Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

Most women seem to do pregnancy well. They glow. They blossom like a spring flower. They look fashionable in their maternity attire.


They dance through 40 weeks of impending motherhood with grace. They are able to pee in a cup without getting it on their hand. They don't throw up during the gestational diabetes test. They don't pass out when giving a blood sample.


They gain just the right amount of weight. They don't get stretch marks or varicose veins. Their labors are short and easy. Their babies are born looking like they are ready to model for Pampers.


And then there's me.


Nothing about my pregnancies has ever been easy. My medical chart reads like the section in What to Expect When You're Expecting under the heading "When Something Goes Wrong."


I've had 1st trimester and 3rd trimester loss. Preterm labor, placenta previa, pre-eclampsia, high blood pressure, prolonged labor, postpartum hemorrhaging. Thus after we had Brady, I mentally put my uterus in retirement. All done. I was very much at peace with this even though I still longed for more children. But God provided a beautiful way for us to add to our family through adoption and we felt called to adopt older and special needs children.


And then on the morning of November 1 we discovered that I--at 40 years old--was pregnant! Although I was so incredibly grateful that God would bless us with another child, I wondered why in the world He had granted us the miracle of another biological child when we were so passionate about the miracle of adoption. I felt terribly undeserving of such a gift when many of my precious friends have never been able to get pregnant. But I have learned that God's plan is always so much better than anything I could ever dream up. I have learned to say thank you when I'm given a gift so extravagant, so unexpected, so undeserved.


To be honest, this pregnancy has been perhaps the easiest of all of them. Yes, I was sick those first 15 weeks and I've been so exhausted the entire 34 weeks, but really it hasn't been that bad. I can give a urine sample without peeing on my hand, I passed the gestational diabetes test the first time, my blood pressure has been low and my weight on target. I think I have finally moved from amateur to professional.


But just as I was beginning to get a little cocky about having a worry-free pregnancy, we hit a little turbulence last week.


Thursday I had one of my very frequent doctor's appointments. You see with my age and my history, I have VIP status at my OB/GYN. I get to drop in a lot. And when I do, I get to stay a long time. I might just forward my mail for the next few weeks.


One of the things I get to do as a VIP patient is fetal non-stress tests (NSTs). This is basically where they strap a couple monitors to my big belly. One tracks kicks and contractions. The other tracks the baby's heartbeat.


Well, last Thursday I was there for my NST and my precious midwife came in to check on me. She asked if I'd like something sweet to drink and I said, "Sure. And could I have a mani/pedi while I here, too?" (No, not really. Would be a total waste of money at this point because I can't see my feet.)


She informed me that the baby wasn't moving much and a sweet drink might get her going. Well, one Sprite later, Baby Girl was still not feeling like dancing for the doctors. And her heart rate was showing some signs of distress.


They moved me to the next room for an ultrasound. I was thrilled to see her cute little self
seemed okay. The dear lady who does the sonograms there quickly announced that she looked great and was even sporting a little hairdo. My heart rejoiced.


Then she left to talk with my midwife and doctors. For a long time. And my midwife returned to say that the baby looked great, but she was breech and the cord was wrapped around her neck. She reminded me that this is very common but with my history of loss due to a cord accident (Luke's story is here), she wanted to play it safe. They wanted me to see a specialist with ultrasound equipment that could determine if there was any problem with the blood flow through the cord.


I picked my boys up at school and headed home to fix them lunch and wait for the specialist's office to schedule an appointment. As soon as I walked in the door, the phone rang. They asked me to come as soon as possible. I had just enough time to call my husband who was having lunch with some friends from church and I sent a quick e-mail to my prayer group of moms from our children's school. I wasn't sure what was ahead, but wanted to enlist prayer support just in case.


As I waited in the reception area, I counted the baby's kicks and was grateful for each one. I was told that if she was in danger, they might do an emergency c-section. I couldn't believe that I might actually get to hold her so soon. But I also couldn't believe I was back on the same journey that 7 years ago ended in so much pain.



As their sonographer was doing the ultrasound, she was completely quiet. She certainly didn't have the bedside manner that the sweet sonographer had at my doctor's office. I wondered if everything was okay and finally asked. I got a quick, "Fine." I made my own uneducated assessment of the baby I could see on this high tech screen. She looked perfect.



The sonographer left to consult with the doctor. Brad and I sat in the dark room. I was still on the examining table with my belly covered in cold goo. We waited over an hour to hear if she was okay. We spent much of that time praying. By this time, word had traveled fast and many others were praying as well.


The doctor came in with a face that said, "I've got good news and bad news." He shared that the baby was no longer in danger. She had flipped and was head down and the cord was no longer around her neck. Praise God! I envision God unwrapping that cord just as so many were praying on her behalf.


But he continued sharing that they saw some concerns. I have an excess of amniotic fluid which can increase the risk of cord accidents. (This was the case with all my pregnancies.) He also shared that the baby was much smaller than she should be at almost 34 weeks, especially since my other babies have been over 8 pounds at delivery. He said that could indicate a birth defect. There were also some measurements that can indicate a chromosomal problem like Down Syndrome. He saw on my chart that we had chosen not to do any invasive testing for birth defects and he couldn't understand why at my age we didn't. We tried to explain that we didn't want to do the amnio because of my history of miscarriage when it wouldn't change the outcome. We would carry this baby to term regardless of any problems.


We left that office relieved and rejoicing that the baby was no longer in danger. We honestly are not concerned that our child might have special needs--we know that she is a Masterpiece of God. We felt led to adopt a child with special needs and Down Syndrome was one of the needs that we seriously considered. But still, I was troubled by the appointment.


You see, this baby is being knit together inside me by the Lord God Almighty. Just as Psalm 139 so beautifully describes "my frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place."


Every time we have an ultrasound, we get a peek into this secret, sacred place. We should behold this miracle in progress with awe and reverence. So for this doctor to use words like "defect" . . . well, I was offended. Don't get me wrong. I am so very grateful for the technology that can determine problems, prepare parents medically and emotionally for challenges ahead, and potentially save a baby's life. It was just the way that he flippantly assessed our baby that bothered me. Who is he to find fault with the handiwork of the Almighty God?


I go back to the specialist tomorrow to be monitored again. This week I'll divide my mornings between the two offices on my VIP tour. I am so very tempted to print out a copy of Psalm 139, stick it in a frame, and hang it in the sonographer's examining room.

We would appreciate any prayers for the safety of this little life God's has blessed us with--this little girl, perfectly made in His image.


I haven't posted a "Sunday Dinner" in a long time, but today I have two scriptures that are dear to me this week.


One is a declaration of God's majesty as the Creator:

13 "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. "
14 "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well."

15 "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,"

16 "your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."

Psalm 139:13-16, NIV

The other is a scripture that I claimed last Thursday and will continue to claim this week:

"You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance."

Psalm 32:7, NIV

This week's dessert of song is based on that scripture--"You Are My Hiding Place" by Selah. They do such an amazing job with this beautiful song that my mom used to sing to me as a child.

May you find refuge and deliverance in Him this week.

Much Love,

Kathie

The Beauty of Imperfection

We were doing some cleaning out of old toys and I found something that made me laugh.



Yes, it's the game Perfection with only one remaining piece. That pretty much sums up my life.

I had one of these games myself when I was little and remember how badly I wanted to get every piece in place before the timer ended and the whole platform of pieces popped up in my face. I must admit that as an adult, I have created my own games of Perfection--setting off my own internal stop watch to get things done perfectly and on time. The time of year that I seem to be the guiltiest of this crazy--often unwinable game--is Christmastime.

Last year I missed our church's annual Christmas women's tea and I was supposed to be the speaker. I was living in Guatemala (trying to finish Daniel's adoption) at the time and couldn't attend so I wrote down my thoughts and a sweet friend read it for me.

I've included it below because, right now as the clock is ticking and I'm trying so hard to make Daniel's first Christmas at home special, I need my own little reminder of the beauty of imperfection.

Missing Most of My Pieces,
Kathie


The Ultimate Gift Exchange

My blood pressure begins to rise as soon as the Christmas decorations appear at the mall. I know I should feel joy and peace in celebrating the season, but instead I feel a knot in my stomach. (Or perhaps it’s that Cinnabon I just inhaled.)

Anyway, the stress I’m feeling is simply the worry over not finding the perfect gift for every person on my list. I’ve actually been known to buy a gift, get it home and have gift-buyer’s remorse, and return it for something else. There’s a customer service gal at Target who knows me by name. She recommends gift cards for my affliction.

Can you imagine if the three wise men had been three wise women? They would have agonized over the gifts for the Baby Jesus. I can hear them now.

“We don’t really know his size,” comments Wise Woman One. “What if we get him an outfit and he’s already outgrown it.”

Then Wise Woman Two pipes up: “Remember that he’s been wearing nothing but swaddling clothes. I’m sure anything would be appreciated. If you enclose a gift receipt, they can always exchange it.”

Wise Woman Three expresses her opinion: “I think we should go with something personalized. Maybe something engraved with his name and birth date.”

Wise Woman Two reminds: “But we aren’t really certain of the actual date. Reading the stars can be so unpredictable and apparently Mary hasn’t gotten around to sending out a birth announcement.”

Well, you see how this could have been a disaster. Can you imagine the nativity set with one wise woman holding a gift receipt, another a Target bag, and another with a monogrammed onesie? But if Biblical times are anything like modern day, the gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh were probably bought and wrapped by the wise men’s wives anyway.

These days it’s all about having the perfect holiday, perfect decorations, perfect menu, and perfect gift. It’s easy to fall into the trap that anything less is unworthy. But several years ago, one of my kiddos helped me see gift giving in a different way.

It was when Olivia was about 4 years old and was invited to one of her first birthday parties at a neighbor’s house. We were new to the neighborhood and Abby was her first little buddy. I remember displaying the invitation on the fridge and Olivia counting down the days on the calendar. We went to the store for the sole purpose of finding Abby the perfect gift. I don’t remember exactly what it was but remember it was an odd shape of plastic and cardboard packaging that would be a challenge to wrap.

I tried to talk Olivia into going with a gift bag (in my opinion it’s an invention right up there with electricity). But, no, she had picked out some princess wrapping paper and was determined to wrap it herself.

We got the item home and, as all good obsessive-compulsive disorder mommies would do, I tried to assist her efforts. She looked up with those big brown eyes and said, “Mommy, this is MY gift to Abby. I want to wrap this all by myself.”

She cut with her safety scissors and folded the paper carefully around the corners of the package. She secured that sucker with a thousand pieces of tape to make sure there was no chance of Abby seeing the surprise before it was time. But that was not enough. She searched through our box of stickers and adorned the package with an adhesive assortment of American flags, cartoon kittens, and red and pink hearts. And the final touches were sequins and feathers glued on top. And it looked . . . like it was in pain. Although the attached card read “To Abby, From Olivia” all I could see was “Help Me!”

It sat overnight on our dining room table. (However it’s hard to remember a time in my life that a birthday gift wasn’t bought on the way to a party and wrapped at red lights.) Brad saw the explosion of paper, tape, and feathers and commented: “It’s taking every bit of your will power not to rewrap it--isn't it?”

I blurted out: “Oh, how badly I want to! This is the first gathering with our new neighbors and we show up with THIS. I have beautiful paper and an assortment of curling and wired ribbons and cute little trimmings for the top. I could have done this present in plaid and polka dotted perfection!!!! What if they laugh at Olivia when she brings in her gift? But she is so proud of it, I just can’t rewrap it without breaking her heart.”

Well, we left for the party the next morning. Olivia insisted on carrying the gift. I was relieved because I didn’t want any credit for the gift-wrapped mess. We walked in to see a table of gifts that looked like they were taken from a Hallmark ad. I began to pray, “Oh, please God, don’t let anyone laugh at Olivia.”

Olivia ran to the birthday girl and handed Abby the gift. Liv was beaming ear to ear and said, “This is for you. I picked it out and wrapped it all by myself.” It was the longest pause at a birthday party I can remember (with the exception of a shindig where a tray of red-iced Elmo cupcakes spilled onto new white carpet). But Abby’s response was worth all the goodie bags in the world: “It’s soooooo beautiful!!! I love it!” All the other moms saw what was going on and piped up with “oh, I love the feathers, and, wow, that’s a great use of tape.”

It then occurred to me that the most precious gifts aren’t necessarily the ones that are perfectly packaged. They are the ones that are given with the greatest love. The most beautiful gift of song isn’t necessarily Celine Dion backed with a full orchestra . . . it’s a choir of children praising the Lord off-key. The most precious jewelry isn’t found in a blue box from Tiffany’s . . . it’s a necklace made from macaroni noodles delivered with a sticky kiss. And the most special gift isn’t one of extravagance . . . it’s one of complete sacrifice.

As I long to give myself as an offering to the only One who is perfect, I often feel like Olivia’s odd-shaped package . . . I want so badly to be a perfect reflection of my Creator yet most days I’m a mess of tape and feathers and poorly chosen stickers. I’m broken and flawed . . . how could a King so perfect love a servant so imperfect? What could I possibly give that shows the extent of my love for Him?

And then I remember Romans 5:8. The words move me to tears. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (NIV)

Wow. He loved me as a sinner. Undeserving of grace. An offering of brokenness. Yet His gift to me was the sacrifice of Perfection, beautifully nailed to the cross.

So as you think about what you can give your King . . . give out of love, out of sacrifice, without concern for imperfections, without thought of what others will think of your humble offering. Don’t be a wise woman seeking a perfect gift for a perfect King. Be a living macaroni necklace delivered with a sticky kiss for your Heavenly Father.