I *want* to be good.

My three year old is quite a handful most days. She's smart, curious, fearless and precocious, which means that on most days, she gets into something she's not supposed to be getting into. It doesn't matter that she's been told 564 times to not do this or get into that, she must. It's as if she can't help herself.

And then it's time for me to discipline.

Then she's repentant.

"I wanna be good, Mommy," she cries through tears and tangled curls.

During one of these scenes recently, I felt a nudge and heard it a little differently. Always before, it seemed she said this because she was trying to get out of trouble. As if the wanting to be good would cancel out the thing she'd done. Or perhaps I'd find her too charming to discipline.

But this time, it seemed that I heard her heart a little differently. Perhaps for the first time, I heard her the way she really meant it.

I want to be good, Mommy. My heart and soul long to do things that please you and make you happy. I want to be obedient. I don't want to do things that get me in trouble. I want to be... good.

Sounds an awful lot like my prayers.

I want to be a good Mommy. I want to be a good wife. I don't want to yell at my kids and I don't want to argue with my husband. I want to be a good Christian and really live out my faith in a way that leaves no doubt that Jesus is in my heart and is Lord of my life; however, so often, I fail and fall short. I fear I'll be known as a hypocrit instead. I want my flesh to die so that your light in me shines.

I wanna be good.

Did you hear that, God? I want to be good.

But I can't. Not on my own. I need You. Desperately. Deeply. I can't do life or marriage or mothering or Christian without You.

I've heard it said more than once, that God wants us to be at the point of desperately needing him. That when we're not enough, He comes and fills in the rest.

If that's the case, I should be right where He wants me.

* * * * * * * * * *

This post by Ann Voskamp is wow.

She talks about stretching in a way that is relevent in this season and to my season.

Just last night, I was talking with someone about the past year. I was saying that I've been stretched so much this year that I feel like a Gumby doll. I've been streched beyond my comfort zones. I've bitten my tongue. I've learned a lot about people, church and myself. This year, I've had a mirror put in front of me and a spotlight on all the areas in which I need to grow. It's been overwhelming most of the time and nearly all year, I've doubted that I'm in the right place at the right time.

Though God has tried to whisper, He had to pretty much shout it out to me this time. Oh that I would learn to listen to--and believe--that still, small voice.

I'm not sure what will come in the new year, but I have a sneaking suspicion that more stretching and more growing are definitely part of His plan. Perhaps, at some point, I will be good.

Preparing for Resurrection Sunday

I've been thinking a lot about Easter Resurrection Sunday and am hoping to make it more than a day full of new dresses, baskets, and going from grandparents' home to grandparents' home to eat.

I want my girls to grow up anticipating this day as a day of thanksgiving to God for His Perfect Lamb. I want my girls to be giddy with excitement to have the chance to worship God and celebrate Jesus' resurrection. I want them to know that This Day is not about a bunny; it's about eternity and the Savior who came to save us.

Kristi has a great post here. I encourage you to read it and think about what she says. (There's actually a great post about Halloween here. Somewhat related.) I have to say that I agree with what is on Kristi's blog post. We try to steer away from the bunnies, chicks and other traditional Easter fare. We try to put as much focus as possible on why we are celebrating, the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

This post offers some great ideas to help celebrate this season with a Christ-centered attitude and heart. I'd like to try some of the suggestions. I *really* want one of these. I have to confess that I have never observed Lent or Advent, mostly out of ignorance because growing up, we didn't participate. The more I read and hear, the more I am convinced that I want to purposefully take time to reflect on Resurrection/First Fruits Sunday and Christmas.

In these ways and so many more, I am just baby beginning to crawl, sure to stumble as I learn to walk, having faith that God knows the intent of my heart**: to draw closer to Him.

** 1 Samuel 16:7, Hebrews 4:12

I want to get away with the Shepherd

As you can tell from my previous post, my cup is empty.

When I read Hinds Feet on High Places years ago, it really spoke to me. A passage keeps coming to mind, when Much-Afraid longs to go to the high places to be with the Shepherd. She knows she is broken and imperfect and in fact, feels so unworthy to be in His presence, but her heart longs to visit with Him.

I have been feeling like that for some time. Not only do I want to get away and have a "mommy vacation" where I can just unwind. But I've also felt this need to just slip away somewhere and spend some time with Jesus. No itinerary. No errands to run. No rush, just slowing down to spend time with Him.

My heart and soul crave it. I need it. I hope to be able to have that alone time soon.

* I found some need information about the Hind, here:
http://www.hannahscupboard.com/secrethind.html

....Too Much to Do, Not Enough Time to Post...

Reasons I haven't been blogging:

1. Trying to sort through clothes, toys and what-not for an upcoming yard sale.
2. Either re-sorting or flopping on the couch and momentarily giving up after my "helpers" have unsorted the clothes, toys and what-not for the yard sale.
3. Pressure washing our fence.
4. Peeling from the sunburn acquired from the day spent pressure washing the fence.
5. Attending the wake and funeral of my grandmother's husband.
6. Being wiped out from nursery duty at church.
7. Finding good deals (Y'all won't believe the deal I got on a Macclaren stroller!).
8. Wishing and hoping and dreaming about a beach vacation, if Hubs gets a bonus this summer.
9. My job as the girls' social director.
10. Doctors appointments and routine bloodwork.

In the meantime, I'm going to respond to a comment from my most previous post:

Great reminder. I'm very struck by how different the tone is in this entry compared with your pre-pregnancy posts. God really has changed you in some profound ways, huh? You've been walking through a LOT of refinement in the couple years I've been reading your blog. It's encouraging to watch (read?)

First, thank you. I hope I'm growing and that I am learning the lessons God has been trying to teach me.

Second, infertility is so many things, one of the primary things being frustrating. And I used my blog to vent a lot of that frustration because most people I know don't understand. Not to mention that there was an odd baby boom going on all around me at the time, further aggravating the frustration.

Third, once you go through what we have, your priorities have so quickly aligned that things that used to bug the crap outta me don't so much anymore. Really, I think it's the perspective that comes along with a situation like that. Also, and so very importantly, through my pregnancy with Abbie, I learned that, in reality, we have no control over anything. The only thing we can do is put it (whatever it is at the time) in God's hands and wait. The answer isn't ours; it's His. The timing isn't ours; it's His.

As frustrating as that was for me during when we were trying to get pregnant, oddly, it's kind of refreshing now, because I've learned that when the only thing we can do is lean on God and trust Him, we best do it, because we'll drive ourselves crazy trying to fix it on our own. During my pregnancy, God did a work in me. Some people call it a gift. But basically, it's this:

Philippians 4:7
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

People were actually kind of shocked that we weren't freaking out during my pregnancy. But, when God gives you a gift of peace, it might not make sense to a lot of people. Yes, we knew what the statistics were. Yes, we knew there was a chance our baby might not live. It was a process of leaning more on God and less on ourselves or even on modern medicine. Especially, it was a process of trusting more and more in God and His word.

No, I'm not where I need to be, but I hope I'm a few steps ahead of where I used to be.

These Mothers Share Special Gifts

I thought I had posted this before, but can't find it. Please know that I know I'm not a saint. I struggle and fail on nearly a daily basis. My child's obstacles and difficulties are so far less than so many children. Also, I don't really see my daughter as "handicapped" though most people would, especially when they hear about the syndrome and the things she's already been through, at the precious age of 1. To me, and in reality, she is the sweetest, most precious perfect child who happens to have a thicker tongue, large abdominal organs and one leg and arm longer and thicker than the other.

Someone sent this to me last year, when I was struggling and wondering how on earth I would do all that Abbie needs me to do. I hope this touches your heart as it has mine.

Above all, please share it with a mother or father of a special/medical needs child.

THESE MOMS SHARE SPECIAL GIFTS
by Erma Bombeck

(published without permission...hope she doesn't mind)

Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures, and a couple by habit. This year, nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children. Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?

Somehow I visualize God hovering over Earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation. As he observes, he instructs his angels to make notes in a giant ledger.

'Armstrong, Beth, son, patron saint Matthew. Forrest, Marjorie, daughter, patron saint Cecelia. Rudledge, Carrie, twins, patron saint...give her Gerard. He's used to profanity.' Finally he passes a name to an angel and smiles, 'Give her a handicapped child.'

The angel is curious, 'Why this one, God? She's so happy.'

'Exactly,' says God. 'Could I give a handicapped child a mother who does not know laughter? That would be cruel.'

'But has she patience?' asks the angel.

'I don't want her to have too much patience, or she will drown in a sea of self pity and despair. Once the shock and resentment wear off, she'll handle it. She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother. You see, the child I'm going to give her has his own world. She has to make him live in her world, and that's not going to be easy.'

'But, Lord, I don't think that she even believes in you.'

God smiles, 'No matter. I can fix that. This one is perfect. She has just enough selfishness.'

The angel gasps, 'Selfishness? Is that a virtue?'

God nods, 'If she can't separate herself from the child occasionally, she'll never survive. Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect. She doesn't realize it yet, but she is to be envied. She will never take for granted a spoken word. She will never consider a step ordinary. When her child says Momma for the first time, she will be present at a miracle and know it! When she describes a tree or a sunset to her blind child, she will see it as few people ever see my creations.'

'I will permit her to see clearly the things I see...ignorance, cruelty, prejudice...and allow her to rise above them. She will never be alone. I will be at her side every minute of every day of her life, because she is doing my work as surely as she is here by my side.'

'And what about her patron saint?' asks the angel, pen poised in midair.

God smiles, 'A mirror will suffice.'

Blessed

My oldest girl is 5, a very impressionable age. I think sometimes I worry too much about how to "properly" teach her things, especially about God, how to pray and the like.

Today we were "racing" each other. She loves to race and today we were racing to see who could clean a room the fastest. Really, in this case, "cleaning" is a relative term used to describe the actual act of picking up toys and clothes off the floor. She wanted to clean the TV room and she directed me to clean her room. She's a genius, I tell ya.

So, just as we were beginning our race, I ran and my pinky toe caught the corner of the baby gate. Man, did it hurt! She asked what was wrong and I told her I cracked my toe, saying that because my toe actually did pop, just as fingers crack when you squeeze them the right way.

As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted my choice of "cracked" because that's how she describes my dad's amputated toes. When she first saw them (well after the surgery... a year or two maybe) she asked what made his toes crack off.

My girl immediately ran to her bed and prayed for her Mommy's toes. I hadn't even asked her to pray for me, but she sprang into action. Her prayer was quick and urgent.

What made me giggle was when she said, "God, please touch her and if it still hurts, touch her again."

She doesn't really need to be taught, does she? At 5, she understands prayer, urgent prayer (praying right then and there) and that sometimes, we've just got to keep praying until it's better. Those are lessons we could all learn again and again.

Decisions (continued)

OTRgirl brought up some very valid points in her comment about "Decisions, decisions..."

We went to really secular schools as kids. No meditation or yoga or anything, but a definite awareness of different religions and ways of thinking. My parents were really good at being available to answer questions and help us think our way through the process. In the end, it gave us a richer, more thoughtful faith as well as some tools for articulating what we believe. It's a harder challenge for you as a parent, but I think it's doable.

I totally get her point and the other side of the coin is a very big part of why I keep thinking about this. I went to secular/public schools as well, but my experience was so different from hers. Where I grew up, it was very homogenized. Very milky. No diversity at all until I was a freshman and we had 1 African-American student who transferred to our school. Even then, it wasn't what I could consider different or diverse at all. When I graduated from high school, our school had a total of 3 African-American students.

When I went to college, it was an entirely different and very fun experience. Meeting people from around the world was so new and different. So many people find Jesus in so many different ways and at different ages and stages in life. It really was an enriching experience I want my girls to have.

Where we live now, I'm not sure that the elementary school she would attend would be much different than where I grew up. Most families of different cultures have their children transferred to another district to another elementary school that has been shaped to be "the better" elementary school, a school that accepts children whose parents are lawyers, doctors or other "important" people. That school offers violin, Japanese and other classes not offered at other elementary schools in the area.

My girls wouldn't be exposed to different cultures or beliefs until they went into middle school, so while Hubby and I could teach them about why their own beliefs are important and encourage them to think things through, I don't think they would have to deal with explaining their faith until they were older.

My problem isn't with other children or other beliefs; it is with a system that doesn't allow expression of her/our beliefs. My problem is with a system that encourages the expression of all faiths except Christianity. I can't even believe I am typing that considering the state where I live, which is considered part of the "Bible belt."

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the most hypocritical of them all?

So many times, I feel it's me.

I've talked about this before... wanting to be better, wanting more. I swear, it feels like I am just spinning my wheels, especially when it comes to my faith.

I think that a lot of it comes from not participating in church as much these days. And a lot of it comes with struggling with the last corporate fast my church just finished. I'm not sure if it was me (granted, a large part of it was), or if there were deliberate stumbling blocks out there, which I imagine does happen during a time of corporate prayer and fasting. I'm just saying that I've never struggled to find the time to pray, nor with the temptation of things I chose to cut out of my life during that period, as much as I did with this.

During this time, I came across an old blog post mentioned on a friend's old blog. She has a new one now. But the post I'm talking about is entitled, Detoxing from Church and I would encourage you to read it (and please read the entire thing). I've read it. More than once. And it really has me thinking.

Since about July of last year through now, we haven't attended church regularly. Back then, late summer 2007, it was because I had relocated to Cincinnati to wait for Abbie's birth and stay in the hospital. When we came home in September, she had an NG tube and there was no way I was taking her out in public. You know, where germs are. Then, we got word that her tongue surgery would be in January 2008, so that meant that she could not get sick in the four weeks prior to that. And that meant that we didn't go out, either. I literally ordered my groceries online, as I've mentioned before. When she came home following that surgery, we remained shut-ins for about another 2 months because of a "super bug" going around.

I nearly lost my mind during that time. I mean, just from the stress and the sheer hermitness of it. But by the grace of God, I would have. But that's another post for another time.

The seclusion from the church community has taken a toll on my Christianity. I wouldn't say that it has taken or killed my faith... I don't not believe in God any more or anything like that. But I will say that during this time, I have found how dependent I became on the church for my spiritual feeding. I learned that I really leaned on those services and that fellowship when I should be feeding myself by reading my Bible every day and by spending time in purposeful, intentional prayer, rather than quick shout-outs when I think of it. I've also learned that I really need to take more intiative in reaching out to get to know the people in not only my congregation but also my community.

While I was in Cincinnati, I did that. I did feed myself. I had to. Still, I felt so hungry.

My illustration for where we have been and what we have gone through is really, the story of the woman with the issue of blood. She was so determined and so desperate that she fought the crowd to just touch the bottom of Jesus' clothes. In my mind's eye, I can she her crawling on her hands and knees, being stepped on and shoved to the ground, never giving up until she had touched the hem of His garmet.

Really, I felt that way during our time between the prenatal testing until Abbie came home from tongue surgery in January. I was so determined and so desperate for my child, my baby and I was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure she had what she needed. I was going to beg people to pray for her, if I had to. I would've done anything. I still fiercely believe that God will completely restore and heal her body, but again, that is another post for another time.

Since January, I felt that for the first time in nearly a year, I could breathe. I admit, I got lazy. But I think I got lax because I was just so tired. Spiritually, mentally and physically, I was exhausted. Many times throughout the last year, my heart wanted an Aaron and a Joshua to come up and stand with me, holding my hands high in prayer, as they did for Moses when he became too physically tired to hold himself up in prayer. But because I had leaned on the church rather than build those personal relationships, there was no Aaron and there was no Joshua.

Could I have asked some of my friends for that? I think I could have. But I didn't, partly because I felt bad about asking for more, especially for myself. Give all your prayers up for my baby, not for me. In the process, though, I have come to realize that a Mommy needs to be healthy--physically, mentally and spiritually--to be the best Mommy, to be a role model, and I am failing at that.

My prayer and my hope is to turn things around, and quickly. This spiritual drought is wearing me out.

Out of sync

I've been feeling very "blah" lately, and it's not completely attributed to the fact that the girls and I were sick last week. It's been going on longer than that, and though I've wanted to write about it, I have instead avoided it. Because that's my M.O. when things aren't going right. I'll think about it for a while and when I'm ready, I'll write. If I ever get to that point. Two examples are: I haven't yet written about the passing of one of my mentors this past summer and I haven't finished the Abbie story yet. But I will. In my own time.

Anyway, lately I've been feeling very disconnected from my church and in many ways, from God. We are doing a corporate fast and I have to say, I've never struggled with a fast ever as much as I have with this one. I don't know why. All I know is, it's been harder for me to pray (either by time or, I hate to say it, by desire). The temptations to eat or drink during fasting times has been worse than I've ever experienced. I'm stumped as to why this time is so different.

It's been hard to keep connected to church with my work schedule. The thing that bums me out is, I know I can't get really connected until after Christmas... and I hate that, because I had hoped that we could be more involved this year than we were last year, when we couldn't even go to church because of keeping Abbie away from large crowds before her surgery.

It's just frustrating and makes my heart ache. I so wish I were better at practicing my faith, of living it every day in a way that really exemplifies Jesus and what I believe he would want me to do. So, spiritually speaking, I have the Blahs.

Rest in Peace, Linda

I have been wanting to post this for a few weeks now. Since before the appointments and before the sickness. But as with most other things in my life, I will stuff and hide my thoughts or emotions about the really deep stuff for a while, examining it and waiting because writing it or saying it out loud will make it real, and this just doesn't feel real. But it is.

About a month or two ago, something happened and I knew that there was only one person in the world who might appreciate it and think it was as funny as I did. That person was Linda. She and I were friends years ago, and had been out of touch for about six years. I don't want to get into all the reasons she and I weren't close friends any more, mostly because there are two sides to it and she cannot speak for herself now and it's not fair to talk about it now. Besides, it doesn't really matter. All I'm going to say is, we had a disagreement because we firmly believed two very different things and neither person would change her belief, so our friendship withered and died very quickly. I always hated that, but I wouldn't change my belief, and that was a deal breaker for both of us.

I tried finding her and did find her MySpace page. I was scrolling down and checking out her page, anxious to send a message and perhaps see if we could let bygones be bygones and rekindle our friendship. Or, at the very least, I wanted to share with her the story that made me think of her in the first place and tell her about the two best things that ever happened to me.

My heart began racing as I read through her comments. Comments which said things like, "Rest in Peace" and "We miss you so much." What the heck happened? I sent messages to the people who had left comments on her page and found out that Linda had a heart attack in December and died instantly. In a moment, she was gone.

I was stunned. She wasn't even 50 years old and had died of a heart attack.

I don't mean this as a pun, but I was haunted.... I kept thinking of the time that she and I were pretty close. My heart was heavy because I knew that I wasn't the Christian I should have been when we were friends.

Back then, I was just coming to terms with a lot of things about me, my life, my past and what I wanted my future to be. I was in the middle of becoming cynical and calloused and I didn't even know what I thought about church any more, to be honest, let alone know if or how I would continue living as a Christian. Not that I was wanting to be an atheist or anything... but I was so wounded by people in church and was so confused about God and why He doesn't mess with free will when innocent people are being hurt, and I was mad as hell. I was mad at God, I was mad at a lot of people in church, either for being fake or uncaring or not wanting to deal with very real, raw, hurtful things that people deal with on a daily basis, yet are taboo for "the church" to talk about (oddly enough, it wasn't long after that the Catholic church began dealing with the sexual abuse cases, thereby thrusting issues of rape, abuse, and other horridly offensive things into the mainstream media AND church dialogue).

The thing is, Linda got it. She got me. She didn't judge me for feeling what I was feeling. She just accepted me as I was. She made me laugh and helped me see other perspectives I hadn't thought of before.

It was a very difficult, dark time in my life. And I know I wasn't the Light I was supposed to be. I mean, really, I honestly believe that if you say you are a Christian, you should act like it. Not fake, but real. And I'm still trying to figure out how to be real about who and what I am now, and that God is still working on me... so while I'm not perfect, I'm still covered by the Blood. But that's a topic for another post (or bunch of them).

I began to wonder, what if I was the only person who could have made a difference in Linda's life? I probably wasn't, but we cannot assume that we aren't. We cannot assume for one second that a person we know or come into contact with has someone to show them Who Christ Is. Because there are people out there who are lost, hungry, searching and they may not ever find Jesus if someone doesn't love them, and then show them who He is. We have to be open to the fact that there are many people out there who have no one to show them The Way.

It's really easy to take life for granted, but eternity? Multiply the thoughtlessness many of us have about life by a thousand, and you'll see how much we take eternity for granted. How often do we think about eternity on a daily basis? Not much, I'm willing to bet. What if we are put into each other's life for a moment, but that the moment will have eternal consequences?

I hope that Linda found the answers she was looking for. I do. I'm afraid she didn't and my heart is so incredibly heavy because of that. Rest in peace, dear friend. I do hope you found all the answers.

2 Posts: Looking Back / Real Me vs. Perceived Me

I wanted to address something, just to touch base and move on. I didn't keep a journal during either pregnancy. Last year, while I was pregnant with Abbie, I did both email and blog updates for family and friends, mostly so people would know what was going on and how they could pray for her.

Some things are so etched in our memories that I doubt we'll ever forget them. Ask nearly any mother what time her baby was born or to tell you details about the day her baby was born, and she can. Where were you when you heard that JFK had been assassinated? Where were you on 9/11? People answer these questions without even having to think about it.

Many are memories like that of last year. The Day I wrote about last week is one of them. There were other Days that I'll talk about, because I've been thinking a lot about the past year and the past 7.5 months... how God has worked... what could have been and what is. It's amazing! Some things I didn't talk about because I was too freaked out about it to even say it aloud or write it down, such as, my baby could die. Some things were so incredible and showed God's faithfulness, that I've treasured those things in my heart until I can share them.

I don't want to really rehash things, but I think it is important, for me, anyway, to inspect them one last time before putting them away. I want to acknowledge what we went through, honor what God did and, hopefully, show the glorious work He did for my daughter. Because, can I tell you? Can I really tell you enough of God's goodness? Hardly. I talk a lot, you know that for sure, but I never want to shut up about God's faithfulness. He's been too good for me to not talk about it for eternity.

So, if you will bear with me, over the next 5 or 6 months, I'd like to re-trace my steps one last time. Not to proclaim how good I am, because I'm not. But to show you how true the words of the poem, "Footprints" really are.

**********

Real Me vs. Perceived Me

I've been thinking a lot about things. This blog and what I've written on it have gotten me into hot water on a couple of occasions. Some of the things I've said here haven't been nice. Some things have shocked people. Other things have hurt people. Though never my intention, that is what happened. While I know I should apologize for crossing lines and hurting people (and I have), should I be apologetic about being honest about who I am? About being honest about where I am life?

My question lately has been: should I apologize for trying to be real? Because, really, all I've tried to do here is be authentic, even when it wasn't nice or pretty or even a good testimony of my faith. This is the tricky thing: when you say you're a Christian, the slightest variance off the path of righteousness can cause others to point their fingers and call you a hypocrite, a liar.

I've never wanted to be those things, ever. I just want to be transparent. Even when I'm not the person I want to be. Because I think that unless we bring our faults to light, unless we confess, in one way or another, what our sins are, what our imperfections are, what our blemishes are, so that He can restore us completely, what's the point? I mean, if all I am is someone who dresses up on Sunday, puts on make-up, behaves one way, but secretly struggles with a myriad of things, why say that I believe Jesus died for me? Why say that if I won't say, "Hey, I'm messed up. I can't do it on my own. I need Jesus every day. I'm broken, but He's not finished with me yet." Because none of us is a finished product. We are all broken and in need of mending. Pretending otherwise just negates the point, doesn't it?

While I realize that me being so open about things opens the door for criticism, I still believe that being open about who I am will, in the end, be ok.

Maybe one of the problems in this is, there's the "real" me: the broken, damaged, sinful me who lives day to day, failing all the time, but always trying to be the person I think God wants me to be.

Then there's the "perceived" me, the side of me you would only know or observe in passing, the me who looks like she has it relatively together, who matches the family's clothes on holidays, the "best foot forward" me who you would only know if you didn't really get to know me, talk with me, go beyond the cordial platitudes of social settings and put forth the effort to really get into the nitty gritty of life, examining or talking about the hard stuff we all go through, and the things that only a few of us go through.

I will admit, I haven't let many people know me well enough to let me let my guard down and really open my heart. I've been hurt too many times and have learned to not put it all out there because, in the past, I've had the most hurtful things that have happened in my life thrown in my face. I am very slow to open up to others about things. But I've found that most people are so busy with their own lives and schedules that we no longer take the time to build friendships that are strong enough for the kind of intimacy I'm talking about.

In the beginning and still today, this blog is very much about examining life, taking life by the horns, enjoying life and living life. It's also about finding the Life only One can give.

But it's also about me, how I fit into the equation, and how God can take someone as messed up as I am and hopefully, make something out of it.

Listen, I don't like where I am. I haven't for a long time, but I can tell you that things have gotten a lot better. If you really knew me and knew where I'm coming from, you'd so understand that. I'm growing. The thing about plants.... they grow and that growing is continual. It's so slow, you don't even notice it, but it's always growing. I think--no, I hope and pray--that is the case with me.

My most sincere hope and prayer is that my faults and shortcomings will somehow show God's glory. If I am nothing, He is everything. If my quilt is full of holes, I hope His light always shines through.

The Quilt

As I faced my MAKER at the last judgment, I knelt before the LORD along with all the other souls. Before each of us laid our lives, like the squares of a quilt in many piles. An angel sat before each of us sewing our quilt squares of cloth off the pile.

I noticed how ragged and empty each of my squares was. They were filled with giant holes. Each square was labeled with a part of my life that had been difficult, the challenges and temptations I was faced with in everyday life. I saw hardships that I endured, which were the largest holes of all. I glanced around me, nobody else had such squares. Other than a tiny hole here and there, the other tapestries were filled with rich color and bright hues of worldly fortune.

I gazed upon my own life and was disheartened. My angel was sewing the ragged pieces of cloth together, threadbare and empty, like binding air. Finally the time came when each life was to be displayed, held up to the light, the scrutiny of truth. The others rose, each in turn, hold up their tapestries. So filled their lives had been. My angel looked upon me and nodded for me to rise. My gaze dropped to the ground in shame. I hadn't had all the earthly fortunes. I had love in my life, and laughter. But there had also been trials of illness, and death, and false accusations that took from me my world as I knew it.

I had to start over many times. I often struggled with the temptation to quit, only to somehow muster the strength to pick up and begin again. I spent many nights on my knees in prayer, asking for help and guidance in my life. I had often been help up to ridicule, which I endured painfully, each time offering it up to the FATHER in hopes that I would not melt within my skin beneath judgmental gaze of those who unfairly judged me. And now, I had to face the truth.

My life was what it was, and I had to accept it for what it was. I rose and slowly lifted combined squares of my life to the light. An awe-filled gasp filled the air. I gazed around at the others who stared at me with wide eyes, then I looked upon the tapestry before me. Light flooded the many holes, creating an image - the face of CHRIST. Then our LORD stood before me, with warmth and love in HIS eyes.

He said, "Every time you gave over your life to ME, it became MY life, MY hardships, and MY struggles. Each point of light in your life is when you stepped aside and let ME shine through, until there was more of ME then there was of you."

May all your quilts be threadbare and worn, allowing CHRIST to shine through.

Earth Day 2008

Ha! How funny that Earth Day turned out to be on a Tuesday this year.

To celebrate Earth Day 2008, Amazon.com is offering discounts up to 50% off on select green products. They have nearly anything you could imagine! Check out the special deals offered this week by clicking here.

There has been a lot of discussion in our household about global warming and whether or not it's even really happening. Someone in our home thinks that it could likely be a media ploy to focus the world's attention on something other than the things that are going on... a very good "distraction" of sorts. Someone else in our home doesn't know for sure, but thinks that over the past 10 years, the weather has been weirder than it's ever been... winters are shorter and no where near as cold as they once were, spring is short and comes at strange times, summer is either way too hot (last year, average temps were in the high 90's into the 100's), or are very cold and wet. Very extreme and no "in the middle." Autumn is still usually Autumn, but the exceptions are the times (a year and a half ago, for example), where it felt like summer in November.

That said, I believe that Christians have an obligation to take care of the earth. Not worship it. Take care of it. The Bible says that humans were given dominion over the earth. I don't think that this means that we use it and discard whatever we don't want anymore; I believe that it means that we are to use it (for food, etc.) and take care of it, tending to it as a gardner tends to his garden. After all, didn't life start in a garden?

Below are a few Bible verses that I hope reinforce my ideals and thinking about this. For me, they do.

1 Corinthians 4:1
So then, men ought to regard us as servants of Christ and as those entrusted with the secret things of God.

1 Corinthians 4:2
Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful.

Matthew 25:14-30 (New International Version)
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

The Parable of the Talents
14"Again, it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his property to them. 15To one he gave five talents[a] of money, to another two talents, and to another one talent, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. 16The man who had received the five talents went at once and put his money to work and gained five more. 17So also, the one with the two talents gained two more. 18But the man who had received the one talent went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master's money.

19"After a long time the master of those servants returned and settled accounts with them. 20The man who had received the five talents brought the other five. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with five talents. See, I have gained five more.'

21"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'

22"The man with the two talents also came. 'Master,' he said, 'you entrusted me with two talents; see, I have gained two more.'

23"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'

24"Then the man who had received the one talent came. 'Master,' he said, 'I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. 25So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.'

26"His master replied, 'You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? 27Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest.
28" 'Take the talent from him and give it to the one who has the ten talents. 29For everyone who has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. 30And throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'

Footnotes:
Matthew 25:15 A talent was worth more than a thousand dollars.

Note: Though this parable talks about talents, or money, I think it can apply to anything we have been given trust over.

A Year and A Day Ago...

I'm weird. I remember things. Lots of things. When it comes to remembering events and dates, I'm your girl.

In January, I posted that it was the 1-year anniversary of getting my first and only positive pregnancy test in 14 cycles. While that may be no big deal to some, for anyone who has had to "try" very long, that's a huge deal.

One year and one day ago, on April 17, 2007, I got the call.

The call that started with, "Your blood work didn't come back right."

Back then, I flowered over things and probably sugar-coated things for both the sake of others and myself. While I did go over the major things the doctors were telling us, I left so much out. So. Much. I think that now we are on this side of it, maybe I can open up a little more about what we were really going through.

It was a Tuesday morning. The phone rang at my office. I answered and the person on the other end of the line asked for me. "This is she," I responded. I knew the voice. It was Kim, my doctor's nurse, and I had been expecting her call. I had been expecting her to call and say, "We got your blood work back and everything is ok." Instead, I heard:

"Hi, Aimee. This is Kim. Dr. S. wants to talk with you about your blood work."

Immediately, all together and all at once, I felt my cheeks flush, my stomach begin to churn, nausea begin and a lump swelled in my throat. Tears began filling my eyes while I waited for my call to be transferred and my doctor pick up. I knew it was bad. He never spoke with patients about test results unless the results were bad.

While I was waiting, a co-worker came out to my desk, saw me trying to keep it together and asked, "What's wrong?" I think I freaked her out because she got the other admins and I think I whispered "Just a minute" or something along those lines... it's all pretty fuzzy because my mind was racing a million miles a second.

"Aimee? This is Dr. S. Your blood work came back and your AFP levels were elevated."

"Ok." For the remainder of our conversation, I tried to limit my responses to "Uh-hu" or "Ok" because I was afraid that if I had to speak actual words, I would break down and be a puddle of emotions. The tests were what is normally done during pregnancy, called a "Triple Screen" that tests for things such as Downs Syndrome, neural tube defects (such as Spina Bifida, Gastroschisis, etc.) and so on.

"Elevated AFP levels can indicate a neural tube defect. I want you to come in tomorrow for an ultrasound so we can see what's going on."

"Ok."

"This doesn't necessarily mean that something is wrong, but it's enough to cause concern, so we want to do the ultrasound to take a look at the baby. Can you be here tomorrow?"

"Uh-hu."

"All right. I'm going to give you back to Kim and she'll schedule you to come in."

"Ok. Thanks, Dr. S."

Once the ultrasound was scheduled, I put the phone on the hook and finally blinked, releasing tears that had been held back for as long as I could hold them, because I knew if I let one go, they would all come, en force, unstoppable.

By this time, I think almost everyone in the office is standing there, staring at me, waiting for explanation. I tried to tell them, while at the same time, absorb, what was going on, its enormity and what it all meant. I immediately called my husband and the sound he made was that of someone who has had the wind knocked completely out of them.

We were stunned. Breathless. Overwhelmed.

I immediately thought of my friend, Ashley, from high school. Ashley had spina bifida. She was one heck of a fighter who had endured several back surgeries. By knowing her, I knew what it meant if my baby had spina bifida. She was all I could think about for the next 24 hours.

On Wednesday, April 18th, I went to my doctor's office for the ultrasound (u/s). I couldn't believe how much had changed in the four years since I was pregnant with my oldest. The practice had purchased a new ultrasound machine and there was now a flat screen monitor that allowed better viewing by the parents-to-be.

The u/s tech was quiet and all business. She kept checking around, but it didn't take as long as I thought. She left the room.

"This isn't a good sign," I told Paul.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I think she went to go get the doctor. If she did, that's a bad sign."

"Ah, I bet she just had to go to the bathroom or something."

The tech came back with Dr. D., my doctor's partner in the practice and the person who delivered my first baby. My heart sank and tears welled in my eyes.

Dr. D. took the ultrasound probe and began looking around. Then she started explaining things. My heart sank when I saw what they had been looking at. You could clearly see something going on in there. I've never been good at reading u/s images, but it was clear that something was going on that shouldn't be.

She explained that she thought it was a gastroschisis. It could be an omphalocele, that they would look at the images and call me with their final diagnosis. But, she said, trying to assure us that everything was ok, this is manageable. A gastroschisis is pretty much the easiest thing to deal with, she said. If you're going to have a defect or problem, that's the one to have, she said. Omphaloceles tend to be associated with chromosomal abnormalities, but she really didn't think it was that... she was pretty sure it was a gastroschisis.

I drew a deep, long breath.

"Ok," I said, "This is manageable."

"Yes! It is. This is very manageable." She chirped.

While I know she was trying to be optimistic and helpful, it still hurt. "Manageable" wasn't what I had prayed and asked God for. "Healthy" is what I asked of Him. At this point, I began crying but she was really wonderful about it. A lot of "It's ok"'s and a few offerings of tissues.

We asked if they could yet tell if our baby was a boy or girl.

"We'd like some good news," Hubby said. I'll never forget how sad his voice was. It really didn't matter if our baby was a boy or girl, we just wanted to know, to celebrate. The tech said, "It looks like a girl." We asked if there was any way she was wrong and she looked around some more. This was definitely a girl.

We left the doctor's office, still overwhelmed and wondering what all this meant for our baby, our family, us.

We agreed to not tell anyone about the baby being a girl just yet.

On Thursday, Dr. S. called me again. He said that he didn't feel comfortable making a diagnosis of omphalocele or gastroschisis based on the images they had taken. He wanted to refer me to a Maternal-Fetal specialist who was wonderful, very good, very knowledgeable.

About a week later, we saw Dr. C. He looked and within a few minutes said definitely and unquestionably, it was an omphalocele. And that we were going to do an amniocentesis.

"When?" I asked.

"Right now," he responded.

"I didn't plan on having an amniocentesis today. Are you sure we have to do it today? What about the risks of miscarriage?"

"You're not getting it. You have to have this done. Today."

I completely freaked out inside. Long had I heard how having an amniocentesis was very risky, how high your chances of having a miscarriage are following an amnio... lots of things like that.

I had watched "Babies: Special Delivery" (a show about high risk pregnancies and births) and countless other shows that showed an amnio being performed before. I knew what to expect and was scared, to put it very lightly.

I laid flat on my back. The doctor and u/s tech started scrubbing my growing belly with a clear cleanser and then iodine. All the time, I'm taking huge, deep breaths. I always do that when I'm really nervous or upset. Usually, it works because it helps slow down my pulse and, well, it's just my coping method. All people are different.

Before he started, he told me that I would have to take shallow breaths. What did I do? Hold my breath. Stupid. I was too afraid that any breath I drew wouldn't be shallow and that would be trouble.

"Wanna watch?" he asked as he began.

"No, I'm a chicken. I'd watch it on other people, but not on myself."

So it began. It hurt, but just a bit. I think it probably wouldn't have hurt as much as it did had I relaxed. I cramped. That was scary, but he said it's to be expected. I laid there for a minute, but then the doctor wanted me to sit up. He thought I was going to pass out.

Dr.: "Are you ok?"

"It hurts a little."

"You know, you’re supposed to milk it a little. That’s worth at least dinner at Logan’s tonight."

At this point, Hubby chimed in, "Waita sec. She had Olive Garden at lunch today." [The office does lunch out for employee birthdays and we celebrated one that day.]

Dr.: "You weren’t the one taking that needle, buddy." [The moment I was convinced this was the perfect perinatologist for me.]

I went home and my husband was wonderful about making me rest (not that he had to make me! All I wanted to do was curl up on the couch or in bed. I felt awful.)

One of my dearest friends, a friend since we were in junior high together and who is now a doctor, called that evening to see how it went. Can I just say that Dr. K. H. is pretty much the most amazing woman and best friend ever? She reassured me that, today, the risk of miscarriage after an amnio is hardly anything and that the data out there regarding that risk is very old, outdated and is based on methods used 20 years ago. Today, amnios are much safer, she said. Whew! A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. Then, she made me promise and swear to her that I would not get online and research anything relating to this or to amnios. I thought she was pretty much going overboard, but she's one of my best friends, so, sure, no research. I didn't feel like it, anyway.

My Aunt M. called and she gave me a lot of the same info regarding today's amnios vs. the Amnio of Years Gone By. I also want to say that through this, Aunt M. has been INCREDIBLE. She's just wonderful and I have trusted her and relied on her the same way I have our teams of doctors (both mine and Abbie's).

The day after the amnio, my regular doctor, Dr. S. called to ask me how I was feeling and if I had any questions. With each call, with each display of compassion, I just grew to love him as part of our family. Though I know it wasn't quite that kind of bond, I so appreciated that he personally called to check on me. I have tremendous respect for him and a feeling of appreciation that runs deeper than typical of a patient for a doctor. It wouldn't be the last time he would check in on me like that.

The initial results were due on the following Monday. The initial report covered whether or not the baby had a trisomy 13, trisomy 18 or Down’s Syndrome. I hadn’t heard anything by Monday afternoon, so I called the office and was told that everything came back ok. And that our baby is a girl (they check the X and Y chromosomes, too). The ultrasound was confirmed, and we felt that at this point, we could tell people that the baby was a girl.

After getting the initial results back, I finally Googled the terms trisomy 13 and trisomy 18. I felt guilty, horribly guilty, for being relieved that our baby didn't have either of these. A trisomy is when a baby has three, instead of two, of a chromosome. Babies who have trisomy 13 or trisomy 18 never live. Now I knew why K. had made me promise her to not do research. How thankful I was that I didn't have to live 3 days in a mental hell, wondering if my baby would live or die. It was incredibly difficult to read their stories, see how they endured what they had. I may share a story or two at some point.

About a week later, we got the complete report and everything else came back ok, meaning, no chromosomal abnormalities, no other organs are affected besides the intestines and there are other problems. Well, that's what we thought, anyway. I wouldn't learn until a couple of months later that Beckwith-Wiedemann Syndrome, a chromosomal disorder, is not detected by an amnio. For a brief while, I believed that the "only" thing going on with my baby was her intestines being outside her body.

In June, I would learn so much more.

Stand

I think that this stuff (below) is what the song writer of the song, "Stand," must have had in mind.

This week's promise: God cares for the persecuted

Have you ever wished you could flee?

Oh, how I wish I had wings like a dove; then I would fly away and rest! I would fly far away to the quiet of the wilderness. How quickly I would escape—far away from this wild storm of hatred. ~ Psalm 55:6-8 NLT

"Nothing great was ever done without much enduring." ~ Catherine of Siena

Resist flight

David was a man after God's own heart and a great, anointed king. But in many ways, he was just like us. Psalm 55 is an example. When the pressure was on, David just wanted to run away.
All of us have had similar urges. When life gets intense and troubles seem to offer no way out, we just want to get out of the situation. Every Christian who has been prepared by God and stretched to his or her limits can relate: There are times when we would do anything if God would just remove us from our trial. We'll pray for ways of escape, but God often leaves us surrounded until His time is right.

God has no scorn for such feelings. He made us and He knows our frailties. He understands our impulse to flee from whatever difficulties we face. But He also insists on our endurance, because it has spiritual results that nothing else can accomplish. And there is no way to learn endurance other than simply to endure. We can't learn it in principle or in theory; only pain can teach it to us.

The good news for those who go through intense trials and suffering is that once the impulse to flee is broken, God delivers. When endurance is complete, God removes the tribulation we endured. Every fear is followed by blessing (Psalm 55:4-8, 16-18). Our God does not leave us in our troubles. He has put us there to discover His provision; He will not withhold it indefinitely. There will be a day of deliverance.

Edited to add: These profound thoughts are not mine. I thought I had effectively copied and pasted the entire thing. The above is adapted from The One Year® Walk with God Devotional by Chris Tiegreen, Tyndale House Publishers (2004), entry for May 16.

God is real.

I love this story. Hope you enjoy...

This week's promise: God cares for the persecuted

Turning evil to good

Don't be intimidated by you enemies.…you have been given not only the privilege of trusting in Christ but also the privilege of suffering for him.
Philippians 1:28-29 NLT

Finding God in Russia

In the 1930's, Stalin ordered a purge of all Bibles and all believers. In Stravropol, Russia, this order was carried out with a vengeance. Thousands of Bibles were confiscated, and multitudes of believers were sent to the gulags where most died for being "enemies of the state."

Years later, CoMission sent a team to Stavropol. When the team was having difficulty getting Bibles shipped from Moscow, someone mentioned the existence of a warehouse outside of town where these confiscated Bibles had been stored since Stalin's day.

After much prayer by the team, one member finally got up the courage to go to the warehouse and ask the officials if the Bibles were still there.…The answer was, "Yes!"

The next day The CoMission team returned with a truck and several Russian people to help load the Bibles. One helper was a young man—a skeptical, hostile, agnostic collegian who had come only for the day's wages. As they were loading Bibles, one team member noticed that the young man had disappeared. He had slipped away, hoping to quietly take a Bible for himself. What he found shook him to the core.

The inside page of the Bible he picked up had the handwritten signature of his own grandmother. It had been her personal Bible. Out of the thousands of Bibles still left in the warehouse, he stole the one belonging to this grandmother—a woman persecuted for her faith all her life. He was found weeping—God was real.

R. Kent Hughes in 1001 Great Stories and Quotes

Adapted from The Prayer Bible Jean E. Syswerda, general editor, Tyndale House Publishers (2003), p 1285.