Oh, the "thankfulness" trend that strikes Facebook every November! It's almost as if to say, "I'll find something to be thankful for this month...but the other 11 months of the year, I'm using Facebook as my personal barf bag of whine."
(Cynical, Cass? Sheesh, that's sarcastic even for me!)
I'm kidding...mostly! I've been listening to the Bobby Bones show on The Bull, in the morning. It's hilarious-it's a far cry from the political garbage I had been assaulting my brain with, and it keeps me entertained while I'm on the long drive. This morning, he was talking about weird things that people whine about on Facebook, and I so understood!
Disclaimer: I have bronchitis, and I was griping about it yesterday on Facebook. So, I'm totally guilty of this from time-to-time. I'm willing to admit that I will occasionally use Facebook as a soapbox in my pity party. I'm sorry, and I will try to do better.
Bobby Bones talked about how he blocks the chronic complainers, and I had to wonder if that's me? How often do I complain on social media? Even if it's a little bit, it needs to change, right? Especially as a Christian: "Yeah, everybody! Find Jesus like I did--isn't my life AWESOME?!?!?"
Um, NO.
Fail.
This doesn't mean I'm relinquishing my love of Grumpy Cat...but it definitely means I will be rethinking my posts even more than I already do. And he has me thinking about blocking the feed of the chronic complainers that I know on Facebook...You know, the ones who never say anything good or happy...the ones that criticize everything...the ones that rain on everyone else's parade? It's too awkward to unfriend them, because I know they'd know...So, thanks to Mr. Bones, I'm going to start blocking people that I find depressing. And I'm going to determine more than ever to be the opposite of that. You should WANT to be my friend on Facebook. You should find me uplifting, amusing, and some kind of a testimony, no matter how broken I am. Even broken things can be used as vessels for something.
I usually try to keep it humorous on Facebook, as a rule, because no matter what, life is funny. There's ALWAYS something to laugh at....you just have to look really, really hard to find it, sometimes.
In this season of thankfulness, though, I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. You see, this just might be my favorite holiday (besides Christmas) in spite of the sad memories that go along with it. Thanksgiving, 11/28, marks 7 years since my beautiful princess Hannah passed away. It's been 7 years since we said goodbye, and those memories are never far from my brain.
This Thanksgiving will be the first truly Happy Thanksgiving we've had ever since, and I am so excited to celebrate it. My in-laws throw the conventional celebration (with the best stuffing and Fried Turkey that you could EVER dream of), with too many people in too small of a house...with paper plates, and loud noises, and lots of family. It will be crowded, sweaty, and fun, and I will be chasing my little guy all over the place (he's mobile, and there are stairs).
My mother will serve an incredible, beautiful feast of Lord-only-knows what. I'm always both shocked and impressed at what makes its way onto her Thanksgiving table...It might be her super-cheesy broccoli noodles, or Hawaiian bread, or Chinese cole slaw--who knows? What stays the same every year is that it is a lovely gathering of the ones who I hold most dear in my life...And I will be chasing my little guy all over the place, in a much larger house that offers many more shiny things for him to crawl toward.
I can't wait to make these memories. I'm so thankful for my families...for my Mom, who takes care of my little guy several days a week...who always takes care of me...who drives me crazy in the best and worst of ways, and who always points me to Jesus...who has taught me more about serving than anyone on this planet...I'm thankful for my Dad, and for his gruffness...for teaching me to stand up for myself, and that you can do anything you set your mind to, if you have the right tools (what are those?!?). I'm thankful for my in-laws, and for their kindness in helping us through difficult financial times...for their willingness to share their blessings with all of their kids, and for never shaming us when we've had to ask for help.
I'm looking forward to this Thanksgiving with such hope and such happiness...there is more to be thankful for in this season than most people know. David and I are changing directions in how we look at need....what do we really "need," and what do we we really "want?" It's a frustrating transition, but it's a necessary one. I'm thankful to have our needs met, and that our wants are honestly, few. We have each other; we have our little miracle guy. We have electricity, running water, and a refrigerator that's full.
Most of all, we have a Lord that has blessed us with His love...with His grace, which is so sufficient. He's blessed us with things like forgiveness, for when we take our griping to a public forum--of course we should do the same (and more often!) with our thankfulness!
I'm so thankful for my family. I'm thankful for the time I get to spend with all of them, and for a little bit of time off of work.
I'm thankful that we are creating new, happy memories to offset some very sad ones...but even those very sad memories have moments of brightness that I still recall, and that I'm grateful for.
Happy Thanksgiving to you all...I am grateful for my friends who remind me, one way or another, that every day deserves a laugh...
Proverbs 31: "She can laugh at the days to come."
That's true....but sometimes I think there's just as much value in being able to laugh at the days past...
Showing posts with label miracle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miracle. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Day #19: Disrespecting Your Parents
Today's blog topic simply said "Disrespecting Your Parents." It didn't say, "what do you think about ____?" or "what would happen if you were _____?" Nope--just "Disrespecting Your Parents."
So, here's my interpretation:
I try not to disrespect my Mom and Dad.
I have expensive dental work.
I'd like to keep it in place.
But seriously!!!
There are a few things in this world that I am proud of myself for. One, is the fact that I've never smoked. Anything. Not a thing. Ever.
Secondly, is the fact that I lived with my parents, and for the most part, kept it respectful, until I was 27 years old--when I got married.
My mom and dad are loud, funny, bold people with strong opinions. I am also a loud person with a strong opinion. This leads to heated discussions and a lot of frustration--I barely survived college (it's hard to watch your kid be an idiot!). But I love them, and I knew the rules: You live under my roof, you obey my rules, period.
Dad is Italian; Mom is adopted, and raised in Indiana. [Note: If you don't know this already, when I say "Dad," I'm referring to the guy that is technically my step-father. But "Dad-"hood is earned...and my biological father hasn't put in the effort, quite frankly, so my step-father is my Dad. Bio-Dad is referred to as such, or by his name (Fred) in this blog. That's not out of anger; my stepDad deserves the respect. My father keeps his distance by his choice.]
Dad chose us--he met and married my Momma when I was 8 years old, and my sister was 12. He had no idea what he was in for, but he has stayed, and for that, I am grateful. It hasn't been an easy road for him; the years have been rough, and he's had his struggles. But even though I question a lot, I do know that my Dad loves me. That goes deeper than blood.
Dad has dried my tears after bad concert performances; laughed at my jokes that weren't funny; fixed plumbing that I destroyed; and walked me down the aisle. I have beautiful memories with my dad, and I am eternally grateful that God put him in our lives.
As for Mom...I can't say enough. I can't say anything--there are no words. That's the relationship that almost never was, but let me tell you: There is no one on this earth that loves me like that woman. The further I go on my own journey of motherhood, the greater and greater my respect and admiration for her grows. I had no idea what she went through, until now, and I'm just starting to catch a glimpse. She's made of iron, that's for sure, and like iron sharpening iron, we have struggled with each other...and we have helped each other grow in many ways. She has been the single biggest factor in helping me become the person I am today, and in shaping the person I hope to be.
I hope to someday have her work ethic--her tireless, obsessed-with-excellence work ethic. She works with integrity-she IS a Proverbs 31 tough-as-nails kind of woman, even though it doesn't get recognized as often as it should. She is faithful, ferocious, sassy, crazy, and awesome. She's a force to be reckoned with, and that's an understatement.
There is no one on this planet like my mom, and if you don't know her, it's your loss. She's incredible. I've been around her more this year, than I have in a long time, because she watches my son for a little bit during the week. It's a big sacrifice for her, but I love seeing him with her...it makes me think of my own grandma, and how much I loved her.
I want JD to grow up loving my mom like I loved my Grandma M....who was also a force to be reckoned with!
I'm human. I get mad at my parents...I get mad at my dad's choices; I loathe his motorcycle. I get frustrated at the occasional miscommunication with my mom, and how things we say can get so misunderstood and misinterpreted. Anger is one thing, but disrespect is another, and that is one thing I do not do.
My parents are not on some kind of super-pedastal. No one knows your good side/bad side like your kids, and that's something I'm preparing for (can you ever prepare yourself for that?!?). I'm not delusional, and I'm not candy-coating them to make them sound like something they're not.
They really are incredible.
I didn't grow up like The Bradys. My parents loved Jesus, swore a lot, spanked our butts a little too often, made us do chores and homework, drug us to church, and bought our clothes on sale. They'd get mad and say terrible things, but they'd also teach us what the Bible said. They made sure we had a good education--I will never forget the times my dad tried to teach me algebra (sorry, Dad--lost cause!). Mom taught us to love music and dancing; my first dance was with my dad.
Our house was full of life and vibrance, strength through trials, perseverance and sacrifice. We have lived through a lot as a family, and we are bonded even more because of it.
I will never call my mother my "old lady," or my dad my "old man." I have said some dumb things to them, but never that. I feel like I have been a pretty respectful kid, in all honesty, and all things considered, I'm kinda proud of that fact.
Exodus 20:12 says "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." I believe that. In 2006, I went into congestive heart failure. My left ventricle pretty much stopped working, and my oxygen levels plummeted. There is no earthly reason I should have survived. I should have died, or at the very least, had a stroke.
I lived.
I was thinking about this verse one day, when it hit me: Maybe that's why I lived? Maybe my respect for my parents, the fact that I was obedient, is why God decided to let me live?
I don't know if that's true, or if that's arrogant to think....I have no idea. But it certainly put it into perspective, and it's something I'm going to teach my son!
Disrespecting the people who have given so much to bring you into this world, shows just how much of an unappreciative, unworthy jerk someone is. Our parents (even bio-dad) are deserving of respect for their lives, for their experience, and for the love they give us...God gave us to them (and most of our parents have dedicated us back to Him), so if He respects them that much, shouldn't we?
I love my mom and dad.
They're pretty freakin' cool. :)
So, here's my interpretation:
I try not to disrespect my Mom and Dad.
I have expensive dental work.
I'd like to keep it in place.
But seriously!!!
There are a few things in this world that I am proud of myself for. One, is the fact that I've never smoked. Anything. Not a thing. Ever.
Secondly, is the fact that I lived with my parents, and for the most part, kept it respectful, until I was 27 years old--when I got married.
My mom and dad are loud, funny, bold people with strong opinions. I am also a loud person with a strong opinion. This leads to heated discussions and a lot of frustration--I barely survived college (it's hard to watch your kid be an idiot!). But I love them, and I knew the rules: You live under my roof, you obey my rules, period.
Dad is Italian; Mom is adopted, and raised in Indiana. [Note: If you don't know this already, when I say "Dad," I'm referring to the guy that is technically my step-father. But "Dad-"hood is earned...and my biological father hasn't put in the effort, quite frankly, so my step-father is my Dad. Bio-Dad is referred to as such, or by his name (Fred) in this blog. That's not out of anger; my stepDad deserves the respect. My father keeps his distance by his choice.]
Dad chose us--he met and married my Momma when I was 8 years old, and my sister was 12. He had no idea what he was in for, but he has stayed, and for that, I am grateful. It hasn't been an easy road for him; the years have been rough, and he's had his struggles. But even though I question a lot, I do know that my Dad loves me. That goes deeper than blood.
Dad has dried my tears after bad concert performances; laughed at my jokes that weren't funny; fixed plumbing that I destroyed; and walked me down the aisle. I have beautiful memories with my dad, and I am eternally grateful that God put him in our lives.
As for Mom...I can't say enough. I can't say anything--there are no words. That's the relationship that almost never was, but let me tell you: There is no one on this earth that loves me like that woman. The further I go on my own journey of motherhood, the greater and greater my respect and admiration for her grows. I had no idea what she went through, until now, and I'm just starting to catch a glimpse. She's made of iron, that's for sure, and like iron sharpening iron, we have struggled with each other...and we have helped each other grow in many ways. She has been the single biggest factor in helping me become the person I am today, and in shaping the person I hope to be.
I hope to someday have her work ethic--her tireless, obsessed-with-excellence work ethic. She works with integrity-she IS a Proverbs 31 tough-as-nails kind of woman, even though it doesn't get recognized as often as it should. She is faithful, ferocious, sassy, crazy, and awesome. She's a force to be reckoned with, and that's an understatement.
There is no one on this planet like my mom, and if you don't know her, it's your loss. She's incredible. I've been around her more this year, than I have in a long time, because she watches my son for a little bit during the week. It's a big sacrifice for her, but I love seeing him with her...it makes me think of my own grandma, and how much I loved her.
I want JD to grow up loving my mom like I loved my Grandma M....who was also a force to be reckoned with!
I'm human. I get mad at my parents...I get mad at my dad's choices; I loathe his motorcycle. I get frustrated at the occasional miscommunication with my mom, and how things we say can get so misunderstood and misinterpreted. Anger is one thing, but disrespect is another, and that is one thing I do not do.
My parents are not on some kind of super-pedastal. No one knows your good side/bad side like your kids, and that's something I'm preparing for (can you ever prepare yourself for that?!?). I'm not delusional, and I'm not candy-coating them to make them sound like something they're not.
They really are incredible.
I didn't grow up like The Bradys. My parents loved Jesus, swore a lot, spanked our butts a little too often, made us do chores and homework, drug us to church, and bought our clothes on sale. They'd get mad and say terrible things, but they'd also teach us what the Bible said. They made sure we had a good education--I will never forget the times my dad tried to teach me algebra (sorry, Dad--lost cause!). Mom taught us to love music and dancing; my first dance was with my dad.
Our house was full of life and vibrance, strength through trials, perseverance and sacrifice. We have lived through a lot as a family, and we are bonded even more because of it.
I will never call my mother my "old lady," or my dad my "old man." I have said some dumb things to them, but never that. I feel like I have been a pretty respectful kid, in all honesty, and all things considered, I'm kinda proud of that fact.
Exodus 20:12 says "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." I believe that. In 2006, I went into congestive heart failure. My left ventricle pretty much stopped working, and my oxygen levels plummeted. There is no earthly reason I should have survived. I should have died, or at the very least, had a stroke.
I lived.
I was thinking about this verse one day, when it hit me: Maybe that's why I lived? Maybe my respect for my parents, the fact that I was obedient, is why God decided to let me live?
I don't know if that's true, or if that's arrogant to think....I have no idea. But it certainly put it into perspective, and it's something I'm going to teach my son!
Disrespecting the people who have given so much to bring you into this world, shows just how much of an unappreciative, unworthy jerk someone is. Our parents (even bio-dad) are deserving of respect for their lives, for their experience, and for the love they give us...God gave us to them (and most of our parents have dedicated us back to Him), so if He respects them that much, shouldn't we?
I love my mom and dad.
They're pretty freakin' cool. :)
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Day 17: Highs and Lows of the Year So Far...
Oh, wow….2013!
I can’t help grinning like an idiot!!!!!!!!
From December 31, 2012-February 2, 2013, I was in the hospital to deliver my
son. It was the best/worst/scariest time in my life…well, that, and the first 4
weeks after delivery, LOL. I saw God move mountains…science tried to give me a
heart attack…my body didn’t want to cooperate…
People wonder how in the world I didn’t go crazy during my “incarceration.”
Truth be told, sometimes I look back, and I wonder the same thing. I think a
few people may have thought that I was in there on some kind of all-expenses
paid vacation.
Oh, that’s SO not true…I had wonderful, kind, compassionate
nurses who listened to me when I couldn’t take the emotional struggles…nurses
who prayed for me, who brought me tea and books; who encouraged me and who
basically acted like Jesus with skin on…Those nurses are a gift from God, and
THEY are how I kept my head on straight. I couldn’t have visitors; I had
unrelenting migraines from the medication and from my blood pressures. I sat in
a dark room, and watched “Bones” until we finally delivered in late January….THAT
is EASILY the best day of the year! That’s the high of 2013!
My family came to see me around once a week; my husband,
2-3x/week (we live almost an hour away from the hospital). My sister, God love
her, was there almost every single day. I think she would have stayed
overnight, if not for her bird at home. She was a huge source of encouragement,
and I’m forever grateful for the miraculously-calm nature that she brought to
my stay. She probably doesn’t know this, but I spent a lot of my days anxiously
waiting for her to arrive. We had disconnected prior to this pregnancy, for a
few reasons; this brought us closer together than ever before. Seeing her with
my son is a beautiful thing…especially as I have NO desire to take him fishing.
Nope. She gets to do ALL of that foolishness!
Finding my lowest point is a toss-up: Not being able to
nurse my son? The day I called the doctor, because I had to admit to myself
that I was struggling with post-partum depression? The entire month of July?
Everything is an obstacle that is just waiting to be jumped.
So, even my low points, in retrospect, aren’t that bad…although July about did
me in. The gallbladder issues (2 surgeries) and the hassle from getting rear-ended
Just. Plain. Sucked.
Everything with JD is new and fresh…seeing his beautiful
face at the end of my day is its own glorious high. He’s getting his first
tooth…he’s learning to sit up. He doesn’t like to roll over, but he loves to
stand—these are my highs. When I was in the hospital, I would tell myself over
and over, “it’s allllll right, it’s gonna be SO worth it!!”
Oh, it is! It totally
is! I have NO regrets, only gratitude!!!
The lows of this year only have to do with physical pain
and/or hormonal kerfluffles. …they’re SO minor in comparison to my beautiful
boy…And every time I see that baby boy laugh at his daddy, my heart about
bursts with love and joy…It has been worth it all. 2013 is, so far, one of the greatest years of
my life…..(2013, 2006, 2005, 2002, 1995, 1994, & 1986 are on that list, for
various reasons….)
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
"Drunk" is Subject to Interpretation...
*Disclaimer: Evidently, I've lost my ability to spell. I'm hoping to get
that back after pregnancy-brain goes away...
I'm an Old Testament kind of girl. I have my favorite stories, but none has touched my life like the story of Hannah. I really didn't get into it until my Hannah had passed away; I mean, I knew the story, but I didn't GET it. It has a whole new meaning for me that's grown over the years.
Hannah had what many would think was a beautiful life: She had a husband that loved her best. Sure, he had a second wife, but all we hear about Peninnah is that she was a total jerk who mocked Hannah for not having children. REALLY?!?!?
Women in the church that deal with not having children face a stigma that most often goes unsaid; occasionally, someone will actually have the audacity to verbalize it. "Barrenness is a curse."
Do you KNOW what you do, when you say/infer that to a woman who wants to have children?
You turn her away from the face of God.
Enjoy having that on your conscience.
We live in an era that comes against the blessings of God. Although I will happily get into the science of being over-inundated with hormones and its affects on sexuality/reproduction/identity, it's more than this blog can handle (and would most likely result in hate mail). We live in a society that extols the "freedom" of the single woman, and that denies the unique creation of children. We live in a world that has attempted to redefine what constitutes a family, while ridiculing those of us who cling to the Biblically-based concepts of a mom, of a dad, and of participating in a community of like-minded individuals. I'll stop this tangent before I get too side-tracked...
No one talks about Peninnah. No one talks about the woman who Hannah thought, had it all. There's no chapter in the Bible dedicated to extoling her as a woman, as a prayer warrior, or as a mother. Like I said before—all we’re left with is the knowledge that she was a total…Well, no one liked her. No one names their children after her. She is forever known as “the provoker” (I Sam. 1:7).
We remember Hannah—we remember that Elkanah loved her best. We remember that he gave her a double portion. We remember that he did not cast her aside…that he did what he thought was best to give her comfort (I Sam. 1:8).
I see a lot of David (as in my husband, not as in The King) in Elkanah. In spite of his own grief, his own loss, and his own hopes, he has never stopped encouraging me on this journey. Of course our relationship is not perfect!!! But when I was certain that God had forgotten me…that God didn’t like me…that I wasn’t worthy of His love or attention…David was the Elkanah that gave me a double portion. There were the conversations in the car where I was brutally honest with how I felt toward the Lord, toward church, toward my friends (who only ever did their best), and toward my family. There were the conversations that ended in tears (most of them), and the ones where I shouted and screamed…there were the conversations that, I’m sure, left him convinced that I needed to be sedated or institutionalized.
There were plenty of conversations where all he said is, “Cassidy, you know that’s not true. Change your mindset.” Those were infuriating…but they are so indicative of the nature of the man. Like Elkanah, who probably frustrated Hannah by telling her that he was better than 10 sons (nice!), David never stopped reminding me that with just the two of us, there was happiness.
And there is.
Elkanah never deprived his wife of intimacy because he didn’t think it was fruitful. He continued to provide for her, even abundantly blessing her, because he loved her. Women who struggle with having children often shut down—we push people away, we push our husbands away, because we feel defective. We feel unloved, accursed, broken, and abandoned by our own bodies. Sure, I didn’t struggle with fertility issues; my struggles were different. But the concepts are the same: Our bodies have betrayed our hearts.
The husband who stands by the wife who feels like a freak of nature, is a man worth noting. He is made of iron and steel, and he has the power to make or break her…she is fragile, in every sense of the word. He takes his vows seriously…he takes her dreams seriously…and he takes her spiritual state into consideration.
Elkanah and Hannah are, to me, such a type-and-shadow of Jesus and His Bride. I Samuel 1 and 2 are a love story, and I know that sounds strange. But when you consider the culture of the day, and the care with which Elkanah treated his broken bride, you can see very clearly how Jesus treats us when we are “damaged”: He stays with us. He doesn’t abandon us. He helps us stay focused on Him; He challenges the mindset that the Provoker stabs us with. He reminds us of who we are with Him. He challenges us to seek Him, even though our fleshly mind tells us to give it up already.
Because Elkanah did not abandon her, and because he ensured that his family maintained their relationship with God (he took them to worship and sacrifice at Shiloh on a consistent basis), Hannah had a place to go, to pour out her heart. She had a relationship with the Lord on her own, that was freely expressed. I find it interesting that even though she blamed the Lord for closing her womb (which He did—He had a purpose), she never gave up pursuing Him for what she wanted. She was clear and specific, and never disregarded her request. That’s hard—sometimes, you feel so stupid for going before the Lord yet AGAIN, for the same thing. You fall prey to the lie that He gets sick of hearing from you.
He never gets tired of our prayers.
Hannah knew that—she knew her Lord. So she went after Him, wholeheartedly...She pursued Him. She makes a severe covenant—I say “severe,” because she promised to dedicate her son to the Lord and to let him be raised outside of her home. It almost feels like she’s bargaining with God in I Sam. 1:11—“If You do THIS, I’ll do THAT,” but I really don’t think that’s the case. Her promise to dedicate her son to the Lord is a testimony to her faith that this would come to pass. She made a Nazarite vow, and from the point of weaning, on, she only got to see her baby boy once a year. That’s a crazy-brave woman.
In her pursuing of the Lord, she prayed so hard that the priest Eli thought she was drunk. I’ve mentioned this a few times in my blog, because it fascinates me. When you pray past the understanding of human comprehension…when you are so goal-oriented that no one understands you…when you have one focal point for years on end…when nothing else really matters, except for this one pursuit…then you are praying the Prayers of Hannah. The rest of the world won’t get it—they’ll think you’re crazy. They’ll tell you you’ve missed God, that you need to give it up.
Don’t do it.
“Drunk” is subject to interpretation.
He sees you…He hears you. He’s not ignoring you; He may be shutting you down for a brief time, but He isn’t missing your prayers. And when He “shuts you down,” it’s because He has a perfect timing in mind. When you look back, after your prayer is answered, things will make a lot more sense.
I know (better than most people) that sounds so mundane and churchy. I hate hearing that, even now. But drunk people are not rational people, so the things you say to us do not make sense at the time that we’re in that heavy pursuit of a goal. It isn’t until after someone has “sobered up” that they understand the “consequences” of their actions. It isn’t until the hope deferred is realized, that the pursuit is praised. THEN people tell you you’re strong…then people tell you that you have “great” faith. They don’t tell you that when you’re falling-on-your-face desperate, or nose-deep in the carpet of the altar, or shut up at home because you can’t stand to see one more person who has what you know God has called you to—no, that’s when they think you’re just sad or depressed. When you finally get to the point where your prayers are answered, then everyone thinks you’re awesome for hanging on.
I like the people that have hung out with me when I was “drunk.” I like the friends and family members who kept encouraging me past the point of medical reason. I like the pastors who acknowledged our broken hearts and called a congregation to pray that we’d get to be parents someday. I like the people that got “drunk” with me.
I’d like to be someone who gets “drunk” with them…who supports them in their crazy pursuit of their heart’s desires.
Do you know anyone like that? Are you someone like that? Well, c’mon, you “bunch of drunks!” Get in there, and pursue—get in there, push back the crowds, and touch the hem of His garment (See! I CAN make a NT reference!). Press in—go face-first. Be a Hannah. Go face-first for your friends—pursue WITH them, instead of standing back and judging them. Be an Elkanah, not an Eli—and whatever you do, don’t be a Peninniah (who was that again?!?)
I raise my glass to you, fellow drunks: Here’s to the pursuit, to the process, and to the reward. Here’s to the realization of heart’s desires, and to the dreams that will not be ignored. Cheers!
I'm an Old Testament kind of girl. I have my favorite stories, but none has touched my life like the story of Hannah. I really didn't get into it until my Hannah had passed away; I mean, I knew the story, but I didn't GET it. It has a whole new meaning for me that's grown over the years.
Hannah had what many would think was a beautiful life: She had a husband that loved her best. Sure, he had a second wife, but all we hear about Peninnah is that she was a total jerk who mocked Hannah for not having children. REALLY?!?!?
Women in the church that deal with not having children face a stigma that most often goes unsaid; occasionally, someone will actually have the audacity to verbalize it. "Barrenness is a curse."
Do you KNOW what you do, when you say/infer that to a woman who wants to have children?
You turn her away from the face of God.
Enjoy having that on your conscience.
We live in an era that comes against the blessings of God. Although I will happily get into the science of being over-inundated with hormones and its affects on sexuality/reproduction/identity, it's more than this blog can handle (and would most likely result in hate mail). We live in a society that extols the "freedom" of the single woman, and that denies the unique creation of children. We live in a world that has attempted to redefine what constitutes a family, while ridiculing those of us who cling to the Biblically-based concepts of a mom, of a dad, and of participating in a community of like-minded individuals. I'll stop this tangent before I get too side-tracked...
No one talks about Peninnah. No one talks about the woman who Hannah thought, had it all. There's no chapter in the Bible dedicated to extoling her as a woman, as a prayer warrior, or as a mother. Like I said before—all we’re left with is the knowledge that she was a total…Well, no one liked her. No one names their children after her. She is forever known as “the provoker” (I Sam. 1:7).
We remember Hannah—we remember that Elkanah loved her best. We remember that he gave her a double portion. We remember that he did not cast her aside…that he did what he thought was best to give her comfort (I Sam. 1:8).
I see a lot of David (as in my husband, not as in The King) in Elkanah. In spite of his own grief, his own loss, and his own hopes, he has never stopped encouraging me on this journey. Of course our relationship is not perfect!!! But when I was certain that God had forgotten me…that God didn’t like me…that I wasn’t worthy of His love or attention…David was the Elkanah that gave me a double portion. There were the conversations in the car where I was brutally honest with how I felt toward the Lord, toward church, toward my friends (who only ever did their best), and toward my family. There were the conversations that ended in tears (most of them), and the ones where I shouted and screamed…there were the conversations that, I’m sure, left him convinced that I needed to be sedated or institutionalized.
There were plenty of conversations where all he said is, “Cassidy, you know that’s not true. Change your mindset.” Those were infuriating…but they are so indicative of the nature of the man. Like Elkanah, who probably frustrated Hannah by telling her that he was better than 10 sons (nice!), David never stopped reminding me that with just the two of us, there was happiness.
And there is.
Elkanah never deprived his wife of intimacy because he didn’t think it was fruitful. He continued to provide for her, even abundantly blessing her, because he loved her. Women who struggle with having children often shut down—we push people away, we push our husbands away, because we feel defective. We feel unloved, accursed, broken, and abandoned by our own bodies. Sure, I didn’t struggle with fertility issues; my struggles were different. But the concepts are the same: Our bodies have betrayed our hearts.
The husband who stands by the wife who feels like a freak of nature, is a man worth noting. He is made of iron and steel, and he has the power to make or break her…she is fragile, in every sense of the word. He takes his vows seriously…he takes her dreams seriously…and he takes her spiritual state into consideration.
Elkanah and Hannah are, to me, such a type-and-shadow of Jesus and His Bride. I Samuel 1 and 2 are a love story, and I know that sounds strange. But when you consider the culture of the day, and the care with which Elkanah treated his broken bride, you can see very clearly how Jesus treats us when we are “damaged”: He stays with us. He doesn’t abandon us. He helps us stay focused on Him; He challenges the mindset that the Provoker stabs us with. He reminds us of who we are with Him. He challenges us to seek Him, even though our fleshly mind tells us to give it up already.
Because Elkanah did not abandon her, and because he ensured that his family maintained their relationship with God (he took them to worship and sacrifice at Shiloh on a consistent basis), Hannah had a place to go, to pour out her heart. She had a relationship with the Lord on her own, that was freely expressed. I find it interesting that even though she blamed the Lord for closing her womb (which He did—He had a purpose), she never gave up pursuing Him for what she wanted. She was clear and specific, and never disregarded her request. That’s hard—sometimes, you feel so stupid for going before the Lord yet AGAIN, for the same thing. You fall prey to the lie that He gets sick of hearing from you.
He never gets tired of our prayers.
Hannah knew that—she knew her Lord. So she went after Him, wholeheartedly...She pursued Him. She makes a severe covenant—I say “severe,” because she promised to dedicate her son to the Lord and to let him be raised outside of her home. It almost feels like she’s bargaining with God in I Sam. 1:11—“If You do THIS, I’ll do THAT,” but I really don’t think that’s the case. Her promise to dedicate her son to the Lord is a testimony to her faith that this would come to pass. She made a Nazarite vow, and from the point of weaning, on, she only got to see her baby boy once a year. That’s a crazy-brave woman.
In her pursuing of the Lord, she prayed so hard that the priest Eli thought she was drunk. I’ve mentioned this a few times in my blog, because it fascinates me. When you pray past the understanding of human comprehension…when you are so goal-oriented that no one understands you…when you have one focal point for years on end…when nothing else really matters, except for this one pursuit…then you are praying the Prayers of Hannah. The rest of the world won’t get it—they’ll think you’re crazy. They’ll tell you you’ve missed God, that you need to give it up.
Don’t do it.
“Drunk” is subject to interpretation.
He sees you…He hears you. He’s not ignoring you; He may be shutting you down for a brief time, but He isn’t missing your prayers. And when He “shuts you down,” it’s because He has a perfect timing in mind. When you look back, after your prayer is answered, things will make a lot more sense.
I know (better than most people) that sounds so mundane and churchy. I hate hearing that, even now. But drunk people are not rational people, so the things you say to us do not make sense at the time that we’re in that heavy pursuit of a goal. It isn’t until after someone has “sobered up” that they understand the “consequences” of their actions. It isn’t until the hope deferred is realized, that the pursuit is praised. THEN people tell you you’re strong…then people tell you that you have “great” faith. They don’t tell you that when you’re falling-on-your-face desperate, or nose-deep in the carpet of the altar, or shut up at home because you can’t stand to see one more person who has what you know God has called you to—no, that’s when they think you’re just sad or depressed. When you finally get to the point where your prayers are answered, then everyone thinks you’re awesome for hanging on.
I like the people that have hung out with me when I was “drunk.” I like the friends and family members who kept encouraging me past the point of medical reason. I like the pastors who acknowledged our broken hearts and called a congregation to pray that we’d get to be parents someday. I like the people that got “drunk” with me.
I’d like to be someone who gets “drunk” with them…who supports them in their crazy pursuit of their heart’s desires.
Do you know anyone like that? Are you someone like that? Well, c’mon, you “bunch of drunks!” Get in there, and pursue—get in there, push back the crowds, and touch the hem of His garment (See! I CAN make a NT reference!). Press in—go face-first. Be a Hannah. Go face-first for your friends—pursue WITH them, instead of standing back and judging them. Be an Elkanah, not an Eli—and whatever you do, don’t be a Peninniah (who was that again?!?)
I raise my glass to you, fellow drunks: Here’s to the pursuit, to the process, and to the reward. Here’s to the realization of heart’s desires, and to the dreams that will not be ignored. Cheers!
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...
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. :)
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