseases have called my body home, the mass of tissue has begun to regrow in my abdominal wall, and the original ailment, granulomatous mastitis has never completely gone away. I have gone, regularly to the feet of the Master asking for a healing. I have wept at the altar, feeling inadequate in my prayers, feeling unworthy of a miracle. I have listened to every preached message over four and a half years, eagerly searching for the voice of God, for hope, and for direction. I have wandered in my wilderness for so long, returning year after year to visit my friend, Daniel, seeking amnesty for my diseased body.
Always, in the back of my mind, tucked neatly in a corner, is that call to purge my diet. While I have surrendered for seasons, I have never really done what God asked me to do.
While I was seeking a miracle, God was waiting for me to obey.
Borrowing words I recently heard preached, victory isn’t in the shout, it is in obedience.
Recently, I walked into a local Christian bookstore. A woman approached me and struck up a conversation about diet and fasting. We chatted about our experiences and I told her about the annual Daniel fasts and how eliminating sugar and other foods had helped my body heal. This stranger, Mary, asked the question I should have asked myself, “Then why did you go back?” I responded the only way I could, “Because I am human, made of flesh.” Mary grabbed two books from opposite sides of the same aisle, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “You need to read these books.” I told her I would think about it, and I left the store. On Monday, I found both of the books Mary recommended in the library app, Hoopla. I downloaded them and by the end of the week I realized that Mary didn’t place those books in my hands, she was just the vessel that God chose to use that Sunday afternoon.
In my last blog post, I told you I had some information I had to act on. I knew that the Daniel fast was effective in healing my body, but I didn’t understand why. Now, I have a much better understanding of autoimmune diseases, and how my body got to this broken place. I have gained knowledge and I have to put that knowledge into action.
So, I have spent the past ten days preparing for change, sorting through the massive amounts of new information I have received, and plotting my course. The Daniel fast was effective, but I am not looking for a quick-fix, I have prepared for a revolution.
Sometimes God offers a miracle and sometimes He puts the tools in our hands and asks us to put in the work.
If you have something you are ready to lay down, or perhaps you have been running from that still, small voice asking you to make some radical change in your life, I would invite you to come along. That old adage If you fail to plan, you plan to fail is quite true, so take a few days, plot your course, and then join me on this journey.
Uncommonly Common Mom 