Piece By Piece: Hope for Forgiveness

Song lyrics are intense...Music has such a tremendous ability to affect us; whether it's the key, the tempo, the lyrics, the dynamics--music can reach us in ways nothing else can. I know that's why God made it. He understands that music accesses parts of our brains and our hearts that we shut down. It unlocks us, and it opens up floodgates.
Blogs/statuses based in song lyrics always strike me as lame. It's just a cheesy thing, to me (I'm not hating on it; it's just not my thing), and I very rarely do it. This time, though, "Piece by Piece," by Kelly Clarkson, has caught my attention, and ultimately, it has unraveled me, and forced me to deal with some issues that I'd rather ignore.
On those rare occasions where song lyrics undo me, I usually find that God has a reason for it.
Every day, I pray the Lord's Prayer. Every. Single. Day. And every day, I stick in one part: Forgive me my sins, Lord, as I forgive those who sin against me.
"As I forgive..."
Every day, when I pray that prayer, the same face comes to mind: My biological father.
Why?
I'm so done with him--I want nothing to do with him; I never want to see him again. I currently don't even know if he's dead or alive, and I'm not sure I want to. I don't even think I'd go to his funeral, and if I did, I'd probably slap his corpse.
That's some rage, right there.
I could handle his abandonment of me, before I had children...
When I had my daughter, he never visited. He didn't come to her funeral, and had the audacity to shed crocodile tears over the phone (I will say that there was an ice storm the day before her funeral, but he never even tried).
I've never had so much as a phone call about my son.
The last time I saw him, he was a shaky mess of a person (I will not call him a "man"). I actually felt intense sympathy for him at the time...I had just found out I was pregnant with my son, but chose not to share that with him.
Prior to having children, I thought I was over it. I thought I'd forgiven him, that I was healed.
I was wrong.
He abandoned me...when he had the chance to make it right, he beat me. 
I look at my son, and I think, How?
What kind of monster walks away from a toddler? Was I like my son? Did I giggle over Sesame Street? Did I yell "HUGS!!!"  and run to tackle his knees? Did I want nothing more than to sit by him, to cuddle on the couch and watch cartoons?
How could he reject that?
How could he reject my sister--a happy, bubbly grade-schooler who NEEDED her daddy? How could he just walk away?
I don't understand, and I will NEVER understand, and every day I look at my son, I think of how I will ferociously hold his hand until my very last breath...The lyrics in this song remind me that I am not my father...I am nothing like him, and that is a huge gift from God and from my mother...

"Piece by piece I fell far from the tree
I will never leave [him] like you left me
And [he] will never have to wonder [his] worth
Because unlike you I'm gonna put [him] first"

My mother worked her ass off, to take care of us, even after she met my stepdad (who, in spite of the mistakes that I think a lot of stepdads-with-no-previous-experience make, has been one of the greatest gifts that God could have given me). She worked full-time, kept me in private school, sent us to church, kept us presentable, and kept the roof on the house. She was (is) a beautiful woman who could have been out living it up in her mid-20's...instead, she did what mamas do: She put us first.
Still does, really...
And she loves that grandbaby....She sees the rewards of staying, of caring, every time he gives her that beatific smile and says "Meee!!!!!"
And so does my stepdad--the Man Who Stayed. He is the only grandfather (on my side) that my son will ever need to know. He IS "PawPaw," and I am incredibly thankful for him. 

Marriage isn't easy. David and I have had a few rough patches, and even though we're 10 years into this thing, we're still finding our way. We get angry, we duke it out, we get through it/over it, and we move on. Not too long ago, I looked at myself and said that I'd had enough....that I was finished. I said I couldn't do this anymore...
It wasn't a proud moment.
Suddenly, I looked at my son and realized that he is the same age that I was, when my parents divorced....I picked him up, and the tears ran.  I cried out to God that I would not see the cycle repeated. I took a stand for my marriage, for my family, and for my household. I love the man I married...I think I've loved him since I was born....that God meant us to be together from the minute we took our first breaths. Does that mean this is a cakewalk? NO. But nothing is valuable unless you've worked for it, claimed it, prayed over it, cried over it, and sealed it in Jesus. My marriage is worth everything to me...and his fatherhood over our son is worth even more than that.
The next lyrics in the song are what  made me cry the most, because Kelly Clarkson wrote them about her husband, and how he's not the kind of person her father was:

"And you know he'll never walk away
He'll never break [his] heart
He'll take care of things
He'll love [him]
And piece by piece he'll restore my faith
That a man can be kind and a father should be great"

David is nothing like my bio-dad.  He is kind...he is faithful...he loves his son, and he loves me. He'd never raise a hand to me...he doesn't berate me, or hurt my heart...Sure, he's messy, but he's mine, and I will keep him forever. I can't imagine my life without him...and seeing him with our babies has made me love him even more.
He's everything I ever wanted, in a father for my children. He is a great father.
And in watching him, perhaps I can move past my anger and rage with my own father...

Someday, when I pray for God to "forgive me my sins, as I forgive those who have sinned against me," I'd like to feel that peace that comes when you've truly, honestly let it all go, and forgiven someone for the deep hurt/anger/resentment. I think when that finally happens, a restoration will take place that will be a game-changer in my relationship with the Lord. My hope is that this is one of those things, that piece-by-piece, God makes real in my soul...that the more I repeat it, the more it will come to pass. Resentment is ugly, and I don't want to carry it around.  I don't hate my bio-dad, but I sure as heck would like to know why he did what he did, and why he is who he is. Everyone goes through hard times, but everyone doesn't let their hard times turn them into a narcissistic alcoholic that abandons their family. I don't understand why he's done what he's done, and I wish I didn't care so much. I wish I could turn it off, and pretend he's dead, a non-issue...but I guess that's just a way for me to abandon him, and to turn the tables on my terms.

Piece by piece, Lord...Restore my faith that a man can be saved...that forgiveness is attainable, and necessary...

The Inevitable...

I suppose it was inevitable...
I have a pretty wicked shopping addiction. Fortunately for my husband, it's the worst when I'm at thrift shops, yard sales, or resale shops. I'm also pretty practical about reusing and up-cycling (everything can be reused or sold). I haven't always been this way--okay, I've always had a serious shopping problem; it's just that until the leaner years (thanks, Mr. President), I wasn't as into the thrifts shops. I also put everything on plastic, which I'm in the process of paying off...again...
Anyways, I love to shop, but I love to sell...and I also love to give when I can. With both Hannah and Jericho, I was blessed with a considerable amount of new and used clothing. The clothing I was given has been passed along to several other new mothers, or has been upcycled at a favorite shop of mine, and traded for more secondhand clothes for my son.
Of course, Hannah didn't get to wear much; we had a huge amount of clothing that I had washed and sorted (so it couldn't be returned); I can't begin to remember all of the people we gave it to, but they all knew it was given with love, and with a broken heart. I'm glad that their little girls got to wear the ruffles and bows...and truthfully, I'm glad I never ran into anyone wearing one of Hannah's dresses. I think it would have shattered me.
With Jericho's clothes, it's been delightful to see where they've gone. One friend of mine brought her son home from the hospital in a particularly cute outfit of Jericho's. It was so cute to see our babies in the same monkey-suit! And since her baby was like, twice the size of mine, he looked even funnier in it.
As many things of Hannah's that we could reuse, we did. We had the nursery bedding packed away; she never used it, and it was a gender-neutral jungle design that Jericho loves. There were yellow onesies, white onesies, Blues outfits, some Cardinals gear--we kept what we could, within reason. I didn't get rid of the very last of her clothes until I found out Bug was a boy. We kept books, CDs, certain toys...we had hope that we'd have another baby, and I'm thankful we kept what we did.
So, it was inevitable that one day, I'd run into something of hers that I'd forgotten was hers, and that it would sucker-punch me in the gut.
And it did, 3 days ago.
Books are friends, right? And I firmly believe one should never gift a book without an inscription.
I grabbed a book for Jericho's nightly Bible time and story time, and there it was, from some dear friends and prayer warriors of ours..."For Hannah: Love, The Renauds, 2006"
I stopped breathing for a minute; tears welled up, and I couldn't help but cry...
But there was my boy,
Looking at me...
Big blue/brown eyes staring up at me quizzically...
Tiny hands touched my knees...patted my legs...
He is my now.
Even though I was sitting in what was her room, in the only piece of furniture that we kept--the rocking chair--even though the words on that page had me split-second thinking of what we missed out on---
He is my now.
I looked at him and dried my tears. I kissed his head, and said, "It's all right, Bug. This was your sisters. And now I'm going to read you the stories I didn't get to read her...but it's okay, because she's living them as we speak."
I know he doesn't understand, and I have no idea how David and I are going to approach the subject when he asks (I'm sure he will; her pictures are on the wall, and it's only a matter of time). What I do know, is that all I ever want him to know is how much we loved her, and how much we loved him; how much her tiny life changed ours forever, and how much we learned...and how faithful God is at keeping His promises, and in never wavering in His heart's desires for our lives.
The occasional sucker-punch never hurt anyone, right? Sometimes it's what it takes to remind us how far we've come...and how much the blessing right under our noses really means to us...
I love that boy.

TED Talks and parental guilt...

Time flies…

13 months ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy…and I unknowingly got on this strange, crazy, incredible roller coaster of parenthood.

I mean, sure, people tell you it’s insanity…but you never realize it until it’s your turn. And once you’ve started it, there’s absolutely no looking back.

Not that I’d want to.

It’s terrifying-scary-amazing-wonderful-hilarious-trying-miraculous-and...all of the above.

And it teaches you just how much you truly have to rely on God for every breath.

I’ve also realized that nothing induces more guilt on you, than parenthood. I mean, seriously—every complaint that someone has about something you have, or every brag that you hear about something you don’t or couldn’t do—every little thing causes you to step back and say to yourself, “Oh, man…I don’t do it like that. Is there something wrong? Am I doing it wrong? AM I GOING TO TRAUMATIZE HIM FOR LIFE?!?!?!?”

I heard on a TED Talk that when you yell and scream at a baby/toddler, that it affects the part of the brain that controls impulses, that later on, leads them to turn into serial killers. And then I read that if you ignore your child (i.e., time-out), that it has the same effect on their brain as if you had physically abused them. So now, I’m like, freaking out about yelling at David in front of the baby—does it bother JD? I have to stop yelling—I mean, I’m a total yeller who was raised by yellers. It’s all we know; David is NOT generally a yeller, but I’ve kind of turned him into one…AM I TURNING MY SON INTO A SERIAL KILLER?!?!?!?!?!

I know, it sounds preposterous. But these are the paranoid ramblings of MEEEEE! And these are the things I worry about in the middle of the night…

And of course, there’s no yelling “at” JD at this point. There is, however, immediate separation if he does something like grab my glasses, while he’s sitting on my lap (with a firm “NO!”). There is also a firm “NO!” when he’s into something he’s not supposed to be, and the occasional tap on the hand (for the dangerous stuff), along with a quick pick-him-up-and-move-him. Distraction is the best form of correction, as discipline in any form is kind of pointless.

I’m a stress-yeller, and I have to stop it…I have to remove many words from my vocabulary, as he’s begun to repeat things (i.e., “Ball!” “Duck!”).  If he can say those things, I’m guessing he will learn to repeat several choice words that sound similar…and I need Jesus!!! So, language and tone are a definite work in progress, and trying to tell certain people in our lives to begin that process in THEIR lives is not going well…Ugh.

So, JD is standing now…he’s working on molars…he’s repeating words, and he fully understands his first complete sentence: “What’s this?”  Yep—he gets it! He even used it, in context, in front of the Parents As Teachers lady, who was totally impressed. Yep—he’s a genius, but not a freak-show-kind-of-genius. He’s a let’s-encourage-this-but-stay-normal kind of genius. He doesn’t have any food allergies that we know of (praise GOD!) and he eats anything he can get his hands on. We took our time introducing “regular” foods, and are just now starting to give him actual meals instead of pureed food. He’s independent; he’s able to spot something, get it, focus on it and play with it, and get into whatever he wants. I love how he surveys a room, picks someone or something, stares them down, and eventually, rewards them with a smile. He’s quite popular wherever he goes, and I find myself becoming increasingly protective.  

Can I just keep him in a bubble? This world is overwhelming…endless stories of abuse, kidnapping, drugs—I barely want to step outside, as an adult. I understand my parents’ protectiveness so much more; thank God I was raised in a world that didn’t have the Internet! We’re ALREADY talking about computer privacy issues, and he’s not even walking yet!!!! JD is fascinated with our phones and tablets, even though we don’t let him play with them; they make toys that hold your phone in them, and interact with apps!! ALREADY!!

There are little boys in my neighborhood that play football in the backyard.

That’s what I want…

Play in the backyard; ignore the TV. Make friends in person, not on Facebook. Play baseball, football, soccer…play with the dog or go fishing with Auntie.

The world has presented a platter of fears that my brain just wants to feast on…drugs, violence, crime…How do I prevent any of it from touching my son? He’s the joy of my heart; I can’t even look at his picture without smiling. I want to preserve his innocence forever…but reality is bigger than me.

But it’s not bigger than God.

Raising a child, I’m learning, takes more trust in God than I ever thought…I have to believe that the One Who gave him to us, will take care of him…that He will teach us how to raise him in a Godly way, in a truthful, holy way…I have to trust that our motives and our directions are anchored firmly in His Word and in His plan. Faith outweighs fear, and I believe that…I believe that He holds us, regardless of where we are in life: brand-new and shiny, or old codgers waving canes…

The roller-coaster of parenthood has one consistent track throughout the twists and turns: Jesus. He doesn’t change or fade; He doesn’t leave us hanging. Both Rescuer and Challenger, He sends us out to walk on the ocean…to live in a restless, turbulent world…and He asks us to simply believe He will save us.

My son belongs to Him…my husband belongs to Him…And, because I believe Him, I belong to Him.

The world tells me that I’m messing everything up…it constantly undermines my decisions or tells me I’m not good enough. Jesus takes my pennies of faith, and He moves mountains with them. He takes my mustard seeds, and He uses them to somehow implant faith and hope into my son. He takes my prayers…my tiny, quick, conversations with Him…and He invests it into my marriage, my home, and my family.

Thirteen months ago, out of the very center of my being, came the fruition of years of prayer, tears, and love…He gives us what we need to raise this child for Him. The world can have their research, their lectures, and their materials. I have the Word of God, and it tells me that He’s got this.

That’s all I need to know…

Faithful Friend...

Healthcare is a field that I've been privileged to work in since 2001. It's still hard for me to believe that it's been that long! I've always worked in an administrative capacity, whether it's as a receptionist, office manager, or "marketing chick;" I did have brief stint as a medical assistant, which I found fascinating. (My favorite stories always involve guys with tattoos who were terrified of shots. Hilarious!).
Anyways, my patients have always been able to talk back. That's actually a very cool thing, even when they're whiny (like me! I'm a TERRIBLE patient!). They can tell you when they hurt or when they feel better...they can tell you when something is seriously wrong, or when they truly need help.
Twice in my lifetime, I've had patients that were seriously in need, that couldn't tell me. One was my daughter--and yes, even though I know that what she had was completely unpreventable, as a mother, you always wonder what you could have done differently.
The second patient is my dog.
Please know that I'm not some "crazy dog lady." Okay, so there are pictures of her all over my desk.
And, I'm considering a pawprint tattoo (in a totally non-obvious place).
And, I just spent more money on her than our vehicles are worth.
Okay, I'm a crazy dog lady.
Seriously, though, I think that you have to appreciate Holly's faithfulness. We bought her in 2005, just a few months after we married. She was to be our "practice" for raising children. Holly has been the focal point of a few arguments in our marriage, starting with her very first day. I wanted a rescue dog; David wanted a pure-bred.
I maintain that my husband is a dog-snob.
As a person of questionable origin, I hope to own a grizzly ol' mutt at some point in my life; for now, though, my princess Holly is the perfect answer to our canine prayers, and I have to say that David picked a good one.
Holly came from a litter of 3, from what I believe to be a puppy mill (although believe me, we had no idea at the time. I'd still like to track down the seller to be sure). She threw up on her very first car ride home; from the second I saw her, I was in love. We got her after Thanksgiving, before Christmas, and her name came from the Mikasa store at St. Louis Mills. AKC registered as "Christmas' Holly Golightly," she has proven to be the perfect combination of snobbery and slobbery.
David decided that Cesar Milan, the "Dog Whisperer," provided the perfect model of dog training. If you know Holly, then you know she is the poster child for a submissive dog. She does tend to be a little bit nervous, especially when we leave. She listens to David when he's home; she is obedient to me when he's not. If a stranger approaches, and "Daddy" isn't around, Holly goes into protector mode. I have no doubt that the dog can handle her business!!!
When we found out we were pregnant, Holly was trained to know that the nursery is not her room. She'd lay her head on my ever-expanding belly, and when Hannah kicked, Holly would jump off of the couch. To finally bring the baby home, was a day of joy for all of us, Holly included. This small stranger was Mommy's to hold, but Holly's to protect.
During the grieving process, Holly never left my side. She was frequently the only joy in my day. During our move to Kentucky, Holly was my company in a state full of strangers. Lexington was a very forward-thinking, dog-friendly city, and St. Louis could stand to learn a lot from their dog parks and pet-catered events. We went everywhere together.
Coming back in 2009, Holly was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism, which is regulated with medication (just like a human). Until November, 2011, all was well for our little family. At that point, during some family pictures, we noticed how much weight our dog had gained. We chalked it up to using Beneful (terrible choice of dog food--it's like candy). I had also been feeding her too much (because she was eating the food so fast!!!). Holly began showing a slight limp.
2 vets, and a specialist later, we found out that our dog had torn both ACLs in her hind legs. Thanks to Sherry LoRusso, we got a final opinion from Dr. Pat Tate at Webster Groves Animal Hospital. Yep--she definitely needed major surgery.
This began the hardest part of the decision. Would she ever be right again? Could she have a good quality of life? How in the world are we going to afford this? Should we let her go, or maybe even give her to a family that could afford the surgery? David and I cried...and prayed...and cried some more. This past Tuesday, Holly had bilateral TPLO surgery, which involves cutting the bones and reinforcing her knees with a lot of hardware. Turns out that my stoic little patient not only tore both ACLs; she also had 3 meniscal tears in her left knee.
Finding out that my dog was injured that badly was quite the blow. I'm still not convinced that I have the maternal instinct of a q-tip. I feel like I should have some kind of intuition, some sort of 6th sense that something is wrong, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that I feel terribly guilty that my dog was hurt so bad. She's going to have around 16 weeks of therapy before she's back to normal; the first few are, of course, critical. It's gross, but here's the picture of one of her incisions:

Holly is particular--she ignores most people, and will not eat in public. If you're watching, she will NOT go to the bathroom, and she never wears a "collar;" it's known as her "jewelry." She's not such a happy puppy right now...she's getting used to the Cone of Shame:

Our prayers for our little friend are that she have a speedy recovery. She's been such a faithful companion--we can't imagine our lives without her, even though I'm pretty sure that it will take selling a kidney to get this thing paid off! :) I'm joking, actually--Dr. Tate and Webster Groves Animal Hospital were able to do this surgery by a method that will not only allow for her faster recover; it was almost $2000 cheaper than our original estimate. It wasn't cheap, but that's not the most important part. It's the most important that we remain good stewards of a wonderful pet that God brought into our lives.
Holly is the only "child" we have right now. We had her before Hannah; we've had her after Hannah. She's given us a happy heart to come home to (and a wiggly butt) that makes us smile on our worst days. She's taught me lessons about love and faithfulness that I couldn't have learned from any where else, and I'm thankful to call her my girl.