"here with me"

when I was pregnant with our sweet 4-year-old daughter, i had a theme song. it was dido's "here with me," mainly because of the lines:

i won't sleep, i can't breathe, until you're resting here with me.

before L was born, we had many ultrasounds due to irregularities with the "fun" ultrasound - you know, the ultrasound where the only thing you care about is whether it's a boy or a girl - the one where you start planning a nursery, and names, and yes, you're happy they say he or she is healthy, but really - you're just wishing they'd get around to checking for girl or boy parts.

I knew something was up when the doctor came in the room, a shadowed look on his face. "Come with me," he said and ushered us down the hall to an office marked Genetic Counselor. We heard words like genetic markers, down syndrome, odds, termination, decision. . . Words that before simply conveyed meaning in conversation, but now they pinged in our hearts as reminders that this was not your usual joyful post-ultrasound activity of calling everyone to tell them "It's a. . . " Instead, we were being asked whether we wanted to allow this supposedly flawed fetus to continue to develop.

Turns out our sweet baby girl had some glowing kidneys. No big deal except that meant they likely were full of cysts and would eventually fail to function. In addition to the kidney thing, her liver would also be involved because the bile ducts would form improperly leading to possible portal hypertension and liver failure. I was a mess of a pregnant lady - doing internet research, crying, hugging our seemingly unaffected 2 year old son, wondering how my husband and i could possibly be carriers of this rare genetic mutation causing a recessive disorder. he did not go through the range of emotions, choosing instead to believe the doctors to be wrong.

and she was born. . . healthy, vivacious from the beginning. urinating all over the place, kidneys thriving. we chose to ignore all the prenatal worry and prediagnosis. When the DNA test they performed never came back due to some glitch or blessing, depending on how you look at it, we chose to move forward and put her kidneys in the very deepest back of our minds. Being a mother, I never forgot her kidneys, but I had many days of not thinking of them or the dark days of my pregnancy overshadowed by cautious doctors and monitoring.

our pediatrician supported us in our chosen ignorance - saying that checking her blood pressure each year would be a sufficient way to keep check on whether or not she actually had this dreaded disease. Every year he'd check it, every year it was normal. Until this year. . .

Now we have ARPKD. We cannot deny it any longer. Our sweet L has big ole' cystic kidneys and high blood pressure. There is a 25% chance our other two children also have the disease. We have a lot of testing in our future. We are reeling - I don't know why but I had really convinced myself that she was fine. Her kidneys must have just been glowing because they were nice and clean?

I am thankful that we know her outside of her disease - that we had four years of blissful ignorance - that she developed outside of medical monitoring and intervention. Now we turn down a new road with her. I am so thankful that she is "here with me" now.

If it's the beaches. . .

On this Sunday morning I was blessed with an opportunity to sit with my feet in the sand, in a comfy chair and watch the remains of the waves sent to us via Hurricane Bill off the east coast. The water was super choppy; I wouldn't let my children go out past their ankles and even encouraged them to play the "run from the waves" game as even a few small breakers almost knocked me down!  

The older two played happily in the sand, collecting treasures to adorn their future sandcastle. My baby rested calmly in my lap until she discovered sand.  She did not like sand!  She is normally very quiet and takes it all in.  Today, she whimpered and cried nearly the entire time we were out there.  It was strange because she's usually so easy-going.

I felt very close to the Lord this morning watching the choppy sea, listening to my children, feeling the cool breeze, smelling the salty air. . . I LOVE the beach because it always does bring me back to the reality of Our relationship.  He created all of this for me, with me in mind.  He loves me that much, and He just wants my life for His plans and His glory.  My kids are not my own. . . they are on loan as they are His just as I am His.  

Lately I have felt a separation between Us.  I've been questioning our interpretation of His voice - wondering if J. and I could possibly be hearing different directives.  I have been concerned that our humanly instincts have led us to make rash, irresponsible decisions that will have devastating financial and emotional consequences.

I am still exploring in my mind the concept of His sovereignty versus our decisions.  How much power -- if any --  do we really have to completely mess up up His plan?  Why do some decisions give us no peace until we just give in to what our heart is telling us to do?  I have found that doors continually slam when we are seeking to do our will instead of His.  That has been happening to us in this new situation, although the doors that are slamming are the ones that J. believes He wants us to walk through.

I was broken this morning by the bigness of His love for me, by the comfort of His arms, by the therapy of those waves. . . there is no peace without Him.  Whatever His will for our family, may it be done.  And may I stop today wrestling with the details as if they were mine to tackle in the first place.  Work it out, Lord. . . work it out.  

Topsy-Turvy

It's amazing how quickly life can change.  In just an instant, given a phone call or an email or a news story. . . the world can turn upside-down.  

Over the past few weeks my husband and I have spent a lot of time in prayer and in discussion about his career.  It turns out that we are headed for a completely new direction.  He is leaving his current job to pursue a graduate school degree towards a career in something he is truly passionate about.  I am so excited for him and I want nothing less than for him to be serving in the right place in this world for the short time he is given here to make an impact.

I have known my husband since we were 15 years old.  Way back then I saw a spark in him when it comes to nerdy things like classical literature, dead languages, and history facts.  I heard him read classic dramas in English class with fervor that only a true history and literature buff could muster - even at the tender age of 16 (our class read Moliere aloud --he was Tartuffe, I was Elmire -- where it all began, I suppose :).

He is a gifted writer.  He crafted his skills writing me letters - not sappy love letters all the time -- just thoughts on life, family, God, and the world in general.  He was such a dreamer -- always idealistic, always optimistic, just the right mix of romance and masculinity.

He has been in a career over the past couple of years that just doesn't suit him.  His gifts having been laying dormant and his heart just isn't in his work.  He gave it the best try that he could out of a feeling of responsibility to provide for our family.  We have been convicted, though, that providing for our family comes in many different forms.  A monetary salary is only part of provision:  we also need a leader in our little family who is following his heart, who is praying earnestly about where God needs him.  

In figuring this out, we have faced much opposition from our families.  It's surprising to me to see the focus on money that has emerged in our discussions with family.  Maybe they are afraid that we will be leaning a little too hard on them during this transition.  Maybe it is because they do not understand that this decision has not come on as quickly as it seems.  Maybe they are simply fearful that we are making a mistake.  Whatever the reason, it is difficult to accept so much criticism and advice at a time when we are already on pins-and-needles.

I am excited for our family and the opportunities this transition affords.  I cannot wait to see which door will open next.  God is so faithful in his provision: just what we need, just when we need it.  The world unfortunately preaches a totally different tune, and I'm afraid that is the lens with which our naysayers are looking.

I am hopeful that as we continue to press forward, our heads raised high and our hands clasped tightly together, that our families will begin to see that we truly are a unit forging ahead together.  I am disappointed that they seem to have the opinion that he has jumped off a cliff, dragging us along after him.  I wish they saw the bigger picture and could offer encouragement and excitement to him instead of allowing their fears to cloud their judgement.

We are going to be so much fuller and richer together in this new endeavor.  Thanks be to God for the opportunity we have here and for His provision in the details!  

Confusion. . . then more prayer

I really wish sometimes that I had a switch and could turn my brain "off."  I have always been an over-analyzer, obsessing about every little decision and every little life move.  Interestingly I have also been known to be impulsive. . . which is the worst place for over-analyzing, because it inevitably comes later and is often known as regret.

Lately my brain has been in overdrive.  I have spent the last month getting my body back in shape after the last pregnancy.  Exercise and food have been obsessions because in order for me to lose weight they have to be.  I have found myself questioning my commitment to this task.  Is it godly to want to be healthier/thinner?  Or is my body becoming an idol?  I definitely spend a lot of time writing down my food choices and my exercise, so I have started using that time to write down my prayers as well.  I have never really kept a prayer journal until now, and I can say that is one positive thing that has come out of this diet obsession this month.

My husband (who is slightly overweight) and I had a conversation last weekend.  The result was a question:  does God care if we are fat?  We ended up posing this question to many friends and through the course of the discussions I realized that I was really thinking about the sovereignty of God.  After all, if He is in control and has our days numbered. . . does it really make sense for us to toil away in the gym hoping to add days to our lives?  I haven't come to any real conclusion on this except that I need to rest in the peace of the knowledge that He is definitely in control.  Certainly this also comes down to stewardship. . . taking care of the body He is using for his service.  I am just searching for where to draw the line.

I have so many questions about my God.  I feel cheated by my church experience thus far.  I do not feel that I was properly discipled despite being raised in the church.  I am learning so much through scripture, through other readings, through sermons (which I used to take for granted --now they often make me go, "hmmmmmm. . . "), through conversations with my deeply spiritual husband (who is also very private).

For instance in a recent sermon I heard the pastor speak of our salvation and how it cannot be lost.  Just before that point, he referenced a verse in Revelation where cowardice is equated with adultery and murder.  His point was that we cannot be cowardly in our faith -- that we must be able to share it.  But if there is truly no condemnation for us once we are saved. . . then the verse in Revelation cannot apply, can it?  After all, the cowardly, adulterers, murderers are thrown into the lake of fire in that verse.  If our salvation cannot be lost, then clearly we will not be thrown into the lake of fire.

These are the types of debates I am having with myself.  Honestly I have come to a point of questioning the denomination in which I was raised.  That is very scary for me to admit because it's all I have ever known.  It's also exciting because I know God is stretching me, molding me now for something He has for me to do.  I am willing, it just gives me a headache sometimes.  

Thin vs. Thick

I was starting to feel a little self-conscious about the remaining weight left over from my recent pregnancy.  That was until this afternoon.  When discussing the meaning of the word "thin" my son said "oh, you mean like Norner (his name for my brother)?  He's thin."  My brother is very skinny.  

Then he said, "So Mommy you're halfway thin."

Better than being thick, I guess.  I love that little man.

Biblical Worldview in Action

Another recent blog post by me from our school's site:

Today our family of five was outside enjoying the 80 degree, early spring weather. What a gorgeous reminder of God’s love and provision! My husband was moving a pile of red dirt to cover some exposed tree roots. Our kindergartener asked him what he was doing with the dirt. He replied, “I’m using it to cover the roots.” Our son, biblical worldview properly forming, stated, “oh, yeah, you mean like David covered up his sin. Got it.”

We both chuckled. What a testament to how he really is intermingling his knowledge about God and His Word into his daily life and thoughts.

Our school. . .

The school that we helped to start has a new blog.  We are trying to "personalize" our journey and offer insight into what we are trying to accomplish.  It's a less intrusive way for folks to check us out and really see what's going on.  Here is a post I recently contributed about our son, who is in kindergarten at the school.

Here are a few recent conversations between me and my kindergartener:

1) While making his bed. . . “so, Mom, who are some other great artists like Leonardo Da Vinci?” They have been learning about Da Vinci in art class for the past month and obviously it’s accomplished one goal of sparking interest in the masters.

2) Me: “Just because your sister hit you does not mean that you can hit her back.”
Him: “Yes it does, mom. The Bible says so.”
Me: “Where does the Bible say it’s okay to hit your sister??”
Him: “It says ‘Do unto others as they do unto you.’”
I had to chuckle a bit before I explained the meaning of this verse. Obviously his ability to memorize might exceed his ability to fully understand at this age. However, when the understanding catches up with the memory he will be so well-equipped!!!

3) Sometimes we let the children watch their favorite show together which airs at 6:30, just before bedtime. The show is divided into 3 stories. One night recently, I told them they could only watch for ten minutes or so because they were both so exhausted and needed to get in bed. I could see his wheels start turning.
Him: “So how long is ten minutes?”
Me: “Honey you will watch about half of the show.” I know that the show is actually only about 22 minutes long.
Him: “So is that one story or two?”
Me: “You can watch just the first story, so one.”
Him: “Then that is not half, hmmm, that is one out of three.”
Me: (smiling) “Yes, son, you are correct.”

I was a math major. I was and still am obsessed with numbers. I, too, would have sat there and figured out the ratio of the show I was going to watch. Oh, the butterflies I got when I heard him say this. They are the same butterflies I get when he talks about a pattern, or subtracts to figure out the number of days left in the month, or talks about how amazing it is that 3+4 is the same as 4+3: 7!

 

More wonderful to me than all of these very academic breakthroughs is that he knows the Lord is at the center of it all. It’s because of God’s hand that the artists’ hands can paint His creation. The word of God etched on their little hearts will serve them over and over again as they grow and mature.  Only a God of order could create such beauty as the beauty of numbers and the predictability of math. I am thankful that as the knowledge he gains takes him in all different directions, his heart is firmly planted in allegiance and wonder of His glorious Creator.

Birth Story - Baby #3

I have been meaning to record the details of the birth of our third child on January 4th, 2009. The day began as many had over the previous three weeks -- with a nice pattern of noticeable contractions.  I woke up and didn't really feel like getting ready and going to church after being awake with the pains.  My husband encouraged me to go; he said it would take my mind off of things.  

We went to church.  During Sunday school I was casually looking at my watch when I would have a contraction and noticed that they were pretty consistently five minutes apart.  They still were not killing me, but they were definitely different than the contractions I had been having over the previous weeks.  

During the sermon something changed.  The pains were still only 4-5 minutes apart, but they were much stronger.  I even had to get up and walk to the restroom just to see if that would help.  After three weeks of wondering if "this is it" I knew that walking or changing position would not stop true labor contractions.  Thankfully, my trip to the bathroom did nothing to disrupt the rhythm and intensity of the pains.  I was starting to believe that it was time.

We immediately went home and fed the older two children lunch.  I was not hungry, just jittery. Thankfully my sister was in town -- she lives in California -- and I called her to let her know that we were probably going to the hospital at some point during the day.  I was trying to remain patient and wait for the pains to become unbearable before going.  I definitely did not want to get there and have the nurses give me their skeptical speech about me not being in labor. I was the pregnant overachiever -- I wanted an A+ in pain when I arrived at the hospital this time.  

My mom wasn't feeling well but agreed to come down to help with caring for the older two. She, my sister and brother-in-law all arrived at around 3:30pm or so. By that point I was convinced that we needed to start thinking about going soon.  The hospital is a good 30-minute drive away and I didn't trust myself to know when I would be in danger of delivering on the side of the road.

Interjection here. . . my first delivery was initiated by my water breaking so I had to go to the hospital immediately.  My second child was essentially induced after I was admitted to the hospital and my contractions stopped.  I have never progressed past early labor without medical intervention in the form of pitocin.  I didn't know what "real" contractions felt like, because as soon as I was put on pitocin I was also given an epidural.

I had decided that this time I wanted to feel labor.  I really don't know where the crazy idea came from, but I was determined to labor without pain medication.  I think there was a certain amount of desire for bragging rights, there was a genuine curiosity, and there was a bit of a challenge to myself to see if I could endure.  I also wanted to feel what God had designed in a woman's body that allowed the miracle of childbirth.  

When we finally got to the hospital around 5pm I was still having regular, strong contractions, but I could definitely still talk through the pain.  The nurse who began working me up seemed skeptical.  Being the overachiever that I was, I assured her that this had to be the real thing.  I begged her to let me walk around.  I told her that my dr. assured me that if I made it to the hospital in a nice pattern, that she would definitely "help" me along if need be.  I was stating my case that I was not leaving without a baby (I had been to the hospital once before only to be sent home).

She checked me and called me a 3.5 cm and 90% effaced.  After monitoring me and the baby for 30 minutes she called my dr. who instructed her to let me walk around.  Jonathan and I began walking at around 6pm or so. . . and that really began to speed things along.  The nurse said that my dr. was going to come to the hospital after finishing dinner to check me herself (love my dr.).  Again, the overachiever in me was determined to be nicely progressed by the time she arrived.  

The contractions were definitely getting stronger to where I was having to stop and lean on the wall during the height of the peak.  I could still talk through them.  After about an hour of walking, the nurse checked me and said I was a good 4-4.5cm and 100% effaced -- progress!  If this was a test I was getting an A for sure :).  

By the time my dr. arrived at around 8pm and my water was broken, the pain was beginning to turn a corner.  I was stuck in the bed being monitored and as soon as I could I wanted to walk again.  This time, I had to lean on my husband and even bite his shirt at the peak of the pain. . . I was moaning.  There was a Christmas tree at the end of the hallway, and I liked to go there for the peak.  I could hide behind the tree and have a little privacy for my pain.  There was also an alcove at the other end of the hallway.  We would walk between these two points, making sure to arrive at one or the other before the pain hit.  I have no idea how far apart the contractions were then.  I just know that I was starting to get very, very uncomfortable.  

Because my moaning was getting louder and more frequent, the nurse asked to check me.  She wanted to update my dr. who had gone next door to her office to catch up on paperwork.  She checked me and I was at 6cm.  I was starting to lose control during the pain at this point.  The nurse kept telling me to relax and be her "wet noodle."  I felt like I really could not relax anymore or control myself during the contractions.  I asked her what it would take to get an epidural.  She let me know that she'd have to start an IV, etc and that it might be too late by the time she did all of that.  She suggested trying the jacuzzi tub to help me relax.

Jacuzzi tub + transition contractions = BAD COMBO.  As soon as I got in the tub transition hit. I know it was transition because I started screaming at this point and the pains were one right on top of the other.  In the moment I was blaming the tub for the heightened intensity, and I had only been in there a couple of minutes when I told Jonathan to get me out of there NOW. He let them know that the jacuzzi wasn't working and that I wanted the epidural. 

When I got out she began starting an IV when the other nurse suggested checking my cervix again first.  This was a total of 5 minutes or so after the last check.  She checked me and I was 9cm!  Eek.  Luckily, they had already called my dr. when I started screaming.  She was there within a few minutes, putting on her suit.  This was at around 10:20pm.

This is when it gets really funny.  I was completely out of control.  My soft-spoken dr. kept reassuring me that it was going to be over soon, I kept saying that I couldn't do it anymore.  I was screaming, grabbing my husband, cursing (gasp!), begging for help. . . completely humiliating behavior.  They kept telling me to push, and I kept saying that I couldn't.  The pain was too much to push through.  I had always read that pushing would be a relief, but I disagree. I couldn't focus my energy because I was so focused on the intensity of the pain.

Finally, one nurse pulled up some handles for me to grab onto, and once I grabbed those the baby was out in a flash.  I think I may have pushed for 10 minutes.  The famous "ring of fire" was NOTHING compared to those late contractions.  They were like a chainsaw cutting me in two from side-to-side.  

There is no really good way to describe the relief when the baby comes out.  Well, actually, the really amazing relief is when the afterbirth is delivered.  It's like you can breathe again!  

I don't know if I would go through childbirth naturally again.  The recovery wasn't that much better for me this time, and the humiliation was pretty bad.  In the end no matter what, you get a beautiful sweet baby to bring home.  That's what is really important.

One reason why we are not in public school. . .

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,506773,00.html

Alexis de Tocqueville

Here is a link to a Weekly Standard  published excerpt from Democracy in America.  It was in this week's issue, and, yes, we subscribe to this magazine.  LOVE IT.  Anyway, my husband has read the book from cover-to-cover; I tried and couldn't make it through.  Even this short excerpt required more concentration than I have to give right now, however it was eerie to read in some ways.

Sharing my opinion about touchy subjects has always been a strange thing for me.  When I was in high school I was way too outspoken, to the err of obnoxiousness.  I went through a period after college where I was pretty much indifferent to any given cause so I didn't really have anything to say.  Now I'm definitely more opinionated and learning to share my thoughts effectively and graciously (except, maybe, for my post about Anne Hathaway -- when it comes to celebrities I have a hard time being gracious for some reason).  

I am unhappy about the direction we are headed under this leadership.  I do not wish to be in competition for medical treatment under a government-run health care system.  I do not believe the government manages anything very well, and therefore should be left to govern the people, who can more effectively manage when unyoked.  I want to serve the poor of our country through my church, giving them hope instead of a handout.  I want them enabled and inspired to take advantage of their freedom instead of see them choose bondage in order to be fed.  I hate to see people lose their jobs, but people are resilient.  A free market economy which is stifled is not able to flourish.

I am not a crazy, Obama-hating, closed-minded person.  I am a mom who drives a minivan who simply believes in the ideals this country was founded on.   In a few short weeks I see those ideals being thrown under the bus -- all in the name of "change we can believe in."  Ugh, those words turn my stomach.  I just pray each day that eyes are opened to the importance of freedom.  

 I am thankful that my God is bigger than any government ever could be.  Thankfully, I am in His service and have nothing to fear.  It was a good day when I realized that being a Christian comes before being patriotic.  

God speaks

It's been a very difficult 24 hours.  Yesterday the baby girl turned 2 weeks old, and she is starting to wake up more.  She had been such a sleepy little girl, barely even squeaking to let me know she was hungry.  Yesterday evening at about 8:30 she remained awake after her feeding. . . and stayed awake until 2am.  

I fed her, diapered her, swaddled her, rocked her, swayed with her, fed her again, tried the pacifier, tried laying her down with me in my bed, tried to feed her yet again. . . all to no avail. When I laid her down she grunted her way up to a nice, loud cry each time within a few minutes. I suspect gassiness or maybe not liking the new formula we started over the weekend. . . but the doctor was closed today so I might not have a real answer until tomorrow.  

My husband was working night-shift last night and this was my first time with all three children under my care without a helper around.  Bedtime went off for the older two without too much fighting and I thought things were going great.  About 1:30 this morning and I was beginning to wonder what I was thinking leaving my mom's as soon as I did yesterday.  

I think I got around 2 hours sleep last night.  My husband is on night-shift again tonight so he came home and went straight to sleep.  Being the saint that he is, he woke up a couple of hours early so I could get a nap this afternoon.   I was really grouchy and a pain all day, singing the "woe is me" tune loudly to anyone who would listen.

Then I sat down on the computer this evening after dinner and I decided to catch up on reading the blogs I subscribe to.  One of them had links to two other bloggers who had recently had babies.  Both of these ladies had normal, healthy pregnancies and their babies were born at full-term.  Neither was expecting an infant with health problems.  Both of their babies are literally fighting for their lives in NICUs far from home.  

God speaks loudly when our attitudes need adjusting.  I am thankful, and I listened.  Off to kiss the grunty baby lounging happily in her baby papasan chair -- and to gear up for what might be another long night ahead.

Who's informing the electorate?

So tonight I saw this story and I just cannot let it go by without commenting.  All of my faithful readers are waiting to hear my opinion I'm sure :)  Let it be said that I have some thoughts about the controversy over Rick Warren's invocation at the upcoming inauguration, but I'll save those for another post.

Anne Hathaway, actress extraordinaire (description meant to be sarcastic), has decided to wear a ribbon to show her rejection of Rick Warren as the pastor chosen by Obama to pray at the inauguration.  Like anyone cares.  Judging by her choice of company (her ex-fiance is currently serving a jail term for some kind of white-collar theft) and her occupation (which requires little education, integrity, or values) no one should be influenced by her opinion of PEBO's choices.

It sickens me the way Hollywood has jumped on the Obama bandwagon and America just seems to follow along behind them, tongues hanging and tails wagging.  These people are ENTERTAINERS.  Unfortunately they also have the media machine at their disposal.  I have lost a lot of faith in my generation and the ones to follow with the way this most recent election went down.   Our President is the winner of the most-popular contest and if you ask the average young American a few questions about what his plans for the office are I bet you won't receive many informed answers.

I just wish celebrities like Anne Hathaway, who is quickly becoming one of my least-favorite, would stick to their day job.  Either that or I wish the average American would wise-up and take the initiative to learn about current events and form their own, informed opinions.

A Little Girl's Dream

This evening my 3-year-old daughter told me about a dream she once had.  She said that before she was born, before she was in my tummy, Jesus held her in His arms.  She said that after that He put her down in the clouds and I flew by in an airplane.  When she saw me, she wanted me to be her momma, so she jumped in the airplane and got in my tummy.

This got the tears flowing.  Little did she know that I rarely fly in an airplane, but I did fly when I was about six weeks pregnant with her to see her dad while he was on a work trip.  Maybe children really do choose their parents. . . 

And I sincerely hope that each baby that comes to live with us here on earth gets a big, loving hug from Jesus before they start their journey.  

I just started reading the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge.  It's a study we are doing in Sunday school about unveiling the mystery of a woman's soul.  The first chapter talks a lot about little girls and what they dream of.  Reading this four days postpartum after having a new daughter (and with the sweet 3-yr-old sibling mentioned above) has really gotten the tears flowing.  However, it is amazing to read about the common threads we women all seem to share and then witness these traits coming alive in my own daughter.  I am excited about this study and I think it comes at a great time in my life.