Tiny onesies
Handled with care
Sorted and separated
Stored into bins
Anxiously waiting
To make their debut
On a child that will be here
Before we know it...
Anticipation...
35 years old,
And as the day grows closer,
I feel like I'm 5
And it's about to be
Christmas...
Can't wait to see where the
Father is taking us...
Can't wait to meet
Our son...
How did a teenager
Handle this excitement?
How did Mary
Trek through the deserts,
On an ill-timed census
While 9 months pregnant?
Anticipation?
Fear?
Terror?
Trust in the man by her side
(Who did not wear her ring)?
Faith?
The emotions she held,
That we believe she
Pondered in her heart--
Truly, she was special.
I sleep on a mattress
Designed for support and comfort
And still complain about my
"hips, my back, my neck;"
She slept on a camel...
In a barn...
On the ground.
Doctors will orchestrate my
Delivery
With medicine and antibiotics
And centuries of research;
She was in straw,
Surrounded by sympathetic strangers
And animals that were not versed
On hygiene.
This time of the year,
I can't help but compare the two...
I cannot watch the journey of
Joseph and Mary
Without thinking of how
Scared
Confused
Uncomfortable
Angry
She must have been.
Pregnant women in our day
Get some kind of "free pass"
For being difficult;
Mary would have had no such luck.
Culture would have demanded her
Subserviance
Politeness
Cordiality
Meekness.
I would have been
Beheaded.
One thing we have in common:
We anxiously await the birth of
A Son (a son)
Who will change
Our world...
Except
Mary's Son
Delivered us all...
My son
Belongs to Him.
The birth of a Savior
Revolutionized the world...
That birth
Led me to the grace of God...
The grace of God
Led me to salvation...
Salvation
Led me to forgiveness...
Forgiveness
Led me to faith
And faith has led me to
This
Point
In my life.
I have no idea what God has in store
For me,
For my child,
For my husband...
But to be like Mary,
Throughout the journey,
I will trust Him...
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Brief Blog: Update
It's a wonderful time of the year! David and I have a lot to look forward to...
Up until this point, all of our doctors' appointments have gone really well. Unfortunately, over the last week, we've had a few things take some turns we were not expecting. Without going into details, I would ask at this time that you say a quick prayer for us, and for Baby Cooley. Our doctors have the advantage this time of knowing my medical history, and of knowing what to plan for. The specialists are using their great brains to figure out a game plan.
It would seem as though the "boring" part of my pregnancy is officially over; now, we play a waiting game of balancing medications, taking tests, and most importantly for me, of resting when I'm at home.
This is what we're praying for, and we'd humbly like to ask you to agree with us:
1. God's Will to be revealed: We are completely relying on Him. We know that He is faithful (Hebrews 10:23), and that He knows what's going on.
2. Wisdom for the doctors
3. That delivery will be put off as long as possible (I'd like to make it to 35-36 weeks, at the earliest)
4. That I can continue working until 34 weeks (So far, so good--I realize this is not the priority, and that God will provide, regardless. I would actually like to keep working as long as is safely possible. If the doctors say "no," I will be obedient...but I'd like to work).
5. That certain medications will not be required.
6. That I can keep my wits about me, and stop being a nervous wreck. It's easy to write about God being faithful; it's much harder to focus on it when I'm getting overloaded in medical details.
And that's it. I realize that I usually write WAY too much, but the details are irrelevant. Besides--I have a propensity to focus on the drama and/or scary emotion of the details, and I don't need to stress myself out with that. There are a few people who have heard my entire emotional gamut in this situation, and they've reminded me of what's WAY more important: God is bigger than all of this.
And He is faithful.
Thank you for praying...
Up until this point, all of our doctors' appointments have gone really well. Unfortunately, over the last week, we've had a few things take some turns we were not expecting. Without going into details, I would ask at this time that you say a quick prayer for us, and for Baby Cooley. Our doctors have the advantage this time of knowing my medical history, and of knowing what to plan for. The specialists are using their great brains to figure out a game plan.
It would seem as though the "boring" part of my pregnancy is officially over; now, we play a waiting game of balancing medications, taking tests, and most importantly for me, of resting when I'm at home.
This is what we're praying for, and we'd humbly like to ask you to agree with us:
1. God's Will to be revealed: We are completely relying on Him. We know that He is faithful (Hebrews 10:23), and that He knows what's going on.
2. Wisdom for the doctors
3. That delivery will be put off as long as possible (I'd like to make it to 35-36 weeks, at the earliest)
4. That I can continue working until 34 weeks (So far, so good--I realize this is not the priority, and that God will provide, regardless. I would actually like to keep working as long as is safely possible. If the doctors say "no," I will be obedient...but I'd like to work).
5. That certain medications will not be required.
6. That I can keep my wits about me, and stop being a nervous wreck. It's easy to write about God being faithful; it's much harder to focus on it when I'm getting overloaded in medical details.
And that's it. I realize that I usually write WAY too much, but the details are irrelevant. Besides--I have a propensity to focus on the drama and/or scary emotion of the details, and I don't need to stress myself out with that. There are a few people who have heard my entire emotional gamut in this situation, and they've reminded me of what's WAY more important: God is bigger than all of this.
And He is faithful.
Thank you for praying...
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
All I Want For Christmas...
Last year, around this time, all I wanted for Christmas really WAS my two front teeth (I was having some dental work done)!
This year, as the clock ticks on, I realize that my little Christmas list is about to be forever changed...
I've never really been the kid who sits there and tells Santa everything they want (although I did love to look through the Sears catalog when I was a child). As long as I can remember, I've been happy that someone thought of me. It's what means the most--that someone thought of me, and that they paid attention to me. My mom is one of the best gift-givers around. Even when she misses the mark, there is still no such thing as a bad gift from my mother--probably because she knows me better than anyone on this planet.
God is like that (only SO much more): He knows what we want, and what we need, better than anyone else. His Father's Heart is so intuitive--He knows the request before we make it. He knows the need before it presents itself. He knows the heart's cry before the tears meet our eyes. Much like my mom got to know me really well from the womb, on, the Lord has known us from before conception. He knows our deepest things, good and bad....and He loves us, anyways.
When I was a little girl, all I wanted to be was a wife and a mother; I've blogged about this before. It's my one, genuine heart's desire. There are other things I would like to DO, but nothing has burned into me like what I want to BE. I consider myself a "passable" wife, if not occasionally, a bit of a shrew (okay, sometimes, more than a "bit." Add the "ch.":). I'm not the best housekeeper; I'm terrible with money (perhaps, because there isn't any, LOL!); and I'm nowhere near the cook in reality, that I thought I would be. But I love my husband...and we always make it work, by the grace of God. God takes care of us, even when it's seemed hopeless. I love being married, and I love the institution of marriage. I love it when people say we're a "cute married couple," even when they've heard us argue. David is my other half, plain and simple. Life with him is never dull, and I never want it to end--that's the kind of marriage I wanted, when I was a child.
I have it.
I am a wife--
And I'm about to be a mother...again.. Of course, as I say that, I hear the whispers of "anything can happen. Don't get your hopes up." I hear you, whispers--but I choose to ignore you. Not because I think that David and I are immune to heartache; I know better. I choose to ignore the negative possibilities because I have hope. Because I believe that God is good, regardless of the outcome. Because I believe that He is working miracles, even now.
This time, I get to keep my dream.
There is a genuine fear that rushes through me, in that statement...like, I'm afraid to be that bold. Since Hannah died, I've struggled so deeply with fear, to the point that I was even afraid to admit that I loved my family, because if I admitted it, God would take them away. A missed phone call became the end of the world; a noise in a car engine meant a terrible accident was coming. Not a day went by, for an extended period of time, that I wasn't choked by some kind of fear. Anxiety has, in the past, been a constant companion.
I'm not going to say that I'm free and clear from all of that, but I will say that I've come a long way. I am learning that there is freedom in boldness: Embrace hope. I will be the mother to a beautiful baby boy that will grow healthy and strong, that will go to the nations! He will be a place of worship, and he is dedicated to the Lord--this is the statement I make every day. These are the words that I type in boldness, and the more I say it, the more the fear diminishes.
This is a time of crazy faith, of insane boldness, and of true, genuine recognition of my own insufficiencies...this is a time of putting one foot in front of the other, and of being thankful for every single day.
Christmas this year marks a time of major transition. After 7 years together, this will be our last Christmas with just the two of us. These are the last nights that I have with my husband, alone...as crazy as it sounds, it's a tiny bit bittersweet. I cherish my time with him, even when it's just sitting in front of the TV. I find myself not wanting to leave the house (I've heard this is normal, at this point); I don't want to share him with anyone. I'm cranky, emotional, and clingy--I don't really think David is enjoying my current phase, but I'm not giving him much of a choice. I'm overwhelmed with little tasks that need to be done, and with the daily issues that seem to keep creeping in (for the love of God, can my car stop breaking?!?). Every time I look at the bank account, I fall on my face in exasperation; my calendar at work has exploded, and I only have a few weeks left here, for training, planning, and for covering my leave. I feel like the world is exploding...
But then, I catch my reflection...
Yes, the world is exploding.
But I'm having a baby.
The thing, that they said would never happen?
It's happening.
It's really, truly happening.
I can see it...I can feel it...He's coming.
Anticipation is outweighing Anxiety.
Hope is overcoming Fear.
Walls are falling, and victory is coming...
And I don't think that's just for me.
There are a lot of people out there who are struggling, and in need of a major breakthrough. Whether it's spiritual or physical, you just can't give up hope.
God hears you...He really does...
Don't give up.
There really isn't much that I'd like for Christmas. Although I could still look through the Sears catalog and pick a few things, my taste these days, tends to be a bit more toward the practical: I'd like for my closet to be accessible...for my car to work...for the bills to be paid...
I'd like to spend time with David, without a TV running in the background (that's not always his fault--I'm guilty of this one!)...to hang out with a few friends that I haven't seen lately...to sleep through the night...to have a clean house.
In a few weeks, I'd like to meet the little guy that's currently kicking my desk...I'd like doctors' reports that are miraculously normal. I'd like to have a baby dedication in front of my church, where we all stop to appreciate the wonder of life...I'd like for us all to understand the miracle of our kids.
That's what I want for Christmas...for the New Year. Simple things, for a simple girl...supernatural things, from a supernatural God.
I believe that He cares for us.
I believe that He meets our needs.
I believe that He is worth hoping in...and I hope that you do, too.
I'm sure I'll be back on here before Christmas, but if I'm not, May you have the most wondrous of Holiday seasons...may Hope find you, may your heart be renewed, and may your spirit recognize everyday miracles...Merry Christmas, to you and yours...
This year, as the clock ticks on, I realize that my little Christmas list is about to be forever changed...
I've never really been the kid who sits there and tells Santa everything they want (although I did love to look through the Sears catalog when I was a child). As long as I can remember, I've been happy that someone thought of me. It's what means the most--that someone thought of me, and that they paid attention to me. My mom is one of the best gift-givers around. Even when she misses the mark, there is still no such thing as a bad gift from my mother--probably because she knows me better than anyone on this planet.
God is like that (only SO much more): He knows what we want, and what we need, better than anyone else. His Father's Heart is so intuitive--He knows the request before we make it. He knows the need before it presents itself. He knows the heart's cry before the tears meet our eyes. Much like my mom got to know me really well from the womb, on, the Lord has known us from before conception. He knows our deepest things, good and bad....and He loves us, anyways.
When I was a little girl, all I wanted to be was a wife and a mother; I've blogged about this before. It's my one, genuine heart's desire. There are other things I would like to DO, but nothing has burned into me like what I want to BE. I consider myself a "passable" wife, if not occasionally, a bit of a shrew (okay, sometimes, more than a "bit." Add the "ch.":). I'm not the best housekeeper; I'm terrible with money (perhaps, because there isn't any, LOL!); and I'm nowhere near the cook in reality, that I thought I would be. But I love my husband...and we always make it work, by the grace of God. God takes care of us, even when it's seemed hopeless. I love being married, and I love the institution of marriage. I love it when people say we're a "cute married couple," even when they've heard us argue. David is my other half, plain and simple. Life with him is never dull, and I never want it to end--that's the kind of marriage I wanted, when I was a child.
I have it.
I am a wife--
And I'm about to be a mother...again.. Of course, as I say that, I hear the whispers of "anything can happen. Don't get your hopes up." I hear you, whispers--but I choose to ignore you. Not because I think that David and I are immune to heartache; I know better. I choose to ignore the negative possibilities because I have hope. Because I believe that God is good, regardless of the outcome. Because I believe that He is working miracles, even now.
This time, I get to keep my dream.
There is a genuine fear that rushes through me, in that statement...like, I'm afraid to be that bold. Since Hannah died, I've struggled so deeply with fear, to the point that I was even afraid to admit that I loved my family, because if I admitted it, God would take them away. A missed phone call became the end of the world; a noise in a car engine meant a terrible accident was coming. Not a day went by, for an extended period of time, that I wasn't choked by some kind of fear. Anxiety has, in the past, been a constant companion.
I'm not going to say that I'm free and clear from all of that, but I will say that I've come a long way. I am learning that there is freedom in boldness: Embrace hope. I will be the mother to a beautiful baby boy that will grow healthy and strong, that will go to the nations! He will be a place of worship, and he is dedicated to the Lord--this is the statement I make every day. These are the words that I type in boldness, and the more I say it, the more the fear diminishes.
This is a time of crazy faith, of insane boldness, and of true, genuine recognition of my own insufficiencies...this is a time of putting one foot in front of the other, and of being thankful for every single day.
Christmas this year marks a time of major transition. After 7 years together, this will be our last Christmas with just the two of us. These are the last nights that I have with my husband, alone...as crazy as it sounds, it's a tiny bit bittersweet. I cherish my time with him, even when it's just sitting in front of the TV. I find myself not wanting to leave the house (I've heard this is normal, at this point); I don't want to share him with anyone. I'm cranky, emotional, and clingy--I don't really think David is enjoying my current phase, but I'm not giving him much of a choice. I'm overwhelmed with little tasks that need to be done, and with the daily issues that seem to keep creeping in (for the love of God, can my car stop breaking?!?). Every time I look at the bank account, I fall on my face in exasperation; my calendar at work has exploded, and I only have a few weeks left here, for training, planning, and for covering my leave. I feel like the world is exploding...
But then, I catch my reflection...
Yes, the world is exploding.
But I'm having a baby.
The thing, that they said would never happen?
It's happening.
It's really, truly happening.
I can see it...I can feel it...He's coming.
Anticipation is outweighing Anxiety.
Hope is overcoming Fear.
Walls are falling, and victory is coming...
And I don't think that's just for me.
There are a lot of people out there who are struggling, and in need of a major breakthrough. Whether it's spiritual or physical, you just can't give up hope.
God hears you...He really does...
Don't give up.
There really isn't much that I'd like for Christmas. Although I could still look through the Sears catalog and pick a few things, my taste these days, tends to be a bit more toward the practical: I'd like for my closet to be accessible...for my car to work...for the bills to be paid...
I'd like to spend time with David, without a TV running in the background (that's not always his fault--I'm guilty of this one!)...to hang out with a few friends that I haven't seen lately...to sleep through the night...to have a clean house.
In a few weeks, I'd like to meet the little guy that's currently kicking my desk...I'd like doctors' reports that are miraculously normal. I'd like to have a baby dedication in front of my church, where we all stop to appreciate the wonder of life...I'd like for us all to understand the miracle of our kids.
That's what I want for Christmas...for the New Year. Simple things, for a simple girl...supernatural things, from a supernatural God.
I believe that He cares for us.
I believe that He meets our needs.
I believe that He is worth hoping in...and I hope that you do, too.
I'm sure I'll be back on here before Christmas, but if I'm not, May you have the most wondrous of Holiday seasons...may Hope find you, may your heart be renewed, and may your spirit recognize everyday miracles...Merry Christmas, to you and yours...
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Moving Forward...but stealing glances back
I never thought this day would come.
I never thought the anniversary of Hannah's death would be met with anything but heavy, heavy grief.
But here we are...
Usually, I approach the time from 10/30-11/28 as kind of a "Monster At the End of This Book" paradigm. I dread it, from October 1st, on; when it hits, it's like a kink in a hose that's let go--there's a flood of sadness that can be pretty hard to navigate through.
This year is so different.
There are those (who are clueless) who will sit there and say that having another baby is some kind of miracle balm that is making this so much better. You're wrong, and I will not hesitate to say that very clearly: You. Are. Wrong.
Having another child does not "fix" the hole that is left when you lose your child. There is, simply put, nothing that "fixes" that hole. The only "miracle balm" is the love of Jesus--that's it. He loves you through the darkest days, and He hold your hand to walk you through the healing process. You're never completely healed, and you never forget where you were; however, you are slowly, but surely, equipped to not only move forward, but to glance backwards without falling into the vacuum of grief. At some point, you stop crying for the pain you went through at the time; instead, you cry for the opportunities you never got to have. That's something that will always hurt, I suppose--not knowing what could have been, mixed with a little bit of wondering what exactly happened, and why?
So, here we are...6 years ago, we said goodbye...
I can walk you through every minute of that day. I can remember the nurses, what I was wearing, how it felt--but I don't want to. Those who were there remember--for some of them, they will never forget. Those memories are not ones that I want to have--they're the ones the enemy attacks me with when I'm at my lowest moments. What he hasn't figured out, though, is that it's those memories that will send me running to my Father faster than anything else. You see, I've learned that there are some things I cannot handle on my own. I have to run to Him, because those things are too big to try and process on my own. He's always faithful to keep me from going under.
Today, I face the "Monster At the End of This Book." I embrace the memories with a strange kind of warm melancholy--yes, that's an intentional oxymoron--and maybe my heart hurts a little more than usual. But I'm okay...It's okay. I've found this place of peace, over the last year, and I feel like I can finally say that I am free from the heaviness that is always associated with this time. I asked David, and my Mom, if that was okay--I mean, is it disrespectful, to live life, and to move forward, during this time? Of course it is--it doesn't make me a bad mother, and it sure as heck doesn't mean that I've forgotten my beautiful Hannah-girl. But it is time...
It is time to move forward, and every year that goes by takes me to another phase of progress. I will always steal glances backwards...but I am far more inclined to look forward to not only my future here on this earth; I am inclined to look forward with far greater hope to the eternity that I have waiting for me...
Happy Angelversary, Hannah-girl--Happy Homecoming! You are loved, and you are in a place that's surrounded by the One Who Loves Us Most. I have no greater hope or healing than that...
I never thought the anniversary of Hannah's death would be met with anything but heavy, heavy grief.
But here we are...
Usually, I approach the time from 10/30-11/28 as kind of a "Monster At the End of This Book" paradigm. I dread it, from October 1st, on; when it hits, it's like a kink in a hose that's let go--there's a flood of sadness that can be pretty hard to navigate through.
This year is so different.
There are those (who are clueless) who will sit there and say that having another baby is some kind of miracle balm that is making this so much better. You're wrong, and I will not hesitate to say that very clearly: You. Are. Wrong.
Having another child does not "fix" the hole that is left when you lose your child. There is, simply put, nothing that "fixes" that hole. The only "miracle balm" is the love of Jesus--that's it. He loves you through the darkest days, and He hold your hand to walk you through the healing process. You're never completely healed, and you never forget where you were; however, you are slowly, but surely, equipped to not only move forward, but to glance backwards without falling into the vacuum of grief. At some point, you stop crying for the pain you went through at the time; instead, you cry for the opportunities you never got to have. That's something that will always hurt, I suppose--not knowing what could have been, mixed with a little bit of wondering what exactly happened, and why?
So, here we are...6 years ago, we said goodbye...
I can walk you through every minute of that day. I can remember the nurses, what I was wearing, how it felt--but I don't want to. Those who were there remember--for some of them, they will never forget. Those memories are not ones that I want to have--they're the ones the enemy attacks me with when I'm at my lowest moments. What he hasn't figured out, though, is that it's those memories that will send me running to my Father faster than anything else. You see, I've learned that there are some things I cannot handle on my own. I have to run to Him, because those things are too big to try and process on my own. He's always faithful to keep me from going under.
Today, I face the "Monster At the End of This Book." I embrace the memories with a strange kind of warm melancholy--yes, that's an intentional oxymoron--and maybe my heart hurts a little more than usual. But I'm okay...It's okay. I've found this place of peace, over the last year, and I feel like I can finally say that I am free from the heaviness that is always associated with this time. I asked David, and my Mom, if that was okay--I mean, is it disrespectful, to live life, and to move forward, during this time? Of course it is--it doesn't make me a bad mother, and it sure as heck doesn't mean that I've forgotten my beautiful Hannah-girl. But it is time...
It is time to move forward, and every year that goes by takes me to another phase of progress. I will always steal glances backwards...but I am far more inclined to look forward to not only my future here on this earth; I am inclined to look forward with far greater hope to the eternity that I have waiting for me...
Happy Angelversary, Hannah-girl--Happy Homecoming! You are loved, and you are in a place that's surrounded by the One Who Loves Us Most. I have no greater hope or healing than that...
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Catching up--Time for the Cooley's Christmas Adventures!
I guess it's been a week now, since the Day From Hell. It was, too--I think I just hit some kind of nuclear low, and couldn't wrap my head around it. Ever have that happen? You get in a funk, and can't get yourself out, even with prayer? I'm always amazed by how, if we ask for it, Jesus sends us help in the funniest ways. On that day, He sent me a friend who reminded me to get my head out of my rear (she was much nicer than that), and I totally appreciated it. Since then, I've been okay-things are good!
Part of my struggles for the last 8 months have had to do with the fact that my husband was working an opposite shift. I'd be in bed by 8 (I get up at 4); he'd be home at 9:30. So, for the past 8 months, I've only seen my husband on the weekends. It's maddening, especially during pregnancy. It's not only the loneliness; it's the fact that there are nights that I'm so tired by the time I get home from work, that it's all I can do to make myself a bagel for dinner! I've missed having an extra set of hands around the house!! :)
That being said, his schedule has recently changed to where we have a little bit of time together in the evenings. I can honestly say that there is nothing so wonderful as simply sitting on the couch, snuggled in with my beloved, and having him to talk to. I know, I'm being mushy. But I've missed him terribly, and it's so nice to have him around!
This is the time of the year where David and I begin to have a seriously over-packed social calendar. If there's a Christmas event in St. Louis, we're probably planning on trying to attend it! This year, we'll be tackling Faith Church's "Believe" performance; Alton, IL's Transiberian Orchestra Tribute Concert (I've seen TSO live, and Alton's TSO, and loved them both!), Christmas on the Hill, a Community Choir concert in Kirkwood, and Lord only knows what else! Well...that's the plan...We'll see.
Truth be told, getting through the work week is my biggest priority. I need to stay at 40 hours as long as possible, to build up my PTO for my maternity leave. It's pretty tiring--I've already passed up some really cool Christmas adventures (Our Lady of the Snows, in a convertible?!? Argh!) because I just can't handle it. 35 and Pregnant is a LOT different than 28 and pregnant! I'm pretty wore out--not that I'm complaining! Couldn't be happier, really!!!
So, Christmas in St. Louis is something I will be navigating with wisdom. Speaking of, there's wisdom in asking for prayer when you need it. I definitely do!
We've hit the third trimester, which, according to the perinatologist, is the "critical time." Pretty soon, I'll have additional cardiac testing, and he's watching me and baby like a hawk. I need a combination of peace, patience, and more peace--and I need my body to cooperate! He's adjusting my medications accordingly, and I've begun the weekly visits to his office just a little bit earlier than anticipated. So, your prayers are appreciated.
That being said, all is well...We're scheduled to have "official" maternity pictures fairly soon, which I look forward to sharing with you.
I'm thankful for a great many things this Thanksgiving season; one of the things I am the most thankful for, are the friends and family that I know I can rely on for laughter, friendship, and prayers. Have a blessed, wonderful Thanksgiving, y'all!!
Part of my struggles for the last 8 months have had to do with the fact that my husband was working an opposite shift. I'd be in bed by 8 (I get up at 4); he'd be home at 9:30. So, for the past 8 months, I've only seen my husband on the weekends. It's maddening, especially during pregnancy. It's not only the loneliness; it's the fact that there are nights that I'm so tired by the time I get home from work, that it's all I can do to make myself a bagel for dinner! I've missed having an extra set of hands around the house!! :)
That being said, his schedule has recently changed to where we have a little bit of time together in the evenings. I can honestly say that there is nothing so wonderful as simply sitting on the couch, snuggled in with my beloved, and having him to talk to. I know, I'm being mushy. But I've missed him terribly, and it's so nice to have him around!
This is the time of the year where David and I begin to have a seriously over-packed social calendar. If there's a Christmas event in St. Louis, we're probably planning on trying to attend it! This year, we'll be tackling Faith Church's "Believe" performance; Alton, IL's Transiberian Orchestra Tribute Concert (I've seen TSO live, and Alton's TSO, and loved them both!), Christmas on the Hill, a Community Choir concert in Kirkwood, and Lord only knows what else! Well...that's the plan...We'll see.
Truth be told, getting through the work week is my biggest priority. I need to stay at 40 hours as long as possible, to build up my PTO for my maternity leave. It's pretty tiring--I've already passed up some really cool Christmas adventures (Our Lady of the Snows, in a convertible?!? Argh!) because I just can't handle it. 35 and Pregnant is a LOT different than 28 and pregnant! I'm pretty wore out--not that I'm complaining! Couldn't be happier, really!!!
So, Christmas in St. Louis is something I will be navigating with wisdom. Speaking of, there's wisdom in asking for prayer when you need it. I definitely do!
We've hit the third trimester, which, according to the perinatologist, is the "critical time." Pretty soon, I'll have additional cardiac testing, and he's watching me and baby like a hawk. I need a combination of peace, patience, and more peace--and I need my body to cooperate! He's adjusting my medications accordingly, and I've begun the weekly visits to his office just a little bit earlier than anticipated. So, your prayers are appreciated.
That being said, all is well...We're scheduled to have "official" maternity pictures fairly soon, which I look forward to sharing with you.
I'm thankful for a great many things this Thanksgiving season; one of the things I am the most thankful for, are the friends and family that I know I can rely on for laughter, friendship, and prayers. Have a blessed, wonderful Thanksgiving, y'all!!
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Bringing it full circle...
Someone very wise once told me that if I couldn't write a blog and end it in a way that glorifies God, then maybe I shouldn't put it out there. I've really tried to maintain that position, but it's not always easy.
Sometimes, I just want to wallow in it, darn it. And don't we all? We like our pity parties--we get to be the center of attention, and when no one shows up, it makes our pathetic caterwauling that much more dramatic. It heaps onto our heads, and our pity party gets that much more, well, piteous.
I wonder if God ever looks at us in our hysterics and smiles? 'Cause He knows the moment of self-realization is coming...We'll stop for 2 seconds and realize how ridiculous we look. And then we'll turn to Him like we knew we should have, in the first place.
But for those first few minutes, having a total meltdown can be so cathartic...
I'm finding myself struggling in a lot of ways. Things I'm praying for, seem to be a little stuck; I definitely need a breakthrough in a couple of areas. I just realized that I only have 28 working days until I'm out on leave (working at a university has definite benefits around the holiday breaks); I start weekly doctor's appointments very soon; and my most-recent appointment has left me more than a little on edge. Couple that with making some major financial decisions, trying to get the house in order, having to tell people "no" on various social plans, and feeling like I've been hit with a Mack Truck..."Overwhelmed" is the word of the day.
My usual response to feeling overwhelmed is to have a complete mental breakdown. Not going to lie: dirty baseboards made me cry this week. Looking at my calendar for the next 2 months made me cry this week. Laundry made me cry this week--and it's just the two of us!!!! I'm not proud of my recent inability to keep it together ("Recent?!?!?" some might say. :). I've yelled at my mother (how did I survive that?!?), at my husband (who graciously cleaned the baseboards), and in my head, there's been a non-stop panic attack over every strange abdominal twinge. I'm not doing very well at handing things off to God, for Him to deal with.
I need some things to shake loose, no doubt. Trying to figure out certain things on my own isn't getting me anywhere; making myself lay back and trust God is not happening easily. I have GOT to STOP worrying about EVERYTHING.
Nothing is bigger than God (deep breath).
God loves me (deep breath).
He doesn't want to see us fall (deep breath).
Everything will be all right (deep breath).
This is not the easiest time of the year for me, and in the middle of the chaos, I haven't really taken the time to stop and think about the where/when/how that I normally ruminate on. My daughter's 6th birthday came and went with little aplomb, but maybe it's time for that. Maybe it's time to enjoy the sweet memories, but to focus on what's to come. We will meet again, after all...It's not a "getting over," by any means. It is simply "getting through." Maybe I am on the other side of it, after all. Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt sometimes--we have finally passed along the last of her clothing, and with that, I feel like the final scab came off. There are definitely scars there, but I think it was a good thing to do. It felt very right, even though it wasn't easy.
Looking back at all of that, knowing how God has carried us through so much, why do I doubt that He will continue to carry us, now? Why do I struggle with that jump-off-of-a-cliff feeling? I know He'll catch me--yet I have fear.
Nothing is bigger than God (deep breath).
If we fall, He is there (deep breath).
He DOES supply our needs, even if it's not in the way we expected (deep breath).
(Okay, ANOTHER deep breath....)
This is not His first rodeo (deep breath).
There are victories to come, and testimonies to tell, that I cannot comprehend (deep breath).
And Everything
Will Be
All
Right.
Sometimes, I just want to wallow in it, darn it. And don't we all? We like our pity parties--we get to be the center of attention, and when no one shows up, it makes our pathetic caterwauling that much more dramatic. It heaps onto our heads, and our pity party gets that much more, well, piteous.
I wonder if God ever looks at us in our hysterics and smiles? 'Cause He knows the moment of self-realization is coming...We'll stop for 2 seconds and realize how ridiculous we look. And then we'll turn to Him like we knew we should have, in the first place.
But for those first few minutes, having a total meltdown can be so cathartic...
I'm finding myself struggling in a lot of ways. Things I'm praying for, seem to be a little stuck; I definitely need a breakthrough in a couple of areas. I just realized that I only have 28 working days until I'm out on leave (working at a university has definite benefits around the holiday breaks); I start weekly doctor's appointments very soon; and my most-recent appointment has left me more than a little on edge. Couple that with making some major financial decisions, trying to get the house in order, having to tell people "no" on various social plans, and feeling like I've been hit with a Mack Truck..."Overwhelmed" is the word of the day.
My usual response to feeling overwhelmed is to have a complete mental breakdown. Not going to lie: dirty baseboards made me cry this week. Looking at my calendar for the next 2 months made me cry this week. Laundry made me cry this week--and it's just the two of us!!!! I'm not proud of my recent inability to keep it together ("Recent?!?!?" some might say. :). I've yelled at my mother (how did I survive that?!?), at my husband (who graciously cleaned the baseboards), and in my head, there's been a non-stop panic attack over every strange abdominal twinge. I'm not doing very well at handing things off to God, for Him to deal with.
I need some things to shake loose, no doubt. Trying to figure out certain things on my own isn't getting me anywhere; making myself lay back and trust God is not happening easily. I have GOT to STOP worrying about EVERYTHING.
Nothing is bigger than God (deep breath).
God loves me (deep breath).
He doesn't want to see us fall (deep breath).
Everything will be all right (deep breath).
This is not the easiest time of the year for me, and in the middle of the chaos, I haven't really taken the time to stop and think about the where/when/how that I normally ruminate on. My daughter's 6th birthday came and went with little aplomb, but maybe it's time for that. Maybe it's time to enjoy the sweet memories, but to focus on what's to come. We will meet again, after all...It's not a "getting over," by any means. It is simply "getting through." Maybe I am on the other side of it, after all. Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt sometimes--we have finally passed along the last of her clothing, and with that, I feel like the final scab came off. There are definitely scars there, but I think it was a good thing to do. It felt very right, even though it wasn't easy.
Looking back at all of that, knowing how God has carried us through so much, why do I doubt that He will continue to carry us, now? Why do I struggle with that jump-off-of-a-cliff feeling? I know He'll catch me--yet I have fear.
Nothing is bigger than God (deep breath).
If we fall, He is there (deep breath).
He DOES supply our needs, even if it's not in the way we expected (deep breath).
(Okay, ANOTHER deep breath....)
This is not His first rodeo (deep breath).
There are victories to come, and testimonies to tell, that I cannot comprehend (deep breath).
And Everything
Will Be
All
Right.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Freedom to Never Be A "Second Chance"
I started to write this blog a few days ago, when I'd finally hit my limit of well-intentioned but badly-executed responses to my pregnancy. I'm resisting the urge to cut-and-paste the whole thing, and to verbally spew all of the heartache I was feeling that day; however, since it's not an accurate reflection of how I feel "today," I will refrain.
I'm allowed to change my mind; I'm Cassidy Cooley. (That I'm female, on hormones, and pregnant, may factor in, but I'm not going to use them as an excuse.)
Here are the facts of it:
I am, as of this writing, 6 months pregnant with my second--yes, my SECOND--child. I am having a boy. I will tell you his name if I want to, and if I don't, then that's my right.
This child is not a replacement.
This child is not a "second chance."
I had a beautiful baby girl, almost exactly 6 years ago, that died at 29 days of age from late-onset Group B strep with bacterial meningitis.
My daughter was not a mistake; I have never for a second thought she was a mistake, and do not attempt to tell me otherwise. Life is never a mistake.
God had a plan for my little girl.
God does not heal everyone, nor does He want to. Likewise, God does not like to see His children suffer.
That doesn't make sense to me, but it doesn't have to. I will not pretend that I am somehow so entitled that I should understand the patterns of a God Who is so incredible that He makes stars....and lungs...and baby-blue eyes...and dimples.
I will not pretend to understand God's will, and neither should you.
I did not stand in the way of my daughter's healing, and neither did my husband (and don't you dare try to tell me so)...
God is still glorified, even in the midst of our heartaches.
Jesus loves me.
He loves you, too.
This child is loved more than he will ever know; he is hoped for, prayed for, longed for...he is the answer to Hannah/Samuel prayers, prayers prayed so hard that I'm sure people thought I was insane.
This child has been dedicated to the Lord before I ever knew I was pregnant, just like his sister was, and just like his future siblings, God willing, will be.
We live in a sinful, broken world full of disease and corruption. We are guaranteed nothing except the love of God, death, and taxes.
We take nothing for granted, but we pray for everything.
People have said a myriad of things (again, best of intentions, worst of execution). Let me reiterate:
This is not a "do-over." My son is not the chance for us to "try this thing again." GOD DOES NOT NEED SECOND CHANCES, so please don't tell me that this is God's way of "making it up to us." Really?
HE'S GOD. HE DOESN'T OWE US ANYTHING. He didn't "take" my daughter; she simply went home.
Please do not compare this pregnancy to my first, outside of the physical symptoms (which are interestingly different). Please do not compare this child to my first, as he is his own unique individual little self. I'm already discovering this in utero, as he has a whole different set of things that he responds to, than she did (she really, really liked "Proud Mary." I'm still trying to figure out his musical tastes. Seems like he prefers talk radio, like his daddy).
I have found myself repeating the old habit of smiling and nodding when people make their comments. I know they are so well-intentioned, and they're not all wrong. A lot of friends have said, "Gee, you must really be struggling with fear." You have no idea.
Fortunately, for me, God knew this was coming. Not only did He arm me ahead of time; He provided me with amazing resources that can redirect me when the "crazies" come on--you know, those thought processes that try to take over and force you into a full-blown panic attack? Turns out that I know a few people that can relate. My husband, whom I internally visualize as the bumper pads on a bowling alley when I get like that, is an incredible buffer to point me back to the right direction. He's not always gentle about it (ha!), but he's very good at it. I have one person in particular, who has opened herself up to take those panicked phone calls---"I feel like he's dropped--is that normal? Am I okay?!?!?"--and listens, prays, and has provided immeasurable comfort. She's been in my shoes. I've avoided most secular music since I found out I was pregnant; turns out, that's been good for me. It's forced me to fall in love with all sorts of new-to-me Christian music, and to remember the beauty of the old stuff (Steven Curtis Chapman, anyone?). It's really good fuel for the defense. Yes, I struggle with fear, but I feel really insulated right now...God really does give us grace for times like these.
Granted, if I were to abuse that, and feed myself full of medical reports or data, I'd probably be apoplectic. I've stopped looking things up (Dr. Google, You're Fired!), and am relying on what I already know/questions to the real doctor, etc. My doctor's been fantastic at explaining all of my crazy questions (feel sorry for them--I'm surprised they don't know my phone number by heart), and that's been a big help. It's so different than my pregnancy with Hannah-I feel listened to, and that gives a lot of peace.
One of my friends is a prolific writer. I mean, she writes the stuff I wish I wrote; she says it with grace and skill that I wish I had; and even though we never see each other, I live vicariously through her pen. She reached out to me the other day, and asked how I was doing. She knew there was a certain measure of anxiety that I must be feeling; rather than focus on that part of it, she sent me a list of Scriptures that countered it.
THAT was incredible. That's the kind of stuff that is manna from Heaven--God sends those kind of people with those kind of answers even when I'm not looking for it! It's just how He takes care of me...
So, all of that being said, I'm about to find myself in a few social situations that have me feeling very anxious (what am I saying? All social situations make me anxious. I cover it well--generally--but yep--I'm a closet-hermit), and I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for it. The holidays are coming, for one, and depending on which side of the family I'm hanging out with, anything can (and will) be said. I'm terrifically opinionated, but that doesn't mean that I stick up for myself very well. I'm going to have to buck up and do it.
I have a responsibility to this child to not allow people to speak things over him that are anything but uplifting.
I have a responsibility to this child to never allow him to think he is a "second chance."
I have a responsibility to this child to give him an environment that is free of my irrational/rational fears.
I have a responsibility to this child to never open the door for him to think that God failed...
To never him think that God dropped the ball...
To never make him think that God killed his sister...
To never make him think that God is to blame.
I have a responsibility to this child to let him get the flu without reacting with hysteria...
To let him scrape his knees when he falls...
To let him cry when he's sad...
To teach him that God is great,
That God is, above all, Good.
My friends and family have a responsibility to this child to do the same.
This child...my son...He is his own little person.
He is nobody's "second chance,"
And God doesn't need redemption.
He never failed.
Hannah's life, and her death, are independent of his life, and one should affect the other as little as possible, in both application, and in perspective.
I will not see myself, or my son, influenced in any other way. I can't say that I think this will be easy--it hasn't been, so far--but it is doable.
Consider your intentions, before you state that I'm having my "second chance" baby. Put yourself in my shoes--what are you really saying?
Sometimes, a simple "Congratulations! I'm happy for you guys!" is really all that needs to be said. :)
I'm allowed to change my mind; I'm Cassidy Cooley. (That I'm female, on hormones, and pregnant, may factor in, but I'm not going to use them as an excuse.)
Here are the facts of it:
I am, as of this writing, 6 months pregnant with my second--yes, my SECOND--child. I am having a boy. I will tell you his name if I want to, and if I don't, then that's my right.
This child is not a replacement.
This child is not a "second chance."
I had a beautiful baby girl, almost exactly 6 years ago, that died at 29 days of age from late-onset Group B strep with bacterial meningitis.
My daughter was not a mistake; I have never for a second thought she was a mistake, and do not attempt to tell me otherwise. Life is never a mistake.
God had a plan for my little girl.
God does not heal everyone, nor does He want to. Likewise, God does not like to see His children suffer.
That doesn't make sense to me, but it doesn't have to. I will not pretend that I am somehow so entitled that I should understand the patterns of a God Who is so incredible that He makes stars....and lungs...and baby-blue eyes...and dimples.
I will not pretend to understand God's will, and neither should you.
I did not stand in the way of my daughter's healing, and neither did my husband (and don't you dare try to tell me so)...
God is still glorified, even in the midst of our heartaches.
Jesus loves me.
He loves you, too.
This child is loved more than he will ever know; he is hoped for, prayed for, longed for...he is the answer to Hannah/Samuel prayers, prayers prayed so hard that I'm sure people thought I was insane.
This child has been dedicated to the Lord before I ever knew I was pregnant, just like his sister was, and just like his future siblings, God willing, will be.
We live in a sinful, broken world full of disease and corruption. We are guaranteed nothing except the love of God, death, and taxes.
We take nothing for granted, but we pray for everything.
People have said a myriad of things (again, best of intentions, worst of execution). Let me reiterate:
This is not a "do-over." My son is not the chance for us to "try this thing again." GOD DOES NOT NEED SECOND CHANCES, so please don't tell me that this is God's way of "making it up to us." Really?
HE'S GOD. HE DOESN'T OWE US ANYTHING. He didn't "take" my daughter; she simply went home.
Please do not compare this pregnancy to my first, outside of the physical symptoms (which are interestingly different). Please do not compare this child to my first, as he is his own unique individual little self. I'm already discovering this in utero, as he has a whole different set of things that he responds to, than she did (she really, really liked "Proud Mary." I'm still trying to figure out his musical tastes. Seems like he prefers talk radio, like his daddy).
I have found myself repeating the old habit of smiling and nodding when people make their comments. I know they are so well-intentioned, and they're not all wrong. A lot of friends have said, "Gee, you must really be struggling with fear." You have no idea.
Fortunately, for me, God knew this was coming. Not only did He arm me ahead of time; He provided me with amazing resources that can redirect me when the "crazies" come on--you know, those thought processes that try to take over and force you into a full-blown panic attack? Turns out that I know a few people that can relate. My husband, whom I internally visualize as the bumper pads on a bowling alley when I get like that, is an incredible buffer to point me back to the right direction. He's not always gentle about it (ha!), but he's very good at it. I have one person in particular, who has opened herself up to take those panicked phone calls---"I feel like he's dropped--is that normal? Am I okay?!?!?"--and listens, prays, and has provided immeasurable comfort. She's been in my shoes. I've avoided most secular music since I found out I was pregnant; turns out, that's been good for me. It's forced me to fall in love with all sorts of new-to-me Christian music, and to remember the beauty of the old stuff (Steven Curtis Chapman, anyone?). It's really good fuel for the defense. Yes, I struggle with fear, but I feel really insulated right now...God really does give us grace for times like these.
Granted, if I were to abuse that, and feed myself full of medical reports or data, I'd probably be apoplectic. I've stopped looking things up (Dr. Google, You're Fired!), and am relying on what I already know/questions to the real doctor, etc. My doctor's been fantastic at explaining all of my crazy questions (feel sorry for them--I'm surprised they don't know my phone number by heart), and that's been a big help. It's so different than my pregnancy with Hannah-I feel listened to, and that gives a lot of peace.
One of my friends is a prolific writer. I mean, she writes the stuff I wish I wrote; she says it with grace and skill that I wish I had; and even though we never see each other, I live vicariously through her pen. She reached out to me the other day, and asked how I was doing. She knew there was a certain measure of anxiety that I must be feeling; rather than focus on that part of it, she sent me a list of Scriptures that countered it.
THAT was incredible. That's the kind of stuff that is manna from Heaven--God sends those kind of people with those kind of answers even when I'm not looking for it! It's just how He takes care of me...
So, all of that being said, I'm about to find myself in a few social situations that have me feeling very anxious (what am I saying? All social situations make me anxious. I cover it well--generally--but yep--I'm a closet-hermit), and I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for it. The holidays are coming, for one, and depending on which side of the family I'm hanging out with, anything can (and will) be said. I'm terrifically opinionated, but that doesn't mean that I stick up for myself very well. I'm going to have to buck up and do it.
I have a responsibility to this child to not allow people to speak things over him that are anything but uplifting.
I have a responsibility to this child to never allow him to think he is a "second chance."
I have a responsibility to this child to give him an environment that is free of my irrational/rational fears.
I have a responsibility to this child to never open the door for him to think that God failed...
To never him think that God dropped the ball...
To never make him think that God killed his sister...
To never make him think that God is to blame.
I have a responsibility to this child to let him get the flu without reacting with hysteria...
To let him scrape his knees when he falls...
To let him cry when he's sad...
To teach him that God is great,
That God is, above all, Good.
My friends and family have a responsibility to this child to do the same.
This child...my son...He is his own little person.
He is nobody's "second chance,"
And God doesn't need redemption.
He never failed.
Hannah's life, and her death, are independent of his life, and one should affect the other as little as possible, in both application, and in perspective.
I will not see myself, or my son, influenced in any other way. I can't say that I think this will be easy--it hasn't been, so far--but it is doable.
Consider your intentions, before you state that I'm having my "second chance" baby. Put yourself in my shoes--what are you really saying?
Sometimes, a simple "Congratulations! I'm happy for you guys!" is really all that needs to be said. :)
Sunday, October 14, 2012
In Defense of Creation, and My Right to Teach It: An Open Letter to Bill Nye, the Science Guy
Dear Mr. Nye:
You've never heard of me. You'll most likely never see this letter, and that's okay. I'm pretty insignificant-just a working stiff from the country, educated to the bare necessity of a Bachelors, and all-in-all, a very simple girl. I'm not an academic (although I work in that world), I'm not a scientist, and I'm not a teacher.
That being said, I have an issue with you:
Bill Nye: Don't Teach Your Kids Creation
You were the "cool" science teacher. Yes, you came to my attention far after I had graduated from high school (where I had my very own "cool" science teacher--thank you, Miss Beumer), but I always admired how you made science so fun. Science is about details--those details define us, and you made it so interesting! But when you came out with this video, you inadvertently cut me to the heart.
You see, I believe in Intelligent Design.
I know--this is the part where, on the off-chance that you're reading this letter, you scoff, stop reading, and dismiss me as a wacko. That's okay. But I heard you out--so please, hear me out.
I'm not going to try to "convert" you to my belief system, or pretend to have enough scientific data under my belt for anything past an introductory explanation. I'm not even going to go into the academic specifics of why I believe what I do--I think that would be pointless. I would like, however, for you to hear, morally, WHY I believe in ID, and perhaps give you a glimpse as to why teaching my children about Creationism is anything but a "waste of time:"
I actually believe in teaching both evolution and creationism to my children as scientific theories. You understand the Scientific Process better than anyone, I'm sure. So, you know that (according to the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the National Academy of Science, and AAAS Evolution Resources) the definition of a theory is: "a well-substantiated explanation of some aspect of the natural world, based on a body of facts that have been repeatedly confirmed through observation and experiment."[1][2] Scientists create scientific theories from hypotheses that have been corroborated through the scientific method, then gather evidence to test their accuracy. As with all forms of scientific knowledge, scientific theories are inductive in nature and do not make apodictic propositions; instead, they aim for predictive and explanatory force."
And yes, I pulled that off of Wikipedia.
Because neither evolution nor creationism can be viewed in process, neither of them should ever be taught as a fact, according to the definition above. Yes, there are mutations (almost always harmful, and thus, not an advocation of evolution as they do nothing to enhance their race), and there are natural adaptations to environment; this doesn't substantiate the major changes that cells would have had to go through over "billions" of years to morph from single-celled amoeba to full-fledged human being. We have nothing on this planet that can recreate "big bang" type of events; we have nothing on this planet that can recreate "ex nihilo" ("out of nothing") creationism.
We can't duplicate it-->IT'S NOT A FACT.
I am comfortable with teaching my children that according to science, creationism and evolution are both unrepeatable theories.
However...
I also believe that teaching children that they are nothing more than a chance encounter of atoms is detrimental to society in ways we cannot comprehend.
I believe in God. I don't believe in a "higher power" or some misshapen "pie-in-the-sky" deity that sits on His clouds and watches the tiny humans make a mess of their lives. I don't believe in a cosmic killjoy that allows us to exist for His masochistic enjoyment.
I believe in a God Who loves, whether we acknowledge Him or not.
I believe this God loves so much, that He created a world for us to live in, and then He created us, in 7 literal days, just like His Word says. I believe He loved us, and He created us to love Him, so He could love us, in an awesome circle of worship.
I know--you really do think I'm crazy at this point.
But where is the harm in teaching this to my child?
I will teach my child that they were Intelligently Designed by a God Who thinks they're special--Who hand-picked their "ingredients" and breathed life into them. I will teach my child that the Lord Himself planned for their very existence, that He loves them from conception to death. I will teach my child that He loves them, that He values them, and that even when Mom and Dad mess up, or when they mess up, that this God Who created them loves them beyond their mistakes.
Where is the harm in that?
Where is the delusion, in teaching my child that they are never unloved? That they were carefully designed? That they are part of a race that began in a garden where the first man and the first woman were sculpted by the very hand of a God that created them in His own image?
Where is the harm in telling my child that we have emotions and personalities that did not come from chance, but that came from our being a reflection of our Creator?
Where is the harm in telling my child that "No, love, you are not a product of chance. You were planned-you have a destiny, and you are not the result of, nor are you subject to, random chaos.You are loved."
I do not believe you can teach a child those things, if you have taught them from infancy on, that they're nothing more than a chance collision of atoms.
When you teach a child that they are a product of chaos, you strip them of their value. You reduce them to scientific primordial ooze, and you allow them to live in an environment that is shaped by randomness.
No wonder our society has gone crazy,
Progression: You are random..you're the product of randomness...you cannot be expected to live within the borders of absolutes, because you are based in randomness...society becomes chaotic, which suits you just fine, because it feels like home, to your random atoms...Life has no value.
I believe that implementing the "theology" of evolution leads to complete nihilism. True nihilism does not end well for its believers. (We have a suicide epidemic in this country. Is it linked to pervasive evolutionism? I don't think anyone should rule that out as a contributing foundational factor).
Mr. Nye, I'm sure you stopped reading a long time ago. And that's okay. You might write me off as just another uneducated, right-winged bumpkin that doesn't know an atom from an apple, and you might be right. But I'm also a mother-to-be of a little boy, who, I hope, grows up to love science. I hope that he learns to appreciate the incredible intricacies of creation. I hope he sits in biology class, like his mommy used to do, and learns all of his bones and his muscles...who ponders the delicacy of a leaf, and wonders how that's made...and who decides on his own terms that yes, only a God Who loves us would have cared enough to plan the world with such an eye for detail.
I hope my son sees a sunset as more than a combination of gases...that he understands, more than anything, that he is loved by a God Who made him with great joy.
Maybe someday, you will understand that, too.
If you want more information on why I think that teaching my children both science and evolution is important, please take a look at Ben Stein's Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.
Mr. Nye, you were very brave to be so outspoken. I appreciate your candidness--you've just publicly said what our schools have been teaching for years. I love the fact that we live in a country that allows us to disagree. I still think you're a really great science teacher. But, if you don't mind, please allow me to parent my child in a way that I see fit, without telling me that it's a "Waste of Time." And, as a reminder from one of my favorite children's series, Mr. Nye: "God Made You Special, and He Loves You Very Much!" Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Cassidy S. Cooley
Creationist-At-Heart
You've never heard of me. You'll most likely never see this letter, and that's okay. I'm pretty insignificant-just a working stiff from the country, educated to the bare necessity of a Bachelors, and all-in-all, a very simple girl. I'm not an academic (although I work in that world), I'm not a scientist, and I'm not a teacher.
That being said, I have an issue with you:
Bill Nye: Don't Teach Your Kids Creation
You were the "cool" science teacher. Yes, you came to my attention far after I had graduated from high school (where I had my very own "cool" science teacher--thank you, Miss Beumer), but I always admired how you made science so fun. Science is about details--those details define us, and you made it so interesting! But when you came out with this video, you inadvertently cut me to the heart.
You see, I believe in Intelligent Design.
I know--this is the part where, on the off-chance that you're reading this letter, you scoff, stop reading, and dismiss me as a wacko. That's okay. But I heard you out--so please, hear me out.
I'm not going to try to "convert" you to my belief system, or pretend to have enough scientific data under my belt for anything past an introductory explanation. I'm not even going to go into the academic specifics of why I believe what I do--I think that would be pointless. I would like, however, for you to hear, morally, WHY I believe in ID, and perhaps give you a glimpse as to why teaching my children about Creationism is anything but a "waste of time:"
I actually believe in teaching both evolution and creationism to my children as scientific theories. You understand the Scientific Process better than anyone, I'm sure. So, you know that (according to the American Association for the Advancement of Science, the National Academy of Science, and AAAS Evolution Resources) the definition of a theory is: "a well-substantiated explanation of some aspect of the natural world, based on a body of facts that have been repeatedly confirmed through observation and experiment."[1][2] Scientists create scientific theories from hypotheses that have been corroborated through the scientific method, then gather evidence to test their accuracy. As with all forms of scientific knowledge, scientific theories are inductive in nature and do not make apodictic propositions; instead, they aim for predictive and explanatory force."
And yes, I pulled that off of Wikipedia.
Because neither evolution nor creationism can be viewed in process, neither of them should ever be taught as a fact, according to the definition above. Yes, there are mutations (almost always harmful, and thus, not an advocation of evolution as they do nothing to enhance their race), and there are natural adaptations to environment; this doesn't substantiate the major changes that cells would have had to go through over "billions" of years to morph from single-celled amoeba to full-fledged human being. We have nothing on this planet that can recreate "big bang" type of events; we have nothing on this planet that can recreate "ex nihilo" ("out of nothing") creationism.
We can't duplicate it-->IT'S NOT A FACT.
I am comfortable with teaching my children that according to science, creationism and evolution are both unrepeatable theories.
However...
I also believe that teaching children that they are nothing more than a chance encounter of atoms is detrimental to society in ways we cannot comprehend.
I believe in God. I don't believe in a "higher power" or some misshapen "pie-in-the-sky" deity that sits on His clouds and watches the tiny humans make a mess of their lives. I don't believe in a cosmic killjoy that allows us to exist for His masochistic enjoyment.
I believe in a God Who loves, whether we acknowledge Him or not.
I believe this God loves so much, that He created a world for us to live in, and then He created us, in 7 literal days, just like His Word says. I believe He loved us, and He created us to love Him, so He could love us, in an awesome circle of worship.
I know--you really do think I'm crazy at this point.
But where is the harm in teaching this to my child?
I will teach my child that they were Intelligently Designed by a God Who thinks they're special--Who hand-picked their "ingredients" and breathed life into them. I will teach my child that the Lord Himself planned for their very existence, that He loves them from conception to death. I will teach my child that He loves them, that He values them, and that even when Mom and Dad mess up, or when they mess up, that this God Who created them loves them beyond their mistakes.
Where is the harm in that?
Where is the delusion, in teaching my child that they are never unloved? That they were carefully designed? That they are part of a race that began in a garden where the first man and the first woman were sculpted by the very hand of a God that created them in His own image?
Where is the harm in telling my child that we have emotions and personalities that did not come from chance, but that came from our being a reflection of our Creator?
Where is the harm in telling my child that "No, love, you are not a product of chance. You were planned-you have a destiny, and you are not the result of, nor are you subject to, random chaos.You are loved."
I do not believe you can teach a child those things, if you have taught them from infancy on, that they're nothing more than a chance collision of atoms.
When you teach a child that they are a product of chaos, you strip them of their value. You reduce them to scientific primordial ooze, and you allow them to live in an environment that is shaped by randomness.
No wonder our society has gone crazy,
Progression: You are random..you're the product of randomness...you cannot be expected to live within the borders of absolutes, because you are based in randomness...society becomes chaotic, which suits you just fine, because it feels like home, to your random atoms...Life has no value.
I believe that implementing the "theology" of evolution leads to complete nihilism. True nihilism does not end well for its believers. (We have a suicide epidemic in this country. Is it linked to pervasive evolutionism? I don't think anyone should rule that out as a contributing foundational factor).
Mr. Nye, I'm sure you stopped reading a long time ago. And that's okay. You might write me off as just another uneducated, right-winged bumpkin that doesn't know an atom from an apple, and you might be right. But I'm also a mother-to-be of a little boy, who, I hope, grows up to love science. I hope that he learns to appreciate the incredible intricacies of creation. I hope he sits in biology class, like his mommy used to do, and learns all of his bones and his muscles...who ponders the delicacy of a leaf, and wonders how that's made...and who decides on his own terms that yes, only a God Who loves us would have cared enough to plan the world with such an eye for detail.
I hope my son sees a sunset as more than a combination of gases...that he understands, more than anything, that he is loved by a God Who made him with great joy.
Maybe someday, you will understand that, too.
If you want more information on why I think that teaching my children both science and evolution is important, please take a look at Ben Stein's Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.
Mr. Nye, you were very brave to be so outspoken. I appreciate your candidness--you've just publicly said what our schools have been teaching for years. I love the fact that we live in a country that allows us to disagree. I still think you're a really great science teacher. But, if you don't mind, please allow me to parent my child in a way that I see fit, without telling me that it's a "Waste of Time." And, as a reminder from one of my favorite children's series, Mr. Nye: "God Made You Special, and He Loves You Very Much!" Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Cassidy S. Cooley
Creationist-At-Heart
Sunday, September 23, 2012
The Sorting Hat...
It's 6:00 am on Sunday. David has just stumbled into the office
asking what in the heck I'm up to--he's adorable when he's like this.
We're not much for drinking (although I do like a good glass of wine);
I've never seen him drunk or hungover. I imagine it's similar to how he
just walked into this room, and it's hilarious. I've sent him back to
bed (I am, after all, used to getting up for work at 4:00 am), and now
I'm alone with my thoughts...
I have a Facebook friend who makes a lot of Hobbit references. My dad also loves all of those books; sadly, that's a bonding experience we will never have. Try as I may, I just don't like Tolkien (sorry, Dad). However, I love the Harry Potter books/movies. So I will unashamedly make a lot of HP references, and since I am writing this blog, it is clearly my perogative. :)
I love the concept of the Sorting Hat: Something comes along in the midst of your confusion and fear, and tells you EXACTLY where you're supposed to be. Can I get one of those? 'Cause let me tell you, if I had a Sorting Hat, that sucker would NEVER leave my noggin. The Holy Spirit does the same thing, I know--but that whole "audible voice" thing really piques my interest. Hearing the voice of God in the midst of the battlefield can be very hard to do--but you have to hear your General/Captain/Commander-In-Chief, right? It's hard to get quiet when the battle is raging.
But here I am.
Yesterday, we went to my parents' house to do a Sorting of our own. 6 years ago, Hannah's things were sorted out...things that were deemed "special" were kept, as were things that were necessary (the flamingo onesie...a stroller...the nursery decorations)...other things were given away in heaps.
I have no memory of this process, and I don't know why. I don't remember packaging them up, or taking them to the attic. I don't know where things went, or who got what...It never bothered me until yesterday. Mom says it's for the best, but it nags at me--where did my brain go? Going through some of these things was almost like going through a stranger's storage unit. But...going through some of those things was like open-heart surgery (minus the anesthetic). I'm not going to lie or make it sound pretty:
It hurt.
I kept a pretty good stiff, upper lip--after all, Choleric Mom was watching, and she never misses a chance to attempt to counter my sniffles with a reminder that Hannah is in Heaven. That actually makes me mad sometimes--can't you just let me cry, and get it out of my system? Stop trying to give me band-aids--I need to bleed this out! But then I look at it from her perspective--She's seen me cry enough over this.
So I waited until it was just David, me, and the dog...and for a few minutes, let it rip.
This child will be wearing clothes that were not purchased for them. Things were bought for someone else--someone that didn't have the chance to grow up, that I didn't have the chance to raise. I'm not being a brat here--it's not like I can or would, just burn everything and go buy all new. That would be stupid, impractical, and selfish. I have a pretty good sense of reuse/recycle. Even if Hannah would have had the chance to use or wear all of the stuff that I've stored, I'd still be reusing it, so that part makes no difference. It's the heart behind it--We had picked out little things just for her. Certain toys were given to me at a shower that I never got to go to--for her.
This child will not know that their stuffed monkey was not originally intended for them. I do. Will I think that, every time I see the darn monkey? Of course not. And I think that most of these feelings will fade pretty quickly--after all, it's the first time I've seen monkeys and strollers and Lord-knows-what in 6 years. It was a bit of a shock. I think I'm still processing it all.
Walking through the living room this morning, seeing the bags of stuff that we brought home...I immediately turned around and walked out. I actually think it's the amount of work that will be involved in finding places to put the stuff, than the stuff itself--I don't want to think about the mess we have to work through! :) The nursery is a disaster--it's been extra closet space for the past 5 years, and we have no idea where to begin organizing it. (If I wasn't me, I'd call me for help. But since I am me, my "great organizing solution" is to run, hide, and to try not to think about it. Too bad I don't have a basement!!!:)
I'm okay, really. I"m not going to say I was "super prayed-up" or "filled with faith" to get through this--I think I was in more of a state of "git-er'-done." Regardless of where I was, though, I can say that it felt like there was peace instead of panic in The Sort. We got it done, and now I can finally start a Baby Registry for this little one.
Tomorrow, we make another attempt to find out what we're having. We're having our Anatomy US done, and I will make my first cardiologist's visit for this pregnancy. I hope it's my ONLY cardiologist's visit. Ultrasounds make me terribly nervous--half the time, I'm afraid to look at the screen. My friends at work think I'm crazy for this-but they don't know what I've been through. When you've had so much hope, and so much loss, even when it's irrational you still fear going through it again. You try to counter it with faith, but it sneaks in. I'm thankful there are "blockers" (Quidditch reference!) who stop my fear-sidetracks with a quick word or prayer (David's great at that!). And I don't know if you've ever had an echo done...but they're kinda painful for me. Being "chesty", plus having so much scar tissue from previous surgeries, means that the technician has to push really hard on my chest. Add pregnancy to that, and I'm NOT looking forward to this echo! Tomorrow I will be poked, prodded, and probably stabbed, all for an end result of what I hope is PERFECT. Mom will be spending the day at the hospital with me, thank God...she may be a good ol' choleric, but I need her. I think she needs to check on me, too. She won't admit it, but certain things she's said make me realize that she has her own fears with this pregnancy. She is my mom, after all. <3 p="p">I'm nervous about tomorrow...excited...I hope I can come back and tell you more about this baby...
Reusing things that were meant for Hannah means that I can finally put the things that were given or bought with so much love, to good use. It's actually fulfilling a hope, although I had to go through a bit of a dark cloud to figure that out. Seeing this child use the handmade blankets...the nursery decor that my mother lovingly made...even the flamingo onesie (provided this is a girl)...I think it will feel 100% right. It's just taken me a day to put some perspective on it. I'm super-thankful that Mom and David were there to help, and to "block" me from dwelling on the negative.
After a bloody good cry in the car on the way home, David was kind enough to take me for my favorite sno-cone (S&Js, Arnold, MO!!! Wedding Cake with whipped cream--GET ONE!), and we had a good talk. Well, I talked, and he listened. He's getting better at letting me riff for a while, and then putting in his two cents. He's a pretty sharp dude, That Guy I Married. I'm glad he picked me.
The Sort could have gone so much worse...I'm so thankful that it didn't, and that we were smart enough to do it together. We were exhausted after all of it, and my house is a wreck, but it's done. Now I really do feel like I can start preparing for C-Rex. :)
There was peace in the battlefield, peace that I hadn't even remembered to pray for. I think it's more than possible that a Facebook post I did early in the morning may have put out the red flag to my friends and family that we needed prayer, and maybe they delivered? Because it went better than I'd hoped. So if you prayed, thank you. You helped my family stay sane through a tough day!
Like I said online--God is bigger. Hope is brighter. And Life is beautiful...
I'm looking forward to it.
I have a Facebook friend who makes a lot of Hobbit references. My dad also loves all of those books; sadly, that's a bonding experience we will never have. Try as I may, I just don't like Tolkien (sorry, Dad). However, I love the Harry Potter books/movies. So I will unashamedly make a lot of HP references, and since I am writing this blog, it is clearly my perogative. :)
I love the concept of the Sorting Hat: Something comes along in the midst of your confusion and fear, and tells you EXACTLY where you're supposed to be. Can I get one of those? 'Cause let me tell you, if I had a Sorting Hat, that sucker would NEVER leave my noggin. The Holy Spirit does the same thing, I know--but that whole "audible voice" thing really piques my interest. Hearing the voice of God in the midst of the battlefield can be very hard to do--but you have to hear your General/Captain/Commander-In-Chief, right? It's hard to get quiet when the battle is raging.
But here I am.
Yesterday, we went to my parents' house to do a Sorting of our own. 6 years ago, Hannah's things were sorted out...things that were deemed "special" were kept, as were things that were necessary (the flamingo onesie...a stroller...the nursery decorations)...other things were given away in heaps.
I have no memory of this process, and I don't know why. I don't remember packaging them up, or taking them to the attic. I don't know where things went, or who got what...It never bothered me until yesterday. Mom says it's for the best, but it nags at me--where did my brain go? Going through some of these things was almost like going through a stranger's storage unit. But...going through some of those things was like open-heart surgery (minus the anesthetic). I'm not going to lie or make it sound pretty:
It hurt.
I kept a pretty good stiff, upper lip--after all, Choleric Mom was watching, and she never misses a chance to attempt to counter my sniffles with a reminder that Hannah is in Heaven. That actually makes me mad sometimes--can't you just let me cry, and get it out of my system? Stop trying to give me band-aids--I need to bleed this out! But then I look at it from her perspective--She's seen me cry enough over this.
So I waited until it was just David, me, and the dog...and for a few minutes, let it rip.
This child will be wearing clothes that were not purchased for them. Things were bought for someone else--someone that didn't have the chance to grow up, that I didn't have the chance to raise. I'm not being a brat here--it's not like I can or would, just burn everything and go buy all new. That would be stupid, impractical, and selfish. I have a pretty good sense of reuse/recycle. Even if Hannah would have had the chance to use or wear all of the stuff that I've stored, I'd still be reusing it, so that part makes no difference. It's the heart behind it--We had picked out little things just for her. Certain toys were given to me at a shower that I never got to go to--for her.
This child will not know that their stuffed monkey was not originally intended for them. I do. Will I think that, every time I see the darn monkey? Of course not. And I think that most of these feelings will fade pretty quickly--after all, it's the first time I've seen monkeys and strollers and Lord-knows-what in 6 years. It was a bit of a shock. I think I'm still processing it all.
Walking through the living room this morning, seeing the bags of stuff that we brought home...I immediately turned around and walked out. I actually think it's the amount of work that will be involved in finding places to put the stuff, than the stuff itself--I don't want to think about the mess we have to work through! :) The nursery is a disaster--it's been extra closet space for the past 5 years, and we have no idea where to begin organizing it. (If I wasn't me, I'd call me for help. But since I am me, my "great organizing solution" is to run, hide, and to try not to think about it. Too bad I don't have a basement!!!:)
I'm okay, really. I"m not going to say I was "super prayed-up" or "filled with faith" to get through this--I think I was in more of a state of "git-er'-done." Regardless of where I was, though, I can say that it felt like there was peace instead of panic in The Sort. We got it done, and now I can finally start a Baby Registry for this little one.
Tomorrow, we make another attempt to find out what we're having. We're having our Anatomy US done, and I will make my first cardiologist's visit for this pregnancy. I hope it's my ONLY cardiologist's visit. Ultrasounds make me terribly nervous--half the time, I'm afraid to look at the screen. My friends at work think I'm crazy for this-but they don't know what I've been through. When you've had so much hope, and so much loss, even when it's irrational you still fear going through it again. You try to counter it with faith, but it sneaks in. I'm thankful there are "blockers" (Quidditch reference!) who stop my fear-sidetracks with a quick word or prayer (David's great at that!). And I don't know if you've ever had an echo done...but they're kinda painful for me. Being "chesty", plus having so much scar tissue from previous surgeries, means that the technician has to push really hard on my chest. Add pregnancy to that, and I'm NOT looking forward to this echo! Tomorrow I will be poked, prodded, and probably stabbed, all for an end result of what I hope is PERFECT. Mom will be spending the day at the hospital with me, thank God...she may be a good ol' choleric, but I need her. I think she needs to check on me, too. She won't admit it, but certain things she's said make me realize that she has her own fears with this pregnancy. She is my mom, after all. <3 p="p">I'm nervous about tomorrow...excited...I hope I can come back and tell you more about this baby...
Reusing things that were meant for Hannah means that I can finally put the things that were given or bought with so much love, to good use. It's actually fulfilling a hope, although I had to go through a bit of a dark cloud to figure that out. Seeing this child use the handmade blankets...the nursery decor that my mother lovingly made...even the flamingo onesie (provided this is a girl)...I think it will feel 100% right. It's just taken me a day to put some perspective on it. I'm super-thankful that Mom and David were there to help, and to "block" me from dwelling on the negative.
After a bloody good cry in the car on the way home, David was kind enough to take me for my favorite sno-cone (S&Js, Arnold, MO!!! Wedding Cake with whipped cream--GET ONE!), and we had a good talk. Well, I talked, and he listened. He's getting better at letting me riff for a while, and then putting in his two cents. He's a pretty sharp dude, That Guy I Married. I'm glad he picked me.
The Sort could have gone so much worse...I'm so thankful that it didn't, and that we were smart enough to do it together. We were exhausted after all of it, and my house is a wreck, but it's done. Now I really do feel like I can start preparing for C-Rex. :)
There was peace in the battlefield, peace that I hadn't even remembered to pray for. I think it's more than possible that a Facebook post I did early in the morning may have put out the red flag to my friends and family that we needed prayer, and maybe they delivered? Because it went better than I'd hoped. So if you prayed, thank you. You helped my family stay sane through a tough day!
Like I said online--God is bigger. Hope is brighter. And Life is beautiful...
I'm looking forward to it.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
The Mystery Continues...
So much for the "Big Reveal!"
Ultrasounds are the strangest, coolest, most surreal thing to sit through. Someone's pushing outside of you, looking inside of you, to check something out. I've had so many of them done at this point, that the lack of modesty one endures in the process is moot (I love that word!!!!). I don't even care anymore--probe away!
These things are even stranger when the thing they're looking at/for, moves around on the screen. It's a bit alien, to be honest...you can't feel them move yet, but there they are!!! I look forward to these with such a nervous anticipation...if I had fingernails to bite off, they'd be chewed to nubs, I swear! Yesterday was supposed to be when we find out what we're having: boy, or girl? David and I each have our thoughts, but nothing is definite yet. The anticipation is driving my family crazy!! Personally, I just want to get my names figured out. :)
I was super-cranky yesterday...and then the ultrasound started....and there they were...Try as hard as she may, the ultrasound tech could NOT get a determination. Our little Coolio sat with their legs folded, Indian-style (I smacked David--that's YOUR family!), and jumped around like a little Indian jumping bean. It was frustratingly hilarious. I really wanted to know...
But I could have sat their and watched that screen for hours.
Boing...
Boing....
Boing...
Our little peanut (who's actually quite large--8 oz, to be "exact") seems to be a happy little froggy. Long legs, big belly, and a ginormous brain.
Yep--this one takes after me. :)
I don't have any great spiritual point with this blog. I'm just so stinking happy, that I had to take a break just to share it with you. As our baby gets more active, and more defined, the reality of it all sets in more and more, and I feel like I could just explode. To watch him/her bounce around on the screen yesterday...I wish I had a recording to share. The wonder of the creation of God is astounding--how, and why, did He make us that way? We bounce around from the very beginnings--we're a blank slate, ready to absorb the world.
My prayer is that my Indian jumping bean makes his/her way through the world and never loses that joy...that they "boing" through life, bouncing back from every obstacle or deterrent, and press on, determined to revel in the peace and love that God brings us all...my prayer is that David and I teach him/her everything is in His hands--they're the only thing we can never "boing" out of.
So what, if I didn't get my "big reveal" of boy vs. girl?
I think God decided to reveal something else...:)
Ultrasounds are the strangest, coolest, most surreal thing to sit through. Someone's pushing outside of you, looking inside of you, to check something out. I've had so many of them done at this point, that the lack of modesty one endures in the process is moot (I love that word!!!!). I don't even care anymore--probe away!
These things are even stranger when the thing they're looking at/for, moves around on the screen. It's a bit alien, to be honest...you can't feel them move yet, but there they are!!! I look forward to these with such a nervous anticipation...if I had fingernails to bite off, they'd be chewed to nubs, I swear! Yesterday was supposed to be when we find out what we're having: boy, or girl? David and I each have our thoughts, but nothing is definite yet. The anticipation is driving my family crazy!! Personally, I just want to get my names figured out. :)
I was super-cranky yesterday...and then the ultrasound started....and there they were...Try as hard as she may, the ultrasound tech could NOT get a determination. Our little Coolio sat with their legs folded, Indian-style (I smacked David--that's YOUR family!), and jumped around like a little Indian jumping bean. It was frustratingly hilarious. I really wanted to know...
But I could have sat their and watched that screen for hours.
Boing...
Boing....
Boing...
Our little peanut (who's actually quite large--8 oz, to be "exact") seems to be a happy little froggy. Long legs, big belly, and a ginormous brain.
Yep--this one takes after me. :)
I don't have any great spiritual point with this blog. I'm just so stinking happy, that I had to take a break just to share it with you. As our baby gets more active, and more defined, the reality of it all sets in more and more, and I feel like I could just explode. To watch him/her bounce around on the screen yesterday...I wish I had a recording to share. The wonder of the creation of God is astounding--how, and why, did He make us that way? We bounce around from the very beginnings--we're a blank slate, ready to absorb the world.
My prayer is that my Indian jumping bean makes his/her way through the world and never loses that joy...that they "boing" through life, bouncing back from every obstacle or deterrent, and press on, determined to revel in the peace and love that God brings us all...my prayer is that David and I teach him/her everything is in His hands--they're the only thing we can never "boing" out of.
So what, if I didn't get my "big reveal" of boy vs. girl?
I think God decided to reveal something else...:)
Monday, September 10, 2012
Building a Mystery....
Oooh, I get 10 points for a Sarah McLachlan 90's song reference! You know, I've never understood those lyrics...
How is it possible to go all ADD when I'm just starting this blog?!?!??
I'm 17 weeks pregnant. There is a tiny human in my stomach that has just, over the course of the past week, begun to make their presence known. There isn't any kicking, per se; actually, there's just this crazy pressure/shifting/weirdness going on that I wish I could put into words. I'm all belly--which to me, is a good (but weird) thing.
I have a good friend who's quite blunt, that has informed me that I look 6 months pregnant (especially right after I eat). Although this made me sad and highly self-conscious, she's right. I feel huge, already, and it's a point of concern. Strangely enough, though, as of this morning I am STILL 3 pounds down from my pre-pregnancy weight. If this keeps going, my hope is that I will have gained less than 20# during this pregnancy. (For someone of my height/weight combination, anywhere from 11-24 pounds is acceptable). I have no desire to Jessica Simpson-ize myself; I feel terrible for friends that have told me that they gained 40-50# during their pregnancies. I can't take off the excess weight pre-pregnancy--there's no way I could take off 40-50# post-partum. It just seems overwhelming, to try and initiate a weight loss plan while trying to raise a tiny human.
My weight is a big deal to me--it's a big part of my life that I wish I would have dealt with more effectively before conceiving (much like my finances). The last few weeks have been a battle with myself over feeling guilty for not being more financially disciplined in preparation for God fulfilling His promise, and for not being more physically disciplined in preparation for God fulfilling His promise. I kinda feel like an oil-less virgin. He's lit my lamp, but I didn't prepare, and now I'm scrambling. This is a huge lesson to me (by God's grace, I hope it's not too little, too late): If God has a promise for you, if you believe that it's true, make the preparations NOW like it's going to happen tomorrow. Stay prepared. I really hope that I've officially got this through my thick skull, and I'm incredibly thankful that God still, in spite of my lack of preparation, sees fit to take care of us. I know that He will provide. I feel foolish, having to ask Him...but I ask anyways, because He is my Father, and He knows the need/lack of preparation/heart's desire before I even approach Him.
That being said, He's proven Himself time and time again. David got an unexpected bonus at work. I had one of the elusive 3-paydays-in-a-week checks (they don't take out an insurance payment, so it's a little extra). We had standing water in our laundry room from a leaky shower that only cost $6 to fix (thanks, Dad!). My brother-in-law was able to put a new starter in the Camry, which saved us a huge mechanic's bill. It's not a massive windfall, but it is enough to make sure we're cared for. It's manna, and it's enough for today. I think that's pretty neat. I look back at the testimonies of my parents--how God took such good care of them when we were kids. I look at David and I, and at the testimonies of how God has brought us through. I think of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego--how they made it through the fiery furnace, and didn't even smell like smoke. Do we smell like smoke? I really don't think so. God has truly carried us through.
Ever want to post something about God's goodness, and worry that if you do, you're just opening yourself up for an attack? Me, too. But I can't get through the pressures of today, without stopping to consider the testimonies of yesterday. He is faithful--even when we don't think He's making any sense. He's faithful.
He was faithful yesterday, and He is faithful today.
He is faithful tomorrow.
"Building a Mystery:" There's a reason that I titled this blog with that reference. Up until today, the tiny human-in-residence has been swirling around my insides with no name. She/he has been referred to as "they" for the 14 weeks that I've known they're there. My struggles with fear during this pregnancy are very real. I look forward to my doctor's visits, only so that I can hear a heartbeat and rest assured that all is okay. I still look at the ultrasounds screens with an out-of-body feeling....it doesn't always feel like it's really happening to me. Today, however, a tiny part of the mystery of pregnancy will be revealed: We find out what we're having this afternoon.
This is a milestone to me.
I'm not sure why, but it seems to me that this small part of identity will make this experience more real...like my struggle with "detachment" will be diminished. Someone prayed over me yesterday that I would embrace the joy of pregnancy. It's not the first time that I've heard that prayer; I think that I struggle with focusing on "just breathing," that I forget to celebrate the wonder and weirdness of this strange state that I'm in! Right now, in this moment, I am carrying a child. I am! It's so freaky!!!! There's a tiny human swimming around my cavernous abdomen! That's crazy!!!!! Even now, 17 weeks in, I'm shaking my head at how weird it is. And I know this isn't my first time around...but in a lot of ways, it feels kind of like it is. My symptoms are different; my mood is different. I'm not 28 this time around, and I feel different. I'm a different person to start with, and I'm handling things differently. I'm also not waltzing into this pregnancy with my eyes closed to reality. I've had to face a whole different realm of possibilities since my last pregnancy, and I feel more like Katniss Everdeen in Mockingjay, than Hermione Granger in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I'm scarred, I've been broken, and the "shiny" has worn off. God is far more real to me in 2012 than He was in 2006, and my relationship with Him, for better or for worse, is much, much different. I'm not going to say that I'm jaded, because I'm not. I will say that I'm simply not as oblivious as I used to be (as far as this goes. For everything else, well, that remains to be seen:). I think that Ephesians 6:12 has a whole new meaning to me. This is not my parents' battle. It's not my sister's, or my pastor's. It's mine, and it's David's, and it truly belongs to the Lord. We will sit back and worship Him. We will praise Him; we will honor Him, and He will knock down the walls in a battle that we may or may not even fully see. We do not have all of the answers. I wish we did.
We do not know how to raise a child. We do not know how to ensure they will grow up with a heart for the Lord. We don't know how to do anything. We're starting this child up from the womb, the only way we know how: Prayer.
We're praying to a God that we cannot see, yet One Whom we trust with our whole hearts. We are entrusting everything to the greatest of Mysteries...
Fortunately, to Him, nothing is mysterious...
How is it possible to go all ADD when I'm just starting this blog?!?!??
I'm 17 weeks pregnant. There is a tiny human in my stomach that has just, over the course of the past week, begun to make their presence known. There isn't any kicking, per se; actually, there's just this crazy pressure/shifting/weirdness going on that I wish I could put into words. I'm all belly--which to me, is a good (but weird) thing.
I have a good friend who's quite blunt, that has informed me that I look 6 months pregnant (especially right after I eat). Although this made me sad and highly self-conscious, she's right. I feel huge, already, and it's a point of concern. Strangely enough, though, as of this morning I am STILL 3 pounds down from my pre-pregnancy weight. If this keeps going, my hope is that I will have gained less than 20# during this pregnancy. (For someone of my height/weight combination, anywhere from 11-24 pounds is acceptable). I have no desire to Jessica Simpson-ize myself; I feel terrible for friends that have told me that they gained 40-50# during their pregnancies. I can't take off the excess weight pre-pregnancy--there's no way I could take off 40-50# post-partum. It just seems overwhelming, to try and initiate a weight loss plan while trying to raise a tiny human.
My weight is a big deal to me--it's a big part of my life that I wish I would have dealt with more effectively before conceiving (much like my finances). The last few weeks have been a battle with myself over feeling guilty for not being more financially disciplined in preparation for God fulfilling His promise, and for not being more physically disciplined in preparation for God fulfilling His promise. I kinda feel like an oil-less virgin. He's lit my lamp, but I didn't prepare, and now I'm scrambling. This is a huge lesson to me (by God's grace, I hope it's not too little, too late): If God has a promise for you, if you believe that it's true, make the preparations NOW like it's going to happen tomorrow. Stay prepared. I really hope that I've officially got this through my thick skull, and I'm incredibly thankful that God still, in spite of my lack of preparation, sees fit to take care of us. I know that He will provide. I feel foolish, having to ask Him...but I ask anyways, because He is my Father, and He knows the need/lack of preparation/heart's desire before I even approach Him.
That being said, He's proven Himself time and time again. David got an unexpected bonus at work. I had one of the elusive 3-paydays-in-a-week checks (they don't take out an insurance payment, so it's a little extra). We had standing water in our laundry room from a leaky shower that only cost $6 to fix (thanks, Dad!). My brother-in-law was able to put a new starter in the Camry, which saved us a huge mechanic's bill. It's not a massive windfall, but it is enough to make sure we're cared for. It's manna, and it's enough for today. I think that's pretty neat. I look back at the testimonies of my parents--how God took such good care of them when we were kids. I look at David and I, and at the testimonies of how God has brought us through. I think of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego--how they made it through the fiery furnace, and didn't even smell like smoke. Do we smell like smoke? I really don't think so. God has truly carried us through.
Ever want to post something about God's goodness, and worry that if you do, you're just opening yourself up for an attack? Me, too. But I can't get through the pressures of today, without stopping to consider the testimonies of yesterday. He is faithful--even when we don't think He's making any sense. He's faithful.
He was faithful yesterday, and He is faithful today.
He is faithful tomorrow.
"Building a Mystery:" There's a reason that I titled this blog with that reference. Up until today, the tiny human-in-residence has been swirling around my insides with no name. She/he has been referred to as "they" for the 14 weeks that I've known they're there. My struggles with fear during this pregnancy are very real. I look forward to my doctor's visits, only so that I can hear a heartbeat and rest assured that all is okay. I still look at the ultrasounds screens with an out-of-body feeling....it doesn't always feel like it's really happening to me. Today, however, a tiny part of the mystery of pregnancy will be revealed: We find out what we're having this afternoon.
This is a milestone to me.
I'm not sure why, but it seems to me that this small part of identity will make this experience more real...like my struggle with "detachment" will be diminished. Someone prayed over me yesterday that I would embrace the joy of pregnancy. It's not the first time that I've heard that prayer; I think that I struggle with focusing on "just breathing," that I forget to celebrate the wonder and weirdness of this strange state that I'm in! Right now, in this moment, I am carrying a child. I am! It's so freaky!!!! There's a tiny human swimming around my cavernous abdomen! That's crazy!!!!! Even now, 17 weeks in, I'm shaking my head at how weird it is. And I know this isn't my first time around...but in a lot of ways, it feels kind of like it is. My symptoms are different; my mood is different. I'm not 28 this time around, and I feel different. I'm a different person to start with, and I'm handling things differently. I'm also not waltzing into this pregnancy with my eyes closed to reality. I've had to face a whole different realm of possibilities since my last pregnancy, and I feel more like Katniss Everdeen in Mockingjay, than Hermione Granger in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I'm scarred, I've been broken, and the "shiny" has worn off. God is far more real to me in 2012 than He was in 2006, and my relationship with Him, for better or for worse, is much, much different. I'm not going to say that I'm jaded, because I'm not. I will say that I'm simply not as oblivious as I used to be (as far as this goes. For everything else, well, that remains to be seen:). I think that Ephesians 6:12 has a whole new meaning to me. This is not my parents' battle. It's not my sister's, or my pastor's. It's mine, and it's David's, and it truly belongs to the Lord. We will sit back and worship Him. We will praise Him; we will honor Him, and He will knock down the walls in a battle that we may or may not even fully see. We do not have all of the answers. I wish we did.
We do not know how to raise a child. We do not know how to ensure they will grow up with a heart for the Lord. We don't know how to do anything. We're starting this child up from the womb, the only way we know how: Prayer.
We're praying to a God that we cannot see, yet One Whom we trust with our whole hearts. We are entrusting everything to the greatest of Mysteries...
Fortunately, to Him, nothing is mysterious...
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Dinosaurs, Dangerous Questions and Thin Ice...
I am one of "those people" that, if you ask me how I am (and if I like you), I will tell you. It's a Dangerous Question. Not only is it a Dangerous Question because I am pregnant and hormonal; it's a Dangerous Question because I am, by nature, a very emotional person who doesn't hide it very well.
I wish I did.
I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you I was fine, and know that you aren't perceptive enough to know that I was lying. It's all well and good when I'm at work...after all, for the most part, those aren't people--they're "co-workers," and I'm learning that they're an entirely different species... At work, everything is "fine."
At home, everything is "fine." I love my David, so please don't think that I'm anything but genuine with him. But who among us burdens their husband with their every emotion? Especially when, emotionally, they're just not made like we are?
Almost 6 years ago, I thought that we were going to bring a wonder home from the hospital. We did...and then we didn't...and I fell into a black hole for 2 years. For 2 years, I was somebody else. I was physically ill...I was spiritually destroyed...I was suicidal...and I knew that God really did hate me. I'd have moments where I'd tell myself that I was fine, and I was getting better, but it simply wasn't true. I was far worse than I let anyone, including my husband, know. What he did know, is that although I don't think I ever lost my faith, I most definitely lost my communication with God. I had faith that He existed, but I didn't trust Him--it's two different things.
For 4 years now, I've been on my way back out. I'd like to say that the gaping wound has healed completely, but there are scars. My doctor actually asked me if I had PTSD--being back at MoBap again, seeing places I'd forgotten, but suddenly remembered, was surreal. Hallways, light fixtures--I joke about having memory loss after the heart failure, but it's true. Certain things come back in spurts; I can't really describe it. It's jarring, like a flashback; not always a bad memory, but disturbing, nonetheless. Scars are not a bad thing to have. They remind us of the healing we've been through.
I told my pastor's wife this morning, that I feel like a donut--running around in a circle, with no substance. It's like I've been praying, but avoiding addressing the scary stuff: "God, I pray for this baby! For health, and healing, and..." What I don't say, is "God, please don't let us go through 2006 again. Please don't fail me."
He never failed me.
He never left--He never abandoned me. He didn't turn His back on us; He never turned His face away. He wasn't punishing us.
Just because I didn't get what I wanted, what I thought made sense, it doesn't mean that He wasn't there. I didn't feel Him. I didn't see Him, didn't hear a word out of Him. But He was there.
Why am I afraid of Him? He's my Father.
I think it's Psalms 16 that says "He will not abandon my soul." King David knew a few things about loss and disappointment. He also knew that God's character does not change, regardless of how our lives are altered. He is still God, and He is GOOD.
I have a Father that I have known since I was 8 years old. For 26 years, I have called myself His child, and yet I feel like a 2-year old when I talk to Him sometimes. Narcissistic. Selfish. Untrusting. Fearful. I deny His character by my reluctance to be honest with Him. Our pastor's been preaching a really great series on what Faithfulness is. The more I actually listen to, the more I wonder how often I've confused faith with hope, or faith with trust? I asked him today if hope was more of an emotional thing, where faith is more of a spiritual thing? I don't know...but I know that all of the above is being challenged right now.
We've prayed for this child for years. One thing I learned with Hannah's loss, is that God's will doesn't usually look like our will. We know what we want, and we think we know the story; however, when we truly turn our lives over to Him, we have to accept the fact that the book is written word by word, not chapter by chapter. We don't know what's going on. We have to believe that He does. He not only sees the words and the chapters; He sees the entire story of our lives, and He knows what He's doing.
We prayed that this child would be conceived in His time, by His rules. I thought He was taking too long, that He didn't want us to be parents. In May, I cried to my husband that I felt like giving up, that I was never going to be good enough for God to bless us with children. My amazing husband said to have faith.
The biggest thing I've struggled with in my life is feeling like God doesn't like me. That He couldn't really love me, because He knows what I'm really like, and that's ugly. My amazing husband said to maintain hope.
We prayed that this child would come along at a time when we were fit to fight the battle, because we knew that it would be hard. David probably knew better than I did (after all, I can do anything, right?!?!?), and he was right. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I've said that it's felt like a battleground. I've been hiding out lately, but it's come back on in full force since yesterday. It's a mental and spiritual battle (not to mention the physical battles of shots and morning sickness and headaches--but I can TOTALLY get over that!), and it's messy. Just because I don't want to remind myself of how messy it can be, doesn't mean that it's not.
I am beyond amazed to be pregnant, but it still feels really surreal. Even when I'm looking at the ultrasounds, I'm freaked out...like, "is that my body?!?" Huh?!? I know that will change when I start feeling movement; for now, I'm laying hands on my rapidly-expanding belly and wondering what's going on in there (besides the bladder dance).
There are things that I am overwhelmed by (mostly financial, I'm not going to lie) and things I can't allow myself to think about (how will the first 29 days be? Will I throw a party, on Day 30?). God has supplied our needs in so many amazing ways--that I would allow myself to get overwhelmed about financial things is a testimony to how much like a 2-year old I really am. Of course He takes care of us, in spite of our worries and fears and mistakes. He doesn't give us stones when we need bread. I know it will be okay...I need to get back to "considering the lilies," like I have written on my mirror. There are things I don't want to admit that I'm afraid of (but I think that's pretty obvious). There are fears that I thought would not be a big deal, but now they're looming over me like a tyrannosaurus rex.
I just have to focus on the fact that T-Rexs are ridiculous creatures. ("I have a big head! And little, tiny arms!")
God is faithful. God never leaves us. He will not abandon our soul.
Regardless of what is, what was, or what is coming, He does not change. It is impossible for Him to not love us. Everything seems insurmountable, or scary, or impossible; everything wants to keep me awake at night. God does not.
Since I was a little girl, I've always had this image in my head of sitting on the lap of God. I've never liked sitting on anyone's lap--it's never been comfortable. But sitting on His lap has been in my heart since I can remember. To sit there, with my head on His chest, and to know that I am safe, that nothing can hurt me--that is the image I cling to when the T-Rexs of the world are chasing me. God is my superhero, and with Him, it's okay that I feel like a child. With Him, I don't have to lie if He asks me if I'm okay--He knows. He knows my fears, and my failures; He knows that all I really want is to do the right thing, even when I get in my own way. He knows me, and He loves me, and He's never left me alone.
Sitting in worship today, choking over the words that God is "Always Faithful," it hit me: I still have doubt that it's true. I still wonder if He'll come through, if He'll do what He's promised. Even though I KNOW that He will, the T-Rex of "What Ifs?" was chasing me down today. I just bought a crib--"what if" it's all for naught?
What if?
Doesn't matter.
God is faithful.
I am afraid.
God is faithful.
I am unsure.
God is faithful.
Am I crazy?
God is good.
Will You be there?
God will not abandon my soul.
It is thin ice, to say to the Most High, the Omnipotent on, that "I will trust You." To say, "Lord, do Your will."
It is thin ice, because you never know when it's going to break...
But you do know that He will always catch you...
He will never let you go.
I wish I did.
I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you I was fine, and know that you aren't perceptive enough to know that I was lying. It's all well and good when I'm at work...after all, for the most part, those aren't people--they're "co-workers," and I'm learning that they're an entirely different species... At work, everything is "fine."
At home, everything is "fine." I love my David, so please don't think that I'm anything but genuine with him. But who among us burdens their husband with their every emotion? Especially when, emotionally, they're just not made like we are?
Almost 6 years ago, I thought that we were going to bring a wonder home from the hospital. We did...and then we didn't...and I fell into a black hole for 2 years. For 2 years, I was somebody else. I was physically ill...I was spiritually destroyed...I was suicidal...and I knew that God really did hate me. I'd have moments where I'd tell myself that I was fine, and I was getting better, but it simply wasn't true. I was far worse than I let anyone, including my husband, know. What he did know, is that although I don't think I ever lost my faith, I most definitely lost my communication with God. I had faith that He existed, but I didn't trust Him--it's two different things.
For 4 years now, I've been on my way back out. I'd like to say that the gaping wound has healed completely, but there are scars. My doctor actually asked me if I had PTSD--being back at MoBap again, seeing places I'd forgotten, but suddenly remembered, was surreal. Hallways, light fixtures--I joke about having memory loss after the heart failure, but it's true. Certain things come back in spurts; I can't really describe it. It's jarring, like a flashback; not always a bad memory, but disturbing, nonetheless. Scars are not a bad thing to have. They remind us of the healing we've been through.
I told my pastor's wife this morning, that I feel like a donut--running around in a circle, with no substance. It's like I've been praying, but avoiding addressing the scary stuff: "God, I pray for this baby! For health, and healing, and..." What I don't say, is "God, please don't let us go through 2006 again. Please don't fail me."
He never failed me.
He never left--He never abandoned me. He didn't turn His back on us; He never turned His face away. He wasn't punishing us.
Just because I didn't get what I wanted, what I thought made sense, it doesn't mean that He wasn't there. I didn't feel Him. I didn't see Him, didn't hear a word out of Him. But He was there.
Why am I afraid of Him? He's my Father.
I think it's Psalms 16 that says "He will not abandon my soul." King David knew a few things about loss and disappointment. He also knew that God's character does not change, regardless of how our lives are altered. He is still God, and He is GOOD.
I have a Father that I have known since I was 8 years old. For 26 years, I have called myself His child, and yet I feel like a 2-year old when I talk to Him sometimes. Narcissistic. Selfish. Untrusting. Fearful. I deny His character by my reluctance to be honest with Him. Our pastor's been preaching a really great series on what Faithfulness is. The more I actually listen to, the more I wonder how often I've confused faith with hope, or faith with trust? I asked him today if hope was more of an emotional thing, where faith is more of a spiritual thing? I don't know...but I know that all of the above is being challenged right now.
We've prayed for this child for years. One thing I learned with Hannah's loss, is that God's will doesn't usually look like our will. We know what we want, and we think we know the story; however, when we truly turn our lives over to Him, we have to accept the fact that the book is written word by word, not chapter by chapter. We don't know what's going on. We have to believe that He does. He not only sees the words and the chapters; He sees the entire story of our lives, and He knows what He's doing.
We prayed that this child would be conceived in His time, by His rules. I thought He was taking too long, that He didn't want us to be parents. In May, I cried to my husband that I felt like giving up, that I was never going to be good enough for God to bless us with children. My amazing husband said to have faith.
The biggest thing I've struggled with in my life is feeling like God doesn't like me. That He couldn't really love me, because He knows what I'm really like, and that's ugly. My amazing husband said to maintain hope.
We prayed that this child would come along at a time when we were fit to fight the battle, because we knew that it would be hard. David probably knew better than I did (after all, I can do anything, right?!?!?), and he was right. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I've said that it's felt like a battleground. I've been hiding out lately, but it's come back on in full force since yesterday. It's a mental and spiritual battle (not to mention the physical battles of shots and morning sickness and headaches--but I can TOTALLY get over that!), and it's messy. Just because I don't want to remind myself of how messy it can be, doesn't mean that it's not.
I am beyond amazed to be pregnant, but it still feels really surreal. Even when I'm looking at the ultrasounds, I'm freaked out...like, "is that my body?!?" Huh?!? I know that will change when I start feeling movement; for now, I'm laying hands on my rapidly-expanding belly and wondering what's going on in there (besides the bladder dance).
There are things that I am overwhelmed by (mostly financial, I'm not going to lie) and things I can't allow myself to think about (how will the first 29 days be? Will I throw a party, on Day 30?). God has supplied our needs in so many amazing ways--that I would allow myself to get overwhelmed about financial things is a testimony to how much like a 2-year old I really am. Of course He takes care of us, in spite of our worries and fears and mistakes. He doesn't give us stones when we need bread. I know it will be okay...I need to get back to "considering the lilies," like I have written on my mirror. There are things I don't want to admit that I'm afraid of (but I think that's pretty obvious). There are fears that I thought would not be a big deal, but now they're looming over me like a tyrannosaurus rex.
I just have to focus on the fact that T-Rexs are ridiculous creatures. ("I have a big head! And little, tiny arms!")
God is faithful. God never leaves us. He will not abandon our soul.
Regardless of what is, what was, or what is coming, He does not change. It is impossible for Him to not love us. Everything seems insurmountable, or scary, or impossible; everything wants to keep me awake at night. God does not.
Since I was a little girl, I've always had this image in my head of sitting on the lap of God. I've never liked sitting on anyone's lap--it's never been comfortable. But sitting on His lap has been in my heart since I can remember. To sit there, with my head on His chest, and to know that I am safe, that nothing can hurt me--that is the image I cling to when the T-Rexs of the world are chasing me. God is my superhero, and with Him, it's okay that I feel like a child. With Him, I don't have to lie if He asks me if I'm okay--He knows. He knows my fears, and my failures; He knows that all I really want is to do the right thing, even when I get in my own way. He knows me, and He loves me, and He's never left me alone.
Sitting in worship today, choking over the words that God is "Always Faithful," it hit me: I still have doubt that it's true. I still wonder if He'll come through, if He'll do what He's promised. Even though I KNOW that He will, the T-Rex of "What Ifs?" was chasing me down today. I just bought a crib--"what if" it's all for naught?
What if?
Doesn't matter.
God is faithful.
I am afraid.
God is faithful.
I am unsure.
God is faithful.
Am I crazy?
God is good.
Will You be there?
God will not abandon my soul.
It is thin ice, to say to the Most High, the Omnipotent on, that "I will trust You." To say, "Lord, do Your will."
It is thin ice, because you never know when it's going to break...
But you do know that He will always catch you...
He will never let you go.
Monday, July 30, 2012
A Pregnant Pause....For Battle.
When I look at my last post, I have to laugh. Last month, I posted all about how I was ready to "take the gloves off" and make some changes. Little did I know how important that attitude change would be...At the time of writing that blog, I was approximately 1 week pregnant, and completely unaware of it.
I've avoided blogging, since finding out that I was pregnant. This is mostly because I've made a promise to maintain transparency in my writing, and right now, that's not necessarily easy to do. My mom keeps telling me to "ponder things in my heart;" actually, that sounds more like "keep it a secret so no one knows what you're dealing with." There's a difference.
"Pondering things in my heart" means that I take the details/reports/research/fears/heartache/longing and I take it to my prayer closet (the Camry/bed), lay it down before the Father, and tell Him--and only Him--exactly how I feel. It means that only He hears the blood, sweat and tears. He hears the things I will not tell my husband, my mother, my sister, or my pastor. He hears the worst fears, and He hears the highest hopes; He hears the deepest anger and disappointments. He hears me say "Lord, I ask for Your Will...even though the last time I did that, I lost everything, and now I'm terrified to trust You." He hears me say, "I will try, I will try, I will try." "Pondering things in my heart" means that this very broken vessel only functions when I fall on my face before Him.
This doesn't mean that I walk around all day long like I'm some kind of a spiritual icon. It means that I wipe out, I fall down more than I stand up, I say stupid things, I get mad at the fax machine, and I basically act like Cassidy. It also means that I'm hyper-aware of my faults and failures, and that when I stop and pray, I feel more and more like a 5-year old who's just learning how to pray all over again.
Telling you what's actually going on is a scary prospect. I don't want the "attention" that comes with the cold, hard facts of this pregnancy. I also know that the phrase "who's report will you believe?!?" runs through my mind like a river. There are spiritual things taking place during this pregnancy that are mind-blowing. I'm taking it day-by-day, "building the wall," so to speak, and every day has its own revelation of sorts. So, if I tell you what's going on, please don't respond in fear. I AM NOT AFRAID. It makes no sense for me, to not be terrified. But I'm not afraid. Whatever God is doing, it's bigger than any fear I may have or have had. Nervous at times, yes...wondering and occasionally worried, yes. But I am not what I would call afraid. So if you're going to respond in fear, please don't. There's no place for that here.
This is why I've made the decision to not let a certain faction of my family know that I'm pregnant. I don't need their pity or worry, and I don't want it. Praying people know. That's what matters, and if that sounds harsh, I'm okay with your opinion. I also don't want to hear other people's pregnancy horror stories. I've lived through the worst thing that can happen. I don't want to know what else is out there, or how your cousin's sister's neighbor miscarried at such-and-such weeks, or about the stillbirth, or about any of that. I've already heard the stories, and thanks to the cameradarie of my fellow Angel Moms, I've cried with families that have experienced Hell. I know what's out there--please don't remind me. I don't have blinders on.
Here are the facts: I have a condition called Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. It's a clotting disorder that can most likely be blamed for every heart-related issue that I had in my first pregnancy. It's pretty rare, and most doctors don't test for it until you've had 5-6 miscarriages. I am blessed to have one of the top perinatologists in the nation: Dr. Michael Paul at Missouri Baptist Hospital. He had a hunch, and tested me--he is a gift from God. APS can be tied to a lot of complications, but there is a battle plan to attack it. I'm on daily injections of blood thinners that I give myself. No--it's not fun. But I'm over it. Premature delivery is a common side effect of APS and/or the treatment for APS, so please join with me in praying against this. Our baby is due 2/16/13. As excited as I am to meet him/her, I don't want to see their beautiful face until then!!!
Hannah didn't die from my APS. Hannah caught a completely off-the-wall bug called late-onset Group B Strep. GBS typically comes from the mother--or so I thought. Late-Onset GBS does NOT come from the mother. It's a bacteria that colonizes on the skin and in the air. She could have got it from anyone, from anywhere. There is nothing preventative about it--there is no way of knowing how she got it, or how to keep it from happening again. Granted, the chances of a second occurrence are so rare that there aren't even any statistics for it. The sheer randomness of LOGBS is the one thing I will not allow myself to think about. Please do not try to discuss this topic with me. There are certain conversations that I have to be bold enough to stop before they start, and this is one of them. I trust Jesus.
Please understand: I am a different person than I was with my first pregnancy. I am scarred, I am broken, I am healed, and I am on guard in a way that I never knew was possible. I tend to be so open to suggestion, especially where fear is concerned. Fear has been a stronghold in my life since I can remember, and I've referenced that a lot in my blogging history. I will not let it dictate this time in my life. When I first found out that I was pregnant, I told 2 people, for prayer support. I waited through 5 days of lab tests/results/hell before I was bold enough to tell my husband--I didn't want to break his heart with a "maybe." I am only just beginning to let myself embrace the joy of being pregnant--only since Tammy Riddering taught the Song of Solomon class on trusting Jesus as a "safe Saviour." Of course He is--where else can I go? I've felt like I was on a battlefield against myself, more than anyone, since I found out that I was pregnant. I'm even on guard when I sleep--certain dreams, I wake myself up from; I find myself fighting in my dreams, even against people I love (this doesn't surprise me; sometimes the people you love the most, say the dumbest things!:). I am guarding what I watch on television, what I hear on the radio, where I let my mind wander. I'm not ostracizing myself; I just don't want to be open to negative suggestions. The media inspires fear, and I don't need any help in that department!
What I need, are my friends and family to pray. Do not pray in fear; pray in trust. In my heart, I believe that this pregnancy and a safe delivery are going to somehow knock walls down for the Kingdom. It's a long story, as to where that comes from, and I don't necessarily understand it. I've been reading Nehemiah, and though I don't really get why I'm studying the building of a wall, while hoping for the tearing down of walls, I do see incredible spiritual truths coming out of this reading. I don't mean to sound preachy--it's just where I am.
Someone said, "My wish for you is a BORING pregnancy." I love that--I would like nothing more, than to have that. Regular monitoring by the perinatologist (every 2 weeks) means that so far, it's interesting, but other than the injections, uneventful. I want to keep it that way. I want to be "normal." So, please join with me in unity to pray for a boring pregnancy...for a full-term, healthy baby that comes into this world with peace, no fear, and with amazing hope for a beautiful future. Pray for peace in my household...for financial organization, continued job stability, and that we (as in, my entire family) celebrate and embrace the joy of this pregnancy. Fear has no place here...only trust, grace, and joy.
Thanks for partnering with me in prayer, on the battleground that's already been claimed. You guys are more of an encouragement than I let you know. :)
P.S.--Graduate school/pre-classes for Graduate School has been put on pause until 8/2013. It's going to happen....but I'm in no hurry. :)
I've avoided blogging, since finding out that I was pregnant. This is mostly because I've made a promise to maintain transparency in my writing, and right now, that's not necessarily easy to do. My mom keeps telling me to "ponder things in my heart;" actually, that sounds more like "keep it a secret so no one knows what you're dealing with." There's a difference.
"Pondering things in my heart" means that I take the details/reports/research/fears/heartache/longing and I take it to my prayer closet (the Camry/bed), lay it down before the Father, and tell Him--and only Him--exactly how I feel. It means that only He hears the blood, sweat and tears. He hears the things I will not tell my husband, my mother, my sister, or my pastor. He hears the worst fears, and He hears the highest hopes; He hears the deepest anger and disappointments. He hears me say "Lord, I ask for Your Will...even though the last time I did that, I lost everything, and now I'm terrified to trust You." He hears me say, "I will try, I will try, I will try." "Pondering things in my heart" means that this very broken vessel only functions when I fall on my face before Him.
This doesn't mean that I walk around all day long like I'm some kind of a spiritual icon. It means that I wipe out, I fall down more than I stand up, I say stupid things, I get mad at the fax machine, and I basically act like Cassidy. It also means that I'm hyper-aware of my faults and failures, and that when I stop and pray, I feel more and more like a 5-year old who's just learning how to pray all over again.
Telling you what's actually going on is a scary prospect. I don't want the "attention" that comes with the cold, hard facts of this pregnancy. I also know that the phrase "who's report will you believe?!?" runs through my mind like a river. There are spiritual things taking place during this pregnancy that are mind-blowing. I'm taking it day-by-day, "building the wall," so to speak, and every day has its own revelation of sorts. So, if I tell you what's going on, please don't respond in fear. I AM NOT AFRAID. It makes no sense for me, to not be terrified. But I'm not afraid. Whatever God is doing, it's bigger than any fear I may have or have had. Nervous at times, yes...wondering and occasionally worried, yes. But I am not what I would call afraid. So if you're going to respond in fear, please don't. There's no place for that here.
This is why I've made the decision to not let a certain faction of my family know that I'm pregnant. I don't need their pity or worry, and I don't want it. Praying people know. That's what matters, and if that sounds harsh, I'm okay with your opinion. I also don't want to hear other people's pregnancy horror stories. I've lived through the worst thing that can happen. I don't want to know what else is out there, or how your cousin's sister's neighbor miscarried at such-and-such weeks, or about the stillbirth, or about any of that. I've already heard the stories, and thanks to the cameradarie of my fellow Angel Moms, I've cried with families that have experienced Hell. I know what's out there--please don't remind me. I don't have blinders on.
Here are the facts: I have a condition called Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. It's a clotting disorder that can most likely be blamed for every heart-related issue that I had in my first pregnancy. It's pretty rare, and most doctors don't test for it until you've had 5-6 miscarriages. I am blessed to have one of the top perinatologists in the nation: Dr. Michael Paul at Missouri Baptist Hospital. He had a hunch, and tested me--he is a gift from God. APS can be tied to a lot of complications, but there is a battle plan to attack it. I'm on daily injections of blood thinners that I give myself. No--it's not fun. But I'm over it. Premature delivery is a common side effect of APS and/or the treatment for APS, so please join with me in praying against this. Our baby is due 2/16/13. As excited as I am to meet him/her, I don't want to see their beautiful face until then!!!
Hannah didn't die from my APS. Hannah caught a completely off-the-wall bug called late-onset Group B Strep. GBS typically comes from the mother--or so I thought. Late-Onset GBS does NOT come from the mother. It's a bacteria that colonizes on the skin and in the air. She could have got it from anyone, from anywhere. There is nothing preventative about it--there is no way of knowing how she got it, or how to keep it from happening again. Granted, the chances of a second occurrence are so rare that there aren't even any statistics for it. The sheer randomness of LOGBS is the one thing I will not allow myself to think about. Please do not try to discuss this topic with me. There are certain conversations that I have to be bold enough to stop before they start, and this is one of them. I trust Jesus.
Please understand: I am a different person than I was with my first pregnancy. I am scarred, I am broken, I am healed, and I am on guard in a way that I never knew was possible. I tend to be so open to suggestion, especially where fear is concerned. Fear has been a stronghold in my life since I can remember, and I've referenced that a lot in my blogging history. I will not let it dictate this time in my life. When I first found out that I was pregnant, I told 2 people, for prayer support. I waited through 5 days of lab tests/results/hell before I was bold enough to tell my husband--I didn't want to break his heart with a "maybe." I am only just beginning to let myself embrace the joy of being pregnant--only since Tammy Riddering taught the Song of Solomon class on trusting Jesus as a "safe Saviour." Of course He is--where else can I go? I've felt like I was on a battlefield against myself, more than anyone, since I found out that I was pregnant. I'm even on guard when I sleep--certain dreams, I wake myself up from; I find myself fighting in my dreams, even against people I love (this doesn't surprise me; sometimes the people you love the most, say the dumbest things!:). I am guarding what I watch on television, what I hear on the radio, where I let my mind wander. I'm not ostracizing myself; I just don't want to be open to negative suggestions. The media inspires fear, and I don't need any help in that department!
What I need, are my friends and family to pray. Do not pray in fear; pray in trust. In my heart, I believe that this pregnancy and a safe delivery are going to somehow knock walls down for the Kingdom. It's a long story, as to where that comes from, and I don't necessarily understand it. I've been reading Nehemiah, and though I don't really get why I'm studying the building of a wall, while hoping for the tearing down of walls, I do see incredible spiritual truths coming out of this reading. I don't mean to sound preachy--it's just where I am.
Someone said, "My wish for you is a BORING pregnancy." I love that--I would like nothing more, than to have that. Regular monitoring by the perinatologist (every 2 weeks) means that so far, it's interesting, but other than the injections, uneventful. I want to keep it that way. I want to be "normal." So, please join with me in unity to pray for a boring pregnancy...for a full-term, healthy baby that comes into this world with peace, no fear, and with amazing hope for a beautiful future. Pray for peace in my household...for financial organization, continued job stability, and that we (as in, my entire family) celebrate and embrace the joy of this pregnancy. Fear has no place here...only trust, grace, and joy.
Thanks for partnering with me in prayer, on the battleground that's already been claimed. You guys are more of an encouragement than I let you know. :)
P.S.--Graduate school/pre-classes for Graduate School has been put on pause until 8/2013. It's going to happen....but I'm in no hurry. :)
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Taking the next step, boxing gloves in hand...
Fear.
It's a HUGE part of my life. Yesterday, Mom said, "Girl, you are afraid of EVERYTHING!!!" People that aren't around me all of the time may not see that, but it's so true--I'm totally terrified , and that fear leads to a constant feeling of inadequacy and self-loathing. The fear factor has definitely increased over the course of the past few years. For a while after Hannah died, I was actually so afraid that David would die in a car accident, that I was afraid to tell God that I was thankful for him. I was afraid to say that I liked my job, because I just knew as soon as I did, that I would get fired. I was afraid to celebrate any good thing, because I knew it wasn't meant for me, and that I'd lose it if I celebrated it. That's subsided, but I still deal with a sense of "oh, be careful! Don't get too excited...don't get too attached! Nothing's guaranteed!!!!"
I work in a world of academia, surrounded by brilliant women. Smart people terrify me. I was a valedictorian...in a class of 6 people. I graduated from college after being the recipient of numerous scholarships...but I lost the only one I ever earned for my grades. I have a knack for walking into walls, saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time, and for tripping over my own two feet. I'm uncoordinated, talk too much without saying anything, and seriously lack the ability to know when to end a conversa......you get the point.
There's a song by TLC that I used to love, called "Unpretty." I've always liked it, because it rings true with how I feel physically and mentally. Never feeling "good enough" is such a cliche, but I get it. I just. Plain. Don't. I always wanted to wake up with some secret magical Peter-Parker-Moment, some superhero quality that made me different, made me special. The reality of being "normal" sucks. But I am. I'm just an average Jane. And being surrounded by all of these brilliant people reiterates that feeling. I've always felt like there was something more, and I'm missing it.
A few years ago, I heard a message about not settling for Plan B...about not being happy with circumnavigating your Promised Land (thanks, Ben Scofield), Shortly thereafter, I put a note on my bathroom mirror to be "thankful" for wherever I am..but not to be satisfied. I've spent 13 years in Plan B. I've had a few glimpses of Plan A (thanks, David, for marrying me--you're the best Plan A EVER!), but I know that there's more. Being a wife is #1. Motherhood is #2. And continuing my education is #3. My grandma used to say to me, "You promise me that you'll go to college!" I did. When I was in college, Dr. Pabarcus (and his super-cool doctoral hat that he wore to graduation ceremonies) would say, "Hey, "Dr. Baumann" sounds good!" "Sure...right." I'd say.
#2 is on the table. It could happen any time, any day, and I am 100% for it. Motherhood is my ultimate lifetime heart's desire. There's nothing I want more, other than to be a good wife.
I work for an institution that wants me to learn. I want to learn. I want to keep going...maybe it's "Dr. Cooley" that's resonating in my ears, I don't know--but I feel like watching people like Lauren Preston or John Grapperhaus is inspiring me not to sell myself short. These are "normal" people who are holding down jobs and raising families, and who are Going. To. School.
I've seen that it can be done.
I'm terrified...I'm petrified.
I want to go.
I jumped.
Clicking the "apply now" button on UMSL's website was a truly frightening experience. In fact, I was waiting for the "APPLICATION REJECTED" e-mail (and it may still come). But I've applied, and for me and all of my fears, that was the biggest part of the battle.
Transcripts have been requested, and I've contacted several former professors for Letters of Recommendation; fortunately, a few of them have complied. For them to remember me (and to say nice things about me) is incredibly humbling. I sat in my office yesterday and cried after the former president of my alma mater called me to tell me he'd write the letter. Who am I? I'm truly, truly freaked out. Total Sally Field moment--"they really like me!!!"
I'm applying to the graduate program in the English department. I know it's a lot of work--my boss' daughter just graduated from the program (which is GREAT, because she's understanding!), and told me it's tough. I'm hoping to consistently take 1-2 classes/semester (and I'm starting with 1!). My undergraduate degree is in Bible, so it's likely that I'll have to take some classes to even start the graduate program. I'm okay with that.
Well, as okay as I can be. If you saw my insides, you'd see what looks like a tiny mouse, shaking in a corner. I'm petrified.
I know that this is a direction I want to go; more importantly, it's a direction I feel like I am supposed to go. If I try, and I fail, at least I didn't miss the opportunity.
At least I didn't let the fear win.
If I try, and I fail, at least I can say that I clicked the button.
If I try...
Maybe I'll succeed?
It's a HUGE part of my life. Yesterday, Mom said, "Girl, you are afraid of EVERYTHING!!!" People that aren't around me all of the time may not see that, but it's so true--I'm totally terrified , and that fear leads to a constant feeling of inadequacy and self-loathing. The fear factor has definitely increased over the course of the past few years. For a while after Hannah died, I was actually so afraid that David would die in a car accident, that I was afraid to tell God that I was thankful for him. I was afraid to say that I liked my job, because I just knew as soon as I did, that I would get fired. I was afraid to celebrate any good thing, because I knew it wasn't meant for me, and that I'd lose it if I celebrated it. That's subsided, but I still deal with a sense of "oh, be careful! Don't get too excited...don't get too attached! Nothing's guaranteed!!!!"
I work in a world of academia, surrounded by brilliant women. Smart people terrify me. I was a valedictorian...in a class of 6 people. I graduated from college after being the recipient of numerous scholarships...but I lost the only one I ever earned for my grades. I have a knack for walking into walls, saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time, and for tripping over my own two feet. I'm uncoordinated, talk too much without saying anything, and seriously lack the ability to know when to end a conversa......you get the point.
There's a song by TLC that I used to love, called "Unpretty." I've always liked it, because it rings true with how I feel physically and mentally. Never feeling "good enough" is such a cliche, but I get it. I just. Plain. Don't. I always wanted to wake up with some secret magical Peter-Parker-Moment, some superhero quality that made me different, made me special. The reality of being "normal" sucks. But I am. I'm just an average Jane. And being surrounded by all of these brilliant people reiterates that feeling. I've always felt like there was something more, and I'm missing it.
A few years ago, I heard a message about not settling for Plan B...about not being happy with circumnavigating your Promised Land (thanks, Ben Scofield), Shortly thereafter, I put a note on my bathroom mirror to be "thankful" for wherever I am..but not to be satisfied. I've spent 13 years in Plan B. I've had a few glimpses of Plan A (thanks, David, for marrying me--you're the best Plan A EVER!), but I know that there's more. Being a wife is #1. Motherhood is #2. And continuing my education is #3. My grandma used to say to me, "You promise me that you'll go to college!" I did. When I was in college, Dr. Pabarcus (and his super-cool doctoral hat that he wore to graduation ceremonies) would say, "Hey, "Dr. Baumann" sounds good!" "Sure...right." I'd say.
#2 is on the table. It could happen any time, any day, and I am 100% for it. Motherhood is my ultimate lifetime heart's desire. There's nothing I want more, other than to be a good wife.
I work for an institution that wants me to learn. I want to learn. I want to keep going...maybe it's "Dr. Cooley" that's resonating in my ears, I don't know--but I feel like watching people like Lauren Preston or John Grapperhaus is inspiring me not to sell myself short. These are "normal" people who are holding down jobs and raising families, and who are Going. To. School.
I've seen that it can be done.
I'm terrified...I'm petrified.
I want to go.
I jumped.
Clicking the "apply now" button on UMSL's website was a truly frightening experience. In fact, I was waiting for the "APPLICATION REJECTED" e-mail (and it may still come). But I've applied, and for me and all of my fears, that was the biggest part of the battle.
Transcripts have been requested, and I've contacted several former professors for Letters of Recommendation; fortunately, a few of them have complied. For them to remember me (and to say nice things about me) is incredibly humbling. I sat in my office yesterday and cried after the former president of my alma mater called me to tell me he'd write the letter. Who am I? I'm truly, truly freaked out. Total Sally Field moment--"they really like me!!!"
I'm applying to the graduate program in the English department. I know it's a lot of work--my boss' daughter just graduated from the program (which is GREAT, because she's understanding!), and told me it's tough. I'm hoping to consistently take 1-2 classes/semester (and I'm starting with 1!). My undergraduate degree is in Bible, so it's likely that I'll have to take some classes to even start the graduate program. I'm okay with that.
Well, as okay as I can be. If you saw my insides, you'd see what looks like a tiny mouse, shaking in a corner. I'm petrified.
I know that this is a direction I want to go; more importantly, it's a direction I feel like I am supposed to go. If I try, and I fail, at least I didn't miss the opportunity.
At least I didn't let the fear win.
If I try, and I fail, at least I can say that I clicked the button.
If I try...
Maybe I'll succeed?
Monday, May 14, 2012
Mother's Day & Strangers I Should Know...
Mother’s Day
is always a mixture of emotions for me. It took years before I’d finally go to
church on Mother’s Day; with the change to a different place of worship, this
year I took the high road: I left town.
I didn’t want to deal with the confusion and awkwardness of being in a
new place, with new people, who either didn’t know, or who were new to “the
story.” Even in a place where I knew most people, Mother’s Day was difficult—I felt
like other mothers took time away from celebrating themselves, to comfort me.
Beautiful, wonderful, incredible women of God—they have carried me on their
shoulders so many times. I never felt that it was fair that they would cry
(over me) on a day that celebrates their motherhood. Yet, I wanted to go to church, to be with
them, and to know that they were going to help me make it through—it’s
incredibly selfish of me. Either way, this year I decided that I wasn’t ready
for a new place; even if I was, I didn’t want to drag anyone down. So, we went
out to my parents’ house. (Yeah, that’s it! Drag Mom down!!! :) )
This past week was very difficult. Our clinic was closed, yet we still worked, so things were far too quiet. With the change in David’s schedule, I was home alone in the evenings with the ATTack Dog (she tried to murderize an AT&T salesman last week. After I got over having my arm ripped out of the socket, it was quite funny. You should have seen his face!!!), and things were again, Far. Too. Quiet.
What do you
do? Pester your friends who have
families and children? Annoy your siblings who have jobs and kids and psychotic
birds of prey? Talk your mom’s ear off over the phone? Shop? It’s hard to pray when you’re frustrated with
God, and even harder to worship, so I marked that one off (Just being honest).
What do you lean on, when you should be standing on your own at this point?
Is there ever a point when that’s possible?
The perfect storm was capped off by one of the worst rounds of PMS that I think I’ve ever dealt with. The benefits of juicing are that your body starts to detox. Detoxing makes you cranky on its own; couple that with hormonal fluxes, and you have a real problem. Things spiral out of control, and you quickly find yourself at a whole new level of despair. When that’s wrapped up in too much quiet time, the enemy has a field day. I think the best word to describe last week was “torment.” That might sound pretty dramatic, but by Thursday evening, I was at my wit’s end. I really didn’t know what to do, where to go, or who to call. Whether it’s true or not, I always feel like a complete burden when I’m dealing with this kind of stuff, and I’m sick of it. To finish it all off, the orthotics that I’m supposed to be getting, to combat the foot pain I’ve dealt with for over a year, are tied up in insurance BS; I actually yelled at an Office Manager, and I don’t think I’ve ever done that before. Considering that I know her job, and I know how hard it can be, I believe I will be apologizing at some point. Frankly, I’m still mad, so it’s not happening yet.
I called my sister, Billie, who agreed to take me out to my parents’ house on Friday instead of waiting until Saturday, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with another night by myself. Once we got together, we had a really great time of catching up, laughing like we always do, and rocking out to some Skynyrd. We got to “The Ranch,” and I promptly got busy giving my mom a mani-pedi while we snacked around and goofed off. It’s amazing, how quickly laughter can push aside despair. There’s nothing like it! J
Saturday morning, while waiting for David to arrive, Dad put Billie to work (haha!-j/k!), and Mom & I set out on a “brief” shopping adventure. Just hanging out with her, enjoying my mother, was a blessing. I feel like she gets a little robbed on Mother’s Day, because she’s worried about me. She is the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I hope she understands how grateful I am to have her. I really enjoyed spending time with her! As the morning went on, the cloud that was hanging over my heart totally lifted off; by the time David arrived at the house, things were in full swing, and a lot of laughter was going on.
David—what a blessing he is! As we pulled into the driveway, I could see something sticking out of the back of the truck…he had gotten me the most gorgeous plant that I had admired at the produce stand! It was a complete surprise—it’s so beautiful! It became the centerpiece of our Mother’s Day pictures! Just the fact that he—well, he says he doesn’t understand, but he definitely supports—says the world to me. He gave me a card encouraging me to keep up the faith…he knows we will be parents at some point….
It’s not necessarily Hannah’s loss that affects me this time of the year. It’s what I lost, and what I do not yet have. It’s the invasive questions, the empty place in my heart, and the unfulfilled promises…It’s having a heart’s desire that I know He gave me, that has not been made to come to pass. It’s a consuming fire, a passion to be a mother that I’ve had since I was a little girl. Being a mother is all I’ve ever wanted to be, and yet here I am…34…and what I’ve had so far was a passing opportunity. I was a mother for 34 weeks, and 29 days…I had everything I ever wanted in life, for 34 weeks and 29 days. To have it, and to have lost it, and not have it again, but to want it so desperately—that is the ache.
David has
heard all of this, and what he doesn’t fully comprehend from a woman’s point of
view, he gets from a father’s point of view. He shares that heart with me, and at times
like this, there is no one that lets me cry without judgment like he does. There
is also no one who makes me laugh, or who grabs my hand and pulls me back up,
like he does. He teaches me so much about the love of God—what a great thing,
to be able to say that about my husband!!!
He gets my heart.
Things at the parents’ house were pretty typical—food, poker, BBQ, me winning everyone’s money, snacks, movies, laughing, pie, sleeping in…fun. It was exactly where we all needed to be, because we all acknowledge the blessing and the pain of Mother’s Day. Both sets of grandparents are gone now…we spent all of our time this weekend celebrating family, and that’s what they would have loved.
And then the strangest thing happened:
My biological father showed up.
I haven’t seen him in 6 years.
I haven’t talked to him in weeks (and that was only because he was in the hospital, and I’m the contact person for medical issues).
What.
The.
Heck??!?!?
Billie and I weren’t prepared to see him. We weren’t ready to see the shaking hands…the terrible complexion…the constant blinking from dry eyes. We weren’t prepared to hear that he has 3 blocked arteries and has to wear a nitro-glycerin patch. We had no idea.
He’d moved back to MO from FL 2 years ago, or so…he really doesn’t live that far from us. He just doesn’t call or try to get together, and he doesn’t return our calls. I care about him…there is love there. I know that he loves us to the best of his abilities, but…
I really don’t know what to think. Billie’s word was “strange.” Mine was “uncomfortable…awkward…weird…disconcerting…odd…” I really, truly had/have no words. Of course, we embraced him; to my parents’ credit, they invited he and my aunt to have dinner with us (we happened to be sitting outside having dinner when they showed up). He and Aunt Bonnie ate dinner, looked around at pictures, and chatted for a bit; then they left, with thoughts that they might come out for Father’s Day (I’m not getting my hopes up), and that he’d try to “do better” at calling us.
He looks bad.
I know what happens next.
I’m not ready for it.
So many things I’d like to say, good and bad…If that was the last time that I will see him, did I do it right? I waved as he drove off—is that my last memory? What do you say, what do you do, when your heart tells you that’s “goodbye?”
I’ve thought that about him before, and been wrong…
It’s too
soon.
All of my
talk, all of my anger, all of my frustration at a man who threw us away…there
is still love there. Everything says I should hate him, but I also know that he
only expressed what he knew. Billie and I break the cycle—we are not the
alcoholics. We are not the abusers, we are not the entitled. We are freed by a
grace that he was introduced to, but rejected….why did he have to reject it? We
did everything we could, to show him Jesus; will he find Him, now that he’s at
the end?
This man that I have called “Daddy” for as long as I can remember…will he soften his heart, and turn toward truth?
Jesus, save my Daddy...
There are the hurts of the past, but there are also the realities of the present. The past can be let go of, but the present is what we face right now. This is where we make our impact, this is where change can happen and where prayers get legs.
My selfish issues of Mother’s Day are quickly diminished when I see someone so broken in front of me…my heart aches for this broken man.
Mother’s Day weekend—when I said on Facebook that it was a “kaleidoscope day,” now that you’ve read this, maybe it makes sense. There really are no words to describe it. “Hope” was the word I kept getting, before it ever started….it’s the word that I’m clinging to, and not just for me.
Hope.
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