Flour · ish

On Memorial Day a couple of years ago, Mike went hiking with a group of church friends, and I waited for them at a cafe in Los Gatos. Just as I began reading my book, a cute elderly couple asked if the table next to me was open. I nodded and smiled, as the man proceeded to assist his wife into the booth, and she propped her cane against the small table. We sat side-by-side, as her husband ordered their food. I noticed that there were large lumps on her knuckles and immediately thought of nodules, a fairly common symptom of advanced rheumatoid arthritis.

Not thinking too much of it, I continued reading, and suddenly the woman asked, "I was wondering, where did you get your wrist braces? I've been looking for some better ones." As we chatted, she shared that she'd had rheumatoid arthritis for the past 20 years. I told her that I had been diagnosed just a month ago, and we had an instant connection. Her husband returned to the table, and together they shared of their life together and how they've managed this disease, and all the while, they beamed with smiles.

The wife- how she had cycled through countless doctors and medications, how the pain and stiffness had progressed throughout the years, how her daughter was also beginning to experience symptoms.

The husband- how he woke up throughout the night each night to give her medicine, so that she could remain on low dosages, how he could not imagine what his wife goes through, and how important it was to have the support of their family, friends, and church.

The woman sipped her coffee and chuckled, "I shouldn't even be drinking coffee (inflammation), but you just have to live your life and enjoy the little things sometimes, you know?"

And as they got ready to leave, I looked to the elderly man, "Can I ask...how it has been for you?"

"It's been easy...because Sue is easy to love," he said, with a smile, and gave his wife a wink. "In fact, we'll be married for 50 years in a week!"


Mike and I had been dating for just one year (exactly) that day. I had feared so greatly to place the burden of my health on him. I even tried to end our relationship constantly, telling him, "I don't want you to have to deal with this." I had no doubt that Mike would care for me selflessly- he was already doing that- but I felt guilty for the toll that it would take on him. Seeing a glimpse of this elderly couple's life reminded me that every marriage has its challenges, and each person faces trials of their own; marriage is an enduring commitment of joyful sacrifice and loving selflessness.

We've now been married for one year--and while I've often taken out my frustration, fears, and loneliness on him, Mike has been selflessly serving me and unwavering in his trust in the Lord. And as he sees and graciously loves me at my worst, the love of God is so clear.

Six months later at the follow-up, I explained that the pain was slightly more manage-able, but only because I had stopped doing anything that could aggravate the pain. He ended the appointment with, "It's still not conclusive. It looks closest to early-RA so it may become full-blown in a few years. Let's continue to monitor, and I know it's hard but keep trying to live your life as normally as possible."

I smiled and thanked him, because I knew he saw far worse cases than mine, and he was trying to encourage, but inside I was burning with frustration and fighting back tears. Live life normally? I could barely get through the work day, sleep, or get my mind off the fear of what was to come in the future. And those were just the big things. I couldn't use a fork or chopsticks to eat or even open my water bottle. And then there were my favorite things: goodbye baking, cooking, painting, rock climbing (good thing I didn't care for other physical activities....) It was difficult to keep up with relationships, because I had no energy for anything social- my Friday night goal was to lay in bed with a heat pack.

It was a spiral of bitterness, self-pity, and hopelessness. But throughout the past year and a half, God has been changing my perspective in a few ways:

1. It is so natural to be self-focused and coveting. I was constantly jealous that others could do things that I could not. I really need to be reminded that I am not entitled to or deserve anything, not even the things we most take for granted.

2. When abilities, activities, and relationships were stripped away, I honestly felt like a different person. I still do most days. But I have to remember that none of these things make us who we are. At the core, my identity is entirely in Christ.

3. I have prided myself in being independent over the years, so I'm not used to asking for help from others. But in desperation, sisters in my small group typed up my work reports, church and family members dropped off meals, and friends called to lift up prayers. I am so thankful God used these people to melt away much of my bitterness.

4. Autoimmune diseases are often called "invisible illnesses" because on the outside the person looks perfectly fine, but is managing chronic pain on the inside. This makes me think of all the other invisible pain that people around us are bearing but not necessarily showing- be it depression, mourning, relational conflicts, loneliness, financial hardships, or other stressors. I pray that the Lord may use this trial to help me see and care more for the invisible.

5. I think perseverance through trials strangely allows us to see more clearly- that they are but momentary afflictions.


"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."
-2 Corinthians 4:16-18

It's become a Monday tradition to bring baked goods for my kids. I stacked my Monday schedule so I see the most students that day, while most energized from the weekend. They come in really excited too, and their eyes glimmer when they peek through the window and see a pan of baked goods on my desk.

Snicker Doodle White Chocolate Blondies
adapted from Sally's Baking Addiction

Ingredients:

• 2 1/3 call-purpose flour 
• 1 1/4 t baking powder 
• 1/2 t salt 
• 3/4 (1.5 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature 
• 3/4 c granulated sugar (1/4 c less) 
• 3/4 c light brown sugar 
• 2 large eggs 
• 1 egg yolk 
• 1 tsp vanilla extract 
• 1 c white chocolate chips 

Filling:

• 1 T sugar 
• 1 T light brown sugar 
• 1 T ground cinnamon 

Steps:

1. Heat oven to 350F. Line a 13x9 inch baking pan with parchment paper. 
2. In small bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt. Set aside. In large bowl, beat butter on high with an electric or stand mixer. Beat until butter is creamy, then add both sugars. Gradually beat in eggs and vanilla. On low speed, beat in dry ingredients until combined. Fold in white chocolate chips 
3. Spoon half the batter into pan. It will be a relatively thin layer, but try to spread it across the pan evenly. Sprinkle with the cinnamon sugar filling and spread the remaining batter over top. Some of the cinnamon sugar will mix into the top layer as you spread it. 
4. Bake 22-26 minutes or until golden brown and toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool completely for about 1 hour.

This is a story I should've written down a few years ago, because it is one that I never want to forget. It is my favorite Christmas miracle.

My first ever clinical experience in grad school was at our in-house preschool autism therapy program. Each group had 5 grad student clinicians and 5 kids, so we would each be assigned to one. The supervisor showed us pictures and described each kid. They all seemed super cute and wonderful, until the last--I will call him J--who, to be honest, was not that cute and sounded the most severe. He was diagnosed with autism and apraxia of speech, did not speak, and used an iPad and picture icons for communication. My supervisor said she would give extra help to whoever had him. But one by one, my classmates chose each of the other kids, and only J was left.

On the first day of our group, each of the kids arrived, super cute, as in their pictures. J arrived last, and he was the cutest of them all. Foreal. And his mom was so sweet and excited to have J in the program. Throughout the next 10 weeks, I fell in love with sweet, little J. He was the best. All my co-clinicians agreed. Though difficult at times, therapy became easier overall as I got to know him and could predict what he needed/wanted.

I felt so blessed to not only learn so much therapy-wise since he was so complex, but to work/play with the sweetest kid ever. At a church prayer meeting, I remember sharing, "I think I'm in love with my client! He's soo cute." I got a lot of concerned looks and had to clarify, "He's only 3! It's ok guys."

His mom asked if I could remain his therapist for the summer semester, since he was already familiar with me. I was surprised, because I wasn't sure if J was making much progress. By the end of summer, I realized that although he had not begun speaking in words, he really was making progress. He started out only lining up his toy trains, but now he was getting everyone to play hide and seek with him. He used to only repeat sounds like "kuh kuh" to request a cracker, but by his last day, he was combining icons to make 3-4 word sentences on his iPad program. I thought that would be the last time I would see J. 

I was so inspired by J that I applied for an internship at Boston Childen's Hospital, because they specialized in augmentative & alternative communication (AAC), using technology to aid communication. It was also where J was evaluated. A few months into working there, I saw J's name on the schedule and could not believe it: he was coming for a follow-up with one of my supervisors on one of the few days I was shadowing her!! I was soooo excited and emailed his mom immediately.

On the day of his appointment, I headed to the waiting room with utter anticipation. It was probably the most excited I'd ever been to call out a name. His mom rushed over and gave me a huge hug. "TIFF!! I can't believe it...J, say hi to Tiffany!" The last time I had seen him, he could barely make the "t" sound, but he turned around and said "Hi Tiff-a-ny" clear as day and gave me a hug. I started crying right in the hospital waiting room. I had never heard him say my name, let alone a simple word.

His mom explained that that past Christmas, their family was at a restaurant, and out of the blue, J said, "Merry Christmas." His dad was shocked and said, "What, say that again!" and he did. Since Christmas day, he began speaking in full sentences up to 10 words long. It was a miracle, especially given his diagnoses and severity. When I shared this with an SLP who has worked for over 20 years, she said, "It's rare to see that kind of change. Hold onto that." What a blessing that my very first client was the kind therapists dream about their whole careers, and I can only attribute it to God. It also reminds me not to be driven by patients' progress but to be faithful and thankful for the many joys of being part of people's lives, even if it's for just a short time. J will alwayas have a special place in my heart, and I think of this miracle every Christmas!

Having dinner with my previous manager and co-worker this week made me realize how much I miss all my old clients! I was so thankful they could update me on how they're doing. I especially miss my little ones, and of course the nonstop bubbles, Play-Doh and Candyland.

It's been a definite adjustment working at a high school. Everyone thinks I am one of the students (the staff stop me in the parking lot all the time). The school system is a complete 180 from the private practice world. There have been so many times that I have felt ineffective, inefficient, and wasteful of taxpayer dollars! Sometimes I end up doing things barely speech/language-related and pridefully think, "This is not what I'm here for." I want to see immediate progress, but God has had to remind me that it's not about me.

During these times, it's been helpful to remember how I am even here. It's so easy to forget, to take things for granted and become self-entitled. When I quit my job in August, I planned on taking a break and going on missions. But a lot changed for my family a week later. I really, really, really wanted to work in the school setting so that I could maintain an income for my family, while having longer breaks to see my parents in Asia as well as missions. It would be perfect! but also impossible. I quickly realized that I didn't have the school credential and it would take months to process. The school year would start in a couple weeks, so it was pretty late to get hired anyway. I let go of the idea of working in a school completely and did not even apply.

The following week, on my birthday! my (now) supervisor contacted me about an opportunity at a school in Fremont. I had interviewed with her over a year ago while still in Boston, and she had kept my application on file. She said that I didn't need a school credential, since I would be contracted through their company. Within a couple weeks, I was a speech therapist for the school district I grew up in.



I am amazed by God's sovereignty and provision, and how he makes the impossible possible so simply. All in all, I am thankful for work through the ups and downs, because God uses it to humble me every single day.