Miracles

 Miracles.  They are a word I try not to take lightly, truly an act of God alone, something no one can take credit for or explain away.  On April 19^th, I gave birth to our own little miracle, our last little, (lk).  (I know, I know, my readers expected baby (c)- sorry to disappoint haha!) During my second two pregnancies, I owned one graphic tee that simply stated “I only make miracles.”  We found it to be so true, there is something so wonderous and miraculous about a precious baby- the rare and honored chance to get to be a part of the miracle making process.  But this time, we held this situation a little closer to our hearts, and did not take for granted the reality of the miracle.

 Our third baby was very much wanted, and very much prayed for.  No, we weren’t “trying for a girl” or giving it one more chance (quite honestly, I was desperately praying for a third boy!), we just knew in our hearts there was supposed to be one more “little” in our family.  My word for the year 2020 was purpose, and we knew this baby was a gift from God on purpose.  This was no surprise or “quarantine baby,” it was an answer to prayer.  We were beyond excited to find out in late August that we were going to have baby #3.  However, the stress of the insanity that this school year brought led to some health concerns that landed me in the office of my OB sooner than expected.  He ran several tests, and on Friday, September 4^th, sat (A) and I down in his office and compassionately but honestly told us that we had a big problem.  None of the test results were lining up correctly and he was 99.9% sure we were going to experience a miscarriage in the coming week.  He called the situation a blighted ovum and said there was nothing we could do or could have done to change things.  He was so kind, but honest, and scheduled us to come in 5 days later for another ultrasound to “confirm the loss” and make some medical decisions from there.  We were heartbroken.  We tried to focus on the two little loves we already had, but spent the weekend terribly grieving this baby we wanted so badly, and also looking at the timeline and our ages, and coming to grips that if this baby didn’t happen there would also likely NEVER be a sweet #3.

  In our devastation we didn’t want to make a big deal and so kept the news extremely private. At the time we only told a tiny handful of people, two of which were our best friends in Indiana.  It is amazing to have friends who you can text with your heartbreak and ask them to “call when it is convenient” only to have them immediately pack the car and drive four hours to show up on your doorstep when you desperately needed them the most.  While our kids played downstairs and our husbands talked about the situation outside, I stood with my friend in our kitchen bearing my heart.  I told her that I was at a point where I was not praying for the .01% chance miracle that the dr had given us.  I was just praying for the strength and grace to accept whatever plan he had for us.  I was also praying for the strength to survive our ultrasound day- you see it was scheduled for September 8^th, the 3^rd anniversary of one of the hardest days of our life.  If we took hard news again this year on that date, I wasn’t sure how I could carry on.  This friend had also cried with me on that first September 8^th and she knew exactly where my heart was coming from.  We staggered through the weekend trying to put on a brave face for the sake of our boys who had no idea and to keep up appearances where we were not ready or willing to yet share our story- we hadn’t even told anyone yet that we were expecting, let alone share the turn things had taken. 

 

On Tuesday afternoon, September 8^th we walked painfully into our OB’s practice for an ultrasound we were dreading.  The staff there was wonderful as always and before the tech began she graciously asked if we knew what we were looking for that day.  We acknowledged that we were aware this wasn’t the “fun” kind and we knew we were there to confirm a loss.  She flipped off the lights and got started with the process.  However, in less than a minute her posture changed and she had a look of shock on her face.  In the sweetest voice she said to us, “Uh guys… I have a BABY, with a perfectly healthy heartbeat!”  We could see it too- the little squirms and wiggles of a six week only baby and the obvious swish of a strong heartbeat.  We both began crying.  She quickly left the room to call upstairs for my doctor to come down.  He must have taken the stairs 2 at a time because he was there in just a minute to look at the screen for himself.  He was in total joyful disbelief, and completely flabbergasted told us that he had absolutely no explanation for the turn of events.  At that point the ultrasound tech spoke up and said, “I do! God said this baby was supposed to be!”  As we left, we were quick to share the news with the tiny handful of people who had prayed over us all weekend.  My sweet friend shared with me that while she knew I didn’t have it in me to pray for a miracle- that is exactly what she was doing.  And that she was also praying for the redemption of September 8^th on our family’s heart.  The goodness of God was bigger than just this news, it was evident in the friends He has given us who could intercede for us when our hearts were too heavy to ask for a miracle.  PURPOSE- this baby was coming with a purpose.  

We were overjoyed, but I still found myself waiting with baited breath for the next several weeks.  I was afraid at any moment of that first trimester that something was going to go wrong, or more test results were going to come back with a scary outcome.  I had done my research, our doctor was not at all wrong to give us the original diagnosis that he did, the tests did NOT add up and some of them had been done twice just to double check.  It was nothing short of the goodness of God that I was carrying this baby.  At 13 weeks everything was still coming back with great results, and so we joyfully shared our news that sweet #3 was on the way. 

 

At week 20 we had another scare when an ultrasound showed a cyst on her brain, but by the next ultrasound at week 24 it had miraculously cleared itself never to appear again or leave the slightest evidence that it had once existed.  At week 33 my blood pressure went haywire, I was dehydrated, and the dr stopped me dead in my tracks.  I was terrified we were going to be faced with an early delivery and NICU time, but by the grace of God, focusing on His word for me- STILL, and the help of a lot of people who stepped in to take things off my plate- we quickly got the situation under control and maintained healthy levels until she was full term and our dr decided with us that it was “go time.”

 As I laid on the operating table during my c-section, I couldn’t help but cry as I listened to the healthy screams of our baby girl and heard her Daddy and the nurses calling across the room to me with all her stats updates as they did all the newborn tests and measurements.  My anesthesiologist was standing at my head and seeing my tears asked if everything was ok and if I was feeling ok.  I assured her that nothing was wrong, these were tears of overwhelming joy.  She sweetly brought me a tissue and told me that was wonderful and perfectly understandable. 

While I know our story is NOTHING compared to many I know- stories of the most heroic moms who have gone through much more than us, stories of miracle babies who have survived insurmountable odds- this miracle story is ours.  And for that I will forever be thankful.  The words of one of my favorite worship songs declare “With every breath that I am able, I will sing of the goodness of God.”  Welcome to our crazy, chaotic, wonderful life sweet #3.  May you always remind me of the goodness of God.

 

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” Psalms 139: 13-14

Maturing

 On Easter Sunday, we reached a milestone I wasn’t ever sure we would hit.  (a) sang up front with the kids’ choir at church and did exactly what he was supposed to do.  There was no jumping, flopping, sleeve chewing, nose picking, or pouting.  He actually stood on stage like a respectable human AND sang out to all three songs they had been practicing.  I was so relieved I nearly cried.  This might not seem like such a big deal, but you have to know this kid’s track record.  The very first Christmas we were in Illinois, he flopped off the front step reenacting a scene as if he had been shot and then laid on the floor kicking his foot in the air.  Other times he has swung around playing bumper cars with the other kids, made goofy faces, pulled at his eyes, wadded up and chewed on his sleeve, or stood up front pouting.  But up until this point he has never actually done what he was supposed to do. 

This guy even got himself all dressed and ready by himself for Easter Sunday morning (complete with his own choice of accessories- which he thankfully DIDN'T wear on stage)

 

Over the last few days, we have praised him several times at home for doing the right thing and doing a great job, and one of those times his response hit me in a way that made me realize the truth of the situation.  He said “Yeah, Death was Arrested was hard to learn, I had to practice that one a LOT!” He sounded so grown up- and I realized that was it.  He is growing up and maturing.  The little guy who flopped off the stage like he was shot in an old western wasn’t quite 3 yet.  He was pretty immature to be up there, let alone sing along.  The boy who chewed on his shirt was trying to somewhat comply, but he didn’t want to put in the effort to learn the words to the songs.  But THIS guy- he has finally matured enough to find the combination of acting correctly AND being interested enough to learn the songs and join in the singing like the older kids.  It just took some maturing.

 

I think about other things that just take some maturing- some of my favorite trees that needed a few years before their spring blossoms were the most glorious or other plants that needed some time before they could produce their best fruits.  And I think of my own heart and life.  I still have SO much to learn, but as I look back, I can see places and situations that I would have handled differently, words I might not have said, feelings I might not have wasted time on if I were to face the same situation now because God’s word and life experience are hopefully maturing me. 

 

We have joked that we will be watching baby #3 graduate high school along with people our own age who are there to watch their grandkids graduate, but as I think about who we were 10 years ago or more, I’m so thankful we waited several years to become parents.  While I see absolutely nothing wrong with becoming parents much sooner than we did- In my life, I see how maturity has made me a different mom today than I would have been when I first married at 22- and I’m ok with her.  This mom worries far less than she would have, takes things much more in stride than she would have done, has more patience, sees less need for perfection, relishes little moments, and prays for different things.  And those things came with maturity of life experience and maturity in my faith. 

 

I still have SO much growing to do, and SO many more ways to mature, but as I watch it happen in my little boys, I am reminded that God isn’t done with any of us yet.  As (a) handles things better each day, I pray that I will mature as his mama each day too, so that I can guide him and lead him, and set an example for him to continue maturing too. 

“until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.” Ephesians 4:13

No Foolin'

 Being a teacher on holidays is a LOT of fun.  I love the excitement they feel and how things that seem small to me can bring such joy to children.  One celebration however, that I am always THRILLED to miss is April Fool’s Day.  I mean, I hate to be a “fun sucker” but there are only so many times I can handle being told my slip-on shoes are untied, there is a spider in my hair, or that something is on my shirt.  Every time I look ahead to the calendar and see the first of April falling on a weekend or Spring Break (like this year) I let out a little sigh of relief.  I promise I really do have a sense of humor and enjoy a good joke as much as anyone.  I think the reality is- the humor in our life is funnier to me than anything I could make up.

This guy's sound effects on life are funnier than anything we could make up!

 

On St. Patrick’s Day, (a) had a desperate, I mean tearfully desperate, need to dress like a leprechaun.  (b) thinks stealing your food is the funniest joke on the planet.  The sound effects (b) uses to live out his day to day activities keep us in stitches and his desire to be the funniest guy in the room is quite evident- even at less than 2 years old.  (a) isn’t always trying to be funny, but usually manages to pull it off anyway through his bold, often grown-up, announcements and plans (or by suggesting his mother might be as old as John the Baptist’s mom for having a baby at the “old” age of 37).  Sometimes I even have to try not to laugh at their tears, such as the ones we had this morning when we wouldn’t allow (b) to carry around a BBQ sauce packet as a prized possession.  There’s no foolin’, the laughter in our house is the purely natural, unplanned kind. 

 

I’m also not foolin’ when I say parenting has been the hardest, most beautiful adventure I have ever been on.  In one day’s time, I can experience the entire range of emotions from excitement, to frustration, exhaustion, exhilaration, pride, defeat, embarrassment, and humor.  Most days I marvel at how quickly they are growing, how much they are learning, and how much joy they bring us.  Other days I want to hide and cry at how daunting the job is.  And I realize that while the stages change, those feelings as a parent will be with me until the day I meet my Maker.

 

There’s no foolin’ when I admit I often feel inadequate and unprepared to love and lead them in the ways we need to, and no foolin’ when I realize they are giving me “on the job” training day by day.  No, I don’t need any April Fool’s jokes to keep me on my toes or laughing… I’m a mom- I have some of both every day.  

 

“Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy.  Then it was said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.” Psalms 126:2