5/31/2015 1 Comment The Great CloudWe had spent all day at the beach, playing in waves of crystal blue water, and building sand castles from dust. The day was nearly over, and I sat washing the seaweed and tangles from Mckenna's hair. Her sun-kissed cheeks, glowing hot-pink, and her soft, green eyes - held in a rim of blue- peered up to me, as she said, "Mom, you're super good at washing long hair, how'd you get so good at it? Who taught you?" As a mom I wear many different "hats". If you're a parent, or have ever supervised a group a people- regardless of age- you understand this concept on some level. My kids call to me for meals like a chef, and then can quickly call on me as referee when a tussle breaks out. But my kids will never know me as nurse if they don't fall and scrape their knees. They won't know me as a trusted person of council if I never lend my ears to their small voices. McKenna has known me as a lot of things, but this particular day, she was seeing me as "expert hair-washer and tangle-getter-out-er". I've been learning new things about myself too, these last few weeks; and I've been learning a lot more about the One who created me, as He reveals Himself in different ways. Much like McKenna, I find myself sitting, sometimes with the same hot-pink cheeks, though full of rage, and eyes full of tears, as I ask Him how He ever got so good at doing all the things He does. We are all running a race, some of us for a prize, and others are completely unaware as they walk leisurely around the course. But none the less, we will all reach the end, and see Him face to glorious face. Some of us have been running and the road is paved with beautiful rubber tarmac. A pristine track and field course, with neatly mowed grass, and crisp white lines marking the course. Others of us have dirt roads, gravel and loose stone, pot holes deeper than our own height, and hills of sand. If you've been running for a prize, like the crown of life, your course probably has had a few, if not many of these types of "obstacles". Like me, maybe you've encountered great heights and lowest of lows. I want to encourage you: keep running friend. There is a great prize ahead. Keep running. If you're weary and worn and relentlessly tired, keep running. Overcome. He has already overcome, and you can too. No matter the difficulties, keep running. As I've been running these last few months, the last few weeks and days have been grueling. Some of the most difficult pathways and roughest terrain have I encountered. But in the midst of each new patch of track and course: He has been there. And at each juncture, every turn, and all increments, He is enough. If mine and your course is always paved neatly, He will only ever be our coach. The one standing at the end, with a whistle and Clip board in hand, marking scores and times. You may hear "well done" at the end, yes, but how ordinary. There is so much more of Him to be seen, and revealed, and He is begging, creation is desperate even, for Him to reveal it to us. To me. To you. While in the dirt, He becomes cleansing grace. While in the hot and humid, He becomes the cool breeze and refreshing water of life. While in the valley and in the deepest holes, He becomes the redeemer who pulls up from the pit and sets our feet on the Solid Rock. Just days before having Esther, I listened to a podcast, and the same idea keeps coming up in my personal study times, in church messages, in encouraging readings and talks with friends. The idea that God wants to reveal Himself to His people. The story we read of Jesus feeding the multitudes in Mark chapter 6, reveals Jesus as a provider when people were hungry. Even the disciples needed food for their bellies. Jesus being greatly filled with Compassion, blessed a small boys' lunch and feeds them. The disciples have seen Jesus do something remarkable! After which, Jesus commands them to gather the remaining food into baskets, and take it with them into the boat they enter to cross the sea. The story turns into another "famous" Jesus story- but for the disciples the story is only continuing. See, they get into the boat, and Jesus is sitting up on the shore watching from a distance. The wind and waves begin to pick up, and a storm brews. The disciples are working hard: rowing oars in their own strength to press against the wind. And next to them sits the baskets of food Jesus provided moments before. The disciples don't need a Jesus who can turn bread and fish into a buffet at this point. Jesus could've stood at the shore with a smorgasbord of entrée selections, and it wouldn't have done them any good. They probably would've been angered or frustrated at His attempts to solve their "ocean" problem with a "food" solution. But Jesus doesn't do that. He never would. He doesn't give stones when His kids ask for bread. No. Never. He begins to come to them. He begins to walk out on the water that is so tempest and trying, to be near them and be the solution to the problem. And what happens? The disciples, His dearest and closest friends, The people who walk, and talk, and touch, and stand, and minister, and pray with, and see miracles, and do everything with Jesus- panic. They think He's a ghost. They don't recognize Him. He's never done this before. He's walking on water. And they are terrified. Jesus is coming in a new way, the way they need amidst the "ocean" problem, and they freak out. God is trying to reveal Himself. Don't be afraid of the new revelation. If you're running and the race is easy, you may need Him to be coach with a stop watch and a whistle. Telling you to "keep it up". But if your race gets hard and the terrain gets hard, He won't stand back and watch you struggle. No- He will reveal Himself as the helper. The healer. The great I am. The redeemer. The rescuer. The comforter. The very thing you need, He will become. Don't be afraid. If you're like me, the thought of Jesus revealing Himself as something new is far less terrifying than the terrain ahead. People have warned me about the "hard days" that would come, but they never mentioned the nights. Sometimes my view of what's lying ahead on my race, seems more dreadful than where I am or the revelation of who He can be in those times. But I will never experience or know the depths of His person and character if I stay where I am. I've already known Him as coach. I've already known Him as friend. I've known Him as Savior from sin. I've known Him as comforter. But you can't know Him like I've come to know Him, unless you find yourself in the valley of the shadow of death. Unless you go to the depths, you cannot know Him there. As terrifying as the "ahead" may seem, His revelation is that much greater. People who've lost a child say they find comfort in symbols reminding them of their child. While I'm not into "butterfly babies" or "rainbows" or whatever- I will tell you this: As we drove home from the beach that day, blue and could-less skies were above. And in true SW Florida fashion, just two exits ahead, dark storm clouds appeared out of nothing. The car stared down the highway, with dark, gray, thundering swirls ahead. But the side mirror of the car held the bright blue cloudless color, as if taunting me as I looked ahead at the storm, to go back. Back to the bright, and easy day of the beach. But it was more than that. For me, it was a reminder of what was before the day of May 14th, before January when we got Esther's diagnosis, before 2015 when everything seemed to spiral into "rough terrain". "Go back...please just let me go back" my heart ached inside. If only time travel were possible. But my spirit-man piped up and began to remind my frail and failing heart, that behind is former and temporary. And that the journey and the reward is in the beyond. In the latter. In the eternal. "Press on...Keep going....Come nearer....Don't quit....keep running the race." The words pounding in my chest. They began to drown out the voices of my heart and my head that said to give up. So loud I thought Paco would hear it as He sat next to me driving into the dark storm ahead. And there in the clouds of gray, there in the pouring rain and booming thunder, He washed over me, like the water washing over the car. His spirit giving new life and a fresh filling, like the fresh rain water that fell from above. The clouds will always be a reminder for me. Not that Esther is in the clouds by any means. But that she is now part of the great cloud of witnesses who have run before us, and is cheering me on as I run into the great beyond ahead. The terrain may be terrible. The clouds may be full and dark ahead. But press on. The reward is in the revelation that is to come. Don't be afraid. Don't turn back. Run the race set before you, and attain the prize as you overcome to the end. He's cheering you on. And so am I. "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame,and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:1-3
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5/26/2015 1 Comment Black MarksThere are things as a mom, that make me cringe. Or angry. Or cry. Like when the girls flushed the toilet nearly 100 times because it "wouldn't go down" and water flooded the bathroom. I think I cringed and laughed at that one. When jelly-stuck hands smear across the couch cushions, I get angry. When everyone is having a melt-down at 5:35pm, and Paco is running late, and dinner isn't working, and I'm stressed and exhausted from the day, I want to cry along with the kids. Or when Wesley took his diaper off to smear poo on the walls. That made me angry, and cringe, and cry. I remember that morning clearly. And when people say "enjoy them while they're small, it goes so fast" I pray it goes faster because that is the memory I think of. I remember thinking nothing in my cabinet of "cleaning products" would be good enough to erase those marks. In the textured stucco walls of his room, dark brown streaks covered the wall behind his bed. The stench ungodly. The scrubbing and effort and process that went into cleaning those marks away was lengthy, and taxing, and something I hope to never do again. It's funny what grief looks like on the outside and how it compares to the reality of what actually transpires inside the process. The questions and phrases from average people aren't the things that make you crazy. Maybe it's just me, but I'm almost numb to the "I'm sorry"'s and the "We are praying for you"'s. Not because I'm not grateful for the support we have around us, but because I've heard it so many times in the last two weeks that my ears are nearly bleeding from the sound, or that my mouth is forcing out the same few responses to those words, with clichés and redundancy that make me cringe. It's the stupid, small, less obvious things that make me want to curl up and join my daughter, in the only place where there's no pain or tears. I remember going to the funeral home and thinking I wouldn't be able to even go inside without loosing it. Ironically, it wasn't the location or the talk of "options" that made me sob, it was the questions for the death certificate, like "she was never married?" And "she never had a job?" That had me weeping and barely able to answer. Thinking of how my daughter, a frail, and innocent baby girl, would never get to go to school or meet the man of her dreams. I remember thinking the walk from the hospital to the car would be hard. And it was. But it was a harder walk from the small infant bassinet in our room to my bedside at 2am, when no baby would cry or need attending to. I remember thinking the day we told masses of people at church about Esther's life and death would be difficult and full of tears. But it was easier than getting the call from the funeral home to come pick up the remains of what had been burned of our little girl. I know there will be a day when it happens, but for now I've been sending Paco into the local stores and shops we visit often. The places where people will recognize me and that I'm no longer pregnant, and ask about our new baby. I am trying to picture how my aching heart will tell them in such short passing time, of how Esther passed away and went to be with Jesus, without loosing my mind, and also while sharing the gospel with them and not making a fool of Him. I was talking with my sister-in-law, and one of my best friends. She said something that hit home for me, as it was also doing the same for her: I was preparing and so confident of the miracle, that I am finding I have to deal with the loss all over again as if I don't know or didn't know it was coming. Regardless there are things that make me more upset than others. And it's always a surprise. Like that day with the poo. Each of these parts is like smears, like dark and tough stains etched in my routine. They're etched deep and pain deeper, and seem so difficult to manage. The task itself seems more daunting than the reality. Some of the things make me sad, and I cry. Some things make me lonely, and I retreat. Some things remind me of the faithfulness of God and I smile and am filled with exceeding joy. Other things make me angry, and mad, and full of rage. Things like the words printed beneath "CAUSE OF DEATH" on the death certificate. It reads "ANENCEPHALY" as if to name a power source. Another black mark smeared in my face. But the thing that makes me so angry with that, is knowing truth, and the Truth. While anencephaly is the medical word used to describe Esther's condition, it isn't the cause of death. The source of death and destruction is in the pit of hell, and goes by the name Lucifer. And seeing the type there on the paper, calling it something else, makes me want to "sharpie" all over the page to identify the true cause. But all the black marks in the world won't cover or erase or fix what's been written or what's been done. But red ones will. The red marks of Jesus on the cross offer the hope and promise that says "Esther is home". And complete. And perfect. And healed. And resting in perfect peace. If death is knocking at your door, or your child's door, or hopelessness and the black marks of sin or this world surround you- there are red marks for you. The red marks that scar His hands are for you and I. And they offer life and peace and hope and joy. While they don't fix the temporary and seen things of right now, they will redeem what's been lost in time. And one day I will see her again. I will hold her again. As McKenna says "Esther has already seen my crown!" So when my heart hangs low, or triggers replay the few brittle moments I shared with my daughter, the red marks stay true and lift me to the place where I belong. Who would've thought, that black marks covered by red marks make perfection? See the black marks I have to face amidst this journey, have a stench far worse than that morning with Wesley and his diaper mess. They stink of rot and decay of hope. But the red marks that hold my daughter and my very own redemption erase them, with no effort, and freely. It takes the hard out of hardship. He is strength for the weary and power for the weak. And those red marks saved my life, and are the things that saved Esther's life too. So instead of shying away from difficulty, I've learned to embrace it. I'm seeing red. And everything looks good that way. 5/21/2015 0 Comments Breaking the BoxHave you ever purchased a gift for a child, and they preferred the box over the gift? We have. I think it's happened with every one of the kids, but specifically, I can remember buying a dancing Mickey Mouse doll for McKenna, online, for an absurd amount of money. It had been sold out for months in the stores, and it was her first Christmas where she could understand opening gifts. The suspense of waiting for Christmas morning was killing me, more than her. I would stare at the big shipping box, wrapped up in Christmas paper, waiting and waiting for the moment when I knew she would be enthralled with excitement. As a parent, you live for those moments. The ones where you're certain the smile on your kids face will be permanently affixed. Or so you think. The price is never too high, the cost never too crazy, because you're so sure they'll swoon over the contents and remember and treasure that gift the rest of their life. Even a Mickey doll at 18 months! When Esther had to leave us, the hospital gave us a box. It's a little red box painted with a pink and white giraffe on the lid. I remember my first carnal thought as they brought it to us, "I hate the color." But now the color really doesn't matter. They put things in it, like the bracelet she was wearing in the hospital, the outfit we dressed her in, the cozy pink hat that covered her head. They took impressions of her hands and feet, and placed the now hardened trinkets in with the blanket she was wrapped in, and a lock of her hair. It's funny how as mortal people, we would assume a box like that brings comfort. And I suppose for some, and even on some level for me, it does. But it's a temporary and nearly counterfeit comfort. There's nothing wrong with remembering the sweet details of my daughter, and tracing the tiny fingerprints she left behind. But now as the days pass, I find myself getting more out of control upset when I try to find memories and glimpses of hope in a tiny, little, painted ( ugly for that matter) cardboard box. And rightfully so. I was reading today, in Matthew, about the woman who brought the alabaster box in to worship Jesus. Alabaster was considered at the time the most beautiful and most sacred of storage containers for pricey items. It was the rubber-maid-on-steroids in bible times. They didn't have Tupperware parties, they had Alabaster parties. As I read and did some digging, the word that says "broken" doesn't necessarily mean shattered. Although she may have shattered the box to release the costly contents. The word literally translates to "breaking the seal". The box was sealed tight and therefor wouldn't leak, wouldn't expose the expensive ointment to any outside elements, no tampering with, nothing to escape. The box was sealed tight until the moment she chose to open it. And when she did, the whole room notices. The whole room smelled the incredible smell that filled the air: smells of great worth. It made the people in the room angry. Angry that she of all people was allowed to do such a thing. After all, she was "that" girl. And angry that she would waste such costly perfume to wash feet. These people washed feet all the time. Or at the very least had their feet washed often. In a time with dusty roads and sandals at best, feet washing was a norm upon entering a home. Jesus himself even proved the position of a servant with the example. Ironically, because Jesus had not yet died on the cross, every person sitting in the room was "that" person. They criticized her sin, but in fact, they were all as guilty. Their sin stacked against them like bricks building a wall. Their finite minds tried to "better" themselves by rationalizing use of such expensive perfume for "the poor". But Jesus rebuked them. I find myself sometimes in all of the places of this story. At some times, certain places more than others. I remember 6 years ago, when sin had me trapped behind closed doors, and my soon-to-be-daughter was a reminder of my failure. I remember thinking I wasn't worthy enough to "open the box". I remember being just a few years before then too, thinking I knew better than most people, and did better than most people, and would always be better, and found myself criticizing others for thinking they could dare to "open their box". And days like today, when I know that opening a box will really do nothing. That maybe it's not worth it to open the box and break the seal. You may not have a box like I do with the contents of memory and the loss of a baby inside. But we all have a box inside, made of something more valuable than Alabaster. It contains the most precious ointment for burial. But not the burial of Jesus. See, when we break the seal on what's inside of us, and begin to worship at the feet of Jesus, the seal of hopelessness, of insecurity, doubt and fear, is broken. And the healing ointment that flows out of that worship, prepares our flesh and our carnal thinking for burial. It brings us closer to Him, and eliminates more of ourselves. While walking through this season of "grief", I can tell you that days can seem long, and my heart can seem heavy. But the trading of my burden for His comes through worship. When my feelings and my thoughts say different than what His promises are for me, and my flesh begins to feel numb to any thing and event of the day, I know I've gone too long without His presence. When I worship, my heart begins to change and my spirit begins to soar. If you find yourself unsure of the future. If you're insecure about your looks, your status, your position. If you're lost in stress and worry and anxiety. If you're sad and lonely and depressed. If you're burdened, heavy, and oppressed and looking, begging, screaming out for relief, the only true relief is found in opening the box of your heart in worship to the Maker of it. You can open a box of pills, or open a box of razors. You can open a box of alcohol, or drugs, or pornography. You can open a box of sex, lust, or materialism. You can open a box of isolation, or a box of busy-ness. You can open a box of photos or memories or a box of painful regrets or joyous achievements. But those boxes won't ever really give you the smile or the contentment or the peace you need. It may sound silly, or sound wasteful, or sound like it's not worth it, but just like Mary that day, it is. And it's the perfect response that brings honor to the King of All, and others will notice the fragrance too. Once McKenna had opened the present, of course, she only wanted to play with the box. As a parent I was crippled with disgust over the money spent, the time invested, to get this dumb Mickey doll for my daughter who couldn't care less. But when we open the box inside of us, and pour it out before Jesus, he is pleased more than us. His face beams with pride, his heart delights, and His spirit descends. And we find true hope, true happiness, true fulfillment - not in the contents of the box, but in the exchange of what's in our box, for what's in His. 5/18/2015 3 Comments A year laterToday is a special day. It's a bookend of sorts, that caps off God's faithfulness story. That doesn't mean His faithfulness ends by any means, but it proves His faithfulness in a way that's hard to believe. In August of 2013, I was devastated. Or so I thought. My husband had been let go from yet, another job, a seemingly endless struggle at the time; our house which we had purchased just months before, was nearly being foreclosed on because of the job situation, and Paco's insurance had now expired, which meant his planned and scheduled vasectomy would be postponed. At the time I was also taking birth control, but in July, just a few weeks prior, my last booster pack had run out. I sat in the bathroom waiting for the little pink hash mark to appear, hoping to goodness it wouldn't read "pregnant". All the emotions from Mckenna's pregnancy filled my heart again, except the shame had been replaced with over-bearing responsibility and exhaustion. I was tired. As a mom, as a wife, as a legal guardian. And I didn't have the energy to do this again. Not to mention all the things that go along with it, like being sick for months, the doctor offices (and bills for that matter), the strain on my body, the interrupted sleep. I cried, saying "Please God. Please. I don't want to be pregnant. I really really can't handle another baby. " The minutes passed, and the bright pink indicator was clearer than a headline story on the evening National news. Sobs now. "God what are you doing? You know I can't do this. You know we don't need this. There are people who try and try for a baby and never get one, and I have more than I know what to do with, and don't want another." Little much afraid: me. Fast forward, to today, and I will tell you, God is so so good. Even when you think it's hard or wrong or not so good, He knows better. And He knew better that hot August day when I questioned His goodness amidst an "unplanned" pregnancy. Adalynn was the baby that empowered me as a mom. She is the reason we chose a home birth. Which lead me to finding one of the sweetest and most caring midwives I've ever met. While I'm grateful for all of the care I've received with each baby, Adalynn's prenatal appointments were low stress, and easy going. They were educational, and equipped me with information I would need later. But I had no idea then, what I know now. Adalynn was born in our bedroom, with ease, and intensity. Her labor and delivery combined were only 2 hours long. When I told Paco about my first contraction at 4:15, and then told him to call my mom just minutes later, he doubted and said to try and sleep some. I couldn't. Everything was hard and fast. She was posterior, so labor was really hard. But it was more peaceful than any of the others by far. I remember being tired and thirsty (I was allowed drinks I just threw up every time I drank and couldn't do that anymore!) and so drained, and Kristen (my midwife) knelt down, as petite and sweet and soft spoken as she is, and quietly said to me "you're doing so great Bri! Just keep doing what you're doing, I'm here and will help you do what you need to do". Within about 15 more minutes, Adalynn was born.
She started sleeping well from the first day, going about 4 hour intervals initially. Today, she goes to bed by 7pm, and sleeps until 9 or 10am uninterrupted. She still takes two naps most days, depending on what we have to accomplish. She walked long before her first birthday, and seems to be a conqueror of difficult things at an early age. She wants to do and be with the older siblings always. This past week has been an emotional roller-coaster. And Adalynn Mei, as sweet as she is, has been my best medicine. Her sweet smiles and irresistible cuddles make it easy to laugh through pain or smile through tears. She's a reminder that God knew and still knows exactly what He is doing. When my heart longs to hold the baby girl that was supposed to come home with me, and couldn't, Adalynn is there to hold and rock and sing to. Sometimes I feel as though she gets memos from the Holy Spirit to love on her momma, and she does, and I pray she's always obedient to His voice- be it now and into adulthood.
So Happy Birthday Adalynn Mei, momma loves you more than you know! 5/15/2015 0 Comments The other side of GriefProverbs tells us that laughter is some of the best medicine. While walking through this season of weakness, we've found strength in some of the most inopportune times, as we find ourselves laughing. I thought I would share this side of grief with you, in hopes that it helps heal both yours and my soul some, but also to allow the lighter, more joyful moments a chance to shine above despair. Often in grief, people are so busy mourning, they forget to laugh and notice the small things, and it's something we never want to be guilty of. If sadness is normal, joy is medicinal. 5/14/2015 7 Comments All Tucked InIt's been a little over nine hours since Esther Jubilee went to be with Jesus. I've officially lived longer now without her here than with her. My heart breaks as a mom who is missing a fresh baby. My body hurts from the hours of labor and delivery, and hurts more still because there isn't much to show for it now. But my soul is searching for simple truths and basic answers I've known all along, in elementary explanations, to explain to two little girls who don't understand. And somewhere in the explaining, it's probably for me just as much as it is for them. McKenna is a leader and a natural born nurturer. She keeps telling me she wishes Esther could have lived with us longer. She tells us she wanted to bring her new baby home. She cries because she misses a little girl she only knew for a few minutes, but loved through prayer for weeks on end. Teaghan is unsure of how to feel at times. She doesn't know what she's feeling or how to process. But she sees McKenna so freely sharing her heart, and it must bear witness with her own, because she quickly follows suit and comes up with her own questions to grapple this hard and heart-shattering reality. Tonight I had to muster up the strength to tell them a simple truth, that I myself needed to hear. And maybe like me, you're sitting somewhere, facing circumstances that seem impossible, and ever so grim, and need the same simplicity. As we tucked the girls into their beds for the night at home, without our new baby here, McKenna began to cry. I attempted to pray for her, and found myself joining in with her tears. As a bereaved parent, one of the most therapeutic remedies is loving another child. I don't care if it's your own, or someone else's. But it's part of the Kingdom. The minute you show love and compassion for the sake of a child, your breaking heart begins to mend. Not in a way that remedies any pain or loss, but in a way that says, "I can keep going." I walked away after quivering out a few measly words of comfort. Thinking I had done my best for the first night of many, and excused myself from anything further. Immediately the Holy Spirit reminded me of His gentleness, as He showed me there in the living room His nature once more. And I remembered a great way of explaining His comforting character to these small, frail girls. I walked back into their room, and sat McKenna up in bed. And with tears in my eyes, I told her that she needed to listen very closely..... "McKenna, when Jesus died on the cross, and rose up again from the grave, and went back up to heaven in the clouds, He sent us a new friend. A friend that stays with us always. It's His Holy Spirit. The bible tells us that the Holy Spirit is the great comforter." The tears started to flow, as a pushed through, knowing all-too-well the feelings I was about to describe to her. "When you feel sad, or you feel lonely, or you feel upset or alone or scared or miss your sister, you can ask the Holy Spirit to be your great comforter." Pause- As parents we tend to leave our kids with big huge word pictures like this. But that wouldn't have done much for Mckenna's breaking spirit. "McKenna, see your big huge comforter here on your bed? See how you can wipe your tears on it? See how it's soft and warm and fluffy, and it makes you feel safe and cuddly and holds you in your bed nice and tight? The Holy Spirit will come when you ask Him, and He will wrap you up like this great big comforter. He will cover you with softness and gentleness. He will help dry your sad tears. He will keep you safe, and held tight in His big fluffy, cuddly arms when you feel sad and afraid and alone." The words came out faster, like healing salve that could penetrate the wounds of a tired and lonely momma's heart.... "Sometimes mommy even gets sad and lonely. Sometimes my heart hurts and I miss your sister too. Sometimes I am afraid and scared and hurting too. And I ask God to send His Holy Spirit to wrap me up like a great comforter, and hold me tight. And He does. The bible says "Do not be afraid, for I am with you." And He is with you right now." I don't know if you're facing loss, or death, or rejection, or pain, or fear, or trauma, or shame. What I can tell you is that through the course of my 27 years, I've had a crash course in all of the above. And each and every time, God has revealed Himself in a new way to me- just for me. He's revealing His Holy Spirit as the Great Comforter on an entirely new level today and in the days to come. But I can tell you, that the same comforter that held me on the ultrasound table that fateful day in January, holds me now. The same comforter than held me as I heard the rejecting and scornful words of the MFM specialist weeks after, holds me now. The same comforter to give me peace as a new OB told me a C-Section was imminent, and my baby was breech, holds me now. The same comforter that walked me through hospital doors to a place unknown and terrifying, where fear and anxiety seemed to rule, holds me now. The same comforter that gave me strength to push through the most painful delivery of my life, with four nurses pushing on my stomach and bruising my insides, while Esther presented herself face first, strengthens me now. And the same gentle, quiet, soft, warm, peaceful comforter that wrapped me tight as I watched my last baby girl be wrapped up, and rolled out of the hospital room, and away from us always, holds me now. Friend, if you're reading this, take comfort. The God of ALL comfort can hold you now. His arms are always long enough to reach. His grasp always tight enough to save. His gentleness always soft enough to redeem the most broken places. Take comfort. Do not be afraid. He is with you. And He's with me. And Esther Jubilee has seen this same comfort in all of its magnificent ways all at once, while you and I must experience them one at a time, because our mortal bodies cannot handle such immense comfort all at once. Shout with joy, you heavens, and rock with glee, you earth! Break out in song, you mountains! The LORD is comforting His people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones. Isaiah 49:13 5/14/2015 11 Comments The value of beautyI watched an episode of Jimmy Kimmel a few nights ago, featuring America's "doll face" Kim Kardashian. She's pretty, sure. But she sat with Kimmel promoting her new book, a collection of selfies, with less than modest photos of herself in the over-300 paged book. I sat and watched her uncomfortably fiddle with her risqué clothing, hoping not to expose "too much" for national TV, and then tell the audience and viewers (after being promoted by Jimmy) the correct way and most productive way to glamorize and posterize one's self. She went on about how they showcase her ginormous features, including her rear end, and everywhere else. I almost cried for her. Because she doesn't know what beautiful really is. She's believed a lie that says, the bigger the better, the thinner the prettier, the more revealing the sexier. I'm sitting in a hospital bed, watching my Anencephalic daughter get a bath. She isn't what the world would call beautiful. But she is. Her head has a small opening, but for the majority is covered by her own skin and hair. Which is a miracle itself. She was born alive! And she's still breathing and whimpering and churning about like a new baby should. Her face is nearly purple, though not from her condition. She was born face presenting first, which is not only excruciating for the mom in labor, but also on her poor sweet face. And sweet it is. Her lips are like Paco's, big and full. Her eyes remind me of Teaghan when she was first born. Full of wrinkles and extra skin like a puppy. Her hands are chubby and grasp my finger letting me know she's still here. She is six pounds and six ounces, Eighteen and a half inches of pure bliss. Esther Jubilee is already a medical wonder. Born alive, continuing to live longer than 2 hours after birth, turned from breech to head down in just three days. As sad as it may be for some, it's a jubilation, knowing God has brought us this far. I watched family members cry and tear upon seeing her for the first time, knowing the inevitable, but felt such a release of the burden I've been carrying for so long. He trades my heaviness for His yoke. Though I'm still carrying a cross all my own, He makes the way straight and bearable in the most unbearable times. Esther Jubilee was born at 1:34am, and is still going strong here at Gulf Coast Hospital. If you'd like to meet her, visitors are welcome between 1 and 3pm today. Come see us, come see her, and be inspired to live by faith. Her every moment is a treasured gift, and it will pass all too soon. I'll post a more detailed story of her "birth" at a later time. But for now, we are celebrating her life, full and beautiful, in the truest sense. Not the king of beauty that fades with flashy clothes, or fancy jewelry. Not the beauty and worth of celebrity status or materialistic fame. The kind that's of real worth because it has to do with her soul. Move over Kim Kardashian, Esther Jubilee is here! 5/10/2015 0 Comments She is best.This year, I have a whole new outlook and approach to Mother's Day. I could write to you about the joys of being a mom. Because certainly, there are joys. I could write to you about the trying moments. Because with four and a half kids under 5 years old, the trying times can most days, outweigh those joys mentioned. I could write about the moment I became a mother, or the moment I first realized my mom was right all along. And those would all suffice. But I want to remind myself, and you, about the divine selection process involved in each of our unique circumstances, and encourage you, because that's best. We've instilled various "reminder" phrases into our kids, reminding them of character traits to possess. We will tell them "your sister is your best friend!" Amidst a sibling argument, to remind them of the importance of their family unit, and to encourage them to love each other. We will say "Rules are to keep you safe" each time one is broken, and ends in a scrape, bump, or bruise- be it on the knees or the heart. The simple phrase gives them a nugget of wisdom for their little character "bank", that says, one day, "rules will protect me- from the law, from emotional and physical harm, from sin". The other night at dinner, I sat furious with "mom" problems. The house was a disaster after 3 days of me having been sick and on the couch. (Ps- my first question to God might be- why moms ever are allowed viruses or sickness. It shouldn't be allowed.) dinner was something store-bought, the kids were whining, Paco and I disagreeing on something (I honestly can't remember what now or I would write it here), and my stress level was soaring high. In case you weren't aware- I'm literally on the clock as we countdown the days to my birthday, and Esther Jubilee's birthday, which could end in major surgery and possible death because of her diagnosis. So the last few days have only added to the intensity of any given situation. I sat, and shoveled less-than-par food into my mouth angrily, as if the dinner had committed the offense, and the fork stabbing would help correct it. McKenna started whining about what she had been given to drink, and I nearly lost it and screamed at her. Instead, I sat quietly and allowed my rage to boil inside. My face was probably blistering from the heat of fury. After Paco answered her about why she's "only five" and doesn't get to "pick her drink" all the time, she muttered back something about how "other moms" let their kids choose their own drink. All jokes aside, the poor girl almost got smacked in the mouth. My inner tantrum, combined with her talking back was creating an involuntary response in my right arm to swing across the table. Lucky for her, she was at the farthest possible seat away from me, and I would've only spilled all six plates of food and cups with liquid, to be cleaned up by yours-truly later. So I resisted. Teaghan turned to McKenna, and calmly began to tell her what I should've said as my response. It's the same thing we tell them all, amidst confusion as to why we make decisions differently than other parents or friends and their houses. "McKenna, God picked mommy to be our mommy. And Daddy to be our daddy. Because God knows best. And God picked Mommy because she's the best mommy for me. And she's the best mommy for you. And she's the best mommy for Wesley. And Mommy is the best mommy for Adalynn. And she's the best mommy for Esther." She turned to me and with her big hazel-green eyes and long lashes against sweet brown skin, and said "right mommy? You're the best one for us, so God picked you, right?!?" She beamed with pride because she knew she was right, and she wasn't in trouble at that moment to question whether the validity of the statement was in her favor or not. I started to cry. The stress of the day. The worries of the days to come. The anger inside me. It all washed up on the shore of my eyes, and poured out over the edge as tears running hard and fast down my face. As I smiled, and stared at my sweet four year old, who'd reminded my weak and failing heart of God's truth in that moment, and I said "Yes, Teaghan. You're absolutely right." I don't know if your mom is even here on this earth to still celebrate. I don't know if you've lost a child, or children, and the world can't understand your take on the holiday. I don't know if Mother's Day hurts for you, because your mom walked out, or abused you, or lied and cheated her way through your life. I don't know if Mother's Day reminds you of how your child abandoned all you invested in them, and now you're painfully watching them make mistake after another, as they buck and rebel against the truth you've shown them. I don't know if you're surrounded by a "preschool" of your own kids, or grandkids, or step kids, and think "this is crazy, and waaaaaay too hard!" I don't know if you're snuggling a sweet new baby, and all is right with the world because they just eat and sleep and poo, and when nestled on your chest, you both swoon with delight. I don't know if you're rushing around today to grab last minute gifts or cards, because maybe you forgot or didn't have time to "buy" something for the mom in your life, and now you're seeing your FB feed, and panicking. But what I do know, is that God knows best. He gave you the most perfect mom for you. You were the best choice for her. And whether you can understand why, or see all the how's, or you're grappling with the understanding, I want to assure you, that He had your best in mind. Sometimes I wonder why God gave us so many in such a short time. But He knew best. Sometimes I wonder why I've had more kids than anniversaries. But He knew best. Sometimes I wonder why He picked me to raise three and half girls. Cause that's a LOT of girls. But He knows best. I wonder, quite a lot, in this moment, why on earth He picked me to carry a daughter with a diagnosis of death, and why He chose me to be her mom. Why He picked me to endure this battle, and why He ever saw me fit enough or "faith" enough to handle her. She has way more potential and way more purpose than I can begin to know how to steward. But. He. Knows. Best. To my mom, who birthed me, and raised me to know Jesus- I'm forever grateful. You've given me a rich knowledge of the Truth that sustains me today, and every day. Because of your pouring out, I'm able to keep going, in the hardest and most draining season of my life. You've become my best friend, because you never allowed my preferences to dominate your parenting as I was under your authority. And you've modeled wisdom in practical ways all my life long. To my grandmothers, thank you for showing me compassion, grace, poise. Thank you for passing down recipes, and prayers. Thank you for giving me rich family history, and Godly inspiration for a life lived long, and full. And for all the #tbt photos I'll ever post. To my mother-in-law, thank you for raising my husband. For showing him the things you know best, to equip him to serve our family today. Without your care and your wisdom, He wouldn't be the man he is, the husband or father he is. Thank you for making sacrifices for him, to show him how to make sacrifices for us. To every spiritual mother I've had over the years, from Pastors, youth pastors, older women in the faith: thank you. You gave me skills and wisdom that I still use today. You gave me a fresh perspective, or the vision needed, when my mom just wouldn't do. You have prayed for, prayed with, and prayed about me - probably more than I can remember- but the times I do remember, are sweet, inspiring, encouraging- and they also have shaped me into who I am today. Your voices continue to ring out, loud, behind temptation in its many forms, about who I am in Christ and what God's word says. So thank you. Thank you, to each and every one of you, who've been "mother" to me at some time. You were the best. And to all the moms, both known by me, or not- thank you for being the best you- because you were hand-picked by God to be a mother. I can't explain why, or how, but I know who He is, and He knows best. Maybe you're long passed the years when your children would do such a thing, or maybe you're in the throes of toddlers and can't yet see it ever happening, but the Bible says one day, that our children will rise, and call us as moms, blessed. And whether they're doing it now, or will do it, or have done it- they will. So be your best mom-self today. Because you are His best, for them. Happy mamma's day!!!! 5/5/2015 4 Comments Bad days & Good daysThere have been about as many "bad days" as There have been "I don't want to"'s in this pregnancy. I don't want to be pregnant. I don't want another baby right now. I don't want to labor and deliver so close to the last one. I don't want to be pregnant and sick. I don't want to throw up. I don't want to throw up again. I don't want to go to the hospital to have this baby. I don't want to have to have blood work again. I don't want another glucose test. I don't want to hear that. I don't want to deal with a diagnosis that has a terminal outlook. I don't want to be induced. I don't want to go into preterm labor. I don't want to terminate this pregnancy. I don't want to go past 40 weeks. I don't want to have to say goodbye. I don't want to have my baby die in my arms, or worse before she is placed there. Today I found myself nearly kicking and screaming about more decisions and more outcomes as this pregnancy progresses. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. And I can honestly say, through it all, I just don't want to be afraid. If you had asked me a few years ago, a few weeks ago, tonight- what my greatest fears were/are, I would tell you Needles, roller-coasters, hospitals, dead things and snakes. In the last 4 months, I've encountered them all. And I may have to encounter them all again. A few months back, as is the norm in SW Florida, an evening rain flooded the roads. Inches of water outside ran like miniature rivers carrying leaves, mulch, and debri to the nearest storm drain. That night, I drove the kids into the garage to not have us all soaking wet. I unloaded adalynn in her infant seat, and unbuckled Wesley. They were both safely inside as I went back to help McKenna and teaghan exit safely from the car that was dripping, the garage door closed behind us now. And as I walked back around the car, between me and the door, a black snake laid. I froze. Immediately backed up and told the girls to exit a different door of the car, and we bolted into the house. I closed the door to the garage, but the slim space between the flooring and door edge seemed to grow wider as I stared it down. "Surely, it will only be moments before its trying to come in the house." My brain rationalized. Within moments, I had entered a full blown panic, and called every trustworthy make within a 100-mile radius of my house to quickly come take care of the intruder. I rolled up and shoved a towel at the base of the door, as if the killer-attacking snake would care, and backed away again. Gripped by fear, tears rolled, my breathing became shallow, and the most horrendous thoughts (to most unreasonable or impossible) made perfect and logical sense to me. Paco was able to leave work for a moment, and help with the uninvited guest. He swept it out easily with a broom, and we haven't seen the punk snake since. That was a terrible day. Absurd? Yes. But reality? It was mine. I was freaking out, terrified, and rattled to the core, by a snake that was probably more scared of me than I was of it. I'm not saying we can't have dislikes in this world. There are plenty. And I'm not suggesting that in order to "rid ourselves of fear" we should all bring pet snakes home and embrace co-living. Far from it. But I remember my brother saying to me, after the ordeal was done and over, "Bri you need to deal with that fear, it's out of control, or it will control you." I'm sitting here now, in my living room, while Paco and my parents watch a movie. I can't even focus. It's been another horrible and no good day. Today at what will be nearly my last appointment for Esther Jubilee's pregnancy, I was given the most terrifying news- second to "you'll be birthing a snake"! They scanned me with an ultra sound machine, briefly, and told me they were certain her head is tucked up near my rib cage. The good news is, they couldn't see much else. The doctor performing the scan, had no idea she was even diagnosed with Anencephaly- because she was tucked so far into my ribs. He said "wow! Well, I can't confirm the diagnosis like this, but I had no idea!" We couldn't get a clear shot to see if the miracle of forming a new skull had taken place, or not. But the doctor showed incredible signs of hope, when for the last four or so months, all else has been hopeless. The fact still remains, that at 39 weeks, Esther is breech. The danger now lies in my ability to deliver her without harm to myself. They won't allow a breech delivery, and really weren't interested in giving her a chance or time to turn. His suggestion was to schedule a C-Section for tomorrow morning. After explaining and talking with him, he agreed to wait and see if she flips by my next appointment next Tuesday, and in the event that she has not, I'll need a C-Section in order to prevent spontaneous labor with her in the breech position. In the office, I remained calm and cool. I backed up out of the office like I had seen the snake again. I calmly and slowly made my way to the front desk to schedule my next appointment. The girl, unknowingly, quoted me the time of the next appointment- for next Tuesday. I opened my phone to input the appointment reminder on my calendar app- and remembered as I scrolled through the dates, that next Tuesday is my birthday. I couldn't even thank the girl as I choked back tears. I exited the office, put my over-sized sunglasses on, and allowed the fear and worry to escape through my eyes and down my cheeks. "Oh God- did you bring me this far, to have me confront my worst fears on my birthday, and possibly face death all at the same time?" "Who am I that you think I'm so strong to handle such news?" "What have I done to prove I'm capable of such extreme measures?" I can stand on the word, but I found myself thinking of Job, and wondering how God could have allowed such a thing to pass through His sovereignty, and all the while know I could come out on the other side, one way or another, so long as He is with me. "God" I thought, "what are you doing?" I still don't know. I wish I could say the clouds parted and a voice from heaven thundered affirmation or clarity. But it didn't. I wish I could say the holy spirit descended like a dove, and gently rested itself on my shoulder reminding me of God's favor and comfort. But it didn't. I rode home in disbelief, in turmoil, in tears. Did He bring me this far to leave me stranded with my worst fears? Needles, hospitals, major surgery, a roller coaster of emotion, and death? And to have it all come to a grand finalè on my birthday, like a fowl memorial set in stone for years to come. Like a calendar of bad days. I wish I could tell you that tonight I sit confidently in my faith and confident in His ability to provide a way- but I would be lying. Because doubt and fear and torment take over. So tonight, I ask for two very specific requests: 1) that regardless of the outcome, I would be in perfect peace. That I am above all, clothes in His grace, and given the comfort and sustenance for each day- one by one- until the end. I am physically and emotionally and spiritually drained. Walking by faith is an uphill battle, in boots too big, with mud inches deep. It's slippery and wet, and it's hard and taxing. And I've been at it for some time. The news today was like a mudslide knocking back down to the near bottom, and requiring me in my most exhausted state, to press on harder and faster to reach the top. 2) that Esther Jubilee would turn to a head-down, anterior position. She moves all the time, and I'm certain she moves from top to bottom often, as my stomach does the strangest of maneuvers and her kicks move from low to high near my ribs as each day passes. I am in the process of doing some exercises to help turn her, and am confident God is able to do it. But more than any of the above- I want to walk without fear. If a snake slivered across my face, or death stares me back, or surgery with multiple needles is required- I do not want to be gripped by fear. And now is my moment to walk through the fire- and come out not burned, or even smelling of flame. Tonight, I'm standing on Isaiah 43. It's been an anchor through this storm, for certain: When you walk through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers strong, I will be there. For I am the lord your God. And the flame, you will not be burned. So as I sit and think of all the possibilities and outcomes, I am reminded that He is greater. He is stronger. And he will not be put to shame. Not because He needs to prove His power to any man. But because of His loving kindness, and gracious love- He will do it. Because He loves me He gave me another day. And because I love Him, I will rejoice- because this is a strong He has made. My birthday this year could mark the worst of the worst of days. But it wouldn't compare to His day, when He hung on a cross. And even then, His worst day, made my best day possible. Through His worst fears, and anxieties, His frailty as a human, He endured the cross to give me redemption. And that, is a good day! Who knows, my birthday could be the wrapping paper to the greatest day for me as a mom. It could be a day of redemption once again, where impossible becomes possible. But I know that He will be with me. Through the worst and. Eat, He will be there. And He's here now. And He won't ever leave me. And that makes today, a good day. |
AuthorBri is the mom to four little people, the wife to a gentle giant, and a lover of Jesus. She's figuring out the best ways to parent by trial and error, and sharing her struggles, successes, and stories with you! Archives
June 2018
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