How I've yearned to write you all! I have longed to write and inspire on my beloved blog for months, but though I try, sometimes my broken brain can't catch the right words, or fit my swirling feelings on the blank page, and that realization is really, really hard. It's painful to sit and think about the agonizing days I'm in, where sometimes writing can only be a rare miracle. But I won't give up, nor falter, to reach for that which has healed my soul in many past circumstances; that which balms the very depths of my agonizing heart and enables me to rise to the light of my Savior and catch His visions for me in the storm. So, I attempt to write this post and hope you might understand that with my brain being so broken and my mind so weak, this is my miracle I give to you.
For those who are new to my blog, Welcome! I hope you feel at home in this little haven of my heart and that my writing gives you something sweet to savor in both your loveliest and hardest days. You are all so dear to me for staying here, sending your sweet email messages, and for lifting my weary soul in your support, and I couldn't be more blessed for that. Please come, please stay, and please share so we can fill the world with a little more of Christ's illuminating, living light with those who need it most! We are rising together.
Many of you know that on the frosty Thursday evening of January 19th, I broke out of a fast flip-lift at dance rehearsal, slamming the back of my head flat onto the hard ballroom floor. As a sweet, perky, and independent sixteen year-old teenager who ran my own cleaning business, led my own organization for Christian homeschool girls across the nation, went to church dances, drove all over town for my private vocal and piano lessons, was preparing to graduate early my junior year, and lived what many would call the teen-hood dream, I little realized that that crashing second of a moment would alter my entire life and debilitate my body in countless ways. It's been nearly ten months since that beginning where I sustained a traumatic brain injury (TBI), and it reverences me to bitter tears to consider who I once was, and where my injury has brought me today. I'm currently enduring the hardest, most tormenting trial of my life and it is more devastating and painful than I could ever have imagined.
Each day is a matter of enduring and surviving, trying, and longing to put all the pieces of my life, dreams, hopes, adornments, gifts, relationships, passions, and more back together, while receiving endless treatments and assistance from doctors and therapists throughout each week. Hours full of fluctuating heights and lows of emotions are exhausting, and I feel each minute as if I've lost my soul. Fathomless pain, darkness, sorrow, emptiness, fear, and uncertainty are a daily part of my healing reality, and amidst each and every one, all I can do is attempt to cling to every sweet savor of hope, peace, and Spirit I can find. Yet, still I'm often left with silence of answers, feeling completely detached from the world around me as if I hardly exist day by day. Only beautiful memories, loving letters of care, fragrant flowers, selfless nurtures from my mother, and dearest emblems of my Jesus keep my heart awake in its thumping strain of brokenness. And in disguise, it is my Lord that carries me, sustains me, holds me, and lifts me, even when I feel too shattered to realize it. And it is my Lord, my Jesus, my Savior, whom I STILL LOVE and PROMISE TO LIVE FOR all of my days, that has orchestrated a new miracle of hope I am earnest to share with you in this letter. A miracle that is in need of your help.
Just a month ago, my dear mom posted an update on YouTube about my story and her solemn and humbling caregiver/mother experience in my drastic brain recovery. I encourage you to listen if you haven’t yet, as it opens into the details of my healing story, and what torment my family and I are facing today with my present debilitating weakness of PTSD, panic disorder, depression, anxiety, and isolation. Her divine testimony rummages the spirit and opens the heart into new pathways of perspective and humility; and ultimately into the real suffering of the followers of Christ and how pain and loss, grief and fear, ultimately prepare us for celestial flight of purpose in Christ alone To listen to my mother’s story, click the button down below:
In the hardest time of my life, there have been miracles, and I do not wish to demean the present reality that the Lord has orchestrated this devastating trial for my experience. Surely, he is preparing me for something I cannot see, He trusts me in a way I don't even trust myself. In my tormenting pain, God is Good! As much as I hesitate to admit it, I believe there is a reason I have complex PTSD, panic disorder, depression, and above all, a traumatic brain injury. And as I still attempt to uncover the hidden mystery behind the "what for," I would like to share a miracle that has crossed my paths in perfect place to bring me closer to healing, closer to finding hope, and closer to piecing my life back together. This miracle is so unexpected, and ultimately magnificent.
This past September, I decided to purge my loneliness and emptiness into the energy of reading support books, and joining support groups, all surrounding TBI Survivors. I reserved stacks and stacks of books from the local library for my mom to pick up on her errands, just so I could dig into plenty of hopeful experiences and inspiration surrounding the trial of physical torture I was currently facing. Because of my injury, it took me much longer and much slower to read short stories, but I was determined to find HOPE amidst my darkness no matter the endeavor. It was during this time of seeking, searching, and yearning with all my soul to find ultimate encouragement and support in my brokenness when God gave me a dream.
Since my accident, having comforting and wholesome dreams is rare for me, especially since sustaining the symptoms of PTSD, depression, and panic attacks in early March. The majority of my mind only tends to dream horridly vivid & violent nightmares when I’m asleep, many of which leave me greatly disassociated and frightened in the morning. But the dream God sent me was real, comforting, and pleasant. I had the dream two consecutive nights in a row, both vaguely vivid, but with the same standout similarity: a dog. In my dream, the dog would appear beside me and comfort me whenever I needed it in overwhelming and triggering situations. The pup appeared scraggly compared to what dogs I’ve encountered throughout my life and what adorable cuddly seven-pound dog I own now, but its temperament was unconditionally warm and comforting. The gentle pup was my service dog, my rescue dog, and I realized as I was dreaming, I felt finally so content and hopeful. Surely, this dog was my miracle from heaven
Throughout the next few weeks, the dreams continued to frolic in the back of my mind every hour, as if I were living a foreshadowing memory of the future. Yet I was hesitant to tell anyone about it, unsure if it was just a lucky coincidence. But my intuition continued to press the thought in my mind and I couldn’t help but recall it every few hours. At last, I dove into the thrusts and pulls of my searching heart and began to research dogs for an hour every day, despite the lack of stimuli-endurance in my brain, which would often lead into migraines and nausea the next few hours of the day. But my determined curiosity took root, and I was so urgent to reach for this miracle I felt was real. One day, the conversation I was having with my mom slipped onto the subject of the dreams I’d had. She, as always, was open to new opportunities in our raging storm of brain recovery, and with her guidance, I continued the search, which led me through rescue shelters, puppy websites, breeders, and at last, psychiatric service dogs.
As this dig into research through prayer, daydreams, and doggy sites continued, my panic attacks and PTSD continued to escalate and we entered a great crossroads for new specialists and therapists, shifting the treatments that no longer were effective, to those that I needed more. My heart was broken from the great loss of my own desire and purpose in life, and I numbly passed through every day, never feeling good enough no matter the outcome of my reach. The deepest crevices of my soul were tied and knotted in the core of my bleeding heart, without any way to untie or release the ravels of my unending worries, trauma, pain, heartbreak, grief, loss, fears, and mournings. But even with all that was trapped within me, I somehow still felt so hollow and numb from depression, lost in the detachment of this unreal reality I seemed to be living. I could neither feel the warming press that makes your spirit want to sing, nor the sweet solitudes of spiritual embrace, but rather felt onlythe stabbing pains of drear worry and frustration throbbing in the strained muscles of my shoulders and back, along with the migraines of my head. Yet, despite all that continues to rage and grapple within my small, injured being, stealing my mind in bitter and violent thoughts, I never doubt the existence of my God, but cry louder to Him for help. It is my love that keeps me going—my love for Him that keeps me searching for that nearly tangible miracle.
“Pray…Wait…Trust…
Keep going…Keep believing…Keep hoping…
…Oh Lord, where art thou? I need thee, my Savior…
Cradle Me closer… Seal up my heart.”
The sweet, hopeful dreams God sent me every few nights of the long lost dog of my future brought a soothing rest into my heart and mind throughout my suffering, as if heaven itself were singing to me a tender melody of music in my survival; placing me from the nightmares that often claim my sleep. When awake each day, I tried my best to cling to my faith and stretch my soul to find the hope of that miracle dog. But with a brain so broken, and a mind so lost, sometimes that wish of faith and courage is hard to keep. Just last week, I had collected my promising opportunities of dogs and trainers to share with my mom in her anticipation of possibly getting me a service dog in response to my dream and impressions. Come Monday, we cuddled close on the couch while she called the list of numbers I’d given her to the psychiatric service dog trainers, farms, or breeders, but as soon as she said goodbye, it felt as if we’d hit a brick wall. We not only discovered that a service dog ranges between $15,000-$50,000, but that I wouldn’t be able to have the dog for another year, after they’ve been fully trained at a training facility. And even then, it may take another few months to grow a bond with the service pup before they could sufficiently complete the personal tasks as my companion when I encounter severe panic attacks, disassociation, or am deeply depressed. Upon hearing this news and information, my mom and I were immediately discouraged and both realized that this was currently a very far-out possibility in expenses and time. And we quickly knew that the only chance of getting a service dog at all was if the Lord took it in His hands, as most cases of faith and timing intend. Yet, even with that knowledge, at this present moment, you must imagine how after all that hard work—after that great endeavor of searching and digging and opening my weary heart and fatigued mind for encouragement and hope in the eye of the dreams I’d been given—my tender heart was broken. I had believed in this beautiful dream, but here I was, feeling as if I were left abandoned in the middle of the hope with no path to the ending. What I thought I knew, now became a doubt of uncertainty, and I wondered if my dreams were plainly a one-time offer of comfort, rather than a foreshadow of a magnificent future memory. While in the moment of frustration, tears, and despair, I remembered a quote from one of my great exemplars, Jeffery R Holland, who encouraged, “Believe in miracles. I have seen so many of them come when every other indication would say that hope was lost. Hope is never lost.” That night, I poured out my heart to my Father as I’ve done endless times in this trialing year of recovery, and throughout my entire lifetime, and I pleaded with Him that if this dear, genuine dream was real, that if it was the pathway and piece towards my healing, he’d need to lay the pieces for this puzzle I could not lay on my own now. He would have to part this Red Sea, which I trusted might be the next endeavor to bring me a little closer to losing my fears, a little closer to finding my hope again, and a little closer to rebuilding the roots and fruits of my orchestrated life and potential. As I wept, my Lord was listening to the broken and weak throngs of my heart and all He required was a little bit more patience before He would open the door to the miracle dog I thought was lost, it could be mine.
The next morning, as I was drafting a letter to my missionary best friend in the lavender aroma of my room, my mom walked through the doorway and around to my desk to speak with me. I immediately knew from her look of overwhelming compassion that this was significant, so I quickly finished the sentence I was writing and turned to listen to her. As soon as she started speaking, something so overwhelmingly familiar and comforting rushed in tingles over my skin and filled my mind with the most endearing thoughts. She explained that early that morning, my dad had received an email from one of our ward friends, whose passion for hiking and service inspired him to put together a Hike-a-Thon Fundraiser for me, in hopes to raise $50,000 for my medical care and other expenses that have since followed my initial accident. My mom and I started shedding tears of joy as we shared in this exquisite miracle, immensely dry of words that would be complete enough to fill the embrace of such love and intervention from, not only our friend, but from the Lord we thought had forgotten us. This moment assured me of everything I’d been doubting about myself and my worthiness in my Father’s eyes, and of the unconditional, infinite love God had for me in this time of my great suffering. He knew me, and He loved me more than I could ever imagine, even as I felt too broken. Even more to my amazement was the thought that after we’d assumed there was no possible way to get me a service dog just the day before, this email came and opened the door to the secure possibility of affording, training, and owning a certified psychiatric service dog to be a great part of my recovery from post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, panic disorder, isolation, and more . Truly, this was a miracle that I wouldn’t ever take for granted—one that balmed a great shatter of my aching heart and renewed the sweet savor of hope in my spirit. The Heavens are never more available to us than they are when we have the intent to pray, wait, trust, keep going, and keep hoping that what we believe is from God really is, and really can be! One thing is for sure, God always fulfills His promises to the faithful and will grant what it is we ask in faith.
My dear, dear friends, I open this opportunity to you to PLEASE consider participating in this fundraiser by making a pledge for each mile Myles hikes on Portland’s renowned Wildwood Trail in Forest Park, or consider making a one-time donation to my family’s Venmo account towards the cause of purchasing and training my miracle, psychiatric service dog All the details are in the flyer below. With your help, this service dog can become a part of my life to bring forth the HEALING Christ has for me in His way and His time. Through God’s chosen pup, I can find hope, footsteps, pathways, purposes, and dreams that will bring forth the rebuilding of my new life in this daunting trial Through this opening door of funds and support, we will be able to purchase a recommended Bernedoodle dog from a local therapy-dog breeder, bring the pup home, and work with a certified dog trainer to train the dog in the tasks it needs to master in order to become my full-time service dog and companion. I know the Lord will lead you along in this opportunity and will direct your efforts in the right way. God is in this! He is orchestrating this miracle, and I invite you to participate in this magnificent work
*Reference the flyer below to make your pledge/donation in this cause!
Surely, this miserable storm of horrid uncertainty is preparing me to be a part of "the Suffering of Christ" and to open my heart to what it really means to lose everything and suffer in the frigid despair that comes with trials in this mortality. I affirm that our Father in Heaven knows and understands the trials, weaknesses, heartaches, and pains we endure, even those that are hidden in the depths of our souls and concealed to ourselves, personally. He knows your heart, He knows your desires, and He knows the remedies to renew hope and heal that which is lost. We are all living our rise up story and are all striving to arise celestially in every aspect of our lives. Surely, miracles are real! Hope is never lost, and God’s promises are sure!!
As I close, please please consider participating in this cause of raising money for my service pup, as I know it is in the Lord's orchestration and gift that this miracle will come to pass to repair what’s ultimately broken and fearful inside of me in order to bring me new hope and life! I love you all, and am so grateful you're here to come, here to stay, and here to share. I love hearing from you, so please continue to reach out to me by email or in my contact page. Truly, we owe our miracles to Jesus, for it is in the merits of His Atonement that we can be freed from bondage of trial, emptiness, pain, suffering, anguish, and more, and RISE to become perfect, even as he is perfect.
xo . Makenzie 🤍
コメント