FOR I KNOW THE THOUGHTS I HAVE FOR YOU by Lynn King

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give to you an expected end.” (Jeremiah 29:11 KJV)

In the fall of 1997, I began an exciting next step on my journey of faith. Still a young Christian (only 6 years since salvation), I followed what I believed to be God’s plan for my life. My oldest daughter began high school and my youngest began kindergarten. After five years of being a stay-at-home Mom, it was time for me to go back to college. I thought my plan was to ease into college, take two years to take my core classes, then enter a two-year medical program and get an associate’s degree.

During my second semester, God showed me that plans can change. While visiting the emergency room for an unrelated and resolvable problem, they noticed a lot of my bloodwork was abnormal and suggested I follow up with my family doctor. Multiple doctor visits and blood tests later, we still had no answers. I look back and now I can see how the Lord’s hand was so clearly moving.

My family doctor at the time was a young physician’s assistant named Greg. The dear man was so perplexed he spent a lot of time after hours researching and trying to treat me. I was on steroids and anything else they could think of, and they were performing test after test. No matter what they did, my blood work and my condition worsened. While sitting in the doctor’s office one evening awaiting test results, I remember praying, “Lord, thy will be done, just please let me know what thy will is.” It was very unusual for me to be there alone, but I had finally convinced my husband it was right for him to travel with the men from our family and church to a Promise Keeper’s meeting. I told him I’d rather have him there, lifting me up to the Lord for answers.

I saw the look of concern on Greg’s face as he listened to the lab results over the phone. My counts had again worsened. I asked, “Where do we go now? What do you believe it is, honestly?” Time seemed to stop as he answered. “I’m sending you to an oncologist, I only see 2 possibilities; I believe it is either leukemia or bone cancer.” I left the office and drove a couple of blocks to a little store where there was a payphone. I called my husband’s rented cell phone number. My main memory of that phone call was continuing to try to smile as if he could see me. He was on a chartered bus, full of praying men, awaiting my call. I know my husband and had I repeated the words I was still trying to absorb, he would have hijacked that bus and been home immediately! I had no clue what I should say as I spoke, “It’s just a virus of some kind, keep me in your prayers and go praise God for me!”

When the men of our family traveled like this, the women and children usually took a trip as well. This year we had decided to just get hotel rooms in the neighboring town and relax, let the kids swim in the indoor pool, and do some shopping. As I drove the hour from my appointment to meet my family, I remember the peace that I felt. I told my mother, my mother-in-law, and my sister-in-law what Greg, the physician’s assistant, had told me. I had to finally say the words out loud. As much as I had believed that smiling would help over the phone with my husband, I believed my job for the weekend was to be brave, eat lots, and smile—that way no one would worry.

My memory is a blur until the day of my oncologist appointment. My husband and I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep for days and walked like zombies into the office. They drew yet more blood and told us the doctor would be in when he had the results—to wait. We held hands and cried out to the Lord as one. The next thing I knew, I was awakened to the sound of my husband’s very loud snores. I know it was the comfort of our Lord and Savior holding us in His hands that gave us pure peace as we waited for those results. Our joy continued as the oncologist told us, “No cancer, no lupus.” Then reality set in as we once again were without a diagnosis. Greg immediately began calling colleagues everywhere and within a few weeks, he did it. We had a diagnosis: Hepatitis C. We had such triumphant feelings finally having a diagnosis!

Then, we researched Hepatitis C. The more we learned, the less we rejoiced. Through a dear little man in the senior choir, my mother-in-law directed, the Lord directed me to a doctor in Charlotte. He was one of five Hepatologists in the state of North Carolina, head of the liver transplant team at Carolinas Medical Center, and was leading a study on Hepatitis C. At our initial appointment, Dr. Perdum decided we needed to begin by doing a liver biopsy to see exactly what we were dealing with. As we were leaving to go get my biopsy results, my youngest daughter handed me a picture she had drawn for me for good luck. I thanked her and put the picture in my pocketbook. Dr. Perdum, as he explained my results, reached up and took napkins from the wall dispenser and used simple illustrations to show me the damage in my liver from this virus.

In the first picture, drawn by my almost 7-year-old daughter, I see crosses and hearts, like most of her drawings. I see the word Jesus and silently thank Him that this too was frequently part of her artwork. But the * marks, those were new. Never before this or after this did I see her use this design. Then, I looked at the drawings made by Dr. Perdum. The * are the cells in the liver that blood must flow through. With cirrhosis, as in parts of the liver, the blood cannot flow. I placed the pictures side by side. Dr. Perdum’s picture is described at the bottom with the word cirrhosis. My daughter’s picture, of liver cells covered by the cross, is summed up in the word Jesus.

Dr. Perdum discussed my prognosis; from a medical point of view I probably had 10 years, but, being a Godly man, he agreed that God was the one in control. Being so involved with research on this disease, he assured me that by the time I needed it there would be new medications. In the meantime, I needed to start on the only available treatment—interferon.

God had carried us through, carried us to a diagnosis, and carried me to an amazing Christian doctor, specializing in my disease. Little did I know, the journey was only just beginning, and God was about to move like I could have never dreamed.

The interferon treatment (a form of chemo) was going to be very involved and very expensive. I would be giving myself 3 injections per week, having weekly blood work at my local doctor’s office, and visiting Dr. Perdum monthly. Because I did not have insurance at the time I was diagnosed, our insurance denied coverage because of pre-existing conditions. The medication alone had a price tag of $1,200 per week. Weekly blood tests would be between $125- 250 and $75 for my visit with Dr. Perdum (whom I was making payments to for previous visits and biopsy).

I have a relative who founded the Epilepsy Foundation at Baptist Hospital and had a lot of connections. I called Pat and told her my story. She calmly answered that we just needed people to pledge to send me money every month to pay for my treatment; she would make some calls. During the next few days, (Continued on page 44)

During the next few days, the cards and letters poured in. Pat faithfully sent $400 a month, every month. Some cards had hundreds of dollars, some had small monetary gifts, but all came with their prayers, their concern, and their love—for me—And it continued to rain money from Heaven, through so many dear people, that all of my treatments and doctor visits were paid in full.

We clearly saw God providing the way for this treatment and were so grateful to Him. We were NOT, however, prepared for what interferon can do to your body. One week before reaching the one-month mark I weighed 87 pounds, my hair was falling out, my WBC and platelet count were reaching dangerously low levels and I felt with all that was left in me that one more shot would kill me. I was so confused. I had seen God’s hand move to bring me here and provide this treatment, but I knew my body just couldn’t take it. I quit the treatment. I had a daughter in high school and a second-grader. I had, by the grace of God, managed to continue one class at the college. I refused to quit living. I wanted to show my girls that you fight, and you crawl sometimes, but you don’t quit.

I spent the next year eating healthy and exercising, building my body back up. Eventually, Dr. Perdum agreed to let me try the treatment again. This time I made it to six weeks. Again, I lost weight, down to 87 pounds. I was so weak I could barely walk more than a few steps. So again, I quit.

The next few years were very dark for me. The bright and shining hand of God that had been ever-present in my life was reduced to a single flame. Faint, but still present. It was during one of those dark days as I continued college, one class at a time, that I walked into John Saunders’ pottery class. I placed my hand in that first bag of clay and I knew I had found what I was supposed to do; I found my calling in my life. By His grace, pottery was born.

Rather than let this defeat me, I looked back at the last five or six years and had to just trust in Him and keep on. I believed that after all He had done for me, He wouldn’t quit now. And He didn’t. In May 2009, thirteen years after I started, I graduated with my AA degree. Only God himself could understand the pride and the gratitude I felt as I walked across that stage. Graduating didn’t quench my thirst for learning. I continued taking pottery and art classes at the college for the next three years. I supplemented my desire to learn more by taking pottery classes at a local studio, where I eventually began working as an assistant two or three days a week.

My doctors continued to monitor my condition, which was worsening. Dr. Perdum offered us some hope when he informed us the FDA was doing trials on new Hep C meds. So far they were having a 90% SVR. In English, ninety percent cure rate, with minimal side effects. Back in 2000, Dr. Perdum had told me that by the time I needed additional treatment they would have new medicines, and that time was nearing, I was in end-stage liver disease. But, once again, God’s hand was about to move vividly in my life. Dr. Perdum shared the news that the new medication was due to be released by the FDA in the fall of 2013, and I was one of his first 10 patients he was ready to prescribe for; he gathered all the test results about six months before the release date. I was energized and beyond excited at the thought of a cure in my immediate future.

While praising God and waiting, His hand moved again. A local lady had, six months prior, rented a building and opened a pottery studio and art gallery featuring local artists. Then her husband was transferred to Montana. She was selling all her equipment and her established business with a transferrable lease on the building. Lots of prayer and accounting followed and concluded with me purchasing the business on August 8, 2013; with the FDA release date coming up in September. His timing was so perfect—I thought.

Owning and running By His Grace Pottery Studio and Art Gallery far exceeded any dream I had ever had for my life. I had students who still to this day are dear friends. I had a waiting list of people wanting to study under me. My own work was flourishing and selling in my little gallery where I represented up to 30 local artists. But my body–it was failing. The news from my doctor was devastating. The FDA released a new Hepatitis C treatment, to be used in conjunction with interferon; and it was not for my genotype. The treatment for my genotype was coming, but not FDA approved yet.

As heartbreaking as it was, I prayerfully decided I had to close my business. I stored everything from my business in my dear husband’s garage/office. I packed and stored my hopes and dreams into a building with no running water, no heat, air conditioning, or insulation. In a building that was full of “stuff” before I began. And I waited.

I waited until 2015. After a ton of paperwork, blood work, and tests I had in my hand a $90,000 bottle of little white pills, which, thanks be to God, only cost me $15. And they were going to cure me. Apprehensive after three rounds of interferon memories forever etched into my mind, (to this day the smell of alcohol wipes makes my stomach turn), I began my new treatment. Six weeks later, having only suffered a headache and extreme fatigue, God’s hand moved again and I got the call. It worked, and I was cured. It was over; the dragon was dead, and as always, my Lord and Savior had triumphed! My virus is gone, but I do still have to deal with the damage left behind. Cirrhosis is still there, chronic pancreatitis–still there, nerve damage from the interferon–still there, and reflux disease and damage–still there. But I serve a mighty God, and He isn’t finished with me yet.

Again, I waited upon the Lord. I cleaned and rearranged in the garage, and by carrying bottles of water I managed to make 50 or 60 pieces of pottery a year—until 2020 came. Forced with the rest of the world by the COVID-19 pandemic to stay home, I made our garage my new project. I had replaced my old kiln and felt it was time to get back to my calling. If pottery was going to be my business, I had to work it like a business. I started working 4 or 5 hours a day, clearing, cleaning, and rearranging. My husband had a freeze-free water hose installed in front of the garage, and I had running water. I cleared more out and had room to run the woodstove for heat. More cleaning and packing and the office became my gallery. Once again, By HIS Grace Pottery Studio is up and running.

The Lord has brought me through so much, and my joy and gratitude are never-ending. I have no clue what’s next for me and my pottery, but I know so well the One who does. I continue to trust in Him and wait. “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give to you an expected end.” (Jeremiah 29:11 KJV)

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