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Posted on Jan 13, 2018 in Health, Parenting, Wisdom | 0 comments

NICU Post Traumatic Stress is a thing?

NICU Post Traumatic Stress is a thing?

It’s been a hard year and a half with my pregnancy and Redmond’s health challenges.

When I was single, I marked hard times by watching Netflix in bed, isolation, binge eating, and fantasizing about the things I didn’t have. In psychiatric terms, I’ve learned that I disassociated for a time. I didn’t know how to handle the stress of what was happening, so I shut down. I went through Christian counseling in my twenties and am incredibly grateful to the wise woman God placed in my life to help me process some hard things and move past them.

Several years before Rick and I married, I taught myself how to deal with anxiety in a natural way. I learned to relax and not let things get to me like they had. But when I married him, I warned him that depression had been a bit of a dark cloud over me in the past. I had mostly dealt with it, but am always concerned about it coming back. When I got pregnant with Eliana and experienced such extreme sickness, it did come back. I was miserably ill, newly married, in a place I hadn’t lived since I was 12, in a new church, and without an established support system.

For about 7 ½ months, I spent the majority of my time on the couch, and it got to me. I didn’t call my friends often. I didn’t read my Bible. I was so sick that I didn’t go much of anywhere. When I had to grocery shop, I cried as I struggled to make it down the aisles – a mix of nausea and sciatica and exhaustion making me feel like the floor was pulling me in. I didn’t do much of anything, except feel very, very sorry for myself. I was upset with God for not waving His magic wand over me for my years of (somewhat) faithful service and letting me sail though pregnancy for the first time at 37 years old. Embarrassed, I was concerned that others thought I was being dramatic and attention-seeking. At one point it got so bad that I actually had a fleeting thought of ending the pregnancy. 

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Posted on Dec 23, 2017 in Devotional, Parenting, Spiritual Life, Wisdom | 0 comments

Who Needs Normal?

Who Needs Normal?

I’ve spent a lot of time in Facebook groups for moms of kids with Down syndrome this year. It’s been helpful to me to see other children with Ds, to hear what their moms are going through, and to learn all I can about the ways 47 chromosomes can affect my child.

Recently a mother posted that she had confessed to a friend that she sometimes still grieves that her daughter has Down syndrome. The person she spoke to answered her harshly, saying she should just be grateful that she has a baby at all.

Whoa.

The mother asked us if we ever felt like she does, wondering if she should be ashamed of herself and her feelings.

Goodness, no.

A lot of people in the Down syndrome community really celebrate the diagnosis and claim that they wouldn’t want their child to be any other way. I look forward to the day I feel that way too. But when I found out, I felt like my entire world was crumbling and God had withdrawn his presence from me. My mouth went dry, a wash of darkness went over my eyes so that I couldn’t see for a moment, and my body trembled uncontrollably. We’d been warned the night before, right after he was born, but I hadn’t thought it could be true until that moment. I was in my hospital bed recovering from an unplanned c-section, Rick was an hour away at the nearest NICU with Redmond, and my midwife and the OB who did the c-section were with me. The news came on the phone from the NICU nurse who had just finished explaining all Redmond’s medical concerns to me. I asked her the question, sure she would say no. She didn’t.

Two weeks later we received the results of his genetic test, confirming the suspicion. Young and bright medical professionals encouraged us, smiling as they told us how much we had to look forward to with our son. They explained that it’s a great time to have a child with Down syndrome because there’s been so much research and advancement in the last 20 years. If Redmond had been born 30 years ago, he would not have lived. I am incredibly grateful for the gifts God has given those with scientific minds who seek out answers and find incredible ways of providing healing and hope.

In spite of the bright outlook of the doctors, it took a few months for me to accept that the diagnosis wasn’t wrong. Redmond’s face was so covered in tubes that it was hard to see his distinct features. I obsessed over what “Down syndrome-type features” Redmond did and did not have. He has a strong palmar crease in his hands, but not much of a nuchal fold. He has some pretty crazy toes, but not the typical sandal toes. His fingers aren’t square, his ears aren’t low set, but he has a flatter nasal bridge. Surely the diagnosis was incorrect. He looks a lot like Eliana did as a baby. I considered asking the doctor to run another karyotype, unconvinced that the first one was correct.

I was terrified about what Down syndrome meant for Eliana and Charlie. Had I ruined their lives? Would I be able to parent them like I wanted to while I was caring for a disabled child? I was so embarrassed too. Terrible shame caused my face to flush hot when I thought about sharing the news.

What I was so embarrassed about, I cannot recall. Since that time, I have come to see that life with Redmond will greatly enrich our family, giving Eliana and Charlie a sense of compassion that many people lack. They will be able to see people who are different as individuals, worthy of friendship and love. We care for Redmond as a team. Rick and I are the parents, of course, but I work to actively involve them in everything I can. Eliana is a wonderful physical therapist. Charlie is a terrific diaper fetcher and bath time assistant. They adore their brother and have been told that he has Down syndrome. How much they understand of that at their age is questionable, but it will come with time.

My feeling that God had withdrawn his presence from me was just that – my feeling. God’s presence never left. He’s changed my heart to understand Down syndrome as a gift, to know that we are the best parents for him and we can trust our instincts, and that every moment we have with Redmond is a blessing. Writing those words still causes tears to rise and an ache in my throat. I do not claim to understand this gift. But I believe with all my heart that it is true and will become clearer every day. God has shown Himself faithful and mighty as He has taken this medically fragile baby and healed his body. One thing yet remains – feeding – and I have no doubt that He will soon eat and drink enough on his own to sustain himself.

Why in the world would I put such thoughts into words and publish them for the world to see? I have no shame in what I felt and thought, and if it can help one other parent in our situation feel better, it is worth it. It is understandable. We had no frame of reference for Down syndrome. It was a thing that was going to make our life hard, to make our family weird, and we really dislike weird. Oh, how we’ve treasured “easy,” “normal,” and “typical.” But if you know anything about us at all, you know how laughable that sentence is. Rick and I are far from normal or typical, having married for the first time at ages 47 (Rick) and 36 (me). It was not easy to be single for that long. Rick lived with his parents until we got married. We had our first child at ages 48 and 37 and our last at ages 52 and 41. As a single woman, I became an ordained pastor. We are weird! And we LOVE the weird people in our lives. Why we thought normal was so good is absurd.

Hard is another thing. I’d be lying if I said we’d come to embrace hard things. Rather, we’ve come to realize that we can do hard things. Hard things will not break us. Hard things will not break our marriage, will not break our faith in God, and will not break our spirits. Hard things are a part of life and God uses them to grow us into who He is calling us to be. Does God cause hard things? I believe we live in a fallen and broken world and hard things happen as a result of that. My theology isn’t perfectly worked out here, but I’ve learned that formulas do not exist. God doesn’t work that way: if you do A, then God will do B. God’s promises are true, but His timing is not our timing. We still do what we can to please God, to obey His word, but we no longer expect that our lives will somehow be free from difficulty or pain. The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike (Matthew 5:45). Job was a godly man, and yet he suffered terribly. We’ve learned a new level of difficulty and aren’t looking to find any deeper levels.

While I accept Down syndrome today and acknowledge that God has given us a gift, I would be lying if I said I still feel no grief over it. I regularly tell myself to stop borrowing trouble as I try to figure out a future for my son. His future is in God’s hands and I believe God has a purpose for him. I feel sad when I think about sending him to school where he will learn that he is different. There is a tinge of wistfulness when I see typical babies his age who are ahead of him developmentally. But when I tell Comparison and Fear that they are thieves and liars, grief leaves and joy takes over. I immerse myself in what Redmond is doing today. He’s so cute and cuddly. He’s doing amazing things, learning how to eat and drink on his own, getting stronger every day. He’s very vocal and alert. He adores his siblings and is happier when they’re around. He is a treasure. He isn’t colicky or unhappy, he sleeps great, and he smiles with his whole body.

Although I’m writing about it now, during our daily lives I rarely think about Down syndrome. He’s just my precious boy and we adore one another. I’ve had to focus on it more just because I had such a steep learning curve and I hate to be ignorant. I had to know what I was getting into and how to give him the best life possible. And for that precious mom whose “friend” chastised because she was not happy just to have a baby, I send all my love. Although a woman longing for a baby may not realize it, there are worse things than not having a baby at all. I have waited in the lobby of children’s hospitals and seen the families that go through there. I’ve seen the heartbreak of children who are severely deformed, unable to communicate at all, unable to do anything for themselves. What is Down syndrome in relation to the things I have seen? It’s NOTHING. It’s definitely a gift. But even with the gift, we are allowed to mourn the idea of what will never be.

Special needs parents – we swallow down our pride and grief, we stop concerning ourselves with petty things (will our child will be the best dressed or most athletic?). We push ourselves beyond our limits, going from doctors to specialists to therapists, learning about medical conditions and procedures we never wanted to understand. We try to find time to grocery shop, pick up the toys, and take a shower in between changing bandages or reinserting feeding tubes. We cry a little in private, and then we suck it up and give our children our best smile as we try one more time to get the baby to eat or sit up. We make the most of what we’ve been given, squeeze every ounce of good we can out of it, and try not to think too much about the unknown future. But we certainly grieve and there is nothing about that to apologize for.

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Posted on Jul 20, 2017 in Devotional, Health, Love, Parenting, Spiritual Life, Wisdom | 14 comments

Peace

Peace

***This post is a continuation of my previous post, Fear, about the birth of my recent child who had severe medical complications and Down Syndrome. To read more about Redmond and our story about him, you can see my public Facebook posts beginning March 1, 2017, and click here.***

 

In the middle of my struggle with fear surrounding Redmond’s birth and the first couple months of his life, there were pockets of peace too. Although fear threatened to swallow me up, I didn’t have panic attacks. I didn’t come undone. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, and I used the tools at my disposal to get to peace.

From the moment I knew I was pregnant with Redmond, a sense of dread and unrest came over me. I spent the first two weeks after that positive pregnancy test praying desperately for God to intervene in whatever was wrong. I gave Him my permission (as if He needed it) to take the baby if there was something terribly wrong. I waited for a miscarriage. I could not shake the sense of dread.

After two weeks of crying out to God, I felt His presence one morning like a soothing balm pour over me. My hands flew to my belly and the words that came to me were, “Life and health, joy and peace.” Peace came with those words. Every time the fear and dread tried to return, I comforted myself with those words.

The morning of our 20-week ultrasound, which was an extra-fancy one for high risk pregnancies, I felt like I was trying to walk in mud. My feet simply wouldn’t go. I was stuck. It was everything I could do to lift them up and move them forward, so afraid of what I might find out that day. After the hour-long ultrasound, we were ushered into the grim-looking doctor’s office. As she launched into a lecture about managing gestational diabetes, I struggled to comprehend what she said.

Finally, I stopped her and asked bluntly, “Is my baby okay?”

“Hmmm?” She looked up from her paper, confused.

“Is. My. Baby. Okay?”

“Oh, your baby is fine. It looks perfectly healthy. Were you worried?” Clueless doctor.

“No Down Syndrome?” I remember that I specifically asked about that. They measure EVERYTHING in this ultrasound. A friend told me how she was warned that her daughter had a shortened nasal bone, which is a soft marker for Down Syndrome, but her baby was born just fine.

The doctor explained to me that they can’t tell for sure without several more tests, and even then they can only tell you something like if there’s a one in four chance that the baby has DS, but she’d be happy to run them if we wanted them. At the point where we were, she felt confident that there was only a slight chance that the baby had DS.

Relieved that the extensive ultrasound had shown no markers for DS or other birth defects, we again declined further testing. We agreed that we would love and accept any child God gave us, and there was little point worrying ourselves to pieces about it before we could know 100%.

I spent the remainder of the pregnancy feeling harassed and annoyed by the management of gestational diabetes and hyperemesis gravidarium (which included extreme motion sickness, making me sick even when I walked). Pregnancy is a real challenge for some of us, but I determined that 9 months of difficulty was worth the lifetime of joy that a child brings.

Towards the end of the pregnancy, I received weekly ultrasounds and non-stress tests. The baby’s heart never did what it was supposed to during the NSTs. It was supposed to go up 15 beats per minute for 15 seconds, but it never did. So I’d get another ultrasound, which would confirm that everything was okay, and we’d go on another week. We also knew that I had high amniotic fluid and the baby had a small amount of water around the kidneys. Both of those can be indicators of DS, but DS babies typically measure small, especially their heads. Redmond topped out in the 98th percentile with an average head size.

There were multiple tests and concerns from the doctors with my previous pregnancies and everything worked out just fine. I kept reminding myself of that, repeating the words, “Life and health, joy and peace“, and doing my best not to worry.

On the morning Redmond was born, I watched a YouTube video by a naturopath about managing anxiety. I’d seen it before and was looking for it to send to a friend. During a time when I should’ve been the most anxious, I was fairly calm. When Rick came back that morning, I firmly told him we had to get to the hospital. I was very concerned about the baby, but I wasn’t freaking out. When the nurse told me that the midwife was coming to break my water, I stayed calm. When they told me that the baby was in distress and I was headed toward a c-section, I handled it well. The words of the doctor replayed in my mind. I had a choice how I would handle the situation. God had promised me “Life and health, joy and peace.”

As I stumbled through those first few days of Redmond’s life, I found it hard to comprehend the things the doctors said. The words they used were terrible, and they definitely brought fear with them, but I also had a sense of peace. My baby would be okay. He didn’t have Down Syndrome. It may look like that, but the test would come back clear. Wouldn’t it?

I had to sort through what was numb denial, what was actually happening, and what might happen in the future. God might have promised me life and health, joy and peace, but at that moment I was facing sickness, fear, and sadness.

At my command, Rick left my side to be with Redmond and calmly talked to him and held his hand so our baby would sense something familiar in all the chaos. When I squeaked out the words “Down Syndrome” and “sickest baby in the NICU” to my sister, barely able to make my mouth form the words, she dropped everything and flew to my side. When the doctors determined that Redmond needed the last-resort heart and lung bypass (ECMO), my mom came to be with us. My dad, who was working and couldn’t take time off, hit his knees. For that first week of my son’s life, my dad fasted and prayed. He barely slept, waking every few hours to get back on his knees and pray some more. He prayed for Redmond, but he also prayed for me and the rest of our family.

When fear tried to take me over, I had a husband like a rock, standing firm and telling me it was all going to be okay, I had a sister and mother helping me laugh and letting me cry. I had a daddy interceding for me. He reminded me that I found strength and felt God’s presence in music. Thanks to his prompting, I turned on the praise music and sang my heart out.

Every morning while I got ready to go to the hospital, I sang. When I went to the pump room for 20 minutes every three hours, I listened to praise music and sang. I sang over my son. I sang praise to God. I couldn’t concentrate to read the Bible much. I barely had words to pray. But I sang and sang and sang. Phrases that stand out to me from that time…

The waves and wind still know His name
It is well with my soul
This mountain that’s in front of me will be thrown into the midst of the sea
Through it all, through it all
My eyes are on You
Through it all, through it all
It is well.

When I listened to the words of the doctors and nurses, when I got my eyes off Jesus, fear snuck in. I’d often find myself staring at objects, trying to figure out if I was crazy for believing that my baby would be okay, if I needed to accept reality and stop living in denial. But I had this peace that he’d make it through. We’d take this precious boy home with us. He wouldn’t need heart surgery. Surely by the time we left, he’d be off oxygen and his feeding tube.

During my pregnancy, “It’s Your breath in our lungs, so we pour out our praise, pour out our praise…” were song lyrics that swept over my heart. I’d think of the baby growing inside me and pray for his lungs. Another song that ministered to my heart said, “Your love is like radiant diamonds, bursting inside us, we cannot contain… God of mercy, sweet love of mine, I have surrendered to Your design. May this offering stretch across the sky, these hallelujahs be multiplied.” I’d think of the cells inside me, dividing and growing (bursting!), only able to be contained for about 9 months. I’d think about my “offering”, submitting to another difficult pregnancy and trying so hard to be gracious and patient through it, and beg God to honor my sacrifice. As I sang those songs, there was no medical evidence that he had any issues at all.

My main problem finding peace during the storm was not questioning God, but questioning myself. Was I sane to believe Redmond would be okay? Was the peace I felt actually shock and denial or a gift from God? Or both?

Much of my fear stemmed from the knowledge that God is running the universe. He has very seldom seemed to take my wants or desires into account as He does, so I braced myself for the gut punch of disappointment, the disbelief that what I had hoped for was gone. My brain played tricks on me. Strong medication taken for pain from surgery affected me. I felt acid rising in my throat, burning me when I tried to pray for God to save Redmond’s life and heal him. Hope and peace were mingled with fear and dread. Surely God would do what was ultimately best for us, but how much was I going to hurt in the process?

I submitted myself to His will and waited to see what He would do. I asked my friends to pray because I couldn’t. I allowed the Holy Spirit to intercede for me with those groans I hear so much about.

Romans 8:26 – 27 says, “Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the word of God.” (NKJV)

Please save my son, Lord. But not my will but Thine be done.

I kept hearing the words, “He spared not His own son.” I had no guarantee that He would spare mine.

Please hear this point before you close your computer and shut out these horrific thoughts… Please understand me. I knew that if God did not spare my son, He would give me the grace to get through the horrific loss. I had no doubt that if my son didn’t make it out of that place alive, God was indeed running the universe and it was somehow in His perfect will for my life to take Redmond home so early. The thought horrified me, but even in the worst moments, I knew that God would walk me through it all. I was not alone.

Knowing so well that God owes me nothing, that any loss I face is nothing compared with the trauma of His own son’s death, I relish even more, savor, and bask in the beautiful YES that He gave me.

My precious baby boy, a cuddly bundle of smiles and love, sleeps soundly in my arms. This baby who came so close to death, who should be terribly delayed and have all kinds of problems as a result of the very medical interventions that were used to save his life, appears to be doing just fine. He coos and “talks”, sings with me. He actively rolls from back to front and back again, chewing on his thumb and reaching for toys. He laughs out loud, startling himself with the sound. He’s growing like a weed, wearing nine-month sleepers at 4.5 months old. He sighs deeply when he sleeps, burying his face in my neck, and tries yet again to pull the oxygen tube out of his nose.

He’s still on a feeding tube, still needs supplemental oxygen, which I wish away many times every day. But after all he’s been through, what are these little annoyances? I adjust my attitude to thanking God for these tools that I have to keep Redmond healthy, thriving, and growing. He should’ve had hearing loss, but he hears perfectly. He should’ve needed heart surgery, but the holes in his heart are closing. Pulmonary hypertension is GONE. He’s active, alert, and cheerful. He sleeps through the night like a little champ.

The chromosome test for Down Syndrome came back positive, and it took us a while to deal with that. He has an extra chromosome, which was present at conception and not a result of the complications of pregnancy or the medical treatment he needed early on. With it comes low muscle tone and the possibility of many other physical and intellectual handicaps. I have prayed over this child though, emboldened by God’s miracles in his life so far. I pray that he has the mind of Christ, that his eyes see truth, and so on. I pray that he is ABLE, not disabled.

A few days ago, I whispered to God during a rare moment of quiet, “And please God, would you heal him from Down Syndrome?” Very swiftly and firmly, I heard a voice whisper back, “It’s a gift.”

My heart lurched.

Many parents of children with DS report that they feel very lucky to have a child with DS, and Rick and I have shaken our heads in confusion. Why are we lucky to have a child with physical and intellectual impairments? Is low muscle tone and a congenital heart defect a gift?

But this God I serve, He works in mysterious ways. What is mystery to us is great glory to Him. And so, although I cannot claim to understand at this point, I have decided to embrace this gift in the same way I embrace the God I do not understand.

My child, the one with the extra chromosome I so greatly feared, is Life and Health, Joy and Peace to me. He is Life and Health, Joy and Peace to the entire world. The fact that he has a chromosomal abnormality is not a burden, but a gift.

I will still pray for him to be completely healthy and whole, to have perfect vision and a strong body. I will still pray for him to be able to walk and talk with ease, to be able to comprehend all that he needs to understand in this world. This child, and his amazing siblings who have embraced him with all their hearts, will drive me to my knees more than anything else ever has. I will pray for all three of them with all my heart. But Down Syndrome is off my prayer list. I write this with a thankful heart, full of peace: It is our mysterious gift.

Photo credit: the beautiful, blue, professional ones are all by ErikaMarie Photography. The rest are me.

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Posted on Oct 17, 2016 in Devotional, Love, My Crazy Family, Parenting, Spiritual Life, Wisdom | 3 comments

A Good Father?

A Good Father?

When I was a senior in high school, I got caught with beer in my car at after prom. Seriously. Me. Beer. Did I drink beer? Nope. I still don’t. Nasty stuff. How anyone can stand it, I don’t know. But nevertheless, it was my car, my friends, and beer. I knew about it, allowed it, and got caught. The principal had to call my parents in the middle of the night. I was pretty sure death would result from my sin. Either that or every single privilege I enjoyed, including the car and the beach trip I was planning with those friends after graduation, would be taken away from me.

Shaking in fear, I walked into my dark house that night, wondering what punishment was waiting for me. I expected all the lights to be on, my parents furiously pacing the floor.

Instead, they were quietly laying in bed, just like always. As I tiptoed in their room, wondering what type of new torture this was, I saw my dad’s arm go out and beckon me toward him. Slowly, I walked toward that arm. He pulled me in closer. Then he pulled me down onto the bed. Instead of yelling (or killing me), he just hugged me tight. As my fear melted away, I began to cry. Somehow I managed to blubbler out the story: I’d agreed to let my friends bring beer because I wanted them to have fun. They’d said they were unable to let loose, dance, and have fun without it. It had never occurred to me that I could get in trouble for it. I wasn’t drinking and driving. I wasn’t drinking at all.

My mind often goes back to that night. My parents taught me a valuable lesson in the middle of what must have been very frightening to them. They said that a person shouldn’t be dependent on alcohol to have fun. If a person can’t have fun without alcohol, they have a problem. I’ve always remembered that lesson. A nice glass of wine with a fine meal is a different thing than the inability to enjoy oneself without it.

Beyond the alcohol though, another issue strikes me. I learned a lot about a father’s love. He could have raged at me, punished me extensively, or demanded that I stop hanging out with those friends. He didn’t though. He trusted that I’d learned my lesson (I certainly had) and let it go. He treated me tenderly, and he treated my friends tenderly too.

There’s a worship song that’s very popular right now, “You’re a Good, Good Father.” The first verse says,

I’ve heard a thousand stories
Of what they think You’re like
But I’ve heard the tender whisper of love
In the dead of night
And You tell me that You’re pleased
And that I’m never alone.
You’re a good, good Father.

Like my dad, my husband is a good, good father. He is the one who scrambles out of bed in the middle of the night at the slightest cry of a child. He answers their cries tenderly, holding them, rocking them back to sleep, and sometimes really irritating me. Why does he have to be such a softy? Can’t he command them to go back to sleep? But he doesn’t.

Not everyone has such a good father. Many fathers are callous, hard, and ready to pounce on their children at the least provocation. They yell and issue commands, not taking the time to listen and understand. And some fathers simply abandon their children altogether, or are so evil that the child would be better off if they did. Into the mess of this world, we have this beautiful song about our Heavenly Father. HE is a good Father, no matter what our earthly fathers are like.

So why is it that so many of us, myself included, run from this good Father when we sin? Why is it that we avoid God when we are ashamed of ourselves? We have a good Father who loves us fully.

He beckons us with open arms, welcoming us into His embrace, even when we have sinned woefully. He wants to hug us, talk to us about what happened, and help us learn something from it. He wants to deepen our relationship, not push us away.

I see it at times in my own life. When I feel deeply disappointed by the way things have turned out, so different than what I thought God had in mind, I struggle to embrace Him. I feel a little like an angry teenager, arms crossed, back turned to God. I haven’t left Him by any means. I’m still leaning against His throne, and I don’t want to leave. But I am so hurt and disappointed, I don’t think I can crawl into His lap right now either. Constant questions plague my mind. Did I do the wrong thing? Is this somehow my sin? Am I missing something? And I’m facing outward, away from Him, because I’m watching so expectantly to see what He will do next.

I have a good, good Father. Surely He has sent an answer, an unforeseen blessing, and it’s making its way up the road to me now. But I’m very near-sighted, and I can’t make it out yet. But I’m watching.

2016-03-27-11-52-05How much better could I watch from the perch of His lap? If, like my tiny daughter does so freely with her daddy, I could crawl up there, grab hold of his shirt and snuggle down, knowing without question the comfort and security I would find there, wouldn’t life be so much better?

What if we started running toward God when we sin? What if we cry into His arms, pour out our sorrow, share our frustration and disappointment openly? Our good Father can handle our pain, and He knows exactly what to do with it.

A good, good Father is exactly who we have. No matter who our earthly fathers were, or are, we can rest in the embrace of God.

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Posted on Jan 20, 2016 in Devotional, Love, Marriage, Spiritual Life, Wisdom | 3 comments

Marriage Mayhem

Marriage Mayhem

2016-01-20 21.15.13Marriage is hard.

I married a wonderful man. He’s sweet and kind. He helps out around the house. He changes diapers and gets up with fussy babies in the night so I can sleep. He is an excellent provider with a great sense of humor. There are times when I look at him and cannot believe how lucky I am. He would die of embarrassment if I told you all the things about him that I find attractive and exciting. I believe with all my heart that he is God’s gift to me and we are a great compliment to one another. We grew up with similar values and beliefs. We have a lot of fun together. I could go on and on about the magnitude of his magnificence.

And still I am writing that MARRIAGE IS HARD.

I love him with all my heart, but we are two very different people with very different ideas about things – trying to build a home together. We have to deal with one another every minute of every day. There is NEVER a break. There is NEVER a moment where what I do doesn’t mean something to him. There is no point in which I can say, “Well, these past four years have been fun, but I’m a little tired right now so I’m going on vacation. I’ll see you in three months.” This commitment I made is FOR LIFE. 

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Posted on Jul 30, 2014 in Marriage, Parenting, Wisdom | 6 comments

How Can You Afford Help?

How Can You Afford Help?

 

It seems I’ve hit a nerve with my previous post in which I mentioned that we’ve hired someone to help us out around the house and with the kids.  Although many of you don’t comment publicly, I’ve received a number of private comments that say basically the same thing:

             We can’t afford to hire help!  How can you do that?

My heart goes out to all those who are hurting financially, living paycheck to paycheck, and going without some of life’s basic necessities in order to keep food on the table and a roof overhead.  I’ve been in that position, stressed about money and terrified that something on my car would break.  I understand that desperation and want to acknowledge that it’s not always possible to sacrifice anything else.

I have a close friend who has been known to bake her own bread to save money and to walk several miles with a stroller to pick her kids up from school because she doesn’t have money to put gas in the car.  She and her husband are both well-educated, white-collar professionals who never anticipated they’d be in that situation.  Life has taken it’s toll.  To those like her, please excuse yourself from the rest of this post.

However – if you’ve had a family vacation in the last year or pay for cable TV, I challenge you to keep reading.

Rick and I have chosen to live simply.  We have one television, but no cable or satellite.  We have one computer and one smartphone, which we won’t replace until they wear out.  Our children have plenty of toys, clothes, and nice things, but we’ve purchased very little of it ourselves.  Most of their things are hand-me-downs or gifts.  We haven’t been on a traditional family vacation since our honeymoon.  When we go away, we visit family and friends, often staying in their homes.

We don’t have it all figured out and we’re not perfect.  There are times we spend money on things unnecessarily.  Those who are close to us may look at our financial decisions and shake their heads, wondering how we can say we live simply when they live so much more simply.  And we have a great blessing in Rick’s parents who live right down the road and often partner with us to help us achieve our goals.

In 2014, in the USA, we can easily get caught up in the expectations of others, concerned more with what they think of us than what will bring us peace.  We want to appear wealthy, rather than build actual wealth.  We want to have it all right now, unwilling to wait until we can actually afford what we desire.  I use the word “we” because I have been there and still struggle with it often.

I know you’re wondering if I really suggested you stop taking annual family vacations.  Would you feel such a need to get away from it all if you had less stress in your daily life from having help around the house?  It’s great to see the world and have different experiences.  But what if daily life could be more enjoyable and less stressful?  Then a fun vacation every few years might be enough.

We independent, American, middle class families may technically be able to do it all, but what environment are our children raised in? What kind of memories will they have?

What price do we place on peace? 

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