One of the great encouragers in my life encouraged me to write with less object and more journalistically. This idea scares the heck out of me because I'm not exactly sure what's going to happen at the end when I start at the beginning, nor am I convinced that the overflow of my heart at this very moment will encourage any one else very well.
And this is my goal with this blog. To somehow walk together with others, or at least have others walk with me if they never talk to me, as this life unfolds, and to see-together-that God is faithful and that his arms, indeed, surround us. With the route I've been taking, I'm only writing every couple months. That's not exactly walking together. Maybe a more candid approach will allow me to write more easily and frequently. I don't know. I'm worried that things might take on a more sad tone, because that's how it is a lot. Or an overwhelmed tone. Or a stressed one. But even if it does, I'm hoping that the clear message of a loving God shines through. And an inner joy, peace and hope. That's what I hope and pray for anyway.
So where do things stand? Today, this week, is a strange one. Last week saw us anticipating a phone call announcing that Annika would have surgery on her heart. The phone call amounted to, "Wait. Not now." We received the call in the middle of a 12 1/2 hour drive, one which usually takes 6 1/2 hours but was long, long, long because of Thursday's mudslides which blocked off California from itself. Or at least rerouted all of us to the same small route. It was grueling. And the way home, when we expected to zip on down the beautiful coast and get home early, we traveled the wrong direction for a while and than realized that our gas tank was empty. No problem? Right. We scooted around Monterey searching for a gas station and after visiting three, all without power, decided to head south a bit more and hope for power there. But no. Not there either. Ultimately, we heard there had been a power plant failure and so decided we were stranded just where we were, in Carmel-by-the-Sea. I laughed at this crazy life and didn't think it was all that bad. The kids rejoiced and ran in the surf til their clothes dripped and studied the properties of sand and water as they built a sand castle meant to outlive the waves. We made it home by 11:00 pm.
Most days in these last two weeks I've had to gather them all and frenzy feed and dress and brush and clip and tie, and toast and pour and wipe and punish and say the same old 5 steps to each of them individually more than once and get them out the door early. And I've barely come home until just before James. He beat me home today and found a kids' breakfast still on the table. It's been a running sprint marathon. One day this week, we stayed home. And I made certain that we stayed home!
So in all of this, I've felt a little bit crazy. I mean, not just that it is crazy, because it is, but a really me kind of crazy. As in, I am. Or am I? Or...wait. What? That kind of thing. I told my husband that I'm touching a psychotic place I've never been and am relating to people I never could relate to before, and he didn't really deny it but pointed out that I've never been in this place of stress before. The fears and the waiting to find out if my little girl is going to have surgery on her heart....to have it sprung on us so unexpectedly, to be told it was probable, and than to swing the other direction of doing nothing and the fears that go along with that (is it okay to wait??), well...I've once again found myself prey to fear everywhere else. I used to be fun, but now I fear. I see the worst case scenario when my kids play and try to protect them. Every little symptom in the household might possibly lead to death (and WebMD confirms it). I live at the Dr's office. In fact, even today a lady at the pharmacy whom I don't know said, "Oh, how nice! You don't work here any more, but you still get to be here all the time!" Should I have not brought her in for that double-ear infection? Or, the other one, three times in the last month and a half for her three ear infections? Is my paranoia real? Or is my reality making me paranoid?
I've learned my own stress signs. My hands go to my face. I breathe out slowly. Multi-tasking becomes difficult. And when it's really bad, I hyperventilate. I'm at the face/breathing stage these days. That had passed. But it's come again.
I guess that's how it goes with life. You never get past the struggles. This fallen world is too trouble-full. It's learning to cope with them. Live in them. Blossom.
Jesus give me strength! Walk with me as I walk with you. Fill my heart with thoughts of you, especially when fear comes knocking. Let your word be the word I turn to, and not the advice and thoughts of people. May your peace surround my mind and heart. May my thoughts and words pour out to my husband and children and neighbors and friends as an outpouring of your love. I read these words that I've written and feel the whining, complaining cry of my own heart, but Jesus, make it yours. Use it for your glory. I don't understand always why and how you direct, but, Father, I do trust you. Use this weak, broken vessel as you will.
Friday, October 23, 2015
Saturday, October 10, 2015
The Vise
This is not the first time it's happened. I can remember other times more clearly than most. It's like a hand, first coming and caressing my soft-pumping heart. The fingers flirt with the movement until my heart is tamed to the idea. Then they grab hold, still gently, but like a vise. Ever slowly the fingers tighten and tighten their grip and, unnoticed by me, turn from flesh to steel with each gripping movement. A stealth move like no other. I don't recognize the attack, even after I've been taken captive. With every pump those steely fingers burrow into my heart, a slow creeping pain. But, even still, I don't notice. I accept it. I embrace it. It's a part of me. It's who I am.
Anger, bitterness, fear, hatred, lust, envy, pride - this vise, this tactic of the enemy, comes in a variety of colors. But for me, this time, fear grabbed hold. It took control. My captivated eyes fixated on the fear and, when they did manage to pull away to look on something else, the contagious fear stuck to my eyeballs and infected everything I saw. I panicked about small things. I treated my kids differently. I waited for the fearful thing to happen, expected it even. It was difficult to hear the voice of God.
But I heard it. Two days ago. I had some hours to myself (how important lonely hours are!) and I was angry because my fearful hopes and expectations for the day had been dashed, and I sat alone with the sickening feeling of a hard kick in the gut and I wept. I was supposed to spend the evening knowing results and how to move forward and instead it was more waiting and....it dawned on me....more fearing. Had I been so fearful?
It hit me like an anvil dropped from a 30 story building. Crushed to pieces. My hopes and securities had rested in my own knowledge and the feelings of control I would gain from it. I had clung to that string of hope thinking I could kick the fear in the face once I knew. It was all about me.
In my selfish aloneness He met me and whispered in my ear that He already knows-and that's enough. That in my waiting I had not been asking Him enough, but had let each nail-scraping day pass by in tense expectation.
If I am to live in relationship, in friendship, and to walk with this Jesus who created and knows my heart, I can't forget to talk to Him. I can't leave out a section of my heart. I can't give it away to someone or something else.
No wonder His voice felt small.
God is greater than all fear. In fact, He casts it out. This life, this world, is a warzone. This enemy of God doesn't give up in his prowling quest to overthrow the people in it, most especially those belonging to God. He sneaks and swerves and worms his way into our hearts and eyes and minds and he's on the constant move, squinting his eyes towards the tiniest chink in our armor.
So make it secure. Talk to God. Read His word. Spend the time in quietness so you have eyes to see when the enemy has pervaded. Let Jesus shatter that vise.
Anger, bitterness, fear, hatred, lust, envy, pride - this vise, this tactic of the enemy, comes in a variety of colors. But for me, this time, fear grabbed hold. It took control. My captivated eyes fixated on the fear and, when they did manage to pull away to look on something else, the contagious fear stuck to my eyeballs and infected everything I saw. I panicked about small things. I treated my kids differently. I waited for the fearful thing to happen, expected it even. It was difficult to hear the voice of God.
But I heard it. Two days ago. I had some hours to myself (how important lonely hours are!) and I was angry because my fearful hopes and expectations for the day had been dashed, and I sat alone with the sickening feeling of a hard kick in the gut and I wept. I was supposed to spend the evening knowing results and how to move forward and instead it was more waiting and....it dawned on me....more fearing. Had I been so fearful?
It hit me like an anvil dropped from a 30 story building. Crushed to pieces. My hopes and securities had rested in my own knowledge and the feelings of control I would gain from it. I had clung to that string of hope thinking I could kick the fear in the face once I knew. It was all about me.
In my selfish aloneness He met me and whispered in my ear that He already knows-and that's enough. That in my waiting I had not been asking Him enough, but had let each nail-scraping day pass by in tense expectation.
If I am to live in relationship, in friendship, and to walk with this Jesus who created and knows my heart, I can't forget to talk to Him. I can't leave out a section of my heart. I can't give it away to someone or something else.
No wonder His voice felt small.
God is greater than all fear. In fact, He casts it out. This life, this world, is a warzone. This enemy of God doesn't give up in his prowling quest to overthrow the people in it, most especially those belonging to God. He sneaks and swerves and worms his way into our hearts and eyes and minds and he's on the constant move, squinting his eyes towards the tiniest chink in our armor.
So make it secure. Talk to God. Read His word. Spend the time in quietness so you have eyes to see when the enemy has pervaded. Let Jesus shatter that vise.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Sanitary
We're staying in a house surrounded by dirt. My kids have been bathing almost every day because when they walk through the door they're a few shades darker than when they walked out the door...and it's not from the sun. You can see their eye holes in the original color.
It seems, no matter what they, or we, do we come back dirty and itching, too. The first day we arrived, we woke up eager to explore the mountainside. We boldly headed down the trail in our shorts and flip flops and ended (30 minutes later?) with two crying kids. One had stepped in poop and couldn't bear to continue the explorations and the other had discovered that all the leaves are spiky and that there are many, many burrs here. Neither of them wanted to explore again. Ever! The other two were still game to leave the house in future days, but they were not thrilled about everything having spikes and burrs on it.
I'm proud to report, however, that just a few days later, we have all continued to walk out the door and the one who had given up all exploring for ALL time is the one who discovered the tarantula on our walk tonight and was excited about it. The difference is we know what we're facing and are better prepared for it.
Also, a couple days ago, the kids made an important discovery. There's a hill, actually, the whole thing is hill-so the part of the hill right next to the house turns out to be the perfect place to geronimo down on the two year old's tiny pink tricycle. The two year old hasn't done it, but the 4, 6 and 8 year old have been wild about it (we did let the 2 year old give it a small go on the barely-bottom part of a hill and she rapidly let go of the handlebars and crashed...not a problem keeping her off the behemoth now...). Only one kid has crashed and cried, but only minor injuries incurred. Anyway, the proper way down this hill is to drag your feet along the whole dusty way (and we're talking 250 meters here?) so you can maintain control and not careen into the tall brown, burry grass on the sides of the pathway. They haven't all managed it every time. Little pink tricycle is most definitely seeing more action then ever in her short life. At any rate, they come back dirty. But it's AWESOME!
My kids are urbanites. Have I mentioned that? They are. When we started driving in the hills and there were no more houses in sight, the two year old started fearfully wimpering in her carseat. She calmed a little when I held her hand. When we walk through the woods, it's scary for one or the other of them at some point in the walk. When they see more than their accustomed 5 stars, they are in awe. They are surprised at dirt roads and hills without guardrails. They are used to seeing dogs on leashes or behind fences. Any sort of loose animal spotted anywhere is scream-worthy. Muddy hands must be immediately washed because they're...muddy. I never dreamed I would be raising urbanites, but here we are.
At home, we have dirt, but it's boxed in and manicured for the most part. The kids can't mess with the plants and bushes too much or the neighbors become upset (HOA...ugh). If there is a loose cat, it will discreetly disappear one day to the animal shelter lest it leave a mess in our allotted dirt. We can't be too loud or fast or leave a mess so we don't disturb our neighbors. It's just the way it has to be in close communities like ours. Mostly, people don't want mess. They want peace and quiet and beauty. I get it. But is that the way to peace of heart and mind?
I notice this in more than my little community, however. It's all the rage to look and be perfect. If you have problems, go to the proper place and deal with it. If you have mess, shut it behind your doors and don't talk about it. If your face or body doesn't look right, fix it. The last thing you should do is engage with people! Don't smile at them on the street or dump your emotional dirt if you don't know them well enough or they don't want to hear it. Keep it clean. Act your role. Do your part.
But what if? What if we walked out our doors prepared for the dirt and the spikes? What if we stopped worrying about what we want and don't want, what we can and can't do, and started looking at and listening more to the people around us and what they need? What if we stopped paying so much attention to our screens and diverted our eyes and hearts and ears to people right next to us? What if we didn't cry when we stepped in life's poop and came home with spikes and splinters and burrs? Or, if the tears came, what if they were for the pain of others rather then our own? What if we expected the dirt and rashes? What if we looked for them instead of walked right by and around?
What I'm asking is this: Why do we try so hard to cover up our mess? Why do we pretend? Why are we too busy to listen? Why do we never have time? Are our hours so well spent that we don't have time to stop and be real with ourselves and each other? Why can't we live with the dirt? It's not going away.
How about this? How about we all jump on our little pink tricycles and careen down the dirty, scary way? We might get hurt. It might make us cry. Our shoes will definitely not last as long. But, I promise you, it will be AWESOME!
I mean, dirt. It's where we came from, isn't it? We can dress it up, and ourselves, all we want, but it's still there. We can manicure our parks and plant trees perfectly aligned, but underneath it's still dirt. I get lost in the pavement of the city. I miss the simplicity and brown bareness of the earth. And so, here, away, I am excited when it's just God's beautifully landscaped world around me. Just the dirty dirt. And it's okay that it's not perfect looking. It just is.
P.S. (In case you didn't gather it on your own, your little pink tricycle is the Bible, God's word.)
It seems, no matter what they, or we, do we come back dirty and itching, too. The first day we arrived, we woke up eager to explore the mountainside. We boldly headed down the trail in our shorts and flip flops and ended (30 minutes later?) with two crying kids. One had stepped in poop and couldn't bear to continue the explorations and the other had discovered that all the leaves are spiky and that there are many, many burrs here. Neither of them wanted to explore again. Ever! The other two were still game to leave the house in future days, but they were not thrilled about everything having spikes and burrs on it.
I'm proud to report, however, that just a few days later, we have all continued to walk out the door and the one who had given up all exploring for ALL time is the one who discovered the tarantula on our walk tonight and was excited about it. The difference is we know what we're facing and are better prepared for it.
My kids are urbanites. Have I mentioned that? They are. When we started driving in the hills and there were no more houses in sight, the two year old started fearfully wimpering in her carseat. She calmed a little when I held her hand. When we walk through the woods, it's scary for one or the other of them at some point in the walk. When they see more than their accustomed 5 stars, they are in awe. They are surprised at dirt roads and hills without guardrails. They are used to seeing dogs on leashes or behind fences. Any sort of loose animal spotted anywhere is scream-worthy. Muddy hands must be immediately washed because they're...muddy. I never dreamed I would be raising urbanites, but here we are.
At home, we have dirt, but it's boxed in and manicured for the most part. The kids can't mess with the plants and bushes too much or the neighbors become upset (HOA...ugh). If there is a loose cat, it will discreetly disappear one day to the animal shelter lest it leave a mess in our allotted dirt. We can't be too loud or fast or leave a mess so we don't disturb our neighbors. It's just the way it has to be in close communities like ours. Mostly, people don't want mess. They want peace and quiet and beauty. I get it. But is that the way to peace of heart and mind?
I notice this in more than my little community, however. It's all the rage to look and be perfect. If you have problems, go to the proper place and deal with it. If you have mess, shut it behind your doors and don't talk about it. If your face or body doesn't look right, fix it. The last thing you should do is engage with people! Don't smile at them on the street or dump your emotional dirt if you don't know them well enough or they don't want to hear it. Keep it clean. Act your role. Do your part.
But what if? What if we walked out our doors prepared for the dirt and the spikes? What if we stopped worrying about what we want and don't want, what we can and can't do, and started looking at and listening more to the people around us and what they need? What if we stopped paying so much attention to our screens and diverted our eyes and hearts and ears to people right next to us? What if we didn't cry when we stepped in life's poop and came home with spikes and splinters and burrs? Or, if the tears came, what if they were for the pain of others rather then our own? What if we expected the dirt and rashes? What if we looked for them instead of walked right by and around?
What I'm asking is this: Why do we try so hard to cover up our mess? Why do we pretend? Why are we too busy to listen? Why do we never have time? Are our hours so well spent that we don't have time to stop and be real with ourselves and each other? Why can't we live with the dirt? It's not going away.
How about this? How about we all jump on our little pink tricycles and careen down the dirty, scary way? We might get hurt. It might make us cry. Our shoes will definitely not last as long. But, I promise you, it will be AWESOME!
I mean, dirt. It's where we came from, isn't it? We can dress it up, and ourselves, all we want, but it's still there. We can manicure our parks and plant trees perfectly aligned, but underneath it's still dirt. I get lost in the pavement of the city. I miss the simplicity and brown bareness of the earth. And so, here, away, I am excited when it's just God's beautifully landscaped world around me. Just the dirty dirt. And it's okay that it's not perfect looking. It just is.
P.S. (In case you didn't gather it on your own, your little pink tricycle is the Bible, God's word.)
Monday, July 20, 2015
A Touch of Greatness
Here's the thing.
There's this guy.
He grew up in my little home place and now he's known everywhere. And I see other people from my city posting pictures on facebook of posters of him in their towns where they live now, or somewhere far away that they're visiting. And we're all super proud of him and we're all cheering him on. And that's really good! I am too. Most definitely.
We get all excited because we feel the touch of greatness. In some little way we saw it happen and claim a little of it for ourselves. We have the boast of knowing before other people knew and the seeing and hearing before the rest of the world. And now we want them to know that we knew him before! He's our news!!! More than that, he's our friend. Maybe he really was. Or maybe we just talked to him once or passed him in the hall or sat near him in history class. Some of us never met him because he was older or younger than us and we walked in different circles, but we're just as proud because he's one of us. From our place!
We can hold our heads up a little higher, our faces shine and we feel a little bit famous ourselves because we know, or knew, or talked to, or saw, or came from the same place as this guy. We start to identify ourselves more with him. We start to follow his movies and interviews and look at his pictures. We "like" everything that has to do with him, and in our hearts, maybe we love those things too.
Now you may not know that particular guy. Your person could be a gal. Or a different guy. Maybe a whole group. Or no one...that's okay. But maybe there's someone from your place who makes you feel important. Someone you've latched onto and identified with. Someone about whom you can say, "I knew him. I was there."
And it's special. It really is. But it's a bit of a danger zone. It's a fine line to walk. Where do I place my value? My importance? My identity? Is some of it in that guy and his success and the boast I have in him? Even a little bit? Has his fame crept into an idolatrous crevice of my heart?
What if I boasted just as much, or even more, about this Jesus guy that I know? Because I met him way before I met the other guy! He's the one who proved himself as God when I was just a little girl praying for a frog. He's the one who, when I picked up my Bible as a young teen, responded by loving me. And I felt it and knew it. He's the one who provided for the payment of my car in Romania at the very last minute from some beautiful Germans who also knew him. He's the one who guided my hands when the semi-truck was headed straight for me and told me he had other plans for me than to die that day. He's the one who lead me to my husband. He's the one I could come to with any emotion when my baby was so sick. He's the one who has pulled me out of my own drowning thoughts and sadnesses. He's the one I lean on each and every day.
I didn't exactly go to school with him. I mean, I didn't see him with my eyes anyway. Not in the same way I saw the guy. Because, the guy is just a guy. A human guy. But, this Jesus guy...he's God. Really God. But he became a guy so I could know and understand him better. It's in the history books and in the Bible.
And he's famous. Really famous! I've seen churches built and people meeting so that they can know him better. I've seen people pray, sing, and dance to Jesus in a multitude of languages. And they're doing it because they know him. More than that-He knows them and they know it!
I don't see pictures plastered everywhere of him, but I see this created place, this world. Blades of grass, spider webs, the human body. So intricately planned. They speak of him.
And so I shout it out! I know him!! I know Jesus! I've known him for as long as I can remember! I haven't always done a good job of it, but I really want to be just like him! He's the one I want to know more! He's the one I want to be known for! He came to my place so I could know him. He's from my place...and every place! He is my news!!! More than that, he's my friend. I am following him! I am "liking" him! I am loving him! And he has my whole heart.
Skeptical? Pick up a Bible. Read about Jesus in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. He's famous. Bibles are everywhere. It isn't called the "Good News" for nothing. It really is Good News.
I might have rubbed shoulders with a famous guy in high school-a fact which makes me sometimes giddy-but this Jesus....this Jesus...Because of knowing this Jesus I am changed. I can hold my head high and smile with the shine of joy, even in the midst of sadness. I can remember when, and know now, and think of the future and it gives me strength when I should be weak. He is really with me every day, not just his picture, because he is God, not merely a guy. I identify with him, and he with me, and I feel the freedom of not carrying around guilt like I used to. I've known him, and he knows me...and I feel important. Because of Jesus, I know God. I have the confidence that my sins are forgiven and the knowledge of a promised eternity in heaven. And that is truly Great.
There's this guy.
He grew up in my little home place and now he's known everywhere. And I see other people from my city posting pictures on facebook of posters of him in their towns where they live now, or somewhere far away that they're visiting. And we're all super proud of him and we're all cheering him on. And that's really good! I am too. Most definitely.
We get all excited because we feel the touch of greatness. In some little way we saw it happen and claim a little of it for ourselves. We have the boast of knowing before other people knew and the seeing and hearing before the rest of the world. And now we want them to know that we knew him before! He's our news!!! More than that, he's our friend. Maybe he really was. Or maybe we just talked to him once or passed him in the hall or sat near him in history class. Some of us never met him because he was older or younger than us and we walked in different circles, but we're just as proud because he's one of us. From our place!
We can hold our heads up a little higher, our faces shine and we feel a little bit famous ourselves because we know, or knew, or talked to, or saw, or came from the same place as this guy. We start to identify ourselves more with him. We start to follow his movies and interviews and look at his pictures. We "like" everything that has to do with him, and in our hearts, maybe we love those things too.
Now you may not know that particular guy. Your person could be a gal. Or a different guy. Maybe a whole group. Or no one...that's okay. But maybe there's someone from your place who makes you feel important. Someone you've latched onto and identified with. Someone about whom you can say, "I knew him. I was there."
And it's special. It really is. But it's a bit of a danger zone. It's a fine line to walk. Where do I place my value? My importance? My identity? Is some of it in that guy and his success and the boast I have in him? Even a little bit? Has his fame crept into an idolatrous crevice of my heart?
What if I boasted just as much, or even more, about this Jesus guy that I know? Because I met him way before I met the other guy! He's the one who proved himself as God when I was just a little girl praying for a frog. He's the one who, when I picked up my Bible as a young teen, responded by loving me. And I felt it and knew it. He's the one who provided for the payment of my car in Romania at the very last minute from some beautiful Germans who also knew him. He's the one who guided my hands when the semi-truck was headed straight for me and told me he had other plans for me than to die that day. He's the one who lead me to my husband. He's the one I could come to with any emotion when my baby was so sick. He's the one who has pulled me out of my own drowning thoughts and sadnesses. He's the one I lean on each and every day.
I didn't exactly go to school with him. I mean, I didn't see him with my eyes anyway. Not in the same way I saw the guy. Because, the guy is just a guy. A human guy. But, this Jesus guy...he's God. Really God. But he became a guy so I could know and understand him better. It's in the history books and in the Bible.
And he's famous. Really famous! I've seen churches built and people meeting so that they can know him better. I've seen people pray, sing, and dance to Jesus in a multitude of languages. And they're doing it because they know him. More than that-He knows them and they know it!
I don't see pictures plastered everywhere of him, but I see this created place, this world. Blades of grass, spider webs, the human body. So intricately planned. They speak of him.
And so I shout it out! I know him!! I know Jesus! I've known him for as long as I can remember! I haven't always done a good job of it, but I really want to be just like him! He's the one I want to know more! He's the one I want to be known for! He came to my place so I could know him. He's from my place...and every place! He is my news!!! More than that, he's my friend. I am following him! I am "liking" him! I am loving him! And he has my whole heart.
Skeptical? Pick up a Bible. Read about Jesus in Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. He's famous. Bibles are everywhere. It isn't called the "Good News" for nothing. It really is Good News.
I might have rubbed shoulders with a famous guy in high school-a fact which makes me sometimes giddy-but this Jesus....this Jesus...Because of knowing this Jesus I am changed. I can hold my head high and smile with the shine of joy, even in the midst of sadness. I can remember when, and know now, and think of the future and it gives me strength when I should be weak. He is really with me every day, not just his picture, because he is God, not merely a guy. I identify with him, and he with me, and I feel the freedom of not carrying around guilt like I used to. I've known him, and he knows me...and I feel important. Because of Jesus, I know God. I have the confidence that my sins are forgiven and the knowledge of a promised eternity in heaven. And that is truly Great.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
A Glint of Joy
The other day I saw a glint of joy.
I felt it for a moment,
Just a spark.
I followed it in my mind
Until a lush valley of promise
Opened up before me.
And I remembered how it was
And I hoped that it could be
Then my mind returned to present
Restrictions, darkness, pain
And I felt enveloped by it all
And I sat.
I sat.
And sat.
And stayed so still.
Until darkness surrounded all
So I closed my eyes.
As I sat, alone, eyes closed
I felt it again. And heard.
"Open your eyes. Arise."
"No. I will not. I cannot."
"Open your eyes. Arise."
"I don't have the strength."
"You're not alone."
A pause. A breath. Resignation.
It's easier to stay
And my eyes opened
To darkness still.
I stood up
Took a step
And I tripped and fell and bled and cried.
"Arise."
"THIS IS TOO HARD!"
"You're not alone."
Another breath.
I pushed myself up again
using the stone that had tripped me.
A tentative sweep of the foot
More stones surrounded me in the darkness.
I explored with my hands
Smooth, jagged, sandy
Pebbles, rocks, boulders
Strewn everywhere in the pitch blackness
Probably for miles ahead
A lifetime's journey.
"Impossible," I muttered under my breath
"You're not alone."
"I can't see You.
I can't move.
I'm going to fall again.
It hurts.
And I'm still bleeding."
I sat on the tripping stone.
Head bowed.
Eyes closed.
"Open your eyes. Arise.
I am with you."
Echoing words.
Echoing.
Echoing.
Could it be?
I heard them.
I felt them.
Felt again.
What is this?
I'd forgotten.
I opened my eyes.
Looked up.
Barely perceiving
Through the distant murkiness
A glint
A glint of joy
Just a spark.
I arose.
I felt it for a moment,
Just a spark.
I followed it in my mind
Until a lush valley of promise
Opened up before me.
And I remembered how it was
And I hoped that it could be
Then my mind returned to present
Restrictions, darkness, pain
And I felt enveloped by it all
And I sat.
I sat.
And sat.
And stayed so still.
Until darkness surrounded all
So I closed my eyes.
As I sat, alone, eyes closed
I felt it again. And heard.
"Open your eyes. Arise."
"No. I will not. I cannot."
"Open your eyes. Arise."
"I don't have the strength."
"You're not alone."
A pause. A breath. Resignation.
It's easier to stay
And my eyes opened
To darkness still.
I stood up
Took a step
And I tripped and fell and bled and cried.
"Arise."
"THIS IS TOO HARD!"
"You're not alone."
Another breath.
I pushed myself up again
using the stone that had tripped me.
A tentative sweep of the foot
More stones surrounded me in the darkness.
I explored with my hands
Smooth, jagged, sandy
Pebbles, rocks, boulders
Strewn everywhere in the pitch blackness
Probably for miles ahead
A lifetime's journey.
"Impossible," I muttered under my breath
"You're not alone."
"I can't see You.
I can't move.
I'm going to fall again.
It hurts.
And I'm still bleeding."
I sat on the tripping stone.
Head bowed.
Eyes closed.
"Open your eyes. Arise.
I am with you."
Echoing words.
Echoing.
Echoing.
Could it be?
I heard them.
I felt them.
Felt again.
What is this?
I'd forgotten.
I opened my eyes.
Looked up.
Barely perceiving
Through the distant murkiness
A glint
A glint of joy
Just a spark.
I arose.
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
Should...
I should be in bed.
That's a truth.
But what else?
I should be a better mom.
I should be a better house keeper.
I should know the right answers.
I should not get angry at my kids.
I should be more organized.
I should hold it together all the time.
I should go to all those play dates.
I should not home school anymore.
Or maybe I should get better at it.
I should look nicer.
I should not get stains on all my clothes.
I should be a better wife.
I should have everything perfect when my husband gets home.
I should keep my car clean.
I should discipline better.
I should be more disciplined myself.
I should not be late.
I should spend more time reading and writing.
I should throw better parties.
I should not eat those cookies.
I should.
I should!
I should???
And who told me that I should?
I'm tired of this voice!
And how can I do it all?
Quiet, you!!
I should not listen to all these lies anymore! Outta here, Should! Can, Will, Must and Want To can stay, but no more Should!
Nope!
Except for I should be in bed.
That's a truth.
But what else?
I should be a better mom.
I should be a better house keeper.
I should know the right answers.
I should not get angry at my kids.
I should be more organized.
I should hold it together all the time.
I should go to all those play dates.
I should not home school anymore.
Or maybe I should get better at it.
I should look nicer.
I should not get stains on all my clothes.
I should be a better wife.
I should have everything perfect when my husband gets home.
I should keep my car clean.
I should discipline better.
I should be more disciplined myself.
I should not be late.
I should spend more time reading and writing.
I should throw better parties.
I should not eat those cookies.
I should.
I should!
I should???
And who told me that I should?
I'm tired of this voice!
And how can I do it all?
Quiet, you!!
I should not listen to all these lies anymore! Outta here, Should! Can, Will, Must and Want To can stay, but no more Should!
Nope!
Except for I should be in bed.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
The Choice
The day didn't start well. Actually, it sort of started yesterday, or maybe the day before, or even yesterday's yesterday (as my kids would say). At any rate, I woke up today and continued the bad yesterday. I don't know if I can explain it very well, except the feeling of numbness. I'm not sure of its exact route, but it starts somewhere deep and reaches its cold, stabbing tentacles around until my spirit feels little and my heart feels less. From the outside, I end up a sort of walking zombie going through the motions. But eventually, even the motions slow and I lose my patience and really am not good for much. That was last night. James keenly recognized my symptoms (since he put everyone to bed on his own while I snarlingly zombied around) and gifted me a quiet afternoon to myself today. A loving, kind and wise husband if I don't say so myself.
Before the afternoon hit, however, we went to church. I actually did manage to get all the kids ready, mostly on my own, while James worked out last minute details for his talk today at Sunday School. So we get there bright and early, James distributes the kids around the church campus (seriously, I think when I get this way he gets a little scared of me and sends me away, although, I also know he wants to encourage me) and I cozy off by myself anonymously into my seat (you can do that in a megachurch). We had a guest speaker today. A phenomenal speaker. The text was announced, Isaiah 6:1-8, and I knew that this sermon was meant to be heard by me. Isaiah's call and commission is one of my very favorite parts of the Bible-but my own passion has admittedly lessened and been partially replaced with what-ifs and fears as we've faced hardship after hardship. (Click here if you want to read from Isaiah) As the pastor began speaking I sat with holy fear and anticipation. Why today? Of course today.
I'm not going to re-preach a wonderful, engaging, funny sermon. I couldn't do it half the justice it deserves. But here it is for your own delight. What I am going to say is that, in the end, I wrote down in capital letters: "IT'S NOT GOING TO GET EASIER. How to keep going?" Because, really, what if life doesn't get easier? What if it gets harder? What if I keep waiting for a good change, only to be disappointed? Am I going to continue allowing my soul and mind and heart to numb against the pain, or will I push into it and embrace it?
I have the choice. I can escape. I can eat a lot of chocolate chip cookies and drink my favorite tea. I can run so fast that I feel it's behind me. I can space out on facebook all the time. I can watch "Lost" for 8 nights straight. I can avoid the thought of it and pretend to myself that it's not there. But, no matter what I do, it is there. I'm living a lie. And then I grow numb with the thought of it when I'm too weary to push it aside.
I think I really did naively expect life to be a bowl of bon-bons and sugar-coated candy in my younger days. I mean, I married the man of my dreams, I ended up with the 4 most beautiful children in the world and I live in a privileged, prosperous country. However, I didn't count on having a husband with chronic pain, a baby with a heart condition, and on facing the inescapable darkness of my own heart. I tell you, it's not been easy. When God asks "Whom shall I send," how do I exuberantly cry out "Here am I. Send me!" into a future that looks painful and bleak and when I have so many questions and it's already too hard right now? But what is the exchange? If I don't go, if I don't answer His call, if I merely sit and watch and wait....it's not going to get better. In fact, my own fearful disobedience will make it worse.
I have a choice. Life is not all que sera sera. It's true I don't know what is coming, but I do know the One who does and Who is walking by my side holding my hand. I know I have a book chock-full of His words and wisdom and comfort. Do I allow whatever will be, to be? Or do I take the scary walk of faith forward with Him?
I'm not going to re-preach a wonderful, engaging, funny sermon. I couldn't do it half the justice it deserves. But here it is for your own delight. What I am going to say is that, in the end, I wrote down in capital letters: "IT'S NOT GOING TO GET EASIER. How to keep going?" Because, really, what if life doesn't get easier? What if it gets harder? What if I keep waiting for a good change, only to be disappointed? Am I going to continue allowing my soul and mind and heart to numb against the pain, or will I push into it and embrace it?
I have the choice. I can escape. I can eat a lot of chocolate chip cookies and drink my favorite tea. I can run so fast that I feel it's behind me. I can space out on facebook all the time. I can watch "Lost" for 8 nights straight. I can avoid the thought of it and pretend to myself that it's not there. But, no matter what I do, it is there. I'm living a lie. And then I grow numb with the thought of it when I'm too weary to push it aside.
I think I really did naively expect life to be a bowl of bon-bons and sugar-coated candy in my younger days. I mean, I married the man of my dreams, I ended up with the 4 most beautiful children in the world and I live in a privileged, prosperous country. However, I didn't count on having a husband with chronic pain, a baby with a heart condition, and on facing the inescapable darkness of my own heart. I tell you, it's not been easy. When God asks "Whom shall I send," how do I exuberantly cry out "Here am I. Send me!" into a future that looks painful and bleak and when I have so many questions and it's already too hard right now? But what is the exchange? If I don't go, if I don't answer His call, if I merely sit and watch and wait....it's not going to get better. In fact, my own fearful disobedience will make it worse.
I have a choice. Life is not all que sera sera. It's true I don't know what is coming, but I do know the One who does and Who is walking by my side holding my hand. I know I have a book chock-full of His words and wisdom and comfort. Do I allow whatever will be, to be? Or do I take the scary walk of faith forward with Him?
Monday, February 2, 2015
Tube Be Gone aka "Tubie Gone"
On January 21st, we were all but certain that Annika's feeding tube would be removed, so we declared it Tube Day. Our basis for this was in the Dr.'s words from the previous visit, "If she continues to do this well, we'll take the tube out next time!" And she was doing more than well. James took the day off, I gave the kids the day off from school, and we happily picked up our house together so we would have a nice place to celebrate Tube Day when we got home. "Spirits were high" is an understatement. This day marked a major milestone in the life of our family. Although Annika had not been using her feeding tube for a few months, actually removing the tube from her stomach felt like the exclamation point at the end of this chapter in our days.
Skip ahead to the Dr. visit. Annika IS doing well, and it IS time.......just the Dr. feels a little uncomfortable removing the tube today. She just had another little girl have a tube removed and the hole in her stomach leaked and leaked and never healed, after having the tube for only 4 months. Annika had hers for nearly two years, so...what are the chances of a natural closure? Why not skip all the headaches of leaking and just go straight to surgery where the results are certain? When our Dr. saw how sad we were, she gave us the option to remove it that day...but it was against her advice. So we didn't.
I don't think I've ever heard my family sit so quietly as they sat that day on the drive home. Only sad exclamations pushed the silence aside on occasion, "So it isn't really Tube Day!" "We did all that cleaning for NOTHING!" "We probably have to do school now!" "I'M HUNGRY!" James and I barely spoke.
No, I didn't make them do school, but nothing could replace the joy that was lost. We were ready to celebrate with games and laughter and decorations and food!!! And the celebration had been postponed. So what to do today? Nothing much. We played mariokart and bought a dozen donuts to drown out our sorrows. Unhealthy coping mechanisms-I know. E-mail me about it.
The big question became, "When is Tube Day??" I couldn't answer. I was told to wait to hear from the surgeon. The surgery department finally called, SIX days later, to say that they could schedule Annika's consultation with the Dr. for the end of February and the tube would be removed who-knows-when later. Oh, but wait! Our Dr. had mistakenly referred her to the wrong region.
"Great!" I thought, "Maybe the right region will get her in sooner." I sent a text off to our Dr., but heard nothing back.
The next day, the appointment center called, "I'm sorry to say, your Dr. had a family emergency and will return to the office the end of March. But you still need a referral in order to have her seen in Orange County."
"Ok, great. Should I call her primary care physician? Can he refer her?"
"That might work. I don't know. I'll send a message to another GI doctor and see if he'll do it."
"Ok, what about the surgeon that placed the tube. I have his number. Is it appropriate for me to text him about this?"
"Yes. Do that."
Ok, so I did and he texted me back right away, "I'll have my nurse call you."
Fabulous! We're getting somewhere!
The phone rings and I jump up hoping to hear from our surgeons nurse, only to have the lady from the appointment desk explain to me that things really aren't looking good in getting Annika referred to Orange County. What? This is really a hard thing!
So, the nurse calls an hour or so later.
"When would you like to schedule this appointment?"
"Anytime!"
"Ok, how about tomorrow?"
"Sounds great!"
"But we still need that referral. I can't schedule it without a referral."
"You heard me say that her Dr. is gone through the end of March? Out of the country?"
"Yes, well. We need it."
".............................................how do you suggest we get it?"
silence
And then.
"She was seen by this doctor for the g-tube placement?"
"Yes."
"How about we don't call this a consultation appointment but a follow-up from the last one and we skip the referral altogether?"
"Yes! That is exactly what should happen! Let's do it!"
And so, the next day, Annika woke up with a fever of 101, but there was no way I could cancel that hard fought for appointment. Late in the afternoon, Annika and I trekked alone to see Dr. Lau. She was ready to show "Doctoh Yow" her tubie and to do what he asked (and her fever had gone down). Dr. Lau entered the room saying that 60% of removed tubes heal on their own. He was willing to schedule her for surgery, but in his opinion, it was better to try a natural healing first. I 100% agreed. I've already seen the fear in this little one waking up from general anesthetic three times and she is one miserable cookie. Enough trauma for my baby!
And then it happened. I lay Annika on the bed in the room, turned around to grab her pacifier, and by the time I gave it to her, her tube had been removed. I didn't take any pictures and I was the only one there to give a small cheer. The doctor taped some gauze over the hole in her stomach and that was that. I snatched her up as she cried in fear. She really didn't understand why tubie had to go.
In an attempt to both distract and celebrate, I walked her down to the cafeteria and bought us a shared cup of strawberry and vanilla frozen yogurt. We sat down to eat it just outside the cafeteria doors near some plants. This little one, who wouldn't open her mouth to drink even a drop of liquid a year and a half ago, stood by my side on the cement and licked the yogurt off her spoon. It was a quiet time. We took pictures. We laughed. We shared bites. Just her and I.
I looked up at the building towering above us and could pinpoint the exact rooms where, almost two years earlier, she was a tiny little one with so many newly discovered problems. Here I had learned about my baby's heart failure. I had waited tearfully for genetic testing to return which would tell me if she had a genetic disorder. I had had an endless bombardment of conversations with so many different doctors and specialists. I had learned how to use and care for an NG tube and then a gtube. I had feared for my baby's life on the day the doctor panicked over her test results. I had seen her bloated and struggling for breath after being IV'd too many fluids. I had held her down for nearly 4 hours as nurses struggled to find a vein for an IV. I was told, on my birthday, to never even think I would nurse my baby again. I had walked every floor and knew every color scheme. I had wandered every path around that hospital. I knew the name of the guy who took my meal orders and had ordered every item on the menu. I had set off the alarm and shut down the hospital three or four times after the nurse failed to disarm Annika's lo-jack before our daily walk. So many decisions, questions, fearful moments, tears and prayers happened right above where we sat and, although James and I walked this road together, for the most part, the time in the hospital was just her and I.
And so, somehow, although Tube Day dawned on January 29th and we didn't know it, although the whole gang missed out on the celebration at the removal and there was not a bit of a party that day, somehow....somehow....it seemed perfect.
After we finished our frozen yogurt, all Annika wanted to do was run to each rock and stand on it, "Yook, Mama!" And at each fountain, as she touched her hand to the water she would twist back to make sure I was following. And at each bench we encountered she would pat a spot for me to sit and ask me to help her up beside me. And we sat for about ten seconds and kept going because there was so much to explore and she was so free and full of vibrant life! Life! This precious gift. I laughed every time she screamed and squirmed to be released from my joyful hugs. "Scream away, you little life!" And that day, too, was a precious gift to me. A perfect brushstroke in the huge painting that is God's big plan. Although I don't understand all the "why's" to the place and the path that He has brought our family on, I can genuinely praise Him with all my heart because I feel and appreciate the blessings more than ever before.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-11
Skip ahead to the Dr. visit. Annika IS doing well, and it IS time.......just the Dr. feels a little uncomfortable removing the tube today. She just had another little girl have a tube removed and the hole in her stomach leaked and leaked and never healed, after having the tube for only 4 months. Annika had hers for nearly two years, so...what are the chances of a natural closure? Why not skip all the headaches of leaking and just go straight to surgery where the results are certain? When our Dr. saw how sad we were, she gave us the option to remove it that day...but it was against her advice. So we didn't.
I don't think I've ever heard my family sit so quietly as they sat that day on the drive home. Only sad exclamations pushed the silence aside on occasion, "So it isn't really Tube Day!" "We did all that cleaning for NOTHING!" "We probably have to do school now!" "I'M HUNGRY!" James and I barely spoke.
No, I didn't make them do school, but nothing could replace the joy that was lost. We were ready to celebrate with games and laughter and decorations and food!!! And the celebration had been postponed. So what to do today? Nothing much. We played mariokart and bought a dozen donuts to drown out our sorrows. Unhealthy coping mechanisms-I know. E-mail me about it.
The big question became, "When is Tube Day??" I couldn't answer. I was told to wait to hear from the surgeon. The surgery department finally called, SIX days later, to say that they could schedule Annika's consultation with the Dr. for the end of February and the tube would be removed who-knows-when later. Oh, but wait! Our Dr. had mistakenly referred her to the wrong region.
"Great!" I thought, "Maybe the right region will get her in sooner." I sent a text off to our Dr., but heard nothing back.
The next day, the appointment center called, "I'm sorry to say, your Dr. had a family emergency and will return to the office the end of March. But you still need a referral in order to have her seen in Orange County."
"Ok, great. Should I call her primary care physician? Can he refer her?"
"That might work. I don't know. I'll send a message to another GI doctor and see if he'll do it."
"Ok, what about the surgeon that placed the tube. I have his number. Is it appropriate for me to text him about this?"
"Yes. Do that."
Ok, so I did and he texted me back right away, "I'll have my nurse call you."
Fabulous! We're getting somewhere!
The phone rings and I jump up hoping to hear from our surgeons nurse, only to have the lady from the appointment desk explain to me that things really aren't looking good in getting Annika referred to Orange County. What? This is really a hard thing!
So, the nurse calls an hour or so later.
"When would you like to schedule this appointment?"
"Anytime!"
"Ok, how about tomorrow?"
"Sounds great!"
"But we still need that referral. I can't schedule it without a referral."
"You heard me say that her Dr. is gone through the end of March? Out of the country?"
"Yes, well. We need it."
".............................................how do you suggest we get it?"
silence
And then.
"She was seen by this doctor for the g-tube placement?"
"Yes."
"How about we don't call this a consultation appointment but a follow-up from the last one and we skip the referral altogether?"
"Yes! That is exactly what should happen! Let's do it!"
And so, the next day, Annika woke up with a fever of 101, but there was no way I could cancel that hard fought for appointment. Late in the afternoon, Annika and I trekked alone to see Dr. Lau. She was ready to show "Doctoh Yow" her tubie and to do what he asked (and her fever had gone down). Dr. Lau entered the room saying that 60% of removed tubes heal on their own. He was willing to schedule her for surgery, but in his opinion, it was better to try a natural healing first. I 100% agreed. I've already seen the fear in this little one waking up from general anesthetic three times and she is one miserable cookie. Enough trauma for my baby!
And then it happened. I lay Annika on the bed in the room, turned around to grab her pacifier, and by the time I gave it to her, her tube had been removed. I didn't take any pictures and I was the only one there to give a small cheer. The doctor taped some gauze over the hole in her stomach and that was that. I snatched her up as she cried in fear. She really didn't understand why tubie had to go.
In an attempt to both distract and celebrate, I walked her down to the cafeteria and bought us a shared cup of strawberry and vanilla frozen yogurt. We sat down to eat it just outside the cafeteria doors near some plants. This little one, who wouldn't open her mouth to drink even a drop of liquid a year and a half ago, stood by my side on the cement and licked the yogurt off her spoon. It was a quiet time. We took pictures. We laughed. We shared bites. Just her and I.
I looked up at the building towering above us and could pinpoint the exact rooms where, almost two years earlier, she was a tiny little one with so many newly discovered problems. Here I had learned about my baby's heart failure. I had waited tearfully for genetic testing to return which would tell me if she had a genetic disorder. I had had an endless bombardment of conversations with so many different doctors and specialists. I had learned how to use and care for an NG tube and then a gtube. I had feared for my baby's life on the day the doctor panicked over her test results. I had seen her bloated and struggling for breath after being IV'd too many fluids. I had held her down for nearly 4 hours as nurses struggled to find a vein for an IV. I was told, on my birthday, to never even think I would nurse my baby again. I had walked every floor and knew every color scheme. I had wandered every path around that hospital. I knew the name of the guy who took my meal orders and had ordered every item on the menu. I had set off the alarm and shut down the hospital three or four times after the nurse failed to disarm Annika's lo-jack before our daily walk. So many decisions, questions, fearful moments, tears and prayers happened right above where we sat and, although James and I walked this road together, for the most part, the time in the hospital was just her and I.
And so, somehow, although Tube Day dawned on January 29th and we didn't know it, although the whole gang missed out on the celebration at the removal and there was not a bit of a party that day, somehow....somehow....it seemed perfect.
After we finished our frozen yogurt, all Annika wanted to do was run to each rock and stand on it, "Yook, Mama!" And at each fountain, as she touched her hand to the water she would twist back to make sure I was following. And at each bench we encountered she would pat a spot for me to sit and ask me to help her up beside me. And we sat for about ten seconds and kept going because there was so much to explore and she was so free and full of vibrant life! Life! This precious gift. I laughed every time she screamed and squirmed to be released from my joyful hugs. "Scream away, you little life!" And that day, too, was a precious gift to me. A perfect brushstroke in the huge painting that is God's big plan. Although I don't understand all the "why's" to the place and the path that He has brought our family on, I can genuinely praise Him with all my heart because I feel and appreciate the blessings more than ever before.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-11
"There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
a time to plant and a time to uproot,3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
9 What do workers gain from their toil? 10 I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end."
AMEN!
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Two Months Later
Yes! It's been over two months since my last post and such a whirlwind of events that I've not had the time to write. Actually, I probably could have squeezed something in sometime, but everything was sad. :-( I'm finally feeling a bit of a cloudbreak. Hopefully those clouds will just blow away! So, because I feel like we've been barraged enough to be at least a little interesting, here's what kept me away........
On November 9th, I last posted about Annika's freedom from the feeding tube. It had been over a week since her last feed, and now it's been over 2 1/2 months since her last hook up to the tube. Yippee!!!
On November 11th, Annika's leg was broken. It was such a sadness to see this little girl who's been through so much have to face yet another ordeal. All my newfound time (from not dealing with a feeding tube) was taken (and more!) because of the broken leg. The first week was very painful for her and I spent a lot of time comforting, medicating, and distracting. The next couple weeks I carried her around everywhere. That took care of November.
On December 4th, my husband received an injection in his spine in an attempt to help relieve some chronic pain. I don't know how much I've mentioned this issue, but not a moment or day goes by when James is not in pain. We were hopeful for some reprieve. It didn't work.
On December 10th, James and I left for a trip to Florida-a conference, not a vacation. The whole week leading up to it was insane with all the preparations needed to leave the kids behind, on top of the fact that James was sore and in more pain (oh ironies) from his injection. That trip brought us emotionally low and than high. It was not an easy trip, but definitely a positive one. We returned home on the 15th.
On December 17th, James started having some stomach pain.
On December 18th, he came home early from work and noted that the pain seemed to be mostly focused on the right side of his abdomen. He could not sleep or find any way to relieve the pain. His kind father came over in the middle of the night to sit with the kids and we were off to the ER. We arrived at 1:15 in the morning...
On December 19th by 6:25 in the morning, James was on the operating table having his appendix removed. Fortunately, the procedure was laparoscopic, so the recovery window was 2 weeks rather than 6. He came home from the hospital that day. Our poor kids, had to spend a bit more time away from Mommy and Daddy.
On December 22nd Annika got her cast off of her leg. She couldn't walk well so I had to be nurse to both her and James.
On December 25th. Christmas, of course! :-) It was a wonderful day celebrating the birth of Jesus.
On December 26th Annika turned 2. I praise Jesus for the gift of this little one.
Sometime in the beginning of January, we discovered that Isaac had a broken toe. It had happened around the 17th of December, but was overshadowed by James' emergency appendectomy. Poor Isaac. :-( This news was the cherry on top of the bittersweet cupcake of our year.
AND THUS ENDED 2014!!!!!!!!!!
On January 5th James went back to work, but was still in too much pain to make it the whole day.
On January 11th, we had a birthday party for Adela. A Wedding Party....ha ha! (As a side note, birthday parties are not my first love. Nor my family's. I am an unpleasant person for days before I have to run a birthday party.....)
On January 13th Adela turned 6. What a beautiful little encouraging heart she is starting to show!
On January 17th I sat down to write this blog while James died in Mariokart, over and over again. Rainbow road.....
On January 21st we look forward to Annika getting her tube out!!!! There's going to be a celebration at our house on Wednesday if it happens!
That's it. And here I sit in this chair. A whirlwind of life has happened in just two short months. It's almost ridiculous. I just sit here, and it doesn't all seem real. I'm feeling a little detached. When a week of peace passes by, I feel like it's been peaceful forever around here. "How are you?" you ask. "GREAT!" I say! Really, I feel we are doing fine. I don't know if I'm experiencing some sort of disorder OR is this the peace that passes all understanding that I've wondered about?
But people have loved on us with meals and prayers and words of encouragement. I didn't cook dinner for the entire two weeks of James' recovery. God's love shining through His people enabled me to focus on my family through yet another trial. People have so faithfully supported us these past two years. It's been a witness and a testimony to me.
Thanks, guys. You know who you are.
On November 9th, I last posted about Annika's freedom from the feeding tube. It had been over a week since her last feed, and now it's been over 2 1/2 months since her last hook up to the tube. Yippee!!!
On November 11th, Annika's leg was broken. It was such a sadness to see this little girl who's been through so much have to face yet another ordeal. All my newfound time (from not dealing with a feeding tube) was taken (and more!) because of the broken leg. The first week was very painful for her and I spent a lot of time comforting, medicating, and distracting. The next couple weeks I carried her around everywhere. That took care of November.
On December 4th, my husband received an injection in his spine in an attempt to help relieve some chronic pain. I don't know how much I've mentioned this issue, but not a moment or day goes by when James is not in pain. We were hopeful for some reprieve. It didn't work.
On December 10th, James and I left for a trip to Florida-a conference, not a vacation. The whole week leading up to it was insane with all the preparations needed to leave the kids behind, on top of the fact that James was sore and in more pain (oh ironies) from his injection. That trip brought us emotionally low and than high. It was not an easy trip, but definitely a positive one. We returned home on the 15th.
On December 17th, James started having some stomach pain.
On December 18th, he came home early from work and noted that the pain seemed to be mostly focused on the right side of his abdomen. He could not sleep or find any way to relieve the pain. His kind father came over in the middle of the night to sit with the kids and we were off to the ER. We arrived at 1:15 in the morning...
On December 19th by 6:25 in the morning, James was on the operating table having his appendix removed. Fortunately, the procedure was laparoscopic, so the recovery window was 2 weeks rather than 6. He came home from the hospital that day. Our poor kids, had to spend a bit more time away from Mommy and Daddy.
On December 22nd Annika got her cast off of her leg. She couldn't walk well so I had to be nurse to both her and James.
On December 25th. Christmas, of course! :-) It was a wonderful day celebrating the birth of Jesus.
On December 26th Annika turned 2. I praise Jesus for the gift of this little one.
Sometime in the beginning of January, we discovered that Isaac had a broken toe. It had happened around the 17th of December, but was overshadowed by James' emergency appendectomy. Poor Isaac. :-( This news was the cherry on top of the bittersweet cupcake of our year.
AND THUS ENDED 2014!!!!!!!!!!
On January 5th James went back to work, but was still in too much pain to make it the whole day.
On January 11th, we had a birthday party for Adela. A Wedding Party....ha ha! (As a side note, birthday parties are not my first love. Nor my family's. I am an unpleasant person for days before I have to run a birthday party.....)
On January 13th Adela turned 6. What a beautiful little encouraging heart she is starting to show!
On January 17th I sat down to write this blog while James died in Mariokart, over and over again. Rainbow road.....
On January 21st we look forward to Annika getting her tube out!!!! There's going to be a celebration at our house on Wednesday if it happens!
That's it. And here I sit in this chair. A whirlwind of life has happened in just two short months. It's almost ridiculous. I just sit here, and it doesn't all seem real. I'm feeling a little detached. When a week of peace passes by, I feel like it's been peaceful forever around here. "How are you?" you ask. "GREAT!" I say! Really, I feel we are doing fine. I don't know if I'm experiencing some sort of disorder OR is this the peace that passes all understanding that I've wondered about?
But people have loved on us with meals and prayers and words of encouragement. I didn't cook dinner for the entire two weeks of James' recovery. God's love shining through His people enabled me to focus on my family through yet another trial. People have so faithfully supported us these past two years. It's been a witness and a testimony to me.
Thanks, guys. You know who you are.
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