... but God

I sat beside my husband Joey as we sped into the hospital.  My water had never broken on its own before.  In fact, with all my other biological children the midwife had to break my water and a half hour later I’d be holding new life in my arms.  Because of this, the Doctor had advised us just 15 minutes before to get to the hospital and get there fast.  I was petrified.  I was sure I was going to be the woman who delivered her baby in the freezing cold along the side of the road.  I can’t explain the fear, but it was overpowering, stealing joy with every mile we drove.  This whole process was completely outside of my control.  It wasn’t until we got to the hospital and I was told I was only 2 cm dilated that the fear began to subside.  Seven hours later I held my 5lb 9oz miracle.  A month early, he decided to make his debut on Valentine’s Day.  Little did I know that the season the we were walking into would be the most difficult one of my life. 

I sat in the bath tub, fan on, trying to drown out the screaming.  Ten minutes of peace, relaxation and relief was all I wanted.  Every facet of me was exhausted and at the end of my rope.  Joey appeared through the door with our sobbing babe.  “Nothing’s working.”  Everything in me wanted to quit being a parent, but that’s not how it works. 

I sat across from the Pediatrician as he informed me they found blood in the diaper sample.  I was advised to cut out soy on top of the dairy I’d already cut out.  If that didn’t work we’d go down the list of allergens until we saw relief.  A week into it things weren’t getting better so I cut out all 8 top allergens.  Still nothing.  My diet was cut back to 10 foods, then 8, then 5.  Nothing.  No substantial change, only more hopelessness.  On top of it all I was convinced that I wasn’t producing enough milk on such a limited diet.  He always seemed hungry, but with all his presumed allergies the only formula option was a hypoallergenic one and he wouldn’t take it (after tasting it myself I completely understood why).  The anxiety covered me like a heavy fleece blanket on a 100 degree night.  I wasn’t sure how much more of it I could all handle. 

I sat next to my mom who had come over to hold our 2 month old and give me a much needed nap.  This was probably the 10^th time we had tried over the past couple weeks, but I couldn’t sleep.   I was exhausted beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, but the anxiety tormented me and I couldn’t rest.  I felt like I was stuck in fight of flight mode 24/7, only I couldn’t run away from this.  My body was shutting down. 

I sat on the porch swing rocking back and forth, babe in my arms.  The swing on the porch, hidden under the shade of our large maple tree had become my refuge.  As the breeze would blow over us both I would worship, cry, war, and call out to the Lord.  God continued to be faithful and meet me, blowing little pieces of hope into my heart and spirit.  There was new manna for each day.  I knew that there was a purpose for the season.  God was doing something in me.  I was being pruned, tested and put through the fire.  It hurt.  I wanted it to be over. 

I sat across from Joey and listened to him tell me that this was the hardest season of his adult life.  It made me feel a little better, like it wasn’t just me.  It wasn’t all in my head.  It just sucked and there was no way around it.  Kind of like that kids book about the bear hunt.  “Can’t go over it.  Can’t go under it.  Got to go through it.”  Shit. 

I sat across from the Midwife and listened to her tell me that within 2 weeks I should see a difference on the antidepressant she was prescribing me.  I knew she was right, but I also had an eerie feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better, and they did.  That Thursday, when I woke, the first thought that came to mind was, “I need to commit myself.  I can’t do this anymore.”  As I woke up a bit more I realized 2 things needed to happen:  this child needed to learn to sleep and I needed to put him on formula so I could distance myself from it all a bit.  Everything in me felt too shattered to do either of those things, but I knew they had to happen.  I called my parents who came and picked up the middle 3 children so I could focus solely on Israel and teaching him to sleep on his own.  That day I pressed in like I’ve never pressed in before.  Every time I put my babe down for a nap I worshiped and fell apart on my living room floor.  Never have I been so raw, so depleted, so desperate.  I paced the floor back and forth.  All the anxiety, fear and adrenaline wouldn’t even allow me to sit.  I felt like I was crawling out of my own skin.  As I listened to my sweet baby scream through the monitor I laid all of me out before the Lord.  As the Lord met me I felt Him say, “You’re crowning.  Three more days until the birth.  Give me your little and I’ll make much.”  

I sat with the Lord, well more like paced with the Lord, every chance I could over those next couple days.  I had finally come to a point of releasing all that I was.  I wasn’t fighting the process anymore.  I was too tired to fight anything.  The Lord was speaking many things to my heart.  One of the things He spoke was that our family was to make a prophetic act and march around our house 7 times, giving up a shout to the Lord after the 7^th lap – just like the Israelites did when they took Jericho.  It sounded crazy.  We did it anyway.  Something broke that night, the 3^rd and final night of the birthing process. 

I sat with the Lord again that next morning as He spoke to me about my healing, Israel’s healing and the healing of our family that was to come.  He told me that there would be a 6 week postpartum healing.  In the coming days I found myself grateful for that revelation.  Healing did not happen instantly.  It has taken time, but there has been definite healing. 

Today I stood at the front of our church, babe in hand, family by my side and dedicated Israel David to the Lord – an act I had already done more than once throughout the previous season in private moments.  It also just so happened to be the last day of our 6 month postpartum healing process, a strategic merging of dates that I believe to be orchestrated by the LORD. 

Through it all I have learned that God is God and I am not.  He is forever faithful and good, my shelter in the storm.  He will do what He says He will do.  His joy is my strength and when I have nothing left HE will fight for me.  People will politely say, “God will never give you more than you can handle.”  I don’t buy it.  This past season was a storm I could not handle.  On my own I would have sunk.  …. But God. 

What Ferguson has taught me...

OK, so let me first start out by saying that this perspective is from that of a while, middle class woman.  I’ve been privileged all my life.  During my single-mom-in-college days I navigated my way through some of the welfare system, which was an interesting venture, but that’s as “unprivileged” as it gets for this girl.  I’ve never had to worry or wonder if I was being targeted simply because of the color of my skin.  I’ve never had that fear for my children.  I acknowledge that. 

Over the past weeks I’ve read numerous articles, blog posts, interviews, facebook status updates, etc. about the Ferguson tragedy, and the conclusion, the only real conclusion that I’ve come to, is that we as the American people like to pick sides. 

We pick a side and then we find evidence to fit, even if unintentionally.  I have yet to read or hear anything that doesn’t feel like it invites you to one side or the other.  I feel like we become so focused on our own perspective that we forget about the people.  Sure we use their names as the face for our cause, but are they truly our focus or are we driven more by innate fears and biases that lie beneath the surface of our own hearts.   A perfect example of this is those who have used the local death of a beautiful teacher by a young black man to perpetuate their perspective (which in my opinion is so out of context and is motivation behind this personal rant). 

Honestly, I still have yet to figure out where I stand.  I don’t know if I’ll truly ever know.  I feel like I’m stuck in some weird, middle ground, no-man’s land.  My heart breaks for Michael Brown’s family, for a mother who will never get to see the hopes and dreams for her son realized.  That hits home for me.  My heart aches for Darren Wilson and what he has had to and will have to deal with in these coming years.  Such a tragedy does not end well for anyone involved EXCEPT by the grace of God.

And so that is how I pray.  That’s God’s grace would sweep this nation.  That what the enemy intended for evil, God will use for HIS glory.  That all who are wounded by this tragedy, and tragedies that have taken place this season, would have an encounter with the God who heals all wounds and brings HOPE. 

Without God, I do not believe this nation will see the unity and love that it deeply craves.  We love because HE first loved us (1 John 4:19).  So I pray for my own heart, that God would bring the fears and biases to the surface.  That I will be able to receive God’s love so that I can love others as He has loved me.  I guess that is my stand.  God help me.  God help us all.

When Someone Else's Child Becomes Your Own

"A child born to another woman calls me mommy.  The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege are not lost on me."  Jody Landers.

March 20th was a beautiful, long awaited day.  It was the day that we "officially" welcomed our beautiful son, Daniel, into our forever family.  It was a day that we had longed for, prayed for, and desired with all our hearts for over 18 months.  It was glorious, and it's all still sinking in.

What is it like to desire with all your heart for someone else's child to become your own?  What is it like to sit in the same room with the mother of that child and see her tears, her desires to be a mother, and still desire for that child to become your own?  It's complicated.

I am forever grateful to this woman, this other mother, for choosing life, for loving our little boy, and in the end for trusting us with such a precious gift.  I pray for her joy and peace.  In those moments when her heart and arms ache to hold our little one, God, comfort her.  May she know that she is loved and cherished by a Heavenly Father who will not wrong her like her earthly one.  May everyday hold a piece of healing for the heart that longs to hear our little one call her "mommy." 

And when that little one calls me "mommy,"  may I never forget the privilege that comes with those words.  The beautiful and heart-wrenching privilege of someone else's child becoming my own. 

A Second To Spare

Every year as I ponder Christmas, I ask the LORD to make it more real to me.  I don’t want to get caught up in the hustle of bustle of trying to perfect things that, in reality, don’t make much difference.  I mean, I love Christmas lights and buying gifts, but my outdoor display of Christmas spirit will not be the piece of Christmas that truly changes a persons’ life forever. 

As I ponder this year, the thought that keeps coming back to me is how life can be forever changed in one short second.  I mean really, isn’t that a HUGE piece of what the Christmas story is about.  In one short second the world was changed for eternity, never to be the same.  OK, don’t get me wrong.  I know that child birth takes more than a split second.  I have been there, 3 times, but there came a second, one amazing second, where the Christ child was thrust into this world, took his first breath, and changed the course of history.  It got me thinking.

What do I do with my seconds?  If a split second is all it takes, then what can one do with that second?  Here are a few things I came up with:

   - Say “I’m sorry.”

   - Choose to forgive, even after years of holding a grudge.

   -  Buy the person in line behind you at Starbucks a coffee.

   - Tell your children or someone in your life that you love them.

   - Give someone a hug.

   - Choose a kind word instead of an angry one in a heated situation.

   - Let someone merge into your lane, even when you’re in a hurry.

           

Anyway – there’s many more, but you get the point.  The choices that we make in one second have the power to change another persons’ life and our own.  We may not always feel like it, but we all have a second to spare.  What will you do with yours?

Sowing Seeds

When you have a child at age 15, it adds some messy dynamics to your life.  When you get married 4 years later and terminate parental rights of that child's biological father, things get even messier, in a sense.  It was easy to go on with life, and forget the past, but it wasn't just my past to be forgotten.  What goes on in the mind of a small child when the father figure they once knew bails and a new one takes his place?  What happens in their heart when those ties are broken, even if for their own good?

It's not like we never talked about it with our son over the past several years, we did.  We asked questions like, "Do you think about him?  Do you have questions about him?" and made sure he knew that he could always talk to us about his biological dad.  It was just never really anything of importance, until a few weeks ago.

It is a strange thing when our past invades our present and makes things, well, messy again.  I received a request from our sons biological father to begin writing to him.  I was conflicted.  I could feel the mama bear rising up in me, wanting to protect our son from any harm, and at the same time the realization hit that this man is his past too.  He is becoming a young man and there are areas of his heart that need healing and reconciliation from that past.  It was not my decision to make, it was his.

The first letter came last week.  I opened it, of course, and read it.  There was true recognition of the hurt and pain that was caused and a deep repentance.  It was genuine and real.  I watched as my son read it (after he rolled his eyes at me for opening it first- however, in my defense I would have had to wait 4 hours for him to get home from school and open it).  His face was serious as he read through then folded it up and put it in his back pocket.  "I'm keeping this so I can read it again," he said.  I could tell it was precious to him.

A few days later he came down the steps, carrying his own letter.  I read the letter.  I cried.  Were these really the words of my 13 year old son - the same kid who had pummeled his little sister and left his dirty clothes all over the bathroom floor?   There was forgiveness and a genuine desire to get to know the man on the other end of that letter.  There was encouragement through scripture, Psalms 32:5 and Isaiah 43:18-19, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See I am doing a new thing!" and a call to continue to press on.  Misspellings and all, it was real, it was genuine, and it flowed from a heart of love.  I could not have been more proud or humbled in that moment.  


So, we begin a journey towards a messy reality and choose to believe that it will be one full of healing and life.  "See I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”  Isaiah 43:19.  AMEN!
 

These are a few of my favorite things...

As the evening winds down and I get ready to hop into bed I ask myself, "what is one of my favorite parts of my day?" As I rack my brain, going through all the many things I've done today, I realize that my favorite parts have nothing to do with what I've accomplished, but instead revolve around the people that I love. My favorite parts are:

1. Snuggling my little Anna on the couch and listening to her giggle as I squeeze tighter and tighter.

2. Seeing my kids faces when I told them they could have 10 minutes to jump on the trampoline with the hose before they had to leave with their Mimi (yes, I know this does not create ideal jumping conditions, but they sure do love it).

3. Finally getting to see my hubby after his long day at work and eating dinner together while discussing church leadership, work, and other things we don't normally get to discuss when the kiddos are home.

4. Kissing my kids goodnight after they were already asleep - especially since Alex was having some funky dream and almost whacked me in the face as she muttered to herself, which made me giggle :)

5. Seeing so many different members of my family in 1 day (I guess it helps that I'm currently living with most of them!).

While it's so easy, at the end of the day, to focus on the things I didn't get done or the things that I still don't have yet, tonight I choose to go to sleep focused on the many ways that I am blessed. Tomorrow has enough worries of it's own and quite frankly I'd rather count my blessings.

In A Season of Waiting

Waiting (as an intransient verb):

1. a: to remain stationary in readiness or expectation
b: to pause for another to catch up —usually used with up

2. a: to look forward expectantly
b: to hold back expectantly

3. a: to be ready and available
b: to remain temporarily neglected or unrealized

Patient:

1: bearing pains or trials calmly or without complaint

2: manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain

3: not hasty or impetuous

4: steadfast despite opposition, difficulty, or adversity

5: able or willing to bear

Waiting patiently is not for wimps and it is certainly not for the faint of heart. It is not about sitting on our hands, inactive and inattentive. It is a fierce battle of the heart, mind, spirit and soul. In a fast paced, have everything now society, we cringe at the idea of waiting. We want a quick and convenient experience, whether it’s at the grocery store or in our relationships (um…facebook). But there are times, seasons, when God takes us into a place of waiting and asks us to do it patiently; to “look forward expectantly” while “manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain.” This is the season that I have found myself in for the past 13 months.

I must admit, there are many days that I wish this season would end. There are many times that I have acknowledged the fact that we very well could have forced it to end on several occasions. But, I know that if I continue to give this season to the Lord and seek Him, if I am “able or willing to bear” the process that the Lord wants to take me though to grow me, then not only will I end up with a wonderful home, but I will end up more like Him. And so, no matter how many times I may want to throw in the towel, I continue to press on, urging my heart, mind, soul and spirit to wait patiently and rest in the promises of God. I know His promises are true, His process is good and that He has amazing things in store for me and my family. I just hope I'm nearing the end of the tunnel :)