High five Mommy!

Today I had to take a break and do a little celebration dance.

Why? Because I sat calmly through 30 division problems as my daughter tried and messed up over and over.

That seems silly, that someone who loves to homeschool, and adores her kids, should struggle tooth and nail to be patient while her kids learn a new skill.

 

My patience is ok semi ok. It is certainly better, after years of prayer and practice and sweat, (probably literally), and tears. And thankfully no blood. ;)

My tongue seems to be less ok. I can look back on many, many times that I’ve regretted what I’ve spoken, sometimes immediately afterward.

 

So, sitting calmly, redirecting, and gently correcting mistakes through a division lesson, (probably my most despised subject), was a big deal, and I almost MISSED IT.

 

In fact, I went about my business and heard the voice of my Heavenly Father…..celebrating.

You see, God doesn’t look at life the way we do.

1 Samuel 6:14 “The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."

So while I was concerned with going about my normal routine, God saw that little success that no one else did.

What we speak comes directly from our hearts. ( Luke 6:45 “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.”) So, while I was tempted, more than once, to say something sarcastic, or to rush my daughter through something that was hard for her, I didn’t.

Heart: 1

Flesh: 0

THAT IS A BIG DEAL FOLKS!

Was God really celebrating something so “small”? You bet he was! He is proud when we overcome our shortcomings in the face of adversity.

As mothers, we are against adversity of the most difficult kind. We are face to face with….ourselves…every single day. We get to know, and dread, those parts of us that are imperfect, irritating, or sad. I believe that this can create a cycle of fear and worry. We worry that, of all the things that could damage our children in the world, we are their worst danger. That cycle of fear, worry, disappointment, and guilt can trap even the most confident mother.

Society will look at those “small” moments as unimportant.

~Kind words in the middle of the night. (Yawn)

~Physically holding your mouth shut when the temptation to yell is overwhelming. (Can you say “getting ready time”?)

~An extra bedtime hug, (or 5) when your favorite show is on TV. (Just go to SLEEP little boogers!)

In all probability, no one is going to notice those sacrifices you make to overcome your own whackadoodle responses to things that push your buttons. Not your kids. Maaaaybe your husband. Certainly not society. Probably not even yourself.

But don’t you for one minute think that those things go unnoticed, or for that matter, uncelebrated. You are a daughter of a Father who lets out a big ol’ whoop of joy and dances around when He sees your efforts.

Zephaniah 3:17 “The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing."

It wasn’t easy, and probably no other person noticed or appreciated it. But your heart is growing and changing, and that is far, far more important than your unwashed _____________. (Insert whatever applies: hair, dishes, laundry, children, dogs. We know there is something.)

So take a minute and pat yourself on the back. Give yourself a high five. Dance the Macarena.

 You did it! Go Mommy!

Bria's Story, Part Two

This part of Bria's story is the shortest, even though, strangely

enough, it took the longest time to unfold. There is a simple and honest

moral to this part of the story, and I hope with so much of my heart

that it can be helpful to someone out there.

Someone who is in the middle of some sort of storm.

Who might be learning, for the first time, that she, or he, has limitations.

That mistakes are inevitable.

That the face looking back at them from the mirror is not what they hoped to see.

From the time that Bria had her first seizures at the age of two, until a

year ago when we were told that she was completely healed and recovered,

we lived through something of a rollercoaster.

Of course, there were normal, everyday moments. Lots of special memories

made. We moved a few times. We made friends, went to parks, rode our

bikes, and I did all those "mom" things like endless laundry and

cleaning.

But there were also times that, over a span

of so many years, began to chip away at me. My former sense of

invulnerability and confidence. Even my ability to cling to God and His

peace was compromised, many times.

There were hospitalizations, illnesses, doctors appointments, questions that went

unanswered. There were symptoms that were heartbreaking for us to watch,

all the more because we didn't always have answers or solutions.

I have since learned that there is nothing that will bring you to your

knees and leave you hopeless and heartbroken more than a suffering

child. Your child, who you have responsibility for, and yet can do

nothing to help.

For those moms out there who are going through that, I see you. I can spot you out in public. I can read

between the lines of your Facebook posts. I can see the confusion and

loss in your eyes as you try to find your footing in a world that you

have no control over. I recognize the strain weighing on your shoulders,

and oh, my heart goes out to you! I wish I had the right blanket, the

right cup of coffee, the right words to give you to ease your hurting

heart!

If I had been given the magic words to get myself through those days, here is where I would insert them.

But there WAS no magic word.

Oh, there were many lights that eased the burden. There were lifelines thrown when I was drowning.

Friends who did not have the right words, but were able to give me a look of

understanding to let me know that they hurt for my hurt. A gift from a

stranger to remind me that others had traveled this road before me. A

friend who traveled miles and miles just to sit by my side during a

long, hard wait. There were hundreds of little lights at the end of my

tunnel, and, funnily enough, those are the times I remember with the

most clarity.

 Those times of deepest despair and 

worry, when God sent some word, some image, some person, to shine light

on me. Those memories are some of the dearest I hold to my heart. As

time passes, I forget more and more of the hard, the scary, and the sad,

because I have the beautiful, the sweet, the poignant to remember.

Now, to get to the moral of this "middle part" of the story. During the

long, hard, scary parts of your life, you will find in yourself a

not-so-pretty person.

We all have weaknesses.

Maybe you are impatient.

Or envious.

Or judgemental.

Or competitive.

Or restless.

Or maybe you have a temper.

There are any number of weaknesses out there, and we all have something.

Me? I am competitive. And sometimes judgmental. Sometimes, ok,  most of the time,

I think I have all the right answers. I think I could run everyone's

lives, and do it right. Sometimes I look at others, and want what they

have. Whether they seem to have it all together, or have more money,

more vacations, bigger houses...something that seems to make their lives run smoother and better than mine.

I wish I could tell you that, as long as you fight hard and work at it

long enough, you won't fall into the pothole of your own weakness.

But, simply put, that is not true.

You will. If not today, not this year, not in the next 5 years... someday.

You

will find yourself weighed down by the world. By some of the things I

mentioned above. You will find that you have changed, and that your

struggles may have warped you without your knowledge.

There will come a day when you look in the mirror and possibly be shocked, or

saddened, or dissapointed in who you see. It won't be what you had

meticulously planned when you imagined being a wife, or a mother, or a

Christian.

You will disappoint yourself. You might let your children down. Or hurt your husband. Or damage a friendship.

I have done those things. All of them. And let me tell you, I had built a

strong wall of denial around myself, so when it came crashing down, it

was utterly defeating.

I had convinced myself that I was much stronger, wiser, and better equipped than other women. I had it together folks. I had God, I had a good family, I had supportive friends, and I had all the answers. Why would I fail? How could I mess up with all that self-assurance?

Well, I did. And it stunk, plain and simple. A big, stinky 6 months of a big

mess that I had to clean up. I had one close friend who got into that

mess with me, got her shovel out, and prayed me right up and out of the

worst few months of my life. I had a husband who gave me more mercy and

fogiveness than I deserved.

It was only through the grace of God and others that I was able to pick myself up and begin again.

So what is the message here? In hindsight, can I say that I could avoid

making the same mistake? Sure, maybe that mistake. But lets be honest,

there would have been something else. As much as I wanted to believe

that I was impervious to messing up, I am not. I can smugly look at

others and think, "Not me!". But it could be me. It could be any of us, and sometimes, it will be.

So the lesson is this:

1.) It could happen to you. Don't judge others. Extend them kindness/

mercy/ forgiveness. Sure, people can make ugly mistakes and stupid

choices. And so will you.

2.) You have not gone too

far. Not for God. If His Grace is for others, His grace is for YOU too.

He knew you would make this mistake before you did, and He still loved

you anyways.

3.) Treat yourself like you would a

friend. You'd forgive her, love her, support her, because she is your

friend. Well, YOU should be your friend too. After all, you are the one

who has to live with yourself at the end of the day. So give yourself a

smile, a pat on the back, a quiet break with a favorite coffee.

4.) Allow yourself to move on. That was then. This is now. And thank

goodness you are growing and changing, and you are not the same person

you were yesterday!

5.) Tell others your story. Yeah,

it doesn't make for a beautiful, fairy-tale ending. Building a wall

around yourself takes away your unique authenticity, as well as your

ability to connect with others. Trust me, there are women and men out

there who need to hear our stories. To know that there are others

who make mistakes. To understand that they are not alone...that no one

really does have it all together, and that sometimes we all feel a little a lot lost and unsure.

6.) Don't forget to name yourself. And appropriately. You are not a

screw-up. Or a failure. Even if you screwed up, and failed. You know

better than anyone else what label fits you best.

Maybe it is STRONG.

Or courageous.

Or artistic.

Or sympathetic.

Or caring.

Or free-spirited.

Probably, it is all of these and more. But there is one name that means more than any other, and you have it.

Yes, you. 

You, my friend, are a Daughter of God.

Bria's Story....Part One?

I have been so boggled and overwhelmed at the mere thought of blogging about our situation with Bria, and her most recent trip to see the Pediatric Neurosurgeon. Every time I start to come up with some sort of plan, or an idea of what I'd like to say, it starts to blow up into something huge. There is just TOO MUCH to this story for me to just sit down and write about....even one naptime might not cut it. 

As a home schooling Momma, I am still learning that about 97% of my day is not really my own. As an introvert, that is utterly overwhelming. So, when I do get a spare few minutes, or maybe an hour, to myself, I either fall asleep or do some serious devotion-time, which I can't seem to get enough of right now. My hunger for God is intense right now, and the more I read and pray, the more I want to. 

My entire self, soul, mind, body, and emotions, have been through the ringer for 6+ years, and I think I reached melting point and just need serious....SOMETHING. Like, rest. And relaxation. And deep breathing. Favorite movies. Laughing. Soaking up the sunshine. 

Sometimes getting a miracle, after many years of a hefty combination of fear and praying, can be just too intense. Being wound up tight in a lifestyle of a "sick" child takes a while to release from. (I use the term sick loosely. I am very aware of so many Mommies out there with kids who have life-or-death illnesses, or lifelong struggles. I am so thankful that Bria's condition, although sometimes life-threatening, was not nearly as hard as some children's struggles.) I can't claim to know what it is like to have a child with cancer, or a permanent disability.

 All I have is my story, and quite frankly, sometimes I wonder if my story could be worth anything to anyone else. I daily remind myself that God can make something beautiful out of anything. If he can take my brokenness and tun it into a word that speaks beauty, hope, or peace into someone else's life, then I owe it to Him to tell this story. After all, He is the author.

 And honestly, I am a broken human being. My body is exhausted. My emotions are exhausted. My soul is hungry, tired, and in desperate need of replenishing. My mom put it best when she explained to me that, for the past 6 years, I had set myself up as a shield for my daughter. I had done everything within my power to protect her from illness, pain, or suffering, and when she did suffer, (which was inevitable), I gave as much of myself as I had to make sure she was as OK as I could make her. What mother would do otherwise? The only problem with that attitude is that I set myself up to be Bria's protector, and didn't always place my trust in God to do that, and do it better, than myself. (I am not suggesting neglectful parenting, but if you have a relationship with God and also have children, you will understand what I mean about releasing them into God's care...and the daily struggle that ensues between Mommy-brain and listening to God's voice.) My biggest mistake in the past 6 years did not have to do with the care I gave my daghter, but the lack of care I gave to myself. I did not choose to heal myself from the fear, pain, and stress I was under. I cannot feel guilty for caring for my daughter with every fiber of my being, but I do have regrets about the way I allowed life to hurt my own self. 

 I am having to work hard at replenishing right now. Every. Single. Day. I have to-do lists that look ridiculous. They have "chores" like: watch clouds. Or, laugh at cat videos with hubby. Or, sing old hymns....really loudly. Or, craft something. (For those friends of mine who get homemade bread, or some small crafted item, thank you. I need the healing that comes from creating, and I badly need the chance to take the love God is pouring into me and pour it on others. It is a necessary side-effect, so I am inexpressibly thankful for friends who "need", as it gives me the much needed opportunity to "give".)

 I also do a kid's yoga video, because it is relaxing and super easy...and I don't really like yoga. I breathe in calm and breathe out smiles. I am actually laughing right now a little bit a lot about my funny lists, but I am seriously and actively seeking recovery for my whole self. 

People, let me tell you, it takes a certain amount of gumption to relax! If you have kids, I don't even need to explain that to you. 

So, after weeeeeeeeks of trying to figure out how to blog this story, I decided to break it up into pieces. My poor brain can't handle the effort, and I can't imagine any of my friends have more than a few minutes to read their iPhones on the potty, (while their children scream outside the bathroom door, mind you). I am not even going to bother myself about getting it all down into one blog. This blog is an explanation of why I'm not explaining her story, and look how long it is! 

So as I blog about our 6 year journey, I will tell a little bit about what happened to Bria, and to us. Mostly though, I have lots more to tell about what God did. He did some serious rearranging in our lives, and within us. It is so awe-inspiring that I can hardly stand thinking about it for too long at any point. So...thats exciting. :) 

(For those out there who will be irritated by my lack-of-information in this post, I am going to add a few bullet points down here:

• Bria's appointment went wonderfully. She was scared of the MRI, but she showed major bravery and did her first, (and quite possibly last), un-medicated MRI. After over 12 MRI's in her 8 years, this was a big deal, and we were so happy that she did not have to deal with the effects of anesthesia.
• The neurosurgeon is so impressed with the way her brain and spinal column look. He was so excited to tell us that he doesn't want to see her again, and that she can live for the next 100 years without a hitch.

Of course, while this news makes us wildly happy, it is also overwhelming. None of the ACM stories that we have heard have this kind of ending. As far as we know, anyone with an ACM lives with it for the rest of their lives, and spends that lifetime battling symptoms. To have a "normal" kid when logic, common sense, and medical proof suggests you shouldn't, can be a bit overwhelming. 

But that's God for you. He doesn't give a poof about common sense, logic, or medical proof. He prefers life done His way, and to be honest, I prefer His way too. ;)

Fingerprints of God and speaking hope...

Recently I decided that I should look up a Chiari Support Group. I know that there are other Mommies and Daddies who are living a life similar to ours, and part of me was curious to know a little bit more about those families. I don’t feel a lack of support, in fact, I always, always feel overwhelmed with support from friends and family. Not all of our friends know exactly what we are going through; we actually only know one person who has an Arnold Chiari Malformation, (ACM). But some of our friends have kids who have had surgeries, or trouble with reading, or some form of health issue that has resulted in hospital stays, long nights, doctors and daily medicines. So, with all of that added up, I’ve never really felt “alone” in our life.

So, as I set out to find a support group, part of it was just simple curiosity, and part was the feeling that I should be doing this. I should, for the sake of my child, be super knowledgeable about what is going on in the world of ACM. Big mistake.

(Just to be clear, we DO keep up to date with Bria’s doctors, tests, and the current status of her condition. We do not spend much time doing Google searches, and as I will write about further on, I think we are right to do so.)

I logged on to the site and began reading some of the stories written by parents. Most of them were similar to ours, some were worse. There were lots of terms that I would not have known 8 years ago, but that were now very familiar to me. There were stories of 4, and 5 surgeries…and no relief. There were stories of sudden death, and complications following surgery. As I read, I found myself taking breaks, closing my eyes, and holding back tears. Memories were coming back to me, yes, but there was something else about it that just did not sit well with me.

Thankfully, my mom called right then. Of course I burst into tears, and was probably unintelligible. I felt like THE BAD MOMMY. I felt like, maybe, we hadn’t really realized how BIG this was. We never really sat down and used those dreaded words: chronic illness, disease, lifetime of pain. I had not become the mom that was endlessly, constantly thinking about my daughter’s affliction. I had not signed her up on a special website for kids with ACM. 

(Please understand that this does not mean I have not, and do not, suffer inside, constantly, on some level. I certainly do.)

But guilt reared up inside me and caused me to ask myself, was I doing enough? Was I ignoring this possible cloud of doom that hung over my daughter’s life? Should I be telling her that this is even more severe than the two brain surgeries she had already lived through, not to mention the countless days of “medical mayhem” she has bravely faced for the past 6 years?

Those were the images I had been reading on my screen. The pain from these parents spilled out in words, spreading across my computer and filling my belly with hot stress. I knew all too well the feelings of helplessness and fear that beat at their hearts when they looked at their children.

In sheer frustration, I told my mom, “This is just not what I WANT for my daughter!” I hate hate hate the idea of something that is more than she is. Something that will rule her life. Something that makes her different, causes her to struggle.

Praise the Lord for my mom calling me at that moment. As we talked it out, and I cried, she helped me to see that ACM is not, will not, rule my daughter’s life.

Here are some facts about Bria:

She does have ACM, and she in all likelihood will deal with it her whole life

She may have to have more surgeries

She will struggle, and she will be different

BUT, here are the facts that we choose to focus on:

She may have ACM, but it is not who she IS

She may have to deal with it her whole life, but we DO know someone who can heal her, and He is more awesome than any physical hurdle we find ourselves up against in this lifetime

We cannot see the future, so we will not fear for future surgeries or injuries, but we will trust in God as we move into the future. He will take care of each day as it gets here

As Bria struggles, she will become the strong woman God intends her to be, and she will gain empathy for others who struggle

The ACM may make her different, but she will learn to understand that all people are different. All people have pain and fear, and it is this commonality that makes us similar, rather than different

My faith has helped me to see that what we SPEAK into our lives, our children’s lives, and the lives of those around us can truly change the outcome of our destiny. Am I saying that all I have to do is say something to make it true? Not necessarily, no. But here is what I do believe about the power of speech:

~ "Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear." Ephesians 4:29

-Words can bring fear and limit potential. If we choose to talk to Bria about her ACM and, at the age of 8, tell her that it will be with her her entire life, she will be limited by fear, and her ACM will become a part of her person, rather than simply a part of her body, which is imperfect and fleeting.

~ "The LORD is my light and my salvation-- whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life-- of whom shall I be afraid?" Psalm 27:1

-Words can build strength beyond what we can imagine. Yes, Bria struggles with physical and mental hardships that come from her ACM. (There are things that she will struggle with her whole life, and we are so blessed to have her here at home where she can master the world in her own time.) But, she also reads at a high 5^th grade level and is stellar at math and science, WooHoo!  Her brain has limits, and limitless potential, all rolled into one breathtaking little soul.

~ "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalm 139:14

-God CAN heal her. And just because it has not happened does not mean I will ever stop praying for that miracle. And just because it may never happen does not mean that He still does not have wonderful plans for her life and future. I will not let my fear feed my words. I will not allow my words to rob me of my faith, or stop my trust in God. My words are nothing compared to His plans!

~  "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

As my mom and I ended our conversation, she said, “I am not sure what Bria will do with her life, but I can tell you it will be something amazing, because she is the most unique and wonderful little girl I’ve ever met.” 

Of course, Gamma will be partial, but isn’t that how God sees us all? We have our differences and struggles, and none of us have perfect bodies or minds. But we were all created for a specific purpose, and we each have a beautiful, awe inspiring soul. God has the roadmap, and He holds each day in His hands. 

So….will I be reading any more of those stories? Probably not, at least not yet. For now it is enough to take each day, each MRI, each possible symptom or struggle, one at a time. Allowing myself to worry over possibilities will only change the way I look at my daughter, and in turn, the way she looks at herself.

 I want her to see herself as God sees her.

Finally a light at the end of the tunnel...

Day by day, I am STILL, months later, coming to terms about Bria's surgery this summer. I am slowly realizing that, even though the surgery itself is now over, the impact it had, (has) on us is so much more than 2 hours of agonized waiting, or 3 days in the hospital, or 2 weeks of slow recovery.

The process really started almost a year ago, when Bria's MRI results showed that she'd need (another) brain surgery.

I'm not even sure how one person can change so very much in less than a year, but I will tell you, it is darn painful, and the times I thought I was going to lose myself are too numerous to count.

I have always wished that I was one of those people that handled fear, or loss, or pain, with a beautiful outlook, cheerful little quips, and a renewed sense of hope in the face of struggle.

Not so.

About a year ago, the THINGS started happening.

Nightmares.

Racing heart.

Panic attacks.

Chronic illness.

Weight loss.

And that is all just the physical stuff. Those were some of the ways my body was telling me it was not happy about what was going on. I KNEW I was not happy, and I was even more not happy that my body insisted on giving me updates all the time. I KNOW, body. I really do know.

Honestly, what was even harder, was the transformation I seemed to undergo. My personality. Heck, even my beliefs. My ability to stand strong went out the window, and the months leading up to the surgery, it was almost as if I "tried on" a different person.

Maybe, subconsiously, it was like I wished for less pain, less fear...if I could just get away from being, ME.

I spent less time with God.

A friendship was battered, almost beyond recognition.

My marriage struggled for air, and practically drowned.

I mentally and emotionally checked out.

I no longer enjoyed the hobbies I used to.

And this was all before the surgery. Afterwards, even though I was now carrying around EVEN MORE baggage than before, I was able to see a little more clearly in the rearview mirror. Of course I did not like what I saw.

I asked myself why I was so weak.

Why could I not keep calm and carry on?

Why didn't I stand more firm, in my faith, in my family?

I cannot even fathom how one person, one body, can carry around so much without exploding, but I know I did it.

Our time in Colorado Springs, during the surgery and after, are actually still a blur. Each day it is as if we only have a minute or 2 to process one part of the whole picture. It was so much, so huge, so big, that we were tiny particles in the middle of a giant painting. As time goes on, we take one step back here, and one there. I actually don't think we can see the whole picture, even today.

One moment I will remember what the Operating Room looked like, smelled like, sounded like, as I hugged Bria and kissed her little forehead.

Another moment I might ask Luke about what it was like, that first night in the hospital, when Bria woke up with pain beyond belief, and how he was able to handle the awful hour that followed.

Sometimes we talk about one little event, or another, that was scary, funny, hard, sad, or joyous in some way.

But we can't ever put it all together, because it was so much bigger than we were. It was so beyond us.

I often wonder what it is like for parents with terminally ill children, or kids who have cancer. How can you live in a world that is so big, so full of fear and unknown, day after freaking day?

After the surgery, my body and personality continued to change. 

There were many days when I didn't even know who I was anymore. 

What do I like?

What do I believe in?

Will I ever even WANT to leave the house?

The panic attacks, depression, fear, anxiety, and physical symptoms persisted.

I told Luke that I dreaded going to sleep, because my dreams were so vivid, haunting, and utterly exhausting.

I began to despair of ever feeling like "myself" again. 

I tried to pray, but I felt unworthy of God's time and effort. Why would he want to listen to someone so weak? Someone who had the opportunity to show His love and didn't? Maybe He WANTED me to suffer, to slap some sense into the strange person I was becoming.

I don't even have an "end" to this story yet. Just a glimmer of hope, that will hopefully grow into something more as time goes on. No, I KNOW it will grow into something more, even though I can't see it yet. 

After saying "no" to everything, after hours of forced relaxation, long talks with friends and husband, time spent with family, more long talks with friends and husband, innumerable tears, sheer exhaustion-frustration-self-loathing-grief-guilt-sleep-illness, we saw a light at the end of the tunnel.

I have had one full week of no nightmares.

I have had 2 weeks of little to no tachycardia, (racing heart), or other weird heart stuff.

I have had no panic attacks for over a month.

I have also had several other small successes: getting out with friends and handling it pretty darn well. Leaving town all by myself and handling it pretty darn well. Actually looking forward to leaving my house. 

I know that God often uses situations in life to "prune" us, shape us up a bit. It is not comfortable, or peaceful, or joyous.

Afterward though, I FEEL more comfortable, peaceful, and joyous. I am finding myself, through God, a little more each day. I still have no idea who I am, but I am learning peace through that. 

God knows.

Heck, He knew what I was going to do before I did it.

He loved me through every bad attitude.

He held me through every panic attack.

He walked beside me as I paced in my home, afraid to leave.

He watched me as I slept through nightmares, woke, and tried to calm my beating heart.

He has His eye on the big picture, even though I don't.

He knows what is up ahead for us, and Bria. He knows what it feels like for us, to live each year in the knowledge that our daughter may never be "out of the woods" when it comes to her diagnosis.

For now, that has to be ok with me. I have to be ok with giving Him the bigger picture, and not knowing what is ahead....and not even understanding what already happened.

Because I tell you one thing, when I tried to handle it myself, I messed up. Bigtime.

Thank the Lord for mercy, forgiveness, and love. 

You never know when you'll need a thousand tons of it.