I want to kick a wall in—a door down; to rip open a feather pillow (because that would be much more dramatic and satisfying than a cotton one); to scream, and cry, and scream some more. (Okay, so I’ve done the screaming and crying part already).  ONE to THREE MORE YEARS?! All I could hear was “three more years.” The hope of “one” was drowned out by my inability to process because even though I did not feel that I could go on one more day, I could have years of treatment and illness ahead of me. Years that feel wasted in bed, NOT living the life I had dreamed; spending the years I have waited my whole life to live: young adulthood, early marriage, pregnancy, and motherhood-- stuck in this ongoing nightmare that I just can’t seem to wake up out of.  

This time last year, we were making the appointment and arrangements to go down to the States. We made the trip, and came home to wait out test results and to try to find a doctor nearby who could give us the care we needed. Six weeks went by, and finally in November of 2011 I began oral antibiotics to begin chipping away at “the tip of the iceberg” of the many diseases that riddled my body.

 It wasn’t until March of this year that I was able to get the surgery needed to begin IV antibiotics. Six and a half months ago. Why does it feel so much longer than that? A lifetime has passed; we have moved out of our home, made a new one, and moved back again. I have been sicker than I have ever been in my life (but for the time when this all began with Meningitis), and I am SO weary of grasping at straws to create a positive enough update to keep someone from feeling worried, or sorry, or sad for me; or trying to reassure others that this is working, that I am getting better, and that it just takes time. This disease took up residence in my body three and a half years ago: it is not that easily reversed.

Most of the time, I am at peace with my illness; with the amount of time this is taking; with God’s plan for me in all of this. Even still, depression looms, a wet, sticky fog that coats anything and everything; and, when I get tired, or more sick from a Herx reaction, it makes itself all too painfully apparent. Those times I have to pray especially hard, and work especially hard at re-making my peace with this. Like all lessons God has for me, this cycle of lessons--weighed down by depression-- rolls around again and again, begging me to let go of the life I have constructed in my head; the life I have already let go of seven hundred times before.

A life of pregnancies, and fresh newborn babies; of breastfeeding and babywearing and feeling tired from working hard and caring for someone else. A life of taking care of my husband: dating him, kissing him (on the lips!!); not to mention being close enough to him to make more babies. I want a life where I can cook my own meals, and clean my own house, and drive myself places; one where I can attend play-dates and parties and family events. A life where I can give back to others in need.  

So, when I was at the end of my rope last Friday and asked my doctor how much longer this would take, I was in no place to accept the ballpark figure she had for me. I knew she was reluctant to say anything until we re-tested (in the next few weeks) to see what progress we've made; I’m sure she was reluctant altogether.  False hope is a risky dish to serve. What we do know is that since the treatment has been so effective at killing off the Lyme, it has removed the veil which Babesia was hiding behind. “And if you think Lyme disease is hard to treat...” Well, this is a really hard disease. This is where my increasing bone pain, and my breathlessness, and my crazy nightmares that I can’t tell are only dreams (even half a day after waking from them) are coming from; this is the culprit behind the seizures, and memory loss, and many other things that just aren’t improving yet. And depending on treatment, I still have one to three years left to go. 

The consolation? (I didn’t want to hear it, but maybe you do...) I won’t be on IV’s the whole time. I will be getting increasingly better (not better enough to live my life the way I want to though). The action plan: an increase in certain meds, and the introduction of an IV antibiotic that will attack the Babesia. I will Herx even harder than I have been. And I am scared. I am scared to be so sick I am mentally detached from my family. I already feel so detached from the outside world (even more so since we have come home, as I can’t push myself as hard as I could before).  I will be switching my anti-anxiety meds to ones that won't potentially cause depression as a side-effect, and in turn, will hopefully work together with my current anti-depressants to give me the boost I need.

I know I will get out of this dark place, because I know that God will give me the strength I need to keep going. He always does. And maybe this is too hard for some to read, and I am sorry, and that is okay. Depression is yucky, and scary, and so is this illness. But the dark times are a reality, too. So, I am not the poster-child for how to live gracefully and joyfully with multiple diseases. I am going to be okay with that, because I would rather be real; I would rather be an example of what this is really like than lie to all of you. Christ is still my light, and my strength—no matter how angry or hopeless or sad I get. And He can be for you too. You don’t have to be perfect for God to use you, or to hear you. I am as broken as broken can be, and if He would only use me, my life would be fulfilled.

Please pray with me for healing... for a miracle. For the strength and patience and joy that my family, my marriage, and that I need to weather this. That God would use this to grow me for His greater purposes and Glory. For everyone affected by this disgusting illness; and for those who lift me up and help me fight it. And for a cure.

“Do you not know?
    Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
    and his understanding no one can fathom.

He gives strength to the weary
    and increases the power of the weak.
 Even youths grow tired and weary,
    and young men stumble and fall;
   but those who hope in the Lord
    will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
    they will run and not grow weary,
    they will walk and not be faint.” 

~Isaiah 40:28-31

"...God can still use you. He doesn't look down on you. He looks on you more. The weakest people have done the most for God, because in our weakness, He is strong. Don't ever be ashamed of your weakness. God wants you to see the potential of who you are going to be with His help. He wants to bring beauty from your ashes and heal your wounded heart. God wants to use you where you are, as you are. And He promises to carry you on the days you can't see ahead."

(Barrick, Linda. miracle for Jen, 2012.)

“Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’”

~James 4: 13-15

Blessings and love,

Kate

We’re home!!! (But you probably knew that, didn’t you?) After an exhausting and emotional week, tearful goodbyes, and a hard drive home, we made it back to our house in Edmonton. I was full of mixed emotions, as I had grown attached to where we were living, and had come to realise that a house is just a house; it is when your family and friends are in it that it is given life and becomes a home. And with friends in both places, no matter where we went, we seemed to be leaving a home behind. 

It came as a great and cheerful surprise to find this upon our arrival:

Our entire yard decorated by friends, including a welcome home sign and multiple messages of love stuck to our front door. It was a wonderful sight, and gave us the boost of energy and excitement we needed to unpack what was needed before collapsing into bed.

Matt had to go back to work for a 12 day shift only a few days after returning, with much of our house still in boxes. It took me a good week or so of sleeping full days to recover from our travels, and as always, when the fatigue and pain hit hard, so did the depression and anxiety. I knew I should be happy to finally be home. But I wasn’t just yet. I was too sick to see anyone, and with Matt away I was feeling quite lonely and miserable.

 After recovering that first week, the sun came out, and I had a few good days. One I can surely say was the best I have had in two years! I was up and out of bed all day; playing outside with Jack, taking him grocery shopping with my mom; picnicking in the backyard at dinner time, and bathing my little boy all by myself. It was amazing to spend so much time with my son, outside in the gorgeous weather, clear in mind and free of pain. A sign that my Herx reactions are finally being punctuated with not just good, but great days; days which should slowly increase in quality and quantity with each cycle as my health continues to improve.

My insomnia has also begun letting up in phases. Instead of constantly fighting to get to bed before 5am, I have had several days of falling asleep before 10pm. I used this to my advantage last week to rest up as much as possible to prepare for our godson’s baptism last weekend. The combination of rest and prayer did the trick, as I was able to get up early to attend, be a reader, and participate as his godmother without issue. I also made it to the luncheon afterwards, visiting with the crowd, helping with Jack, and rocking the new baby. Besides being short of breath for most of the day, my fatigue and pain were manageable, and I really, really enjoyed myself!! It was a beautiful day.

We have been “busy” by our current standards as we have begun catching up with more than just family members by now. I have to be careful to limit my activity so as not to overdo it. Every Wednesday we have to make the hour-long drive to get my dressing changed, and then turn around and make the drive all the way back. Being in the car for that long is hard on my body (sitting up in general still is), and since we are still trying to figure out the “kinks” (i.e. help the nurses put their theory into practice), it has taken up to 2 hours for the appointment itself! Between that and the car rides, it makes for a dreadful, exhausting day. I will say this though: I am very grateful for their willing spirits and desire to help, and equally grateful for the nurses down south who very expertly executed and explained the steps of a port access to me time after time. Because of the two, I am able to help teach with confidence (and without stepping on anybody’s toes) the understanding I have of my body and the devices we are working with; even if the downside is getting multiple piercings in one afternoon, as they try to figure things out here. I am a bit of a guinea pig in this regard, but as most Lyme patients can attest: if it means paving an easier way (or a way at all) for future patients, then I’m game. I have a very dear friend who blessed me with that attitude-- despite his discomfort, helping me have a better chance was his priority. And it is an honour to carry that attitude forward.

So—we are home. We are finally settled. We are relishing some much-needed hugs and visits, and we are moving forward in treatment and with progress. Our newest acquisition: an oxygen circulator. Next up: buying our own hospital pump (the one we are using now is borrowed from our neighbour-friend, as the hospital loner down there couldn’t very well be checked out all the way back in Edmonton)! Our house is looking more and more like a hospital with each new purchase, it seems. But boy am I grateful that it isn’t a hospital; that we were blessed by others to afford these much-needed items; and that I am getting the treatment that I so desperately need. We are blessed beyond belief, and will never stop being grateful for the means and the prayers that feed our fight; every last bit is an extra push toward the finish line.

God bless you!

Kate

“...and for all things give thanks; this is the will of 

God for you in Christ Jesus.” 

 1 Thessalonians 5:18

“And all of us, with our unveiled faces like mirrors reflecting the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the image that we reflect in brighter and brighter glory; this is the working of the Lord...” 

 2 Corinthians 3:18

We're Coming Home!!!

It is with great excitement that I can announce, after four  LONG months, that we are moving home! In almost as swift a fashion as we left in, we are hoping to return with similar speed: this weekend to be exact.

The doctor closer to home is now prepared to work with us! After what seemed like a disappointing initial visit a few weeks back, the wonderful Director of Nursing ended up calling me. She worked through a number of phone calls and text messages to get the information she needed to bring in the proper equipment and train with it. And, as an answer to many more prayers, the doctor agreed to all necessary conditions to make the move a safe and dependable one. (Isn’t God amazing?!)

The appointment with our doctors last Friday went well. Both were pleased with the improvements my health has made during our time here. I was feeling very discouraged recently just how slow progress seemed to be. I know this is supposed to take time, and that I have shown improvement, I guess it was just feeling like the road to recovery was a never ending, almost unchanging, one. My prayer that God would show me how hopeful my progress has been was answered; and even though the road ahead is long, I am encouraged because it will be one surrounded by our family and friends.

I think somewhere in my mind, this time will always be viewed in retrospect as “the year we spent away”. It has been an incredibly long, hard, lonely time; one of healing and renewal; growth in wisdom and relationship with God. I am so very grateful for all of it. For the man who gave our family a fighting chance when he gave us his home; for the privilege to receive treatment that so many are denied; for the kind hospital staff; for our warm, tenacious, hardworking doctor; for the family we have made out of friends.

I don’t do very well with change...even going home is bittersweet. I am going to miss looking off the back porch and seeing farmland just houses away, or how homey the hospital feels here compared to others. But most of all, leaving anyone you love behind is just plain hard to do; whether it’s 3 of them, or 30. My connection here is a powerful one, and I think I will always see it as a home away from home.

I am excited to be settled back in our home; to be able to enjoy our yard ( I never really got to here, as we had a walk-out basement and the stairs were just too many!);  our cool basement; and most of importantly, seeing our friends and family in person once again!! I am certain that some things will feel strange after being gone for so long (I half expect our old pup Holly to be waiting for us there!)

 It feels like when any rite of passage comes to pass-- graduation, giving birth, etc.: after what felt like a never-ending journey full of trials and valleys and wondering if you will ever come out to see the other side, there it is: “already.” No matter how long it felt that it took to get here, now that it is upon us, I suddenly realise I could  I have done it. And that is an amazing feeling! More adventures to come, no doubt. But for now... here’s to the next leg of the race!

Peace and blessings you all,

Kate

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”  

Hebrews 12: 13

Season of Suffering

Baby boy don’t grow up too soon

Your youth isn’t here to stay

I know at times it seems as though

I’m a million miles away

My mind may wander;

My body fails

And my memory, it fades

You may think I don’t want to spend time with you

But that isn’t a choice I have made

Husband love, don’t give up on me

I know this isn’t right

A cause that many choose to flee

You stand your ground and fight

I know this is not the life you dreamed

Our plans have seemed to fail

But I promise if you’ll hold tight to me

Our love, it will prevail.

Body weak, sore and abused;

My Spirit doesn’t understand you

The two of you, though once were fused

Now fail to read each other’s cues

Oh Lord, my God; strength within

I fix my gaze on you

Holding tight to what I know

My strength is all but used

So take my son, my love, my life; all that’s been neglected

And in this time of suffering

May Your Glory be reflected.

A Post in Honour of my Husband on Father’s Day.

Sadly, but not entirely surprising, Matt won’t be here to celebrate Father’s Day this year; his shift-work has kept him working so hard. By the time he comes home, it will be 21 days of the twelve (plus) hour shifts he has been working, with only a single day off in the midst of it.

I wanted to write this because I am the one in the limelight most of the time. I admit-- I put myself there with having a blog and all, writing from my point of view, and usually about me. You all know how I am feeling: physically and emotionally; what goes on in my life on any given day, and how hard this disease has been on me. But there is one who goes without credit, and I think I ought to give credit where it is due.

Anyone who has met my husband can tell you from even the briefest of encounters that he is friendly, humble, kind, genuine, and hard working. (And yes, even in the briefest of meetings you will recognise the latter; he does not stop “pitching in”, wherever he may be!)

When we went down to the States, and we got the boys tested, Matt came back positive with Bartonella: “Cat Scratch Disease” (that can be contracted from a cat, like he did, or from a tick, like I did ). Only some of the very closest to him have seen how this has slowed him down. No one else would believe that it has. As a matter of fact, our neighbour friends just asked the other day when Matt was going to start his treatment. They were so impressed that he had been caring for us so hard while he was sick. They were SO surprised to hear that he has been in treatment all this time; Herxing, working, and coming home to care for Jack and I through it all.

I had a friend ask me the other day how I would do this on my own, and my answer was: I couldn’t. Without Matthew, I would have been dead a long time ago. He literally does EVERYTHING for me: from providing financially, to organising my doctor’s appointments, to compiling spreadsheets of the supplements and drugs I am on so that he can fill a week’s worth of dosettes that I may have every last pill correct. He is responsible for the roof over my head, the food I eat, the medicine I take, the caregiver I have, and best of all, most important of all—my inspiration to fight: our son. His job goes beyond being a “single parent”; beyond caregiver; beyond hard-overtime-working employee. He is more than my coach; my nurse; our housekeeper; our cook. More importantly than being my advocate; my memory; my rock; he is my husband, and the most WONDERFUL father to Jack.

If any of you wonder how I can manage this fight, it is because God gave me Matthew; and together, they gave me our son, and the four of us, well, we can’t be beat.

This is for my unsung hero. My Knight in Plaid Armor ;) The man behind it all. You are such an incredible example for so many, and Jack is so fortunate that you are his example of a father. He is blessed to have a man like you, fighting for his mommy, and for him, everyday of your life. And I am too.

Happy Father’s Day, Matthew. We love you with all our hearts <3 <3

xoxo

Kate   & Jack

 "For I have chosen him, so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of the LORD by doing what is right and just, so that the LORD will bring about for Abraham what he has promised him." Genesis 18:19

All's Well That Ends Well

I don’t usually care to write until I have all the facts in place, and right now I do not. But I think that is why I need to write; because the lack of details is driving me crazy, and prayers for peace in the unknown are greatly needed.

Saturday we made the LONG trip home to Edmonton. Before we moved, back in February, we caught wind of a doctor just outside of Edmonton who was willing to help us once we got established with the IV meds. As per our doctor’s recommendation, we decided to make a trip back to “feel out” the opportunity and see what kind of foundation can be laid to hopefully begin the slow process of coming back home.

Jack and Mommy at Bass Pro Shops in Airdrie where we stopped for lunch

As much as I don’t mind it down South (the beautiful home we are in, the family helping us that has become our own...) I have been getting increasingly homesick. A couple of weeks ago, for the first time since I started my IV therapy, I had that defeated feeling of, “how much longer is this going to take?!” The feeling of no-end-in-sight really taps the hope reservoir, I must say. If anything, this time and this trip especially are putting my focus back on how much more I need to rely on God. No matter where I am, who I am with, how I feel, what I can do, one thing remains the same: God. And I need to remember that He is, (and allow Him to be), enough.  In fact, when I let go of the reigns and allow Him to be all I need, I always find Him to be MORE than enough; those have been some of the greatest (though usually most painful) times in my life; when the head knowledge is transferred into heart knowledge, and I can step back far enough to let God be enough for me.

Our attempt to connect with the small town doctor was less than successful. He had to travel home to his motherland where his ailing father is dying. But, (we were told), everything was “set up” for us to come anyway. However, when we arrived, no one knew what we were talking about. Worse: they didn’t have a clue how to do a dressing change on a port-a-cath. Some phone calls were made by a very compassionate nurse, and we were told to try a hospital in the city. So we packed my aching bones back into the car and drove for nearly an hour longer.

When we got there, the emergency room was FULL. Thank goodness for the triage nurse! I was given a mask (so I wouldn’t catch anything while I was waiting), and as hot and uncomfortable as it was, I was so grateful as I sat amidst a choir of coughers. The nurse worked her rear end off for us until we were finally sent up to the IV clinic. 

The nurses there, while polite and accommodating, did not use the same procedures as I am used to (dare I say, back “home”??) It was the most painful port access to date, and I had to fight the urge to simultaneously swear and punch somebody. The clinic agreed to see me again next week if I still couldn't get in with my prior arrangements (I suppose it was a good thing I restrained myself despite the pain!) So, prayer number one was answered: we didn’t have to turn around and drive right back! And now, we even get to stay a little longer to figure out if this other doctor comes back, and how he plans on helping us.

I suppose this could all sound very positive right now. In all honesty, I can’t say I feel that way. I am struggling with giving my worries up to God; worries that the doctor nearby won’t be able to take us on; worries that I will have to spend my entire treatment far away from home and the ones I love.

It has been a rollercoaster of emotions, as is hard to focus on worries with loved ones around (though I am half sure when it is time to go home I will have to be carried away, kicking and screaming!). My younger brother and his wife welcomed their first son, (and my first nephew), into the world only 3 days before we were scheduled to make our trip—another answered prayer! If the only thing I get out of this trip was getting to meet my godson and stare into his sweet baby eyes, it will be beyond worthwhile! It is very unusual for me (this is my first time becoming an aunt on my side of the family), and I can’t imagine loving that sweet little baby more. Holding him was like a fresh breath of spring air to soothe my weary heart. I have wanted another baby of my own for so long (probably since Jack was around 6 months old), and I am so grateful to find such fulfillment in holding my godson (vs. the usual desperate prayer for another of my own).  What a blessing to have that hunger filled; what a gift to have someone so special occupy such a profound place in my heart. He is a hope to hold onto; a joy in the darkness of this disease! And he is a fascination for Jack, who just adores his younger cousin.

Best Cousins: First embrace <3

As my heart flounders back and forth, between worry and joy, I would hope that I could solicit some of your valued prayers (my intentions being):

-         A deeper trust in God’s plan for my life;

-         Contentment, and peace, regardless of where I am living;

-         Gratitude for the treatment I am getting (I really am so fortunate); and,

-         The strength to keep on going.

I don’t want to worry over things I cannot change. I want so badly to come home; but I want even more to be where God wants me to be, and to be getting the best care I can. If that means going back South for longer than we had planned, then-- so help me God-- I will go.

I wish I could throw a big party and see you all while we are here; that we could drink red wine and eat good food and enjoy a summers evening and eachother’s company. I am limited now more than ever before, and am busy trying my best to simply stay awake long enough to get a few visits in with the family before we make our way back. But one day...one day-- there will be a party ;) I promise!

Plenty of love, and many, many prayers,

Kate

 “There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under the heavens:

 a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot, 

    a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

     a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance,

    a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

     a time to search and a time to give up,

    a time to keep and a time to throw away,

 a time to tear and a time to mend,

    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

 a time to love and a time to hate,

    a time for war and a time for peace.

What do workers gain from their toil? I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-11

“So do not be ashamed...Rather, join with me in suffering... He has saved us and called us to a holy life—- not because of anything we have done but because of his own purpose and grace. Yet this is no cause for shame, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day."

2 Timothy 1:8-9, 12

It feels like it’s been a long time since I have written, so I figured I would whip up a little update for you.

My port has finally healed, and only hurts when I am getting a line inserted, as the nurse has to dig her fingers into my skin to hold the port in place as she tries to hit the imaginary bullseye. I expect it will stay tender there for awhile, but otherwise, the poking part and the removal don’t bother me (the latter doesn’t hurt at all!) And it is SO nice not to have a sore arm, the extra dressing, or the pain of a PICC line!

A few additions to the protocol have been made. I began thyroid meds, as my last blood results showed it to be out-of-whack. The hope is, once these kick in, I will face less anxiety/depression, and regain more energy.

I am also to start on oxygen as soon as Matt is home long enough to shop around for a tank (apparently they don’t prescribe these things...) This is to help not only with the chest pains I have been having as of late, but also with the extremely vivid dreams that I have been having (almost all of them nightmares); dreams so vivid I carry them all throughout the next day, sometimes not knowing what is real or dreamt. They, along with my seizures and poor memory are the result of a lack of oxygen to my brain (leeched by the Lyme disease), and the introduction of an oxygen tank may help with all of the above, with the potential added benefits of pain reduction and increased energy as well. For now, this is only something I will have to do at night, so I am hoping I won’t even notice it in my sleep.

I also started a couple of other meds, but, as is the norm around here, Matt would have to be my memory for me and tell you what they are and why. My memory has yet to improve, but small changes are giving me hope: my hormones are balancing out, I haven’t had a seizure in over a month, my twitchiness has gone down, and BEST of all, I have been able to pick Jack up once in awhile!

I was doing better for awhile a couple of weeks ago, but with the introduction of new meds I have been feeling pretty rough lately (That’s the way it goes—they let you regain your strength and then they up the meds!) I have been sleeping long hours again; sometimes not even waking up to eat; or, if I do, eating laying down (it’s an art, and a science, really. More of a science...it would need to be more graceful to become an art).

With the Herxheimer has come another bout of depression, which is unwelcome but not foreign. I have been very fortunate to have the support groups that I do to encourage me along and give me strength. And while they come fewer and further between, they seem to run in the same themes: How much longer is this going to take (I can’t take it anymore), feeling homesick, and the guilt, disappointment, etc, over not being the mom I want to be for Jack.

Each time, God provides me with the choice not to live this in vain; each time, an opportunity to learn from His Great Wisdom.  The lesson this time: I am right where I am supposed to be. I can be proud, and think that I could better serve, or be better suited elsewhere; but this is part of His infinite, perfect plan for me; and I am right where I am most valuable to Him. I need to forget my ideas about what is deemed “useful,” or “best” or “my job,” and just be; because in the end, our ultimate purpose is to love, and I can love right here from my bed. Not necessarily in the ways that I want to, but perhaps in better ways. In God’s ways, if He will help me to.

There are so many other things I could say right now, but for tonight, I will leave it at that.

I pray for all of you, and I am so grateful for each prayer that is said for me. I know He hears them.

Keep well,

Kate

^“ Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who

 loves has been born of God and knows God.  Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.  This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him.  This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.  Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.  No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us” ~1 John 4:7-12

“What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died, more than that, who was raised to life is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: ‘For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughter.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” ~ Romans 8:31-39