Carried

I must confess I've been acting like a five year old this week as it pertains to God. There's been some foot-stomping, some finger-wagging, some pleading and screaming, some silent treatment, and much crying in His arms. I am arrogant in my ignorance of His plan--I have learned from the best on how to act when things aren't going how I want them. My teacher is a girl named Ella--one sweet, sassy, stubborn little thing--she reminds me so much of myself in many ways, I just hide my strong will better than she does.

We have dear friends going through devastating loss and unthinkable pain--we are crushed by news that has come since last Thursday . . . a precious friend who lost twin baby girls at 26 weeks after losing  two other babies last year; our neighbors of 15 years who lost a husband/daddy to melanoma; and our close friends whose 12 year old daughter is battling cancer and they are running out of options for her treatment. Our whole family is heartbroken for those we love. I've gone about my days with a lump in my throat. It takes but a whisper of a little voice asking why I am sad and the dam of tears breaks into sobbing.

I can't remember a time I've been this broken since our own loss of our son (that I shared about in my last post) and then weeks later the loss of my mother to cancer.  Perhaps being "acquainted with grief" I have appointed myself some kind of safety-patrol of pain and I'm not liking the answer God is giving these families. But God is teaching me to surrender and to trust--this lesson was taught to me again this week in a hospital room.

When we adopted Ella, we knew her medical needs were significant. I remember our first appointment with the spina bifida clinic shortly after coming home from China. The nurse asked me if I had a medical background--she was trying to make sense of our decision to adopt a girl with special needs. She probably pondered "why else would anyone choose a life of surgeries, therapies, of disabilities?" She seemed alarmed to learn that I was an English major, I still chuckle at the look on her face--some days I too question placing myself on this high dive as I look down into a pool deep with diagnoses I can't pronounce or spell. But you see, we chose Ella, not her medical needs. I think it probably takes adoptive parents who are naive enough to make that leap of faith and know whatever is ahead God will equip us for. We love her exactly as she is and as her mom and dad we are just trying to give her the best quality of life possible.

At every doctor's appointment I brag about her--I tell the doctors that she has already exceeded expectations of what we were told she would be able to do. I share about how strong she has gotten with PT and show how quickly she can move with her walker. I pull out my phone to display photos of her climbing the rock wall at the playground. They humor me and then burst my bubble: "But you do know what her future holds, don't you? As she grows, her upper body will not be able to be supported by her lower body. She will most likely need a wheelchair to get around." The only words I hear are "most likely" which I translate into "we don't know what we are talking about" and in my mind I am determined that my girl will prove them all wrong.

But I do listen when my daughter tells me her short list of big dreams: "I want to run like everyone else on the playground, I want to wear pretty shoes like the other girls,  . . . I want a cell phone." That last one will have to wait, and I do cram those leg braces into modified Mary Janes and fur trimmed boots as best I can, but haven't yet figured out how to make that first request happen. And that makes me feel like I have failed her.

And so a couple months ago her sweet neurosurgeon explained there was one more surgery they could do to help her walk. Her tibia bones rotate out at a 45 degree angle thus causing her feet and hips to compensate for the improper alignment. Without surgical intervention she would never walk with a normal gait. He explained that they would saw the bones under the knees, position them correctly, then reattach with metal plates that would be taken out in a year or so. And as any responsible parent would do, I Googled this procedure to make sure he wasn't making it up and we decided to proceed.

So this past Monday we checked into the hospital for her tibia osteotomy. She wasn't the least bit afraid and announced to everyone she met that we were making her legs better. She was a trooper post surgery and handled the pain like a champion. We had some sweet mother/daughter bonding time with room service and movie night but by Tuesday afternoon we were ready to go home. As I packed, Ella asked if they were ready to take those heavy casts off. I reminded her that she would have those on for several weeks--I saw the disappointment. She had not understood the timetable and wasn't happy about it.  "But I thought I would be able to run when this was over?!" she pleaded. I did my best to put a positive spin on the coming weeks of coloring and play dough and quality snuggle time.

She pulled it together until her consolation prize arrived. The hospital had ordered a wheelchair and they were insisting that we leave in it. It was so big her legs didn't even reach the foot rests. It was black and metal and must certainly have looked ugly in her world that is adorned in pastels and themed with princesses. She has seen wheelchairs many times. Her big eyes watch them come and go at our PT appointments. She sees children completely dependent on them and didn't want any part of it--instead of her seeing the assistance it could be, she saw a huge step backwards after a year of great progress. There was a bait and switch in her mind--she didn't go through all this to leave the hospital in a wheelchair. I told her to imagine it was Cinderella's carriage taking her to the castle.  Major eye roll. Had she known profanity, room 4247 would have suddenly not been appropriate for all audiences. She instead gave me a look that spoke volumes and went into full-blown meltdown as the nurse and I put her in the chair.

I got to handle this little hospital adventure solo because kids under 12 aren't allowed during cold and flu season and Brad was home taking care of the others. I got us in the car and headed home--I was ready to have the home field advantage for the rest of the recovery. Ella drifted off to sleep with a pout still on her face. Mr. GPS guided me to familiar territory then I chose to go home a different way because I knew this time of day which roads and highways to avoid and needed to make a stop at the pharmacy. But he didn't like that I wasn't following his computerized route. He started insisting that I make a U-turn at the next light, or turn right, or turn around. I thought, "Oh great, now I'm getting attitude from an app on my phone!"

I turned the GPS off and drove the rest of the way in silence. I couldn't help but see the parallels between how I was acting toward God and how Ella had acted toward me. She didn't understand why we had put her through such pain--even breaking bones and taking her to scary places--when she was just fine before. She didn't know that it is because we love her and in the long-run it will help her--that we agonized over options and felt this was absolutely best for her. She doesn't know that although 8 weeks of casts seems like an eternity now, it will be nothing in the scope of her entire life. She doesn't know that she now has legs positioned correctly and grafted with metal--she will be stronger than she would have ever been on her own. And then I pondered my own spiritual adoption--chosen in spite of my brokenness, loved even when I am hard to love, ransomed so that I would not be subject to the consequences of my sin, and in my weakness I'm am made whole being grafted and held by God's strength.

When we returned home Tuesday night, we got the crushing news that our friend Kylie was too sick to go on her Make-A-Wish trip to New York City. Her dad's Caringbridge post confirmed it . . . it is without question the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read. We pulled our daughter Ava aside to share the news with her first--Kylie is like a sister to her and Kylie's sister Jenna has been one of Ava's closest friends for many years. I wished I had had words of wisdom. I'm the mama bird who is supposed to chew the big stuff into little bits before passing it along to the babies but the pieces were still too big for her . . . for us all  . . . to digest.

Lately I have acted less like a disgruntled preschooler and more akin to Mr. GPS. I am so sure that my ending to the story is better--that my route is in fact the best way to get from point A to point B--that I will not even consider other options. I know firsthand that His plan is perfect yet I still cry out to God begging for a U-turn, an alternative route, a miracle. I know that God does allow us to go through hard times so that we will draw closer to Him but with these families I just can't wrap my mind around a why--already such faithful believers, they had already pointed others to Him in their trials, they were already glorifying Him in their lives. Wouldn't it certainly bring Him more glory to heal a little girl of cancer?! But His ways are not my ways. His thoughts not my thoughts. But His grace is sufficient and I must rest in that. The only tragedy worse than losing a loved one is losing a loved one and not having the Almighty Comforter to carry you through it. He has been so faithful to me during my own times of sorrow, how can I question the wisdom of His plan. And yet as I type this, I still petition for his healing for this precious young lady.

Many have asked how is Miss Ella? She's doing well. Today she was playing with her toys and looked up at me and said, "I love you, Mom" out of nowhere. It took me by surprise and I needed to hear it so badly that I asked her to repeat what she said. She giggled and covered her face, acting all shy about it before repeating her "I love you." I'm hoping this means all has been forgiven. And the wheelchair? It's still in the trunk of the car and will be going back to the medical supply store very soon. She may need it in the future, but she doesn't need it now. We will happily carry her anywhere she needs to go in the coming weeks, just as I know our Father will carry our friends through this heartbreaking time. There is no burden so great, that He can't bear.

Ella--Not thrilled about the carriage, but happy to be going home!

Unbroken

We've had a typical Saturday morning--the day starts with us shot out like a cannon in different directions. My big girls head out the door for a rehearsal for the school musical, Brad and Brady are at a local gym warming up for a basketball game. I scramble to get the little girls fed and dressed to watch Brady play, Daniel types the gym address into my phone so I know where we're going, I stir my coffee with a fork because we've run out of clean spoons and sip it on the way out the door. We sit on hard bleachers to watch a bunch of 3rd graders dribble and cheer with each basket made as if this is some kind of professional arena. This is the normal that I love.

Yesterday wasn't so easy. I walked around the house with a box of Kleenex close by--I blamed the sniffles on my head cold but truth be told, I spent the day fighting back tears. We celebrate three significant anniversaries this time of year starting with Christmas Eve and ending with January 9th. It's the last one that I dread.  These special days are related to my three boys--brothers who won't all meet until someday in heaven and yet their lives are so significantly and marvelously intertwined that it can only be attributed to the Healer of the Broken.

Eleven years ago today, I delivered our first son Luke. We never heard his first glorious cry. Due to an umbilical cord knot, he was in the arms of Jesus before he made it into mine.  Although we haven't stopped missing him, God in his goodness has since filled my arms so overflowing with children that I don't waste a day wallowing in the what-if. 

Many of you loved on us throughout the following year and know the rest of that story. Three months later I found out I was pregnant again with a baby due on Luke's birthday. We were blessed with our precious Brady born a little early to ring in the the new year. (I'm leaving much of that story out but it can be read here .) He just celebrated his 10th birthday and oh how we love him! He is the peacemaker and prayer warrior of our family--such a gentle and caring young man with a big heart for others. He is a living testimony of God's goodness and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't thank God for the gift of him.

Eleven years ago I sat in a hospital bed so broken that I couldn't imagine being whole again--if only I could have known that a year later we would be blessed with another son. What I also didn't know is that in Guatemala, my future son was also in a state of brokenness. Only a toddler at the time, but living in Third World level poverty and criminal level abuse. 

This past Christmas Eve marked the five year anniversary of his Gotcha Day. In the adoption world, that is the day that your new family "gotcha". We celebrate Ella's on the day she was placed in our arms in China but since it took a two and a half year ordeal to get Daniel, we celebrate his adoption on that glorious day that we finally brought him home. 

And so this past Christmas Eve we were talking about what a big deal it was--how we couldn't believe it had been 5 years and yet how we couldn't remember life without him. Christmas morning he gave me and Brad one of the most precious gifts I may ever receive. He typed out a full-page letter, printed us each a copy, put them in plastic page protectors (yes, this kid is one of a kind), and placed them on our pillows on our bed. We didn't find them till after the presents had been opened and we were upstairs getting dressed for the rest of the day. 

I don't want to share the entire letter here because it is such a personal outpouring of his heart, but I feel it's okay to share some sentiments. He said he remembers longing for a family at Christmas, but not believing it would ever happen. He shared that he is so glad God didn't give him boring parents (haha) and every Christmas he thanks God for the "first parents who really loved him".  He thanked us for not giving up on him through the long and difficult adoption. He thanked us for believing in him and loving him even when he is hard to love. He thanked us for making the holidays fun and regular days happy. He said his greatest gift is having a family and he is so thankful that we are his parents.

Those plastic page protectors were a good call on his part because the tears were abundant. 

Every year we celebrate Daniel's "gotcha" a few days after Christmas Eve. It's a family night celebration and he gets to choose where we go and what we do. It's usually dinner and a movie. This year he chose "Unbroken" that wasn't age appropriate for all of us. I haven't seen it and probably won't (I can't handle watching anything graphically tragic even if I know it will have a happy ending--never saw the end of "Schindler's List", "Slumdog Millionaire", "Bambi", . . . ).  I do know it's about an Olympic track star who overcame a life of hardship.  Daniel is a runner and he wanted to see it, but I was worried the content of the story would trigger bad memories.

But I let him go--he watched it with his dad and sister Ava and the rest of us went home for our night of G-rated fun. I couldn't help but think how the title of that movie is the perfect caption of his life. If you met him today--you'd have no idea that he didn't start out as a Williams--he is so very much like our other kids I often forget it myself. Our sweet son was protected just like that letter he wrote to us. He experienced pain, and trauma, and tragedy but throughout it all there was a covering from the Almighty that protected his spirit, that preserved his innocence, that provided him hope. Unbroken indeed!

And on the anniversary of the loss of one son, the blessing of another by birth, and the blessing of another by adoption--I see that I am unbroken too. 

Because that's what God can do. He can take a life shattered and make it whole. Not leaving us in bandaged state of repair--like a vase that has been glued back together in bits . . . still revealing the cracks and still displaying the damage and ready to fall apart at any minute. No. He is the Redeemer who restores it all if we focus on His scars from the cross instead of ours from this fallen world.

Daniel summed this truth up in one sentence of that letter. "We don't know His plans, but we know that His plans are for a purpose." Wow. Embracing that is the very reason he is doing so well now. His behavior when he first came home was often difficult. He lived in survivor mode--his words and his actions were rooted in bitterness about the lost years of his childhood and anger about the adult-sized pain he had to endure. He had a need to control everything and trust no one.

While my pain had been different--I understood him. I was also "acquainted with grief." The loss of one son helped me understand the pain of another. The day that I surrendered to the truth that all God's plans are for a purpose--even when the road is hard, and it's not fair, and we don't see how on earth this could possibly bring Him glory--that's the day I was freed from the burden of bitterness and the bondage of fear. I knew if I could just get Daniel to understand this, he would begin to heal as well. Yes, we will have times of sorrow and pain--but we "do not grieve like those who have no hope" 1 Thessalonians 4:13. How grateful I am that he already knows what I didn't fully understand till I was an adult. And I'm so glad that when God gave this boy a second chance to have a family, He gave me the privilege of being his mom.

I've taken a lot of pictures of these brothers together the last five years. Oh how they needed each other! Although in each photo it seems there's a brother missing, I know Luke's presence is still very much with us. Thank you, God, for the gifts of Luke, Brady, and Daniel and for your plans that always have a purpose.

He Never Leaves Us in the Valley

Warning: If you stopped by to see cute photos of my kids, get an adoption update, or read a funny story--this isn't one of those posts. But if you ever wondered about the title of my blog, this explains it.

Nine years ago. That's when it began. My love of the 23rd Psalm. My need to savor each verse and digest every word.

Nine years ago I was running errands in my comfy shoes and maternity attire. I stopped at Babies R Us to pick up some goodies for the nursery I was preparing for our third child. Finally some blue in our very pink world. We were over-the-moon excited about this baby boy due on Valentine's Day.

But I noticed that he wasn't kicking. Not uncommon when I was running around, but I went home to rest hoping to feel his mid-afternoon dancing.

Nothing.

I called my doctor in a panic. They said not to worry. He probably had shifted to a position where I couldn't feel him. They told me to drink something sweet and wait. The practice was moving to a new office, that day of all days, but they told me I could go to the hospital if there was no change and see the doctor on call. We dropped our girls off at grandparents and headed to Labor and Delivery. I wasn't interested in waiting for the orange juice to kick in.

Brad and I prayed as we waited to be admitted. I was certain I had watched too many medical dramas and everything was going to be fine and I would feel like a big ding-a-ling for running to the hospital for nothing. I was finally taken to a room for an ultrasound. I was so ready to hear that all was well and return home.

But only silence. The nurses, my husband, the ultrasound. There was none of the "woosh, woosh, woosh" of that heartbeat that I so loved to hear. A nurse ran to get my doctor, she walked in to look at the screen and started screaming, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!"  I knew what her profanity meant.

And then I whispered my own, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus." My Savior knew what I meant.

That was January 8, 2004. On the evening of January 9th, I held my first son. And then my mother who was at the end of a six-year battle with cancer came to meet her only grandson. She held him and sang to him and we cried until there were no tears left. (She joined her Creator and her grandson in heaven eight weeks later.)

When I was alone . . . I talked to God. 

You see, I'd known pain before that day. I had experienced loss. We had had 3 miscarriages, lost multiple beloved grandparents, weathered financial hardship, had moments of personal heartbreak. But this was different. It was too much. In my spiritual immaturity I had conjured up some kind of parameters of what could ever befall me in this fallen world. This exceeded them . . . by a lot. I stared at hospital ceiling tiles wondering if my Heavenly Father was listening and screamed, "But you said you would never give me more than I could handle!"

I had my grandmother's Bible in my hospital room (a story in itself), but no strength to pick it up. It didn't matter--the room was dark and my eyes were swollen shut from crying. My only comfort would come from Scripture I had memorized. 

And one of the passages was Psalm 23. Like any child raised in Sunday school, I knew it well. I got to "even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. . . . " The tears began to flow until I choked through to the end, "goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. . . "

Then I realized the 23rd Psalm didn't end in the valley, it always ends with His goodness and mercy! It was then I knew that the same was true for those who believed in Him. I knew He would carry me through this time because He promised joy would follow mourning, spring would follow winter, goodness would follow brokenness. And He promised He would never leave me.

And He hasn't. 

More of Luke's/Brady's story is here if you'd like to empty your box of Kleenex. So much happened in the days and months after our son's loss that never for a minute did I question the wisdom of His plan. So many beautiful things happened that year (and still do today) that I could not deny His presence or His love for me.

And so this morning I awoke knowing it was my son Luke's birthday. I won't lie--nine years later there are still tears. 

But I was hugged by my eight-year-old son Brady--our gift of goodness due exactly one year after our loss. Then greeted by Daniel--our gift of mercy through the miracle of adoption. I watched my oldest blessings help the younger ones and observed Miss Dimpled Cuteness navigate through the backpacks lined up at the door. I remember how my big girls gave me a reason to get out of bed during that very hard year and I see our bonus baby who makes me wake smiling now. I have a precious daughter who waits for us in China and know my cup runneth over. 

A chorus of kids calling me mom kept me from any moments of sadness. I dropped my big kids at school and Victoria and I returned home to take on the day.

One of my favorite songs came on the radio--Chris Tomlin's "Whom Shall I Fear." Victoria likes to "sing" along (think high-pitched Gregorian chant) and we both belted out "I know who goes before me, I know who stands behind. The God of angel armies, is always by my side." We must have been a sight at the red lights as we echoed the lyrics at the top of our lungs, "You are faithful, you are faithful, you are faithful."

I was grateful to have a very normal day in the life of an abnormal family. The kids are in bed and my eyelids are heavy, but I just couldn't let this day end without thanking God for His goodness and mercy. 

There are a lot of hurting people in this world. You might be one of them. I know many have loss so much greater than mine and pain that I can't imagine. But as a mom who once thought she was too broken to be whole again, I want you to know . . . 

HE NEVER LEAVES US IN THE VALLEY.

Much Love,

Kathie

Ready

Well, it looks like our tiny baby/anniversary gift is coming tonight!

I think I have two male readers (you are brave), so I'll try not to cross the line of too much information, but . . . read at your own risk.

I had my appointment with my high risk doc at 9:30 this morning fully expecting to be told to wait another week. He was thrilled to see that she was head down but there were still some concerns about her being small for her gestational age (which could indicate a problem with the cord or placenta) and wanted to move quickly to deliver since she was finally in the right position. He consulted with my regular docs and they were in agreement to induce as soon as possible.

So I went straight to Labor and Delivery at the hospital and they immediately started the drugs to induce. Well, a couple hours later my doc came to check on me and, after an external exam, seemed worried. They did another ultrasound and discovered she had turned again. She's now sideways and the cord is again over my cervix which can be fatal for the baby if my water breaks and makes it not possible to deliver her the old fashioned way. When he called my high risk doc and told him she had moved, it was funny. There was a very loud, "You've got to be kidding me" on the other end. Apparently she wins the prize for the most active baby they have seen.

He wanted to do a C-section immediately, but Brad had just brought me a romantic anniversary lunch from Chick-fil-a and they have to wait till the food is out of my system. So we have a scheduled C-section at 8:00 p.m. I have about 4 hours till I get to meet my baby girl! I'm sitting here in my hospital gown with a mix of nerves and excitement.

The most frequently asked question these past few week was, "Are you ready?" It's a simple question and since I haven't been able to cough, laugh, or sneeze without wetting my pants for some time now, my first response is always yes. But to be honest, I haven't been completely ready.

Yes, I'm so ready to hold her, to feed her, to study her sweet face and marvel at her tiny hands. I'm ready to bring her home and love on her and watch her siblings adore her. But as my pregnancy has progressed I've had to ask myself harder questions. Losing a child at 36 weeks
has changed the meaning of the question, "Are you ready?"

I've been asking myself, "Are you ready to deliver a baby who might not make it?" With recent concerns about possible birth defects, I've had to ask myself, "Are you ready to hold her and be told she has physical or developmental needs?"

My nurse just gave me the rundown on what would happen during the C-section and with it a whole new list of concerns. That I might not be able to hold her or see her after she is born. That she may have to spend some time in the NICU because she is 3 and a half weeks premature and may not even be 5 pounds. That this is major surgery and I might have complications of my own.

This kind of reminds me of how many were feeling a couple weeks ago when that man was predicting that the Rapture was going to happen. There were many reasons that kept me from believing it was true, and yet it made me ask myself "Are you ready?"

And again my first answer would be yes. Yes, I'm ready to see my Savior's face; ready to worship at His throne; ready to be reunited with my mother, my grandmother, my children who I will get to meet in heaven, and many other loved ones.

But then I felt conviction that I didn't do more. I spent much of my life surrounded by fellow believers and gave myself few opportunities to share my faith. I've had a lifelong passion to care for orphans, but only gave one a family. I have to admit when that Saturday came and went, I found myself with a renewed commitment to live radically for God.

So I sit here in a hospital room, waiting for the hours to play out with an ending that only my Heavenly Father knows. There's nothing but the sound of her heartbeat on the monitor as I give thanks for this precious little life and ask myself, "Are you ready?"

And you know what? I am.

Thanks for your continued love and prayers.

Surrendered to His Plan,
Kathie

Contractions

Made it through another week. A great week in many ways. A stressful week in many others.

The week before last my doctors appointments went well. The baby looked healthy, no signs of distress, no issues with the cord placement, and my amniotic fluid was within a more normal range.

This week showed some new concerns. The baby is fine but continues to do her Cirque du Soleil performances in utero. She prefers to be sideways or breech which is not popular with my healthcare providers this late in the pregnancy. My fluid is again in excess and, because of where the cord is, now I'm at great risk for cord prolapse and because of her continued movement there is concern about another cord accident.

Last Thursday my regular doctor treated me like I was a walking time bomb--asking me how quickly I could get to the hospital if my water broke and making me promise that if it did I wouldn't take a precious minute to call or even grab my suitcase. He said that if we can catch her head down at any time with the cord in a safe placement, they will go ahead and induce.

My next scheduled appointment is Monday morning with the specialist and then in the afternoon with my regular doctor. Monday is our 19 year wedding anniversary, so having our new baby girl in our arms would sure be a sweet gift. (Brad, you are off the hook on a romantic dinner out. Ice chips and an epidural will be fine.) But I know the docs at my specialist's office really want me to go another full week if there are no signs of her in distress (so I'd be 38 weeks), so I won't be surprised or disappointed if they send me home to let her cook a bit longer.

One thing they track often with my fetal non-stress tests is contractions. I have lots of them and have since I was 28 weeks. Just false labor that is a pain in the abdomen.

I've done this with all my pregnancies. When I was expecting Ava, I started having regular contractions at 30 weeks. They were every 4 minutes apart and strong. My doctors were sure it was the real thing and admitted me to the hospital and put me on all kinds of drugs. When they finally sent me home I was on strict bedrest, lots of meds, and drank enough water on a daily basis to fill a swimming pool. At 37 weeks they took me off the meds fully expecting her to be born within hours and . . . she ended up arriving three weeks later on her due date.

And so with subsequent pregnancies, I've kind of just ignored them. It's just my body crying wolf, every 4 to 5 minutes. (Apparently there's a correlation between my excess of fluid and the frequency/strength of the contractions.) My husband will see me holding my belly in obvious pain and ask if we need to go to the hospital and I will simply answer, "No, but I could use a hot fudge sundae and a foot massage." (Hey, I'm going to milk this for all it's worth.)

As I have these contractions, I can't help but see how much they mirror the contractions of life.

Real contractions can be scary the first time you experience them. I remember the first time I felt those muscles tighten like a boa constrictor around my waist. It was something I'd never felt before and frankly it freaked me out. As my pregnancy progressed I realized that the contractions only got stronger and lasted longer. By the end I realized these early contractions were nothing compared to the ones that left me breathless and speechless and doubled over in pain. And it's these contractions that precede the birth of something amazing.

In the same way, I've had a lifetime of different kinds of emotional and spiritual "contractions." Small trials, disappointments, detours in life. At the time I thought they were the real thing. I thought the pain couldn't get any worse. I thought it was too much to bear. But soon I realized that this was just practice labor. That my broken heart could mend. That the sun would rise the next day. That the world didn't come to an end.

It's hard to watch my children experience "contractions." Last week my kids finished school. Our sweet Christian school only goes through 8th grade and Olivia will be starting over next year in high school. She hurts leaving her dear friends and teachers and school that has been home for so long. She's feeling contractions as she faces the unknowns of what is ahead. While I know these contractions are so small compared to what she will deal with later in life, I know they are very real right now, very uncomfortable, and very scary.

Daniel also experienced contractions last week. He came home on the last day of school and wept all over his lunch. It hit him all of a sudden that his precious teacher wouldn't be going to 3rd grade with him next year. He doesn't think his teacher or group of classmates will ever be as wonderful as it was this year and he is grieving. It was such a sweet year in his life that I wish I could rewind it and play it over for him, especially after him having so many years that I wish I could erase. He has already had to deal with contractions far worse, yet this pain is very real to him as well.

When my children experience these contractions and they tell me how much it hurts and they cry in my arms, all I can do is remind them that God is good and He has a wonderful plan for their lives. This is big talk from a woman who is having contractions--literally and figuratively. I don't like the pain of uncertainty. I have moments of worry that this baby might not be okay. I have doubts as I wonder if I can be a good mom to five children.

In my mind I know that the most painful contractions of all are the ones that strengthened my faith and poured out such blessings in my life. I remember that as horrible as it was to watch my mother battle cancer, because of her faith through that trial she left a legacy that will continue for generations. I remember that as heartbreaking as it was to lose our first son, that tragedy truly changed the course of our lives and such goodness and mercy has come from it that we would not have otherwise experienced.

And yet, I still want to walk through life with an epidural. I want to be exempt from hard times and I want my family to be as well. And that's when I have to remember God's faithfulness and remind myself that "God is good and He has a wonderful plan for my life." I surrender to that truth as I face the uncertainty of the week ahead.

It's almost Sunday here in Georgia, so I'm going to go ahead a post a "Sunday Dinner" for the week. My favorite scripture about contractions is:

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds,
because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. . . .

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. " James 1:2-3, 12, NIV

The "dessert" of song is one of my favorites right now. It's "Blessings" by Laura Story--she's one of my all-time favorite artists and sings at the church that is part of our children's school. Her lyrics so beautifully sum up what God has been trying to teach me for many years.

May you remember God's faithfulness and goodness during your own times of trials and "contractions."

Much Love,

Kathie

P.S. I'm having trouble posting comments on other blogs! For a couple weeks, when I log in to leave a comment it lists me as anonymous, then when I try to leave the comment it disappears. It seems to be a problem with Blogger. If anyone knows how to fix it let me know. Thanks!

Safe

Thanks so much to so many of you for your prayers for us this week. My appointment with the specialist went well Monday. There are still no problems with the cord, however my amniotic fluid continues to increase and the baby continues to do her acrobatic routine which makes us all a bit nervous.

My doctor at the specialist's office was much kinder at this appointment. Not a mention of words like "defect" or "problem." That was a good move on his part because I didn't have time to print out Psalm 139 and this hormonally challenged mama knows all 24 verses, was armed with a Sharpie, and spent an hour staring at a bare wall needing embellishment. (Yes, these days I'm one insensitive comment away from destruction of private property.)

I got to take Daniel and Brady with me Monday morning because the younger grades at our school had a teacher work day. They loved seeing their baby sister on the big screen. They kept saying "that's so cool" as red and blue lights illuminated the flow of blood to the baby and "oh, she's so cute" when we'd get a glimpse of her face. (I never realized my insides could provide such entertainment.) It was really a sweet time with them and was a comfort to me to hear them talk about her with such love and excitement.

I had another ultrasound today at my regular doctor. There was a bit of concern because the cord is again around her neck, but this time it's loose and not wrapped multiple times. There were no signs today of distress and my doctors felt it safe to go home.

Safe.

The definition of the word "safe" has changed for me considerably over the years. It was a word I never gave much thought to until I became a mom--then suddenly I was obsessed with keeping my children safe. Safety seats, safety locks, safety seals, safety helmets, safety precautions. I realized about 15 minutes after becoming a mother--as I watched Olivia sleep out of fear that she might stop breathing--that keeping your child safe can become a full-time job if you let it.

So when we lost a baby at 36 weeks, my first thought was that I hadn't kept him safe. That somehow I should have known he was in trouble. That I had failed him as his mother. But then I remembered something that happened just hours before he died. Some day I will try to share it, but all you really need to know is that it taught me that there are no accidents. God knew the number of our son's days. He knew that January 9, 2004, his earthly heart would stop beating and this wasn't something that was supposed to have been prevented. And He also knew this mother's heart would be broken. He knew this because thousands of years before, Christ carried my sorrow to the cross. Knowing that this was His plan released me from guilt and freed me from fear.

But here I am again, wanting to keep this baby safe. And often I fall back into my old thinking. I'll wake up at 3:00 a.m. in a cold sweat and lay there till I feel a reassuring kick. And I'll think, "She's safer outside of my body, than within it."

That's when conviction pours over me and I remember God's faithfulness. That's when I surrender that the absolute safest place this baby could be is out of my reach and completely in His hands.

I know once she is born, my tendency to want to bubble wrap her through life will continue. I will have to fight it on a daily basis.

I had proof of this last Sunday as I put my 14 year old Olivia on a bus headed to Washington D.C. for their 8th grade trip. I wished I had been able to go as one of the chaperones, not just so I could enjoy this experience with her but also so I could keep her safe.

As the bus pulled away, I'm ashamed to admit that I said a prayer for her safety out of fear of the "what-ifs"--not out of surrender to God's sovereignty. In about 30 seconds I was able to come up with a hundred reasons why I shouldn't let her go. It wasn't until I actually thought about running after the bus, 8 months pregnant, and demanding that they let her off did I realize my foolishness. And once again, I realized that the absolute safest place she could be is completely in His hands.

I will go to bed tonight with complete peace that I don't need to count kicks or go back to the hospital to be monitored. It's simply because I know God loves this baby even more than I do and has a perfect plan for her life.

Much Love,

Kathie

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

Snow Globes and Special News

Okay. It's time for me to spill the beans. I've had much to share for a while but haven't had the words or the energy to do so.


I'll preface this news by letting you know that a few years ago I started collecting snow globes. I've loved them since I was a little girl. I remember having one of those plastic ones that could fit in the palm of my hand. I'd shake it and then watch the snow fall around the tiny scene held inside. For this little Georgia girl who rarely saw snow, I loved being able to make it a miniature winter wonderland whenever I wanted.

As much as I love watching the snow fall in these little globes, I prefer to have my own little world sit safely on a shelf. A few months ago I delighted in the fact that our life was finally stable, that we were securely sedentary after years of being shaken.

But several weeks ago, I started not feeling well. (Little shake of my snow globe.) I ignored some things for a couple weeks then finally called my general doctor and spoke with a nurse. As I explained my symptoms, I realized this was the same nurse that took a gallon of blood for my adoption physical. After drilling me with questions she asked, "Could you be pregnant?"

I laughed and explained that it wasn't possible. Years ago we had decided we were done adding biological children to our family, that I am well into my fortieth year, and we have almost finished our paperwork for our second adoption. I explained that I was probably starting to go through "the change" (or perhaps my body was still holding a grudge from the gallon of blood she recently took). I reminded her once more that I am well into my fortieth year just in case she didn't catch that the first time. She said that she'd make an appointment but I could take a home pregnancy test if I wanted to rule that out before coming in.

Since my bathroom cabinets are stocked with anti-wrinkle cream--not early pregnancy tests--I headed to the drug store. I grabbed a generic one. I wasn't going to spend more than I had to just because some crazy nurse needed proof that I wasn't pregnant. The teen check-out clerk gave me a look that said, "Umm. Not an item I see many middle-aged women buy."

The next hour was spent alone in my bathroom. I have been there before many times--sitting with a pregnancy test in hand, too nervous about the results to actually do it. All the other times, what my heart wanted more than anything was for it to be positive. Many times I sat on the bathroom floor and cried because it wasn't.

The last time I took one of those tests was almost 7 years ago. Three months earlier, we had lost a baby boy at 35 weeks that died due to an umbilical cord knot (Luke's story is here). As much as I dreaded being pregnant again, we needed a new life to give us hope. I needed to deliver a baby that would cry, that I could hold in my arms, that I could parent till I'm old. My girls needed to come to the hospital--not to say good-bye to their new sibling, but to proudly bring him home. My husband needed to see his family heal and our family needed to see God's goodness and mercy in our lives. And God was so gracious to give us Brady, due exactly one year after we had lost his brother.

But once he was born, we knew that we were done adding to our family biologically. It was just too physically and emotionally difficult. We had always known God had called us to adopt and felt peace that this is how God wanted us to complete our family.

And so on the morning of November 1, I sat on the cold tile floor working up the courage to take the test. I knew that if the outcome was positive, I would once again have to go down a path that at times ended in overwhelming joy and other times ended in overwhelming pain. (I've had three first trimester miscarriages in addition to our full-term loss.) As much as I would love a house full of little people, I wanted the door marked "Pregnancy" to remain closed.

I finally took the test.

Within seconds that second line appeared telling me that I was pregnant.

Shake, shake, shake of my world.

I was truly so stunned that I couldn't process it. Sometimes my computer freezes up when it gets overloaded with stuff I'm trying to do. I just turn it off and re-boot it later. That's just what I wanted to do. Shut down and re-boot at a time that I'm able to handle it.

But since I don't have a Control-Alt-Delete feature, I just sat on the floor and wept. I wept out of fear of what might be ahead. But, most of all, I wept out of gratitude that God would entrust us with yet another little life. Humbled that, in spite of what I assumed was His plan for our life, His plan was always so much better.

My husband didn't believe me when I called him at work to share the news. Neither has anyone else. The typical response is: "Yea right. Are you kidding? You're not kidding? Wow!" Sometimes instead of the "wow" there's hysterical laughing.

Our four children were excited from the minute we told them. They were shocked, yet overjoyed. But their first question was, "Can we still adopt?" We had already chosen a little girl in China and for months had talked about her like she was already part of the family. We are still trying to decide what to do and I'll share more about her in the coming days.

And so here we are. I've reached 14 weeks so I'm finally able to feel excitement that this baby will be okay. This pregnancy is the reason I've been such a pitiful blogger and bloggy friend. The past three months have completely wiped me out physically and all I'm able to do is the day-to-day caring for my family, but I should start to get my energy back soon.

We are still diligently seeking God's will regarding the little girl we were about to adopt. Please pray for us to have wisdom and clarity with this situation.

We are learning that it doesn't matter how much you are shaken if your footing is firmly anchored in the One who sustains us. And we are grateful for the breathtaking snowfall of goodness and mercy that God has brought into our lives.

Much Love,
Kathie

Sweetly Broken

We live in a world where things that are broken are worthless. In our disposable society, broken items are quickly tossed instead of being repaired. And even the very definition of "broken" is stretched to include things that don't perform as we would like or are outdated.

Sadly, the same holds true for people. Society dictates that we must be perfect. Not just healthy, but beautiful. Not just smart, but brilliant. And anyone who is "broken" must be fixed. And those who cannot be fixed should be thrown away. Thus the tragic statistic that 90 percent of babies who have Down Syndrome or other chromosomal "abnormalities" are aborted. Thus the heartbreaking reality that orphanages are full of special needs and older children who wait for families.

As we started this new adoption, we weren't sure about much. We weren't sure what country we would adopt from, what age child, what gender. Our only certainty was that this child would be, by the world's definition, broken.

We completed a check-list of needs we would consider. We talked at length with our other children about the possibility of having a child in our home who may never walk, or see our faces, or hear our voices, or live to adulthood. Needs that several years ago would have overwhelmed us are now needs that we are prayerfully considering.

We are different today because we understand the blessing of brokenness. It happened in the year 2004 with the loss of our first son then the loss of my mom. I had known brokenness before, but not to that extent. My level of hurt prior to that year rendered me "walking wounded." But the pain of 2004 completely crippled me to where I wasn't sure if I'd ever be whole again.

But that was the year that the Almighty Shepherd scooped me up and carried me upon the safety of His shoulders. Just like the beautiful illustrations I had seen as a child, I felt like that lamb draped around my Savior's neck. It was then that I was able to see that being broken hadn't brought me to a place of hopelessness, but a place of privilege.

When I think of the dearest people I know, there is usually a chapter in their life that they were carried by their Heavenly Father during a time of profound brokenness. Some of the most inspiring people who have walked the earth have endured times of trial yet glorified God through their brokenness caused by life-altering illness, the horrors of a concentration camp, religious persecution, and family tragedy. Every hero of the faith--that I've known personally or read about in history--seems to have spent much of their life in full surrender to the One who can heal every wound.

So perhaps that's why we've been so excited as we do the paperwork for this adoption and see our homestudy written to approve us to adopt a child with special needs. I can't wait to see what God has planned for the life of this child and feel honored to be able to witness His healing hand at work and His sovereign plan unfold.

The verse I'm meditating on this week (sorry I didn't get it posted in time for Sunday Dinner) is:

"The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their cry;

The face of the Lord is against those who do evil, to cut off the memory of them from the earth.

The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."

Psalm 34:15-18, NIV

This week's dessert of song is Jeremy Riddle's "Sweetly Broken."

May we remember the One who was sweetly broken for us. (One of my first posts about brokenness and Christ's love for us is here.)

Beautifully Broken,
Kathie

Sunday Dinner: Let the Waters Rise

It's so nice to have internet again! After a week without contact with the outside world, we returned home to have a thunderstorm that knocked out our internet for several hours. But at least I wasn't tempted to catch up online when I needed to be unpacking and catching up at home!

I shared a few weeks ago about lessons learned from the ocean (that post can be found here). This past week I had another lesson from sea as we visited the beach again.

The waves were really rough last week when we were vacationing with my extended family in South Carolina. The first day Daniel and I ventured out hand in hand. Our strategy was to get far enough from the shore where we weren't hit by the breaking waves. We'd make a few steps of progress only to be carried back by the tide. We were managing but I could tell he was getting scared.

Then one big ole wave hit us. There were a few seconds that I lost hold of Daniel's hand and his head was underwater. He surfaced with his goggles crooked screaming, "Mama, I want to go back!"

We were trying to hightail it to the shore when I turned around and saw a massive wave coming toward us. We're talking a "Perfect Storm" kind of mountain of water where you know this is going to end with water up your nose, sand in your mouth, and bathing suit around your ankles. There was no way we were going to outrun this one. I instructed him to hold his nose, go under the water, and count to ten.

I wasn't sure if he heard me. It happened so fast. I went under the water, too, and surfaced seconds later. When I came up, Daniel was fine . . . even smiling.

We ran toward the shore, making it before another wave hit. He exclaimed, "It worked! The wave didn't get me!"

I couldn't help but think how this is like life. There are times that I see the wave coming. I panic because there is no way to escape it. Then I remember that it's when I try to fight things on my own will and in my own way that the wave of trials wipes me out. But when I remember to surrender to the One who is greater than the sea, bigger than the waves of pain and hardship, then I know to hide under the protection of the Almighty.

Today's Sunday dinner of scripture is (the idea behind Sunday dinner is here):

"These things I have spoken unto you, that in me you might have peace. In the world you shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."

John 16:33

Wow. Jesus' words in His last days on earth bring such comfort. I remember clinging to this scripture in the days following the death of our first son in the last month of my pregnancy. God blessed us with another new life a few months after and I remember telling my girls that we had been granted the gift of another pregnancy. But Ava looked up at me and asked, "Mom, what if this baby dies, too?"

I wanted so badly to tell her that this baby would be fine, but knew I couldn't make that promise. The promise I knew I could give her was that no matter the outcome, God would carry us through any future pain or grief because we had seen God's faithfulness with the loss of Luke.

This week's dessert of song is called "Let the Waters Rise" by Mikeschair. The lyrics couldn't be more perfect. I love the line "You were faithful before. You'll be faithful again. " Amen!!!

As Daniel and I sat on the shore last week recovering from our adventure with the waves, I asked him if he was afraid to go back in the ocean later. To my relief he said no. (Although he did spend some quality time on his sand castle that day.)

As I sit on the shore of my life, I don't have the fears that I once had. In Christ I have peace. In this world there will be tribulations, but I serve a Mighty God who is greater than the pain of this world!

May you feel His perfect peace this week.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

The Waiting Room

The hardest part of my job as mom is taking my kiddos to the doctor. I had to take the boys this morning--an adventure that involved shots and finger pricks. They were absolutely perfect till the needles made an appearance. And then there were screams that made the poor people in the waiting area think the doctor was amputating limbs without anesthesia. They are fine now, watching Curious George sipping on some milkshakes they got for being brave.

After spending last week at the eye doctor, Saturday night in the emergency room with Daniel's broken arm, and this morning at the pediatrician, a story came to mind for Memorial Box Monday. This beautiful idea comes from Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. She encourages her readers to collect items that trigger a memory of God's goodness and faithfulness in their lives. Click the bloggy button below to read her wonderful stories and link to other readers' Memorial Box stories. (By the way, while you're there read Linny's posts from last week called "How to Hear God Speak." Good stuff.)




Every time my kids cry at the doctor I tell them "I wish I could take the pain for you." It makes me think of our Heavenly Father. He loves us so much more than we can imagine. He understands our pain and grief and sorrow because Christ carried it on the cross. I have felt moments where I know God is right beside me saying, "I wish I could take this pain for you . . . in fact, I HAVE taken this pain for you."

The story that comes to mind today took place in April of 2004. Many of my Memorial Box stories happened in the year 2004 (the year of our "valley of the shadow of death") or during our two and a half year adoption of Daniel. God's hand is most evident during times of darkness, His faithfulness most evident during times of trial. And although seas weren't parted that morning six years ago, few times have I ever felt God's peace and presence more.

For those of you who are new readers, January 9, 2004, we lost a baby boy 36 weeks into my pregnancy. Eight weeks later we lost my mom to cancer. (The full story of my mom and Baby Luke is here.) Three months after losing our son, we were blessed with another pregnancy (there's a Memorial Box story there that I'll share another day). Although we were grateful for this new life, I can't tell you how difficult it was to start again down the same road that had ended in such pain. I can't explain how hard it was to go from third trimester back to first.

We had decided to stick with our doctor and midwives. Although our last pregnancy had ended tragically, they had been wonderful and already knew my history. I was just a few weeks pregnant with this new life and went to the doctor for an early visit to check my hormone levels. (I've also had three first-trimester miscarriages so they were watching me closely.)

When I walked into that doctor's office, it was overwhelmingly painful. The waiting room was full of very pregnant women and new moms with their newborns. Just months before I had been in that waiting room feeling my baby kick--absolutely giddy that he would soon be in my arms. But that day my arms ached with emptiness.

I approached the window to sign in and the receptionist remembered me. The staff knew me by name because with all my high-risk issues, I was a frequent patient. But apparently she didn't know we had lost our son because she asked, "Did you bring your baby with you for your postpartum visit?!" I didn't know how to answer without turning into a puddle of tears. I leaned over and whispered, "Our son didn't make it." I know she felt so badly and she quickly apologized, but it was salt in a wound that was already causing excruciating pain.

I found a seat as far away from the other patients as possible. I began to pray for God's strength and peace. I felt like a little kid who had walked up the ladder on the high dive. As I stood on the platform looking below at another nine months of this, I just wanted to run. I told God that I just couldn't do it. I needed to feel His peace and His presence or I was going to walk out of the doctor's office.

This was also just weeks after losing my mom. Oh, how I wished I could have her with me that day. Holding my hand, filling out forms, telling me everything would be okay. She would have given me a pep talk. She would have answered the receptionist's question. She would have found something funny in all this awful to make me laugh. She would have played a game of "eye spy" like we did when I was little to take my mind off things. She would have prayed with me.

I picked up a magazine and pretended to read it. Then a lady came over and sat next to me. She was obviously not pregnant and was probably in her mid-50's so I guessed she was there for an annual visit. She simply said, "Are you having a rough morning?" I nodded trying to hold back my tears. (Later in the bathroom I discovered that my chest and neck had broken out in hives from the stress, so she didn't need to be a detective to see that I wasn't glowing like the other patients.)

I didn't want to invite her to my pity-party for one (and didn't want to download my sorrows on this poor lady who was about to encounter the stirrups herself), so all I offered as response was, "I'm a high-risk patient so these visits are stressful." She leaned over and put her hand on mine and said, "It's going to fine. I just know it." I thanked her for her kindness.

She was so calm, so reassuring, and I was so grateful for this soft-spoken stranger who was perhaps being obedient to God letting her know I could use a friend. She sat next to me until her name was called. And that's when I started laughing at God's sense of humor. The lady sitting with me had the same name as my mom--Dixie.

Now, I've read a lot of baby name books over the years, and Dixie has never been in the top 10 on any list. In fact, the only other Dixie I've ever known was the actress Dixie Carter. Had my mom been given a common name, I would have written off this encounter as coincidence, but to hear my mom's name called out that morning was that little reassurance that I needed that God was with me and perhaps even she was with me in spirit.

The next nine months were so hard, but from then on I had such peace that God was by my side in the waiting rooms, the examining rooms, and the delivery room. So in my Memorial Box I'm going to put a "Hi, My Name is Dixie" name tag. It's a reminder that God is with us when we feel the most alone. When we are the most afraid. When we need His comfort and peace to remind us that not only would He take our burden from us . . . He already did.

More Than Lots,
Kathie

Grandmother's Gift

Okay. A quick heads up that you may need Kleenex for this one. I've kept things light the past few Memorial Box Monday posts, but today I want to share about the most special treasure in my possession that isn't breathing. (Memorial Box Mondays were started by Linny at A Place Called Simplicity. It's a way to remember God's goodness and provision in your life by collecting items that remind you of a need met or a prayer answered. Click the bloggy button below to read her precious stories and link to others.)



My dear grandmother (my mom's mother) was truly special. She endured a life of hardship and heartache by God's grace and through prayer. In fact, she prayed so much that everywhere she lived, she made indentations in the carpet where her knees had been. I share more about her and the impact she still has on my family's life here.

Well, many years ago she moved from her house to an assisted living community. As she was trying to streamline her worldly belongings she called to ask what I might want of her possessions someday when she went to be with the Lord. She mentioned her china, her silver, her jewelry, . . . all things that had monetary and sentimental value, yet the one thing I wanted wasn't offered. I figured she had already set it aside for one of her five children or many grandchildren and I felt selfish even asking about it. But . . . I mustered up the courage with, "Grandmother, if someone hasn't already asked, I'd love to have your Bible."

I heard crying on the other end. "Really, that's all you want?" she asked. I assured her that it would be one of the greatest treasures of my life and something that would be cherished for generations to come. She finished the phone call with, "Consider it yours."

Several years passed. I remember another special phone call. We live in Georgia and she lived in Alabama, although we visited as often as we could, we used the phone to keep in touch. It was Mother's Day 2003 and I called to wish her a happy one. This conversation was sweetly different though. She told me how much she loved me, how proud she was of me, what a blessing I had been in her life. Oh my, I'm crying just thinking about it.

We talked about my mom who was battling cancer. We reminisced about our recent trip to Disney World and looked forward to her coming to visit the next weekend. When we said our I love yous and good-byes, I had no idea that it would be the last time I'd ever speak to her this side of heaven. But I think somehow her spirit knew.

Days later we got a phone call from my dear uncle. My grandmother had missed an activity at the assisted living home. They got concerned and opened her apartment when she didn't answer. She was a very young 82 years and had never been sick a day in her life, so we were surprised to find out that she had gone to be with the Lord. But we weren't surprised by how they found her. She was kneeling in prayer by her bed with her Bible open.

We went to Birmingham for a beautiful celebration of her life. After the funeral, family gathered at her apartment to divvy up her belongings. My precious aunt pulled me aside and said, "Grandmother Little asked me to give this to you." Then she placed in my hands my Grandmother's treasured Bible. I couldn't believe after all those years, my grandmother had remembered my request. I couldn't believe that I had been given such a special gift. I wept all kinds of ugly tears.

This wasn't just any Bible that my grandmother had dusted off to take to church on Sundays.



This pink Bible was her "love letter" from God. She had read it so many times that the gold leafing had been rubbed off the edge of the pages. She had written so many notes in it that it is hard to find a page without her handwriting. She had cried so many times over these verses that sustained her, that on many pages the ink had smeared.

And then my aunt showed me the page the Bible was open to when she died. When Grandmother's spirit left her, her face hit the page and tore it over Revelation 4. The scripture passage has the subheading "Around God's Throne." This is the passage that the song I posted yesterday is based on. And in it you'll find the beautiful words of those who will worship around the throne of God:

"Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come. Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for that hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created." (From verses 8 and 11.)




My grandmother wrote at the end of that chapter "How wonderful!"



I believe she was so overcome by the thought of worshipping around God's throne that she told her Creator she was ready to go. I also believe she wanted to be in heaven to welcome my mom when she joined her at the feet of Jesus nine months later.

What I didn't know when I asked my grandmother for her Bible years earlier was that this wasn't going to be just an item I would treasure, this Bible would be my companion through the darkest time in my life. The coming year was the deepest valley I've ever walked--my "valley of the shadow of death."

This wasn't just a gift from my grandmother--I believe it was God's gift to me. It was that Bible that I read for many months during my mom's steady decline as she battled cancer. It was that Bible that I read during my difficult pregnancy of our third child. It was that Bible that I read after the sudden death of a friend and the split of our church. It was that Bible that Brad brought to the hospital when we delivered a baby that would never cry. It was that Bible that I read at my mother's bedside in her last days. (The story of Baby Luke and my mom is here.)

It wasn't just her love letter from God. Because of all she had written in the margins and underlinings of all that fed her spirit, it was also her love letter to me.

I currently keep it in a place out of reach of little hands, but it will be the centerpiece of our Memorial Box. (For now I have a little pink child's Bible holding its place there.) It reminds me of the legacy of faith and prayer passed down from my grandmother. It reminds me of God's provision during the hardest time in my life--His Word was never more alive, scripture was never more comforting, His faithfulness never more evident.

But this Bible also convicts and inspires me. If I had died in 2003, the Bible I would have left behind looked in embarrassingly good condition. The spine wasn't broken, margins missing written notations, pages free of tears. I want to leave a legacy behind just like my grandmother. I want the Bible that I carry through my days to be evidence of a life that glorified God. I want my Bible to be worthy of being placed in the Memorial Box of one of my children or grandchildren.

And I want my life to be a living reply to His beautiful love letter to me.

Truly Blessed,
Kathie