“I’m breaking up with you.” Words you never thought you’d hear from your endocrinologist. I smiled. She again viewed my labs on her computer screen while tapping her stylish black leather studded-chunky-heeled shoes on the stone tile floor. “Absolutely beautiful. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Your bloodwork looks fantastic.” “Thanks.” My grin widened. “Well, I now have to create a blog post of this appointment!” I added with a giggle. “I know. I read your blog. I love how you mentioned my ‘beautifully manicured nails.’” She said with a teasing look in her eyes as she fluttered her deep autumn-red coated nails. “I’m glad you liked it.” She tightened her white lab coat around her waist. “I’m sorry to see you go as a patient, but I don’t need to see you anymore. Your parathyroid and thyroid look great, and your labs are gorgeous. Just have your primary doctor repeat your blood work annually. Make an appointment with me if there are any issues.” My doctor hugged me as I left the examination room. Before I left, I forced my endocrinologist, Dr. Rabhany, to take a selfie with me (she hates pictures of herself) to add to this post (see above). As I let her examine and approve of the photo on my phone, I experienced a wave of gratitude for doctors and medical professionals who are forced to have those hard-truth conversations with their patients, especially if they don’t respond well (like me). This interaction gave me pause—isn’t it interesting how one person can completely change your life? If my doctor hadn’t been so insistent on my need for surgery, eventually, I would have had toxic amounts of calcium in my blood due to my overactive parathyroid gland and experienced lethal health complications (see my previous posts on primary parathyroidism and my subsequent surgery ). To all the medical professionals out there, thank you for doing what you do. We are grateful for you. Keep going. #parathyroid #parathryiodism #hyperparathyroidism #hope #liftyourgaze #keepgoing

“Oh, I remember you.” The endocrinologist looked at me with wide eyes as she walked into the examination room. I blushed and let out an embarrassed laugh. I distinctly recalled our last meeting. “Yes, I’m back.” She glanced at the small scar on my throat. “So, you decided to have the surgery. After you came in last time, I wasn’t sure about you.” I nodded. “I can see why. It was such a shock to learn that I even needed the surgery. I did all my research on Primary Hyperparathyroidism and went back to my primary doctor. And you were right—the only treatment is to remove the overactive parathyroid gland through surgery.” She nodded and pushed up her glasses with her index finger. “Did you go to the guy in Tampa?” “Yes, they were amazing. They have it set up like a factory. There must have been thirty people that day, all having the same surgery. I had Dr. Rhodes. He did a great job.” “Your scar looks fantastic! And your labs look beautiful.” She barely looked at me as she scrolled down the pages of my blood work results. “I know, right? I haven’t seen numbers like this in seven years!” She smiled. “I hope I wasn’t too abrupt during our last consultation.” I returned the grin as my legs swung slightly while they dangled over the examination table. “I admit, I was a little shocked to learn that I needed surgery so quickly. I didn’t realize how sick I was since the disease progresses so slowly.” She nodded as she examined my neck, poking her fingers deep into my flesh. “Everything looks and feels good. No swelling. You healed nicely.” “Great to hear.” I managed with a slight cough. “Any reason why I’m hoarse after public speaking? Since that’s what I do for a living—it’s concerning.” “It might be some swelling, which could put pressure on the vocal cord nerves. Check with your surgeon. Any more questions for me?” “Nope, I’m good.” “Okay, I’ll see you in six months. You’re good to go then.” “Thanks, Doc. And you should check out my blog. I did a couple of posts on my experiences to bring awareness to primary parathyroidism.” “I’ll have to check it out.” I handed her one of my business cards. “Just go to www.kimmclark.com and click on ‘Blog,’ You’ll find it there.” “Thanks. See you in six months.” As I walked out into the warm Florida sunshine, a wave of thankfulness washed over me. My exhaustion and sickly feelings were gone from the surgical removal of one of my four parathyroid glands and the subsequent inflammation of my thyroid. I realized then that I was grateful that I went to see this endocrinologist and that she was so insistent on me having the surgery. If not, I would have gotten progressively worse with additional medical issues. I felt healed. As I lifted my gaze, I praised God for the fight and the victory. To check out my blog posts on my journey through diagnosis and surgery, click on the links below: https://www.kimmclark.com/you-need-surgery https://www.kimmclark.com/surgery-scheduled For more information on parathyriodism, go to: https://www.parathyroid.com . www.liftyourgaze.org #liftyourgaze #parathyroid #healing #prayers #hope #voice

You never know what each day will bring. That's why we walk by faith, not sight. #LiftYourGaze

“You need surgery.” The endocrinologist responded in a flat tone. “Excuse me. No. That’s not how this appointment is supposed to go. You are going to recommend Synthroid for my thyroid, and I’m going to refuse—it makes me all buzzy. Then I’m going to insist on a natural alternative. We will argue, and then you’ll eventually give in. Let’s try this conversation again,” I replied firmly. She looked up from her computer and sighed. “It’s not your thyroid that is the problem. It’s your parathyroid glands. Synthroid won’t help. I can tell by your labs that you need to have your parathyroid glands removed.” “Para-what? And surgery? Aren’t you at least going to poke around to see if anything is swollen or hurts or something?” I demanded. Another sigh. She picked up a display of the butterfly-shaped thyroid and turned it around. “Do you see these four little blue-colored rice-sized glands?” “Barely.” I squinted as I tried to look over her hands, pointing at something tiny behind the model of a human throat. “Yours have gone crazy and are producing too much calcium. You have at least one benign tumor on one or more of them. You have four glands, and you only need two. So if they remove two, you’ll be fine. How long have your calcium levels been high?” She had one eyebrow raised. “Seven years. And the numbers are barely high. They are only 10.9.” I responded with a huff. “Anything over ten is considered dangerously high. And I can see your parathyroid or PSH numbers are also high. How long have they been elevated?” Her eyebrow raised even higher as she examined my neck and told me to try to swallow. “For two years.” My voice tinged with concern. “I’m surprised you don’t have kidney stones yet,” she said with exasperation. “What are you talking about? I eat healthy and exercise!” my voice increased in tenor with each syllable. She rolled her eyes. “You need to stop being in denial. You need surgery. I sent a referral and all your labs to a parathyroid surgeon in Tampa. He’s the best in the world. And since we live so close, you can drive over. His procedure is in and out.” She held out his business card. I stared at the card, dumbfounded. “I think I need to be in denial right now. I’m in shock. I thought I was coming in here for my thyroid. I didn’t even know what a parathyroid gland was until today!” She gave me another eye roll and handed me a second business card. “This is ONLY if he can’t take you. Contact this other surgeon in Orlando, but you’ll have to be admitted to the hospital, use general anesthesia, and go through the whole works. Go to the guy in Tampa. He does a good job. You’ll still be pretty. You’ll only have a little scar.” I felt my jaw drop open. I blinked several times. “You need to stop being in denial. This is serious. Get the surgery. Here’s the order for your labs after your surgery. Call me after your procedure to make an appointment with my office.” “I don’t like you.” I gave her a steely look. “I don’t care. You’ll end up with a heart attack or cancer if you don’t get these glands removed. You have no other options. You’ll feel great again once you get these removed.” She dismissed me with a smile and a wave of her perfectly manicured hand. I stumbled out of her office and into my car. Once inside, with the door safely closed, I prayed for wisdom and discernment. Then I called my husband and relayed the interaction with him. Later that evening, we both researched the surgeon, procedure, and everything to do with a parathyroid. The interesting thing is that I attributed all of the symptoms of parathyroid disease I had been experiencing to getting old: tiredness, memory loss, heart palpitations, not sleeping well, acid reflux, and bone loss. I chipped one and fractured another bone in my wrist a year ago. Again, I chalked it up to aging and getting closer to heaven. My surgical consult is in a few days. Since the surgery is close to my vocal cords, I’m praying I don’t experience any vocal cord damage. Please keep me in your prayers. I felt led to share my story in the hopes that it might help others in raising awareness of Parathyroid disease. Before my appointment, I had no idea what a parathyroid gland was or the symptoms of having mine not work properly. I truly covet your prayers for me, my family, and that God will continue to use me and my voice for his glory. www.liftyourgaze.org #liftyourgaze #parathyroid #healing #prayers #hope #voice

"What do you mean you don't have the sign-in sheet and pen?" My voice increased in fervor with each word. "No, I don't have them," the chaplain replied. "Oh, no," I groaned. "What? You don't have the pen?" His voice reverberated off the beige concrete walls of his small office. "I thought you grabbed them both when you dropped off the portable CD player." He shook his head. My heart sank. We both rushed out of his office to let the Correctional Officer know that an inmate had stolen one of the Chaplain's pens. A sour rumbling started in my stomach. I swallowed hard in a feeble attempt to ward off vomiting. I knew better. In four years, I NEVER let the residents borrow a pen until that day. When I discovered the writing instrument missing, I asked the inmates what happened to the sign-in sheet and pen. They all shrugged in ignorance. I tore apart my tote bag and files in the middle of class and asked them again. No one admitted to seeing the missing pen and sign-in sheet. I remembered asking them if they saw the Chaplain pick them both up when he dropped off the CD player. A few of them said they saw him pick them up. Realizing now they had lied to me and the pen was missing, waves of devastation rolled over me. The Chaplain looked at me again. We both knew the implications of a pen in the hands of an innate. A pen could be filed down to a shank and could maim or kill another inmate or guard. I tried to swallow, but all the saliva dried up in my mouth. "If someone gets killed or hurt or dies due to my mistake, I’ll never be able to forgive myself," I muttered. The Chaplain nodded. "They are so sneaky. You can never let your guard down.” Completely deflated, I nodded and rolled my eyes. It was my fault. "Don't worry, they'll find it." I grabbed my stomach and prayed silently that no one would be injured before they located the writing instrument. As an author, I know the power of the pen and the impact of my written word but never before did my actions put someone else's life in danger. Thankfully the pen was located, and the inmate confessed to stealing it before anyone was harmed. Relieved yet convicted of my carelessness and lack of obedience to the rules, I repented to God. Still angry, I felt the Holy Spirit speak to my heart, “Do not judge, lest you be judged.” With my head hung low, I repented again. This time for my self-righteousness and prayed harder for all the inmates, specifically the one who stole my pen, that God would save and help this woman walk in the path of righteousness and truth. How often do we do that? Exploit and focus on others' sins, yet minimize our own responsibility in the situation? God, please help us see others as you see them. Give us your wisdom, understanding, and mercy to come along aside others in their weakness instead of lashing out at them. Guide us to make wise decisions and walk in the path of righteousness. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen. Lift Your Gaze desperately needs more books to continue to provide hope to inmates. Would you consider becoming one of our monthly sponsors? Every $20 donated saves one life. Go to www.liftyourgaze.org for more information and to make a tax-deductible donation. #liftyourgaze #hope #prayer #whenpenskill

As the second anniversary of Dr. Rev. Wilbroad Chanda's graduation into glory, I felt this blog post that was published in Southern Living Suite T Blog in February of 2021 , is an excellent reminder for us all. At the I didn’t believe the text. All the air had been sucked out of my body. Joy and children’s laughter abounded around me as my heart cried out in anguish. My friend looked at me. “Are you all right?” Concern draped her eyes. I blinked. We were at an amusement park, our children giggled as they rode the miniature rollercoaster. I looked at her with moist eyes, “My friend, Will from Zambia, the one who wrote the foreword to my first book, died suddenly today.” Compassion exuded from her, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I sat down and read the details. Not feeling well a week ago, Will got tested for COVID-19. Three days later, the test returned positive. Within Forty-eight hours of his results, he had trouble breathing and was admitted to the hospital. Three days after arriving at the hospital, the Lord called him home. He was gone in one short week. I didn’t even know he was sick. “He just texted me a few weeks ago…he and his wife were making plans to come to the States and visit us.” I stared numbly at my phone. I bumbled around the park, still in shock. Still processing my grief, I attempted to share with my girlfriend my late friend’s immense support of my calling to be a writer, publisher, and nonprofit founder. “He was the first pastor who supported me when I felt the Lord lead me to write a book on hope. I had labored alongside him and his family ‘for the Gospel’—as he often stated—for over fifteen years in orphan ministry. They visited us every time they came to the states for the past ten years. We drove him and his wife to receive his doctorate diploma and even bought him his doctoral gown, hood, and tam as a graduation present.” My friend hugged me. We prayed for his wife, his four grown sons, and his flock. That night, I went to the Lord. I wept and cried out in anguish for my loss, for the void from his marriage and family, and for the deep chasm of service in his congregation and the hearts and minds of emerging pastors in rural Zambia. That’s when I saw a vision of him. Will was glowing. Joy oozed out of every pore of his body. He was absolutely jubilant—completely transfigured. He laughed. My heart lifted as I heard his deep voice boom. “Do not you weep! My faith has now become my sight. I'm in the glory of God. I am with Jesus and there is a huge party in my honor and I am hearing, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.’” I sighed. That’s right, for we live by faith, not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7). Then I felt the overflowing outpouring of the Holy Spirit into my heart. “Trust me. I AM doing a new thing.” My faith had also become my sight. Despite the challenges, losses, and depravity around us for the past year, God is still on the throne. And yes, thankfully, he is “doing a new thing.” It’s funny how God had used my late friend, Rev. Dr. Wilbroad Chanda, and his wife, Zicky, to speak to me that exact same message the last time we were all together. I even wrote about their visit in my Amazon Bestselling book, Deep Waters: Lift Your Gaze 30-Day Devotional . The following is an excerpt from Day Four of my 30-Day Devotional: The interrogation started as soon as Will and Zicky got into my car. “Are we going to Epcot? Did you get the FastPasses? Are we riding Soarin’ again?”
 With a stoic smile, I responded, “No. I found something better.” Each time they came to visit from Zambia, I delighted in creating a fun-filled reprieve from their hectic schedules. Eyes wide, they scoffed, “Better than Soarin’? I don’t believe it.”
 “Absolutely!” With a teasing tone, I added, “And you will REPENT from your unbelief after going on this ride!” 
 They grunted in disbelief, crossed their arms over their chest, and shook their heads. As we weaved our way through the sea of people at Animal Kingdom, they reveled in my action-packed park itinerary. After all these activities, Will then declared, “That was amazing! I repent!” Smiling, I shook my head. “Nope, not yet. We have one last ride.” As we bypassed the three-hour standby line and walked right up to the entrance of the most popular ride in the world, I grinned mischievously. The attendant looked at me. “Is this their first time?” I nodded.
 She smiled slyly and told them, “You’re not going to believe it.” During the six-minute, multisense, immersive experience, I giggled at their squeals of delight. The wind, water spray, and smells simulated soaring through lush mountain ranges, misty waterfalls, and glistening caves full of crystal stalactites on a beautiful, yet graceful, giant winged dragon. After the ride came to an end, Will declared in his loudest preaching voice to everyone within earshot, “I REPENT!” Zicky ran over to hug me. As we exited the ride, their excitement bubbled out of them like a geyser. They couldn’t stop laughing. Aren’t we just like that? Don’t we doubt God when he is actively working in our lives? Will and Zicky’s initial response to change reminded me of my own lack of faith when things aren’t going as I had planned. God then spoke to my heart, “Stop fighting me and demanding that I repeat the past, the known. Trust me to bring you into the unknown, for I know what is best.” Dear God, draw near those of us who are struggling to trust you with all our heart. Help us lean not on our own understanding. Have us acknowledge and declare you as our generous and merciful King. Make our paths straight as we submit to your will to be done in our lives. Give us the grace to trust you with the unknown, for you know what is best. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen. Below is a picture of Zicky and Wilbroad Chanda before riding Avatar, Flight of Passage in Animal Kingdom, Walt Disney World Parks, Orlando, FL in 2019.

When I was in jail last month, I had a powerful impression from the Lord right in the middle of my class. Each inmate had just shared their prayer requests. Many of them asked for prayer to be released and to be reunited with their families, especially their children. I stopped them. “Wait a minute. I just had this strong sense from God that the next time you take drugs, you’ll die. These people are purposefully making a lethal cocktail to kill. And if you use when you get out of here, you’ll never see your kids again in this lifetime.” The color drained from their faces. “Ms. Kim, you have no idea how many of our friends have just died from so-called ‘overdoses.’” “It wasn’t an overdose. It was on purpose. They are doing this intentionally. Please don’t use again.” With tears in their eyes, they nodded. We immediately started praying. The Holy Spirit fell as we cried out to God for healing, for divine intervention to break the bondage of addiction in their lives, and to keep them and their children safe. And for them to never use again and be reunited with their children. Please keep the incarcerated women and men in your thoughts and prayers. Also, consider giving to help us continue to save lives. Every $20 donation saves a life. Go to www.LiftYourGaze.org today. #endofyeargiving #lethalcocktail #every20savesalife #liftyourgaze #deepwatersliftyourgaze

'Twas a few days before Christmas 🎄 at Lift Your Gaze, Inc, The dishes were piling up in the kitchen sink. 🍽️ Kim was busy raising funds 💵 for those desperately in need, While Ron was busy emailing trying to plant “a seed”. 🌱 With less than 10 days left 🎉 in 2022, $25,000 in funds were still needed… What could we do? 🤨 Hundreds of thousands will spend 😥 This Christmas in jail, No one to visit, bring cookies, and no cards or candy canes in the mail. 🎅🏼 In a season of love with joy in the air, 🥰 For them there is no hope, no love, only despair. 😪 So as you enjoy this holiday season, 🎁 Remember that Jesus is the reason. ✝️ He never turned his eyes away from the lost, 😩 No matter the trouble, no matter the cost. 💰 Your year-end donation can truly save a life, 🙋🏼‍♀️ We hope that you won’t even have to think twice. 🙋🏽‍♂️ Go to www.liftyourgaze.org to donate and please consider forwarding this email to all those that you know. 📧 Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a joyous and healthy new year to one and all! 🎄🎊🎅🏼 📚Your friends at lift Your Gaze 📘

Yesterday, I went back into Orange County Jail to share my message of HOPE with the female inmates. I hadn't been in since July 2021 due to the pandemic lockdown. The correctional officers and chaplains greeted me with hugs and kisses, like a long-lost friend. As the female inmates filed into my classroom, the class was my largest one yet. Each seat was taken. They all looked at me with wide eyes. Some of them gushed over me as they recognized me from the picture on the back cover of one my previously published books. Teaching from my new prayer book on praying scripture with the twelve Hebrew names of God, they were astounded as I gave them an overview of the names. Even when the officer called them out two-by-two to get treats for the commissary, they were enraptured by the names of God and didn't want to leave. I saw the Holy Spirit become active in each one of them as they read the scripture prayers aloud with their name in it from the Elohim chapter. Tears of relief, love, and mercy rolled down their cheeks as they declared Elohim as their triune Creator, Ruler, and Sovereign over their lives. Sadly, I only had enough books for half of them. The words, "I'm sorry, there aren't enough books," were heavy as I saw the hunger for God in their faces. They were grateful, but each inmate needed their own book. One inmate told me, "Your books and words of wisdom have completely changed my life. You've given me hope." Lift Your Gaze desperately needs more funds to buy more books for two county jails, one has a turnover of over 3,000 inmates every 90 days, the other one has a rate 1,000. Would you consider making your year-end tax-deductible gift to Lift Your Gaze? Every $20 donation provides one book to an inmate. Every $5K donation sponsors one correctional facility for a month. Every $20K translates one book into Spanish. We are translating our book and prayerbook in the next six months. Also, consider partnering with us on a monthly basis (you can give as little as $20 a month) as we go back twice a week to the minimum and maximum security dorms to provide living waters to the incarcerated. No amount is too small. I'll leave you with this quote from Andrew Murray that I also shared with the ladies yesterday, " Beware in your prayer, above everything of limiting God, not only by unbelief, but by fancying that you know what he can do. Except unexpected things, above all that we ask or think." #ButGod Go to www.liftyourgaze.org today.