Raining Grace

A lot has happened in my life since I wrote here.  But then again, I'm sure a lot has happened in yours as well.

About eighteen months ago, I was a stay at home, homeschooling mother of 5 children, who gardened, canned, and took care of her babies and her husband.  I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Now, I am a full time working mother of 5, two of whom are in the local public school, one of whom is in her second year at NOVA, and the other 2 are at home with a nurse.

And I am single.

I look around me at all that has happened, and I see how everything has crumbled, and I feel the confusion and anxiety coming off the children in waves.

And my eyes brim, and I hang my head, and my body slumps down, down, down...

All the way down until my knees hit the floor and the only way I can look is up. And in the looking up, I realize that in this storm that I am in, in this raging downpour, it is not just driving rain that is falling, but grace, as well.  

Sometimes, the sun shines brightly, and I feel calm and capable and ready to face this next challenge, but sometimes, the weight is just too much to bear and my shoulders curve and shudder under the burden I carry.

And then somebody sends me a text, I'll pray for you.  Grace.

or someone offers to take the kids on Monday mornings.  Grace.

or someone comes and spends time with me, talking and listening, mostly just listening.  Grace.

And I feel the burden lift a tad and I feel the sun and wind on my face again just a bit and I turn toward the Light and I remember:

I am not in this alone.

So I turn my face into the storm,

Because only in facing this storm head on can I truly feel the rain

Grace like rain.

Finding Focus

I walk laps back and forth past the coffee dispensers that are perpetually set up at Trader Joe's with my loads of crates of cheese and flat carts full of boxes product that need to be put on the shelf.

I glance at the clock.  It's only 6 PM, and I know that I will be here at least until midnight.  I'm running on little sleep because we've been working late, I haven't been able to get to sleep when I get home, and I've been getting up early to get people to where they need to be.  There's no two ways about it;  I'm tired.  I can almost hear the coffee calling out to me, but I turn a deaf ear and continue on my path

Because it's lent, and this year, I've given up coffee. 

Last year, it was sweets, but this year, with this job that keeps me up all night, I chose to give up coffee.  

But why?  

A group of women at our church are going through Beth Moore's Bible study on the book of Daniel called Lives of Integrity, Words of Prophecy (Lifeway Press, 2006).  In the study guide, Beth has been talking a lot about the fallacy of building ourselves up and directing the glory of our lives toward ourselves rather than the One who created us, and the dangerous temptation of pride.  She talks about how pride is a state of mind and how we can become as proud of our sacrifices as we are of our worldly goods and successes.  

In Day 1 of Week 4 in the study guide, Beth said that one day she was talking to a friend of hers and was embarrassed to admit that she had never participated in a certain 40 day fast that so many others had.  And her friend answered her and said that she had rarely seen anyone come from a 40 day fast who wasn't sooner or later proud of it.  

Ouch.  That hit home.  

Why am I giving up coffee?  

I guess the proper answer would be that I am withholding something from myself so that when I feel a craving or a desire for it, I remember the suffering of Christ and lean on Him through prayer to help me get through it.  And for many, that is exactly what they are doing.  And it works for them.  

But I think that the real truth for me in this is that I am not the one who's suffering!  I don't depend on coffee as an everyday thing to get me through, I just use the caffeine to get me over a hump when I know that I'm just too tired to really function well.  So, in reality, it would seem that it would be those around me who are suffering because I am being short or snippy with them because my eyes are burning from pure lack of sleep!  Otherwise, I only drink coffee because I enjoy it.  

And do I really have an ulterior motive?  I often give up coffee or sweets or whatever for a period of time just to do it to remind myself that I control what I put in my body, and to keep my system from becoming dependent on any one thing.  

So how is this bringing me closer to God?  

And how do I, as a mother of 5 who works full time at night, not come across as sounding smug when I say that I am giving up coffee in this Starbucks-driven society?  

So this year, I doing something different.  Instead of focusing on giving up, I am focusing on staying focused. 

I want to focus on Christ's walk to the cross.  I want to focus on sacrifice and giving.  I want to focus on loving the people that I love.  I want to focus on supporting my friends and showing compassion.  

And if that means sitting down across from my husband, holding his hand and telling him I love him over a cup of coffee, so be it.

And if that means taking stock of my burning red eyes in the mirror in the bathroom where I've run for a minute's peace, then marching myself to the kitchen to get a jolt of caffeine so I can be kinder to my children, so be it.  

And if that means sitting with you, my friend, at a banged up kitchen table commiserating over a steaming cup of joe so that you can feel supported, loved, and not quite so alone, so be it.  

But I will do it with focus.  It will be a conscious decision made with care, not just a paper cup of the stuff thrown back on my way into the backroom.  So yes, I am cutting back, but I'm not saying no altogether.  It will be planned and executed in a way that calls to mind Christ's walk to the cross, and His ultimate sacrifice so that I can keep the focus where it needs to be.  Not on my sacrifice, but on His.

His sacrifice that has given me life.  A life to live, and a life to enjoy

A life in which to mindfully enjoy my coffee.

Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome

I thought it was over.  I thought that as the doors to the NICU swished closed behind us for the final time and Jimmy and I, giddy with excitement and trepidation, wheeled Hazel Grace down the hall tucked safely in her carseat for her first car ride home, I thought that I was turning the page...

I thought that I could look back, wipe my brow, and say, 'Whew!  Well, we made it through that one!' and move on to the next chapter in the book of our life with our baby.

And it's not like we have had to go back to the NICU.  Praise God we have been so far spared that trip, but we have had to go back to the hospital for check up appointments and routine exams.

Getting ready for our first trip out of the house and to our first follow-up appointment was a bit of a challenge.  I had made a list and checked all the items off:

Spare clothes?  Check
Diapers? Check
Feed pump?  Check
Spare extension tube?  Check
Emergency MIC-KEY button?  Check
Oxygen tank?  Check
Water for flushing...syringes for flushing and meds...feeding bag?  Check, check, check.

I think I'm ready.

And I was.  There was nothing that we needed that we didn't have on that first trip back to the place where it all started.

But what I was not prepared for, what I had forgotten to fully prepare, was myself.

I'm not even sure that there is a way to prepare for it:  Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

I know it sounds silly.  I was in the NICU, for Pete's sake, not a war zone, and there were no bombs dropping and no sirens blaring...

or were there?

As I headed down the hall toward the clinic where Hazel had her appointment, I passed by one of the elevators that is reserved for staff and patients.  At just the moment that I was passing, I heard the soft ding and the doors slid open, and there it was

an isolette

with a baby inside.

My stomach dropped to my knees which were feeling weak, and my hands got a death grip on the handle of the stroller where Hazel lay sleeping peacefully.  I peered past my white knuckles to instinctively check the tiny bundle inside the stroller.  Is she breathing?  Is she blue? How is she saturating?  Panic began to rise and along with it my breakfast, but my throat was so tight that nothing would have made it past it anyway.  The nurse peered at me.  'Are you ok?'

'Yes' I choked out and reminded myself to breathe and forced my feet to continue walking down the long hall that now looked too bright, was too noisy and was altogether way too long.  I realized that I could leave the NICU, but the NICU would never leave me.

I know that Hazel Grace feels it, too.

We have a bottle of the same hand sanitizer that the nurses at the hospital use, and for the longest time after she got home, when we would use the sanitizer and then approach her, she would tense and cry.  The memories too fresh for the gentle tones of our voices to overcome the fear of the unknown.  Or I guess I should say the fear of the known...the blood draws, the pokes and prods, the rough hands of strangers...the scent brought it all back.

She seems to be over that now.  She doesn't seem to mind at all that we approach her after using the lotion, but there are still signs of her recall of the time she spent in the NICU.  We got her one of those bouncy seats, you know the ones that have the vibrator in them that the babies just seem to love?  The first time we put her in it, to give her another view of the world, we switched it on, and a look of pure panic and terror came over her tiny face.  Her eyes flew open and her back arched, arms splayed, legs tense, and she started to cry.  A deep, heartfelt cry.  A cry of pain and fear and complete terror.

We immediately turned the vibrator off and took her out to comfort her, and it took a while for her breathing to return to normal and her heart rate to slow down.  What we realized was that the vibrating must have reminded her of all the time that she was intubated in the hospital.   The machine that breathed for her through a tube down her throat vibrated her bed very strongly such that you could feel the vibrations through the whole isolette.  It must have felt very similar to the vibrations of the seat.

We still put her in the seat, but we have taken out the batteries so no one can accidentally turn it on, and she lies there peacefully, looking up at us with a look of trust and dependence.

And I know that I will do all that I can to protect her from ever having to experience anything like what she had to go through the first 5 months of her life.

It is over,

But it's not.

It has deeply affected our family in ways that I am sure will continue to surface long after the whole ordeal is 'over.'

And in the meantime, we do what we can to protect and support one another, trying to keep in mind the raw and tender nerves and emotions that sit just beneath the surface of all that appears well and good,

And as I stroll down the halls of that big hospital where Hazel's life was saved and our lives were torn apart, revised, and thrown back at us in disarray,

And as the elevator doors ding and the wheels of the isolettes whisper their sticky swishing sound as they make their way down the hall in the opposite direction, going in  where we so recently came out,

Instead of turning my eyes down in panic and uncertainty, I will turn my eyes up.

I will turn them up toward the twinkling blue ceilings of that impressive hospital, and I will breathe the prayer that I have sighed so many times both over my baby going out, and that baby going in:

Numbers 6:24-26
The Lord bless you and keep you
The Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you;
The Lord lift His countenance upon you, and give you peace. (Italic emphasis mine)

Because I can't take away what has happened to us, and I can't stop what will happen to them,

All I can do is turn it over to God and pray peace over all of us.

And as my eyes burn and the tear threatens to fall over what has happened and what is to come, I know that His peace is enough.

Grace Like Rain

Hiding in the corner, covering my face with muddy hands...

I've spent too long on my knees scrabbling through the muck and the mud of fear and desparation

I know you must be out there, and I feel that if I could just see you...

If I could just touch your robe, I could be healed...

All could be made well.

But doubts and fears rise up before me, blocking me in and leave me cowering in the corner.

And then I feel it, softly at first, almost unnoticeable

A fine misting

A friend calls and listens to me.  She reaches out her hand and tells me that she'll go there with me.  She will walk the halls of the new hospital with me and help me calm my fears.

Amen, I breathe, and the darkness retreats a little, and I peek through my fingers.

A card comes next, a little note, jotted by someone I don't even know and the gift of prayer with it.

Amen, I sigh, and again the darkness fades, and I lower my hands.

A phone call follows with encouragement

Amen, I whisper, and bring myself to my knees.

It's falling a bit harder now...

Another message...

Amen, I say, and I rise to my feet

And yet another message...we are praying for you, we see you, we hear you...

Amen, I say again, this time with conviction and I reach out to touch the hem of His robe

But He sees me and doesn't let me touch His robe.  He pulls me in for a long embrace

And if the hem holds healing, the embrace holds completion

And it's pouring now and we dance together, He twirls and spins me so happy to have me back and I follow His lead in this crazy dance

Drenched in the terrific rain of grace.

Sunshine

I wrote this yesterday (Wednesday), but didn't get a chance to post it.  I still wanted to share it though, so I hope you enjoy!

Today, because it's a beautiful day and because it's hump day and because I just really wanted to,

I took the chair off the porch and put it in the middle of the front yard and sat down.  And as the sun dappled down and gently warmed me and the crickets, birds and wind chimes worked together to serenade me, I did nothing.

I pushed the laundry and the dishes and the weeds and the diapers and the and the and the...all away.

I pushed it all out of my mind and away from me denying their existence for a short while and

I kicked back and sighed and breathed it all in...

Our yard, our house, our children all sleeping inside, taking naps after a fun day at the playground with friends.

A call to the NICU earlier had reassured me that Hazel Grace is still holding her own, sweet baby Hazel Grace, warm in her isolette wrapped in a blanket, cocooned tightly against all the troubles that the world has to offer

and I realized fully that

I am blessed.

And I stayed this way, soaking it all in, the sun, the birds, the wind chimes, the crickets, our house, our family, my husband working hard to make all of this possible...me sitting here in this chair doing nothing...

For 3 whole minutes

Then Jesse started to call for me and Jo woke up and walked out to join me and Baby B woke up and started to cry and Gabriel got up and came out to ride his bike and Elizabeth walked up the driveway, home from her class in DC,

and as they all came one by one to join me,

I saw my blessings being multiplied in front of my eyes

and the volume turned up on the refrain that has been playing in my mind all morning:

You are good, your are good, and your love endures forever
(a line from Jesus Friend of Sinners by Casting Crowns)

And I felt it deeply.

He is good.  We are blessed.

And grace flows even as patience ebbs and worries mount

and I grasp at the rays of sun that are warming me to put them in my pocket and to hide them in my heart to pull out for when the day turns to clouds

because I know that this will not last, this peace that surrounds me because dinner bath bed time will come and so will the no's and the tears and the I don't want to's

and Hazel's monitors will beep and alarm again

and all of these things will happen because I am alive and they are alive.

I cannot have the good without the bad, the sun without the clouds, because I am here on this earth and I, by God's grace, am breathing and walking and whole

so let me say it one more time,

let me hide these Words in my heart

because they are a constant ray of sun and hope even when the storm begins to rage:

Psalm 136:1
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good
And His steadfast love endures forever

What Did You Expect?

You can always tell the new ones.  You know, the new parents that are coming into the NICU for the first time.

The mother is almost always holding her belly, supporting that empty space where just a few hours ago there was a baby, and the dad is either pushing her in a wheelchair or walking right behind her, usually with a protective arm out to her.  Not necessarily touching her, but an arm there as if to catch her in case she falls.

Or maybe it's the other way around.

Why do the dads always walk in the back?  Chivalrous?  All of them?  I doubt it.  Sacred silly?  Probably.  And in the name of ladies first, the men propel their wives in front as a sort of shield.

But that's ok.  We women are used to it by now, and besides, we are the ones that just labored through childbirth, whether naturally or with medical intervention.

There's a deer-in-the-headlights sort of look about these couples that find themselves in the NICU for the first time, and a nurse usually greets them in an almost too cheerful voice and points them in the direction of their baby.  Mom and dad hold back a bit and let themselves be led to the bed that holds their newest, tiniest one, and gather around and stare with a look of disbelief on their faces.

How did we get here?

I can speak authoritatively on this subject because I am on my 49th day of sitting beside Hazel Grace's isolette which gives a clear view of all of the comings and goings of the main entrance to the NICU.

I think that anyone who has not had a NICU baby before can have no idea about what goes on behind these doors.  The list of people who get beyond the front desk is a short list...only the most privileged can get beyond the lady who sits at that desk and guards our babies like an eagle guarding its nest.

No wristband?  No entrance.  It's that easy.

But the identifying letters and numbers on Jimmy's wristband have long since worn off and the band itself has come apart, but that's ok because they know us now.  The guards at the main doors to the hospital let us in at any hour with a smile and a wave...no biggie...we know you...

you belong here.

Hazel Grace's numbers continue to creep up...in a bad way.  She's now at 27 when just last night she was at pressures of 'only' 24.  And as I talk to my mother about this, and about the different things that could be coming down the pike for our sweet baby Hazel Grace, she tells me,

'Well, if anyone can handle it, it's you.'

Ummm...thanks, I guess?

I was looking online at some information on a procedure that Hazel may need if her breathing does not improve, and a quote from one of the mothers on the video clip really caught me.

She said:

'Your standard of normal has to be determined internally versus being determined by somebody else's standards.'  

How so very true.

This is not what we expected when we found out that I was pregnant with Hazel, our fifth child.  I never dreamed that I would be sitting here, watching my baby breathe and rejoicing with every rise and fall of her tiny chest,

but this is our 'new normal'.

And accepting this 'new normal' is what gives me the courage to stride through these doors and flash my wristband with confidence.

This is my life and Hazel Grace is a part of our family, no matter where she sleeps.

So I turn and catch the eye of the new mother hesitantly stepping over the threshold of the NICU for the first time, and I give her a smile.

A smile that says, 'It's ok.  It's not what you expected, but it is what it is.'

Welcome to your 'new normal.'

And I cast about in my mind for a stronghold, a verse to hide in when my courage begins to fail, and I land upon this:

Proverbs 23:18
Surely there is a future and your hope will not be cut off.

And my eyes turn back to my sleeping, breathing baby and I let my forehead rest on the quilt that covers her bed and protects her from the overhead lights

and I whisper to my sweet baby Hazel Grace

You weren't what I expected,

but how could I wish for anything more?

Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?

Why do bad things happen to good people?

Ahhhh the age old question of why do bad things happen to good people.  I mean, I consider myself to be a pretty decent person, so why is all this happening to me? Why do I have a preemie baby and why are her lungs so bad??? Why are we going through all of this?

Pastor Dan had an interesting comment about that question last Sunday. He made the comment that that question is very much a first world question. 

Oh, how true!

Let me tell you a bit of our story to prove my (his)point.

My pregnancy with Hazel Grace was not an easy one.  It was fraught with pain and complications from the get-go.  When i finally came to the hospital on the 28th of July, it was because I had lost so much blood that I was lightheaded and it was getting hard to breathe.  My blood pressure was so low that I could not brush my hair. Getting out of bed was hard enough let alone contemplating the task of actually wielding a brush with enough vigor to cause it to make its way through my tangled mass of hair.

At the time that I came to the hospital, I was not yet 24 weeks pregnant.  Or at least the doctors had not dated me as such.  That meant that the nurses didn't really try to care for the baby and they were only interested in caring for me even if that meant 'letting' me miscarry.  Which was disconcerting to say the least because I was in active labor with contractions coming every 4-6 minutes. 

Then, the doctor wheeled in a big sonogram machine and I was dated at exactly 24 weeks and the action began.  I was given magnesium sulfate to stop the contractions and to help protect Hazel's brain if she was going to born early, and I was given the first of 2 shots of steroids which were to help her lungs develop more rapidly, again, in case she were to be born early. (The hope was that the contractions would stop and I would be on monitored bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy.)

By now, it was Monday afternoon.

The Mg could be given for 48 hours and the second steroid shot was also given 48 hours after the first.  

We were now pulling up on Wednesday evening.  I had also received 4 units of blood to try to replace some of what I had lost, but my blood counts were still very low and my blood pressure was still extremely low sometimes dipping below my 'norm' for the time of 80/50. 

The reason for the severe blood loss was originally contributed to placenta previa, which is where the placenta is very low and covers all or part of the cervix, but then it was determined that I also had a placental abruption, which is where the placenta tears away from the uterus. An abruption, if minor, is not a big problem for the baby or the mother, but if the tear gets large, the baby will not be able to get enough oxygen through the placenta which can be fatal, and the mother has a high chance of 'bleeding out' which basically means that the woman would begin to bleed, and not be able to stop, which, of course, can also be a fatal condition.

Anyway, since my blood pressure was so low, and the drugs that they changed me to after the Mg was done to keep the contractions at bay was making it dip lower, my dose was reduced and I started contracting and bleeding again. 

When I first told my nurse that I was contracting, she told me that I was not. When I insisted that I was, she denied it yet again and told me I had gas or cramps or round ligament pain, but not contractions. But I knew what I was feeling and I kept insisting, and finally my mother got involved, too, and the nurse reluctantly agreed to call the doctor.

My doctor arrived within a half hour or so, and he called the neonatologist and they both had a look at me and what was going on, and they both agreed that the baby had to come out...now.

So I was given one more short dose of Mg and I was prepped for an emergency c-section.

It was now Thursday evening, and I was scared.

I called Jimmy and he got to my side as quickly as he could and I was rolled out and cut up.

And Sweet baby Hazel Grace joined us.

Later the doctor came in to see me. 

You know, he said, you were blessed that we got your baby out when we did. In another hour or two, neither one of you would have been here. Your placenta was almost completely abrupted and it broke away as we lifted her out. For a moment, he said, I thought that I would have to take your uterus out because you would not stop bleeding, but you are blessed. Your baby is here and alive, you are here and alive and you have your uterus intact. You both have a road to recovery before you, but praise God you are both here.

That stopped me for a moment.

First of all, through it all, I never knew how close to death I really was until he said that.  A few hours...

A few hours! 

That in and of itself is enough to make me stop and lift my hands in praise to the Almighty One!  In a few short hours, had things not played out as they did...my insistence that I was in labor again and my mother's intervention and the doctors' quick response...my kids would have no mother, Jimmy would have no wife, my sister no sister...

Wow.

God is good. My aching incision is a blessing to me and my family! 

Secondly, had things not been orchestrated by God as they were...had I not come in on Sunday to be dated at 24 weeks on Monday to have the mess that helped Hazel develop, had she not been held in my womb until Thursday, when all that could be done for her had been done, had the placenta not held on until all the help possible could be given to her, she would not be here, either. 

And so, here, in my first world country, as I look at my sweet baby Hazel Grace who is breathing only through the support of sofisticated machinery and as I feel the ache subside little by little day by day as my body heals, I realize that it's is not a bad thing that has happened to me, but rather a blessing. 

What we see as bad things can be, in the whole plan of things, a blessing. But we here, in this privileged country expect other things. 

I expect a whole healthy baby. I expect food on the table and a roof over my head. I expect clean water and the ability to provide an education and a future for my children...

And in those expectations, I believe that sometimes I lose sight of the blessings that I have. 

I have travelled in third world countries and I have slept in huts with dirt floors and I have seen the hands lifted up in praise for the chicken that runs between legs as barefoot babies  are nursed and in thanksgiving for the water that tastes strongly of plastic and that I drink with hesitation because it has been pulled from a well far away and brought to me in an old plastic bottle that has seen many uses.  And they do not ask, 'why do bad things happen to us, good people?'

But they say instead, praise the Lord for He is good.

So today, sitting here by my baby Hazel Grace, I vow not to stop asking the question, but rather to change my point of view. I do not know what lies ahead in our situation...there could be much joy, but there could also be many tears. Or perhaps the two will come hand in hand as they often do. But I can know that God has a good and true purpose both for Hazel Grace and for me even though I may never know that purpose until I stand in awe on the other side. We are alive. He has set us aside for a special purpose that He has yet to reveal, but no matter what, we have already been fully and truly blessed merely by both of us still being here on this planet!

So I vow here...now...that I will, by God's grace and with His help, I will lift my hands in thanksgiving for all situations...

Both the good and the 'bad'...

Because aren't they all intertwined anyway?

Whose Baby is This Anyway?

When I was in the hospital, in the moments before Hazel Grace was born, in those minutes between the time that the doctor held my hand and told me he would have to take the baby and the time that the sharp cold metal cut into my flesh to remove her from her dark sacred place,

in those brief moments that both seemed to last hours and pass in a flash,

I whispered something to my mother.

A name.

A name that we had been holding to our chest for weeks now.

Naming a child is very personal and can be very difficult.  This name, the name that you, as a parent, choose for this child who is yet to be born, is a name that will last her lifetime and in some ways define her...

who she is and how people will see her in years to come as they hear the name.

Our name choices have often been met with resistance from our families, both Jimmy's and mine, so we don't tell the name until the child is born.

But this time was different.

I was afraid that I would not get to see this child born and named.

First, I was told that I would be put under for the surgery to remove her from me, and I was terrified.

A baby born at 24 weeks does not have much on her side...

Not a great chance to live.

And I was terrified that I would be under, unconscious, sleeping, when she came into this world abruptly and then left it just as quickly.

So through the tears of fear, anger and denial, I whispered something to my mother as they prepared to wheel me to the operating room:

Her name is Hazel Grace.

She must have a name before she gets here in case...in case...in case she leaves again all too soon.

Hazel Grace....God sees

And God did see because plans changed and I was able to be awake for the surgery and I heard her and I saw her before she was whisked away.

Hazel Grace...God sees.

And later, when I was able to go and see my Hazel Grace, I peered into the plastic of the isolette and I saw this tiny form that resembled a baby bird resting under a blue light and I wondered

How can this be my baby?

How can this be a baby at all?

What have I done?

What have we done?

What has God done????

My babies are round chubby affairs with scrunched up faces and kicking feet and mewling voices calling immediately for their mother and her milk.

But this?

I couldn't touch, couldn't hold, couldn't hear...

And through the tears, could barely see.

But now, as my sweet baby Hazel Grace grows and fills herself out getting fat on mother's milk and nurses' love

I say, 'That is a baby.  That is my baby'

But even as the words leave my mouth I hear the whispered name again...

Hazel Grace...God sees.

God sees.

And I ask again,

What have I done?

What have we done?

What has God done?

And I hear the answer as clearly as the beeping monitors and as insistently and as steadily as the beating of her heart...

A baby?  Yes.

My baby?  Not quite.

Because Hazel Grace...God sees...

Even when I couldn't.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

Our sweet baby Hazel Grace is not a gift that I brought into the world, nor that the doctors have kept alive...

Because alone, these things are ineffectual and worth nothing.

But this baby, this tiny micro preemie, carries her heritage with her like a mantle:

Hazel Grace...God sees.

That's why she's here.

She's of God and from God and loaned to us to be used by God for great things.

Dear, sweet baby Hazel Grace...God sees...

God sees!

AWANA!

The acronym AWANA stands for Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed, and it is an awesome program that teaches children Bible memory verses and Bible truths in an easy to understand format that builds on itself as the children grow and move through the program.  

This past Wednesday was the last day of AWANA classes for this school year, and I am so proud of Jo!  She finished her whole book this year!  That means that she memorized a great many Bible verses, all the books of the New Testament as well as learned many Bible truths and rose to the challenges that were placed before her in her studies.  All of the children did a wonderful job, and I am so proud of them all!  

Way to go!

And I can't wait til next year when Gabriel will be old enough to join in, too!

One of the Signs...

...of a true man.

On the floor, diapering the baby, ready to tuck him in bed for his after-church nap.

Sigh...

What's going on here...

Wow!  It's been a week since I've written!  A lot has actually happened, which is one reason why I have not written.  It has been pretty busy around here.

Jimmy's mom and dad had left to go home to El Salvador in November to live there permanently.  They are residents of the US, and in order to keep their residency, and therefore their ability to travel back and forth from the US and El Salvador, they need to come to the US to visit once every 5 months.

Well, the five months is now up, and so we called them to see if they wanted to set up a time to get the plane tickets to come and visit or if they didn't want to come back and just wanted to let their residency expire.  Much to our surprise, Jimmy's sister answered the phone and told us that Jimmy's dad was planning on 'surprising' us by appearing on our doorstep and announcing that he was going to move back to the US and stay here 'permanently'.

My!  Well, then.  That would have been quite a surprise!  I am glad that we called.

So, in the end, it turned out that we found out on Sunday that both of them decided to come back to live in the US permanently, and their flight was coming in a 2AM on Friday.  That didn't leave us much time to prepare.

We had already talked with them about how when the left in November, we were going to take over the room that they were leaving and that we would not be able to empty it again since in reality we really needed that space anyway.  We are, after all, a family of 6 in only 2 bedrooms, and we sorely needed that extra space.

But then we come to the problem of where do they stay?  With no job and no money, exactly where could they go?  At first, they slept in Elizabeth's bed and she slept on the couch downstairs, then Jimmy's dad went to stay with a friend and his mom slept on Jo's bed and Jo and Elizabeth slept together in her bed, and finally,  after much prayer and obvious intervention from God, his mom moved down to stay with his dad at the friend's house.  It turns out that the family has 3 kids and their live-in nanny/housekeeper is leaving on vacation for a month, so Jimmy's mom is going to take her place while she is gone, and there is a possibility that she will not come back!  That means that Jimmy's mom could have a permanent job with them which includes room and board for both of them plus cash every week!  And they live right down Rt 1, so it is not too far, and there is easy bus access when they need it.

What a blessing!

When You See it Through Their Eyes

As I mentioned before, I had a rough day one day last week, but it was completely turned around by the touch of a friend.  There's more to this story, though.

Baby B was with us on Thursday, and he had an absolute blast all morning, and he peacefully drank his bottle and started to snuggle in for a nap.  But then, he realized that he really wanted more milk.  That was the one thing that would make him happy.  Sleep would come later, but he wanted milk, and he would actually have liked that milk now!

But there was none to be had!  There were other yummy treats to be eaten like carrots and banana and squash, but only milk would do, and so there was sadness and tears.  Sucking his thumb wasn't cuttin' it.  He needed milk.  Well, in all honesty, he didn't need the milk.  He had just had some, and there was other food to be had, so it's not like he was starving, but he wanted the milk.  It's what he needed to hit his little warm comfy sleepy time spot.

So, I picked him up and held him.  And I looked into his little teary eyes, and he looked into mine, and there was communication.

I get it, Baby B.  It's what you need right now.  Even though you will get by without it, and you physically don't need it for survival, it's what will fulfill your desires and make you happy.  It's what will lift your spirits and calm your heart.  I get it.  Sometimes, we all just need what we don't need but what we want.

I get it.

So, I did the thing that I never do outside of an emergency.  I called Baby B's mom at work on the phone.  Not texted, called.  Like ring ring...hello?

It wasn't an emergency.

But it was.

It was Baby B's emergency, and I knew how he felt.  I knew that eventually, he would cry himself to sleep, and I knew that in the long run, it probably wouldn't have made much difference, but I also knew that if he were my little boy, I would want to know when he had a need like this.

This does not mean that his every little whim will be fulfilled, nor does it mean that I intend to call his mother at the drop of every cheerio, but what it does mean is that I understand that sometimes, there are just things that have to be done, needs that must be fulfilled.  Does Baby B understand what transpired?  Did our communication go to that level?  I would like to think that in some deep dark recess of his little brain, a synapse was connected and some sort of bond was formed.  A happy snuggle milk mommy caregiver bond so that his trust in me and mankind in general was strengthened just a little.

But maybe not.  Maybe he was just happy to see his mom and get some milk.  Whatever.  She came.  He smiled.  Happy baby.

But I would like to think that somewhere deep inside, he understood, and I hope his mom did, too.

Growing Pains

Her curls stick sweatily to her neck and her bare toe traces a pattern in the dust.  The toe with the Angry Bird Band-Aid on it because she was nervously picking at her toenails the night before draws swirls, patterns, and crazy "S's" which appear and just as quickly disappear under her restless foot.

Why does it hurt, Mommy?  Why is the sun so hot that it burns my feet on the sidewalk and my legs on the slide?  If the sun is to make the flowers grow, why does it hurt so bad?

I look at her dirt-streaked, sweaty face and say the only thing that comes to mind:

Growth hurts, my love. 

We, I, am at a time of growth, and it hurts.  The walls of our house groan with the strain of the growth that is pushing against them.  Four growing children, one room mate, and two in-laws have this tiny house maxed out.  For now, it is one in-law, since my mother-in-law is in El Salvador for the next month, but with the answered prayer that my father-in-law get a job, she will undoubtedly return to be with him here and to put even more pressure back on the cracking plaster of this old house. 

But this house is an inanimate object.  We ask nothing of it other than to shelter us and keep us safe from the storms.  It is not expected to grow and change.

But I am.

Will I, as my mother always used to say, continue to repeat my mistakes until I learn the right way?  Must I stay here, boiling under the pressure of it all until I learn?

What?  What is it that I must learn? 

I place my palms flat on the walls and feel the heat of the outdoor sun being transferred to the blue walls of the living room.  Blue.  Like the sky, like a great space, like our upside-down view of heaven. 

And I know that I can not stretch these walls, these things of wood and drywall, but rather it is I who need to become smaller.  Much smaller.

I need to shrink myself down to the size that will fit in God's palm.

I can say everyday that my attitude needs to be fixed.  I can say that my reliance on God is what is lacking, but until I actually do something about it, then what are my words but an annoying fly buzzing in people's ears?

But growth hurts, and it is hard to pray for pain.

On my knees with downturned face and upstretched hands pleading for pain is the only place that I will find growth.

And until I am ready to do that, I can expect nothing. 

But I know that as soon as I am ready to do that, then I can expect the blue walls of this little house to burst open with new space.  Not that I will have more physical space, but rather that I will be turning this space that we do have over to God and trusting His infinite wisdom with the plan for us and our future. 

Five Minute Friday - Remember

Today is Sunday, so I figured it would be a great time to link up to Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Friday.

The rules?  Write for five minutes without stopping to correct or edit. 

The topic?  Remember

Ready? Set?  GO!

I remember back when I was little and I had blind faith.  I just thought that it would all work out and that I would be safe, and sound and protected.

I remember when I used to walk in front of the strip mall with my dad and he would put his hand on top of my head and I would close my eyes and he, with his hand on my head, would lead me around the poles and trash cans and people. 

Until one time he forgot that I had my eyes closed.

And I ran into a pole.

And it hurt.  It hurt my head, and my pride.

Things are different, now though.  I still wish for that hand on my head, and I still wish for that gentle but firm guiding from my dad, but it's not like that anymore. I know that no one can do that for me.  No one can be constantly vigilant and watch my every step.

And so, for the longest time,  I tried to put my own hand on my head and close my eyes and lead myself.

But you can guess the outcome of that!

So I have now turned to look at another Father.

I know that my father still loves and cares for me, but he is not here, right here, right now. 

And my blindness leading my own self just wasn't working.

And besides, when I hit that pole, and it hurt, and I fell, this hand on my  head couldn't hold me up, because I was the one who holding the hand up on the top of my head.

But now, I have a Father who puts His hand under and around me and not only guides me, but holds me up and watches not only where my head goes, but where my feet go, also.

STOP!  Wow that was a fast 5 minutes!

Etched in Sand

This past weekend, 30 women from our church went to the beach for a Women's Retreat.  I was one of those 30.

Reach out and touch

Feel the pain,

Feel the joy

Feel the recovery.

The waves crash to the shore as we women stand facing the endless ocean with our troubles in our hands as so many stones.

Toss them away from you to be washed by the cleansing waves, we are told.

And so we stand, prayerfully, to toss the stones

one by one

into the great abyss that is the ocean.

We toss our cares away from ourselves, our puny, weak selves,

into the ever powerful waves of the ocean...

Into the ever powerful arms of God.



Sitting on the shore,

my bare feet feeling the coolness of the fall tide-wet sand,

I reach down with my finger and trace the words that have haunted me

the sins to be confessed and erased

and my fingers flit and glide through the soft substance

until my deepest hidden thoughts come to the surface.

And I see this word here, staring at me so deeply etched.  So raw and plain for all to see.

What do I fear? 

I fear failure

I fear the unknown

I fear the past, the present

and the future.

I fear that it all rests on my shoulders

This great burden of family,

This great blessing of family

This blessing that gives and gives but also

takes and takes

so very much.

Who am I to stand up under this weight alone?

As my head sinks to my knees in quiet supplication

In tearful pleading with the One who can handle it all

I see my fear for what it is

It is not a thing that can be handled or subdued by me

It is a lack that needs to be filled

It is the lack of

Trust.

My toes clench,  feeling the grainy sand between them.

And my hands touch

gingerly

the rough edges of my FEAR feeling the grit of it under my fingernails.

And in the touching, in the probing,

the word starts to fade.

As I search my FEAR

And as I begin to accept it for what it is

a LACK

that must be filled with

FAITH

in the One who is EVER FAITHFUL

I see this FEAR, this word, this feeling

Disappear

Raising my eyes to the never ending waves of the ocean

Infinite power,

Set in place by an even more Powerful One

I confess my fear

And allow it to be nothing but what it really is

Nothing more than a word

etched in nothing more than sand.

And in its place

there is

Peace

because through confession, my slate is wiped clean

daily

by the One who calms me

Thanksgiving

The hands reach and grasp and I feel their pull on my heart and on my legs and on my time.  I look down into their faces and see wants and needs and a vast unquenchable thirst for attention and love.

And I feel like I am at the edge of an abyss.

Blackness ready to suck me down.

My belly swells heavily before me, and my heart pounds wearily inside of me as I look around the house at the little and not so little shoes, socks, and sweaters strewn all around.

The promise of coffee in the kitchen is a distant comfort as I see the dishes piled in the sink and the laundry on the line through the window with the whir of another load finishing up in the machine.

I can't do this.  I can't go there to that job and leave this here waiting for me when I get back.  I can't walk through another day like this.  I can't run household and hold my position at the company where I work as well and struggle to get my home business off the ground.

I am weary and weak.

The night before weighed so heavily on me.  Pictures of the baby girls in China in dying rooms kept floating through my mind.

What can I, one person, do for them when I can't even keep myself together?  Can helping one child even make a difference for the thousands of other little girls who are abandoned?

Where is GOD?

I pull my husband to me and cry to him the pain that I see in the pictures and hidden camera videos and I ask what can we do?

He knows my heart, and he wraps his arms around me.

I know your soul is aching, he says.  God hears your cries.  God, too, knows the desires of your heart.

When the time is right, in HIS perfect plan, the answer will come.

Yes, you are right.  When the time is right, all will come together.

Take today, take now and give thanks in who you are and where you are.

So I look with new eyes and I see my oldest bending to pick up the stray socks

And I see the dirty dishes that pile in the sink because we have eaten well

And the linens flapping on the line because we have a place to sleep

And the diapers whirring to an end in the machine because we are blessed with strong healthy children.

And so I look down into the soft brown eyes of the little ones and kiss their upturned faces knowing that while I am gone, they will be well cared for by their grandmother, who loves them as I do.

And I know that this is just for a season and that the line of this day, this week, this month is but one small thread in the tapestry of the plan that God has for my life.

Give thanks in all circumstances for this is God's will for you in Jesus Christ.

  1 Thessalonians 5:18

See You at the Pole

I wanted to let you all know how it went last Wednesday at See You at the Pole. 

In case you don't know, this is a world wide event where students all over meet around the flagpole at their school before school starts to pray for the school, the leaders in their school and in their country and basically to pray for whatever they want to pray about.

Elizabeth wanted to participate in this, but she was also nervous about 'sticking her neck out' and telling other kids about it.

Her excuse was that other than the 2 other girls that we take to church with us who attend her school, there is no one else in her school that is a like-minded Christian who is willing to stand up in front of the school and by doing so proclaim their faith.

In our church, we as a whole congregation are doing a study about how God is big enough.  To this end, the church has made rubber bracelets with the words 'God is Big Enough' on them so that we can wear and share them to help spread the word and the idea that God is indeed big enough for anything that we can possibly come across. 

I know that it is legal to hold a prayer meeting at the school, as in the kids can't get arrested for doing it, but to be safe, Elizabeth asked the principal of her school if she was allowed to gather at the pole and pray on Wednesday morning. 

The principal responded that she would have to check.  It too her until Monday evening to find out whether the kids could gather or not, and her response was that yes, they could gather, but they couldn't make posters or fliers about it because that does not fit the school's image.  (Of course, they can make fliers about dance competitions and drama shows and such, just not this.) 

So, Elizabeth had one day to spread the word by mouth.

Her friends Annie and Renee, who go to church with us, also spread the word.  Elizabeth was nervous on Tuesday morning about talking to her friends.  She said that they wouldn't come and they wouldn't care.  W talked about how that was not her choice.   She needed to only spread the word, and let God take care of the rest because as we have studied, He is big enough and much bigger than her or the distances that she can personally reach.

So, she went and spread the word.

Wednesday morning I agreed to drive Elizabeth and Renee to school to be sure that they would get there in time, and 5 minutes before we had to leave, it started pouring rain.  I mean POURING!  It was coming down in sheets!  We got soaked just looking out the window! 

But we headed off anyway, and by the time we got to the school, it had pretty much let up. 

The girls got out of the car and we all went to the pole and waited for the buses to unload.  One girl came by to see what we were doing, and when the girls told her, she stayed for a while, but then wandered off.

Then the buses unloaded and 2 more girls joined us.

Because Elizabeth had never done this before, we had printed out a prayer to read so that no one would be shy and so that there would not be just awkward silence.  So, Elizabeth passed out the prayer that she had gotten from the church and then modified to fit the situation, and the girls read the prayer.  Then a youth pastor from another church that had been going around to the various schools prayed over the girls and the gave them donuts. 

I bet if more kids knew that there would be donuts, more would have showed up!

Then, Elizabeth passed out one of the God is Big Enough bands to each of the girls.

I was so proud of them all! 


(I was a little bit afraid to take pictures at the school with all the kids there and parents and buses unloading.  I don't know what the rules are about 'unauthorized' pictures of kids at public schools.)

All of the girls knew each other except for one who knew some but not all.  In total, there was only 5 girls who stayed through the whole thing, but it's a start!

I just had to hug them all!  They were so sweet standing there communing in prayer and asking their Lord to bless them and their school. 

So, it may not have turned out very big, but at least these girls got together and made other people ask questions like 'what are you doing out here in the wet???'

And Elizabeth now knows one more girl who is like-minded.

So...the next thing that is happening is that Elizabeth has to do community service hours for an assignment for school. 

Of course, with Jimmy and me being the mean and cruel parents that we are, Elizabeth is not allowed to do what all the other kids do - library duty, help a teacher, pick up trash around the school, help in the nursery at church - oh, no.  We want her to dig a bit deeper and find out how to find people who need help.

So she asked advice from some great friends, and went a the missionary fair that was at our church picnic. 

Since she is a minor, her choices are somewhat limited, but she found a place where they ask for kids to make Christmas, birthday and housewarming cards for lonely people and people in shelters. 

So, we are collecting ribbon and stickers and whatnot so that we can have a card making party.  Elizabeth now has one new friend to invite!  (The one she didn't really know who came to the flag pole)  Who knows if this new girl will be able to come or not, but I am so happy that Elizabeth is having a chance to make her circle of believing friends just a little bit bigger. 

At Elizabeth's age where things can be so difficult, the more support she has the better.

And, I also firmly believe that it Elizabeth's age, where things can be so difficult, it is very important for the kids to work with other people who are younger or who will look up to them and who they can teach...who they know will be disappointed if they 'mess up'.

So our guest list for our card making party is slowly and thoughtfully being made, (there are only but so many kids who can fit in this house...especially now that the kids are bigger...they just take up more room!)

I'll keep you posted!