Fei Wei

Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. And that’s what I did. It only took about a week or so, but I let all my books and research just sit by the bed. I didn’t think about adoption or make phone calls or do anything but enjoy the moments as they came. Some people might have called the self-condemnation attacks from the enemy. As far fetched as that seems, I believe it’s possible. I thought it at the time but when you’re under such heavy fire it’s hard to see straight. I heard an analogy one time by a wise Pastor. He said that there are predators in Africa that will follow an expectant mother around and wait until she goes into labor to attack. He said that Satan can be the same way; he waits for us to be giving birth to something great and then attacks.

After about a week I was back feeling better. It was as if a milestone had been passed, that facing Wyatt and the profound responsibility of adoption had to hit me in order to continue forward. Soon I am opening my books again. Back on the phone. Ordering copies of birth certificates. Back on the phone. Filling out paperwork.

In a discussion one night as Tyler and I tried to develop a plan I said, “We can always stop now.” It was not that I wanted to, but there are many hurdles. The financial burden of adopting is enough of an obstacle but there’s always the looming wait time. The unknown of when your child actually comes home. Tyler shrugged his shoulders and said, “They’re already ours”. And he was right. They are. They’re out there somewhere and we’re too far to turn around. Not in money, not in paperwork, or time spent. We can throw every form away and be done right now. It’s just too late for our hearts. We know that we have children out there-we can almost get a feel for who they are. To stop now means to deny that we have other kids and that is something we cannot do.

One of my books talked about how hard it can be as an adoptive parent because no one acknowledges you. Whereas when you are pregnant you can get your belly rubbed all day by people you don’t even know. Adoptive parents are “expecting” but the world passes you by without one excited squeal from a grandma. After living through this for the past few months I can say that I feel this is more difficult than a pregnancy (not physically of course). We are ‘expecting’ but we don’t know where our child is. At least when you pregnant you can feel the movements and have an ultrasound and bond for 9 months. All Tyler and I can do now is wonder. So we pray.

Only last week we were searching through the lists of waiting children. I instantly fell for a little girl. I didn’t want a little girl. We were not looking for a little girl, but wow. She seemed familiar. And beautiful. She was 2 years old. The listing was brief but said she had a ‘limb difference’. It’s quite a task to get more information on a waiting child, as countries like to keep their child information private. After several emails I got her full disclosure records. Her right hand is malformed and her right leg didn’t properly form. But there’s a video, and she’s squealing and running, and playing. And she’s ours. I know it when I look at the pictures included in her medical report. Someone is holding her still for the picture while pulling her clothes up to clearly reveal her deformities. I’m upset and protective. How dare they? That is humiliating and she’s just a child. She loves her body. And I know their purpose and why they have to do it, but my mind is saying, “Leave her alone. She’s mine”.  Tyler is sitting next to me. He’s the first to speak. “We can do it”.  This is profound since we’ve been looking at special needs kids for a while.  I know my limits and there are so many extreme disabilities that I know I can’t handle. But this we know we can do. A quick insurance check assures us that prosthetics and therapy are covered. I send her reports to a Pediatric Orthopedic Surgeon in the city just to be responsible and see what we face if she comes home. I inquire with the agency. China requires parents to be 30 but there are waivers because of her needs. Her report reads that she was found, abandoned at two weeks old, and we still know that she is ours.

Unconsciously I spend all week thinking of her. She is only two months younger than Lexi. We plan out where to put bunk beds. We go swimming and talk about how much she’ll love the pool. I look at a giant bow at Target that would be gorgeous against her dark hair. I look at our Christmas Jet pictures and picture her in the cockpit on Tyler’s lap with Lexi. I’m acting like an expectant mom, and whether we wanted a girl or not it’s too late. She was listed under “Faith Ann” which doesn’t do her justice at all. The name on her medical reports is “Fei Wei” and I love that much better. I wouldn’t change it. It suits her. Fei Wei Stef. All we have to do is submit our paperwork to ‘hold’ her. Trying to be as responsible and realistic as possible, Tyler and I have a discussion one day of what we will face as parents. The stares, the name calling, possibly pain of surgery. Cambri, my eight year old, overhears us and calmly says, “But mom, it’s not what other people think. All that matters is what’s right.” Whoa. And of course she is right. If that wasn’t startling enough, Tyler than asks me, ‘What’s your hesitation?” Immediately I’m reminded of a Beth Moore study that I did. Beth had asked, “Why do we say ‘Don’t cry’ when we see other’s crying?” My first response to that question is, “Because it hurts to see them cry”. As I sat there in front of Tyler I know my hesitation. Because loving her will hurt me more than it hurts her. I will have to develop an arsenal of witty remarks for the comments she will get. Then there are the stares, getting picked last for kickball, snotty girls snorting because their perfect genes clearly make them better people. Then there’s aggravation over tasks she will have difficulty with, possibly learning to use a prosthetic and all that that will bring. Can I do it? Not alone, of course, but in prayer every day. Yes, I know I can. We can. Cambri spends all week talking about how to help her and what they can play together. On Friday we submit the paperwork. We can always get our boy later but we know she belongs here. Late Friday the agency calls.

“Um, I’m sorry but you can’t apply for Fei Wei”.

Silence.

 “What?”

“In China you have to be 30 and your husband isn’t.”

Very quickly, “Yes, I know, we already asked about that. There are waivers.”

“Not for China.”

Long, long silence. I hate getting bad information. As is, once you’ve learned that someone can give you bad info you are not likely to believe the next person because they might be wrong, and this is all I can think about.

“Can you check?”

“I’m 100% sure.”

“Well check again! That’s not what we were told.”

“Well, another couple applied to put her on hold today, too. Typically we’d review both sets of parents and decide which is best for Fei Wei, but you don’t qualify.”

I want to ring her neck. And cry. I am crying (which seems to happen a lot in this adoption process). I don’t know how to tell her that’s she’s ours. That we love her more than them. That we can give her a great life. I’m too devastated to know what to say. I want China to turn me down, not this girl on the phone who may or may not know what she is talking about.

“My husband is a fighter pilot. He’s not a thug 29 year old. We have Master’s degrees. We have excellent healthcare!” Yes, I played the fighter pilot card. I tried to play every card I had. How do you sell yourself as a parent? I’ve decided there’s no humble way. Am I supposed to be a pushy salesperson to get my child? Being quiet and humble certainly doesn’t seem to be an option. Somehow she tries to talk to me about their other programs but I’m not interested. It’s like having a miscarriage and the doctor telling you how to go about conceiving again. I don’t want another child, I want that child. And I know I’ve said that before, too. By the time we hang up she has promised to ‘check with my director’ and if she’s wrong she will backdate our application and we can compete with this other couple. Maybe it’s the competitive side of me but I’m gung ho for that. I know we’ll win. If we can just get that far.

We happen to have guests staying with us while this is all happening (unbeknownst to them) so I sit in my closet for a few moments to cry. Tyler finds me. We try to be happy for her, that at least she’ll have a family. But I can’t help thinking that she was ours. That we could do better. That the help she needed wouldn’t have cost us a dime. The agent on the phone reminded me that maybe this had to happen so that the next thing will happen. I try to mention this to Tyler but I’m tired of having to use that line. We say it about Wyatt. That if we hadn’t lost him and gone through certain things we never would’ve come to a place to adopt. That very well might true in this case as well, but I just don’t want to hear it. I can’t read my books again or look at more faces. I’m trying to ‘rest in Him’ which is nearly impossible and see what happens. Either He closed a door for us to direct us somewhere else or He wants to see how serious we were. I hope it’s the latter and I get a phone call with an apology over how wrong she was, but I suppose it’s not likely. Until then, we are expecting. I just don’t know who. 

     

The Journey

Adoption was presented to us almost immediately after we lost Wyatt. Our Pastor did a sermon on adoption, foster care and sponsorship. It wasn’t “for” us. It’s just that the timing of this fell within our season of grief. I was totally put off by it. If I remember right, Tyler was open to it, but I thought “No way. That’s for people who can’t have kids. Besides I want them to look like us.” I love the smell of my newborn babies. There’s just something about it that makes me gently massage their heads with my cheek all day. Someone else’s baby is sure to smell funny. And then there are features. I’m not saying my babies were the most beautiful (even though they were) but I tend to like even our worst family features. Because they are, in fact, ours. Tyler has the largest cheek bones I’ve ever seen on a man. Unless of course I was looking at his father, or cousins, who all seem to inherit the “Stef cheeks”. I don’t think most people would find this feature attractive. But I do, and I do on my children because they are his. What kind of weird features would I be facing in an adoption? Tyler was ready to go grab a few babies from Africa. What? Not Africa! I looked at him and said “I’m never going to Africa”. Nope. No thank you.

Months after this we began to sponsor a few children in Peru. At first I was picky; I wanted one with Wyatt’s birthday. But there were so many faces that needed help we ended up with three. For just a little money a month they can get medical care and food. We write them letters and send them pictures. They get a chance to have birthday parties and a Christmas through our sponsorship. We get SO excited when we get letters from them and get to see their drawings. We get a chance to tell them that Jesus loves them and that, despite their circumstances, they are so very special.  

Not long after this I looked in surrogacy. I figured this was a good alternative to giving birth again. Not that a doctor ever said I couldn’t. But the pain from the surgery, that lingers even 19 months later, has left me knowing I could never survive another one. It’s a no-brainer for me. If I ever heard “You need a c-section” again, I would refuse to the point of my fatality. Let me die, then take the baby however you need to. Extreme? Yeah, it probably sounds it. But you try living with barbed-wire in your pelvis, that never goes away and never gets better, for two years, and then tell me how you would feel. I thought that with surrogacy at least it would be “ours”. Adoption continued to come up. A couple from church brought home two boys from the Congo. Another couple had three from India. The topic was sprinkled throughout the year in our conversations but never really got in depth.  One of us was never interested.

All this passing time was spent watching Lexi get bigger and bigger. The void became larger. She is definitely a child who needed a younger sibling. She loves her older brother and sister but they are so much older! We go through the typical, “She’s bugging me. She says my toys are hers. Can’t I be alone?” My heart breaks for them all because I know what it’s like to be tormented by a younger sibling without the maturity to understand that they are just young. Lexi just loves people. She and Wyatt would’ve been inseparable.

Shortly after getting to Las Vegas, things started to get better. The sun is out constantly (just as it should be, of course) and there’s excellent physical therapy. I seem to be making progress with pain. Three steps forward, two steps back. Pain cycles come and go but at least they are ‘going’, even if it’s just a little bit. Tyler is home more. Ok, a lot. Eight hour days and he can actually answer his phone. He’s taken a lot of vacation time and we’ve reunited as a family. Lexi actually notices when he’s gone now and I consider that a huge step in a good direction. Our short happiness has brought on the talks of the emptiness I’ve been feeling: another child. Can we? Too risky. I can’t imagine feeling another being inside of me and just waiting for them to stop breathing. Or moving. I can’t imagine that feeling of being attached to someone who you are helpless to save, even though you are mom. That would be the longest nine months of torture….and then the birth. I mourn the fact that we’ve lost the ability to plan a child the way they are supposed to be planned. ‘We’re having a baby! Oh, look at the little clothes! I wonder if it’s a boy or girl.” When we think of getting pregnant the “baby” part practically gets left out. “100 grams of protein a day and a gallon of water. Vitamin E for a good placental bed. Do we homebirth? Can we find a midwife here who would take me? Do we just fly to Texas to the Doctor who was going to let me VBAC? I need to read those unassisted books. And affirmations, I need daily affirmations so I don’t lose my mind. Then prayer, so much prayer I’ll spend six hours a day with my face in the carpet. Would God listen? Surely He’s seen what we’ve been through and have mercy….but God doesn’t exactly work that way does He?” It’s hard to remember the wonderful smelling baby with high cheek bones that would be the result of it all. I confided in a friend about my desires and fears. Her response: Fear is from the enemy. And there are more ways to have a child than to give birth. You can adopt.  

A few weeks after moving I attended lunch with some fellow home schooling moms. One of them sat a little toddler on her lap, clearly of Asian descent. I asked her about it. They just adopted from Thailand. It was easy, and they received grants to help. It only took 9 months. Now adoption to me had a face. This sweet little girl sat playing with her other siblings and they were a great family. This wasn’t what I had envisioned adoption as. Suddenly it seems possible. Could we? Maybe? I went home and talked Tyler to death. We could. It could close the age gap. Lexi would have a playmate. It might be financially possible. We have plenty of space. I just want to hold a baby again. I was getting excited as I rambled on for several days. Then I noticed Tyler wasn’t talking. I asked him and he said he was ‘thinking about it’. “Oh.” My brain shut down mid-stream. Never mind. You were always the one on board so I just assumed you still were. I don’t have the energy to convince you so never mind.

But the thoughts didn’t exactly leave like I wanted them to. I found myself researching. Thailand has stopped all adoptions, so has Vietnam. In China you have to be 30 (and my poor husband is not yet). India you can’t have more than two kids at home. Korea might make an exception for a Special Needs child. Maybe we could, we have good healthcare, so maybe if it can be corrected? There are many warnings against anywhere in South America. They’ll just take your money. I really really didn’t want Africa. And I didn’t want to make Africa a choice just because it was all we had. I read an article that said you should be interested in the country your child comes from. For me that ruled out Africa and Russia. For no reasons that I can articulate, I’m just not interested in those countries. So I started scanning waiting child lists. There are SO MANY. All the faces. All the children who are crammed in orphanages. My heart grew bigger than my brain. I want to help them all. I know I can’t. But helping one just doesn’t seem like enough.

Tyler looked with me one night at an agency that is just down the road. They only have an Ethiopian program. We read the pages and watched the videos. I didn’t know anything about Ethiopia but we got very excited. The babies were gorgeous and the country was unique. Situated between the Middle East and Africa it has some of the oldest records of civilization. It was a dynasty until the 70’s when Civil War tore it apart. There are 80 different languages and 10% of the population are orphans. Wow. This might be it. We were both happy and excited and even crying a little. This might be it. We might be adding to our family.

I asked for all the paperwork and started processing things. There are a lot of documents we have to get together and it will take some time. Looking at the money I have no idea how this will all come together. Ethiopia requires two trips, one to make the adoption legal and then another to come and take the child home. That’s a lot of money, never mind the fifteen thousand that just paperwork will cost. We don’t have it, but there are grants. We can try.

We spent a little while being very excited. I took every book out on adoption from the library and researched Ethiopia in depth. Then a few days ago I started to have doubts. I didn’t want Africa, what makes me think I can take care of an African child? I know there are differences, like hair care. There are special soaps and you can only wash it so often, I think, or it dries out? There are things to know and I don’t know them. Can I handle an interracial family? With outsider criticism and possibly family criticism? As I put one of my own kids in time out I had to wonder “I’m not very nice. Not as nice as I want to be. Why would I drag another child into this family?” I’m never the mom I want to be. I never wake up wanting to give a lecture or yell or get frustrated. I want to giggle and play at the park and teach reading, writing, and arithmetic. I haven’t gotten one of those perfect days yet. Someone doesn’t listen. Someone almost gets hit by a car and I yell. No one cleans up after themselves so I lecture and make them. There are tears from all sides. I’m not a fun mom. What would I do with one more? I struggle to teach my three kids to love Jesus and desire a relationship with him. To love others and God above all else, and yet I can’t even act with the grace that Jesus wants us to give. I’m afraid my teaching will fall on deaf ears and they’ll just follow how Mamma acts and not what she says. Why would I bring another child into this? Especially a child with medical needs that I was possibly considering. No, I can’t. I am not good. It would be too much. I’m such a horrible person, if the child smelled funny that would be it. No cheek massaging, no bonding, just annoyance. The berating of myself has gotten worse over the days and I’ve put all the paperwork away. I couldn’t help another child. There are better parents out there than me.

After a day spent in self-degradation, I sit in my room doing my stretches for therapy and it dawns on me: I had a son. I have a son. I had a fourth child. He was here. But he’s not now. He’s gone. He smelled beautiful. He had high cheek bones. I rubbed his hair on my cheek all day one day. It was a long time ago. There’s a picture somewhere….where is it? I need to see it. Right now. I’ve almost forgotten. It’s on the floor. He’s on the floor. Waiting for the walls to be painted, why would I put you on the floor? I’m so sorry. You do look just like Lexi. And just like your daddy. And now all that’s left is the pain, physical and mental. The physical pain can be so excruciating it consumes the reason it is there to begin with. My son. We tried to save you. We tried so hard. I wish you were here. There’s a giant hole in the family and I can’t shake it and I can’t fill it. Another baby would never be as beautiful as you. And now I’m crying as hard as if it just happened. Crying on the floor until I’m exhausted.

Maybe this is just the “ups and downs” of the adoption process. Maybe it’s life after losing a child. I don’t know, but this might be a very short “adoption journey”.        

What I Would say to my "Care Providers"...

Ok so this is a long time coming. I thought it would be beneficial to some emotional healing. It's kinda graphic and I don't usually talk this way but I wanted it to be truly therapeutic.

What I Would Say to my “Care Providers”

To the NICU doc who handed me sheets of statistical charts and acted coldy like my son’s survival chances were a mathematical equation….

First of all get the fuck out of my room you old fuckin’ dumb ass. Shit’s probably changed since you went to school in the 1920’s but the last time I checked only God knows what the hell is gonna happen. You better take a long walk off a short pier, especially since I’m terrified and alone in this hospital room. When my husband comes back you’re the first on the hit list.

To the nurse who put the catheter in long before the surgery room was ready and an epidural was placed…

Dumb fuckin’ bitch. That shit hurts. Come here, give me your urethra and let me shove this shit up yours and see how long you enjoy it for.

To the anesthesiologist who couldn’t seem to figure out the intended purpose of anesthesia…

I can feel this shit! This fucking hurts, yes I DO know that they are cutting me open because I can feel it! You wanna get on this table? I’m telling your fucking monkey face that I feel this shit. What’s that? Do I want a relaxer? No! I want some fucking anesthesia that actually anesthetizes! I can tell you exactly what organ you guys are playing football with at this moment! I hope you get a fucking vasectomy without anesthesia you piece of goat shit. You look like you were born in a fucking barn, by the way.

To the Maternal/Fetal Medicine Specialist, whom I was briefed I was so lucky to have because there’s only like, 7, in the whole country….

Look you dumb fucking hillbilly shit kickers, there’s 7 specialists just in the DFW metroplex alone, if not more. There might be 7 in all of Idaho but don’t go tootin’ your horn before you know what the facts are. Thanks for telling me if I wanted my son to live I had to consent to a classical c-section. Too bad I heard you in the hall letting the other mother with the same issue labor because “she didn’t have insurance”.  I saw the face you made when I said I wanted a larger family- my birth control is not up to your hands, or even your opinion! Don’t sit there and tell me I have to choose between giving birth ever again and saving my current sons life because those two don’t even have to be in the same category, but thanks for putting them there. You’re such a stupid whore that apparently you’re confused on what informed consent really is. Since I apparently have more common sense, let me enlighten you! It’s not seeing me two weeks post-surgery and telling me that I’m probably gonna die in another birth because I’m at a huge risk for hysterectomy, placenta accreta, blood transfusions etc. All information that would have been just fucking dandy to know while I was laying there making a damned decision. By the way, giving a patient one option doesn’t really allow them to make a fucking decision. As youre digging around my insides, thanks for talking about your fucking labs while I’m praying with all my heart and soul that my son is ok. I hope the fucking UPS man backs over your fucking dogs while you’re pulling up the driveway coming home tonight. I bet you don’t know it, but the image of you chatting over my abdomen is seared into my brain FOREVER. Too bad you’re an old, ugly skank. And thanks for being so rough with my insides that I’ll never voluntarily have a bowel movement ever again. Every time I wish I could poop your face appears in my mind. A nurse informed us that you don’t usually do any of the surgeries, so if you’re not the one who usually does the surgeries, then STAY THE FUCK OUT OF THE OR!

TO the NICU doctor who severed my son’s trachea, ultimately killing him…

WHAT THE FUCK??? Do you have any idea what it’s like to hold your dead son who is inflated like a fucking party balloon? It’s a trachea you stupid incompetent piece of ass crap. How can you miss that shit? It’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s like your ONLY fucking job! If our military ran the way you do your fucking job we’d never get a plane off the fucking ground! And at what point did you notice his body filling with air? It obviously took a while you dumb shit. How the fuck do you even find your way out of bed in the morning? Life must be real challenging for you, since your motor skills are so bad and all. Nice cover story, by the way, that no one else in the city could have done better. First of all, it’s Boise, so I half way believe that. Too bad I’ve met hundreds of women with smaller, earlier babies who were all intubated perfectly you fucking murderer. I hope you don’t sleep another night for the rest of you pathetic fucking life.

To the midwife who told me she would help me vbac but the doctors she worked with wouldn’t let her…

You’re a fucking coward. Be part of the solution or part of the problem and you are DEFINITELY part of the problem!

I may not have been smart enough before but I won’t be caught stupid again.

Christmas, Capitalism, and Christianity

I've really been enjoying this Christmas season! Being physically better, more emotionally healed from losing Wyatt and having my husband home (finally!) has given me my "spunk" back to bake cookies, decorate, and watch Christmas specials.

Something came to my attention this year, though, and it has been a season of transition for me (although the kids love every minute of it!). Considering my newfound relationship with Jesus, I really want Christmas to be about him. The problem, however, is that I've spent my adult years falling into the standard American rat race with our Christmas celebrations. I didn't grow up believing in Santa and I never wanted my kids to. When I met hubby, however, he seemed to think I was depriving them of a childhood joy. I reluctantly agreed, so for the past few years we've done the standard run around; buying special wrapping paper, leaving reindeer food on the lawn, tracking Santa on NORAD....you get the picture. I discovered that it wasn't very enjoyable and that my children are far too intelligent for a ploy like Santa. I think most kids probably are if we didn't constantly counter their questions with silly lies. This year I was done. They started in on their questions and I blew Santa's cover. We then got on the computer and talked about the real St. Nicholas and his charitable heart. My children took the news very well since logically that all made more sense to them. I think they appreciated the truth at last, even though I couldn't apologize enough. I don't see how I can tell them Christmas is all about Jesus when we are busy warning them about a creepy old man who can see and hear everything they do. Especially since I've taught them that God is the only one who can do that.

 After the "talk" was over I began to wonder how I could instill the true meaning of Christmas into my household. I found several other blog postings through facebook on this very topic so I eargerly started to read them. One was particularly well written and I agreed with much of the first half of it. This mother wrote about how for the first few years with their kids they went nuts with presents. Yup, did that. Then she mentioned the difficulty in having your child turn 9 or 10, telling them there is no Santa, and they now need to stop being greedy. Yup, that makes perfect sense to me. It's taken me years to undo the "gimmies" and lack of care for your belongings that I began to inadvertantly teach my children. Then, in her opinion, to put Jesus back into Christmas they weren't going to be giving anymore presents or making special food etc. in order to have a Christmas worthy of our humble Savior. Wait........what?? Now this isn't me pausing because, darnit, I really enjoy getting crap on Christmas and I don't want to give up my diamonds and video games. This is me pausing because honestly, that sounds like the most boring birthday party ever! So I had to think, what does our Savior mean to me?

Well, for starters, He has become my closest friend, my one source of unconditional love, my Creator, He created my children and is graciously allowing me to care for them, He is the source of the beauty of the earth all around me, He is the maker of my husband and granted me the gift of his companionship, and just when life super sucks and I can't take it anymore, I know that I get to dwell in heavenly places, places I don't deserve to even be, all because of Jesus.......in short, the source of all my joy comes from Jesus and what He did. Considering all of this, I don't feel the need for mourning on Jesus' birthday. I have this interesting visual of the man on the Da Vinci Code movies who flogged himself and wore barbed wire, all for God. That was weird, wasn't it?! I'm not sure that kind of behavior honors our Lord!

I think of Jesus and I feel like celebrating! It only makes sense that if I want my kids to know that Jesus is the true meaning of Christman than I need to make more of the Christmas celebrations about Him! For starters we've removed baby Jesus from our Nativity and we will make a tradition of setting out on Christmas morning, when he arrives to save us! I purchased a box set from Family Life with seven presents to open as we narrate the Christmas story. For the past four days we have woken up and, as a family, opened one present each morning (containing a Biblical character) and read about what role that character played in Jesus' birth. My son came up with the idea of baking Jesus a birthday cake (or other treat) and leaving that out for Jesus on Christmas Eve night. I like that idea! 

I do not, however, think that I need to refrain from buying presents, putting up Christmas lights, or being Merry in any way. I've seen another trend this year, of my own fellow Americans degrading things like Black Friday and presents. Certainly there is no reason to buy more than a child can even clean up (and trust me, the first few years I had with my young kids I was out of control!) I think it's important that my children appreciate their belongings and know the value of what it cost to get them. BUT what is wrong with a few fun things? As a grown-up I get most of my joy from giving gifts to the people that I love. I can give gifts because I have surplus. I have surplus because I live in America. Only in American can things like Black Friday even exist. Most businesses thrive on the idea that Americans have some form of surplus, large or small. Caterers, movers, nail salons, massage specialists, professional cleaners, professional sports, play places for children, jewelery stores, best buy, even department stores depend on you purchasing more than you came in for in order to increase their revenue. It's the rare, extreme cases that are concerning but those are both rare and extreme. I happen to love Black Friday. It's one of the rare times I get to be in the car or shop alone without my children! In the 10 years that I've gone out at 3am (9pm this year!) I've never seen a mob trampling anyone or knives or pepper spray or even crazy people. In fact, I've made some great friends on Black Friday. You tend to learn a lot about people when you are committed enough to stand by a pile of razor scooters for two hours. What a great time to be a witness to others! A group of us even advocated for a woman in line whose coupons had expired at midnight and even though she got in line at 11pm, it was now 12:30am. I've witnessed some pretty amazing companionship while out shopping in our pj's. Walmart even handed out water bottles this year. While it wasn't much, it was a nice 'thank you' from a company who depends on our dedication. I don't believe partaking in this kind of shopping makes me crazy, greedy, insensative, wasteful or forgetful of the needs of others. It means I got a razor scooter and a few dvds for $150 less than I normally would have paid because I committed the simple act of setting my alarm clock. I'm such a criminal. Actually I am a capitalist. I save my money for Christmas. I don't go in to debt over things I don't need. But I earned my money and I get to spend it on a few nice Christmas gifts without anyone making me or anyone else feel bad about it.

Something else we are adding to our traditions is handing out care packages to the needy. It's our new Christmas Eve tradition. Our church gave us the idea for Give bags; these little bags with grocery items and other necessities such as wool socks. So we've put together a group of our own "Give Bags" and will head out to love on others who are less fortunate. And guess what? That's only possible because of surplus as well.

So, in short, this has been a defining Christmas for our family. No more lies of a fat man in a nasty red suit. It's about Jesus and I realize more and more every day why I'm thrilled that Jesus came. We've only introduced a few new things this year but I hope that more will be added over time. I am sure there are more ways to celebrate our awesome Savior! I just can't see God, Maker of all things, dwelling in heaven full of color and light and music, wishing us to celebrate His son in a hum drum manner. Christmas at our house will be a party for Jesus full of appreciation, gratitude, and awe that this little baby saved us all. And we will shop. And we will put up lights. And we will sing. And we will love!     

Ready for More?

Last week in church (yes I'm talking about church again, but it might just be worth reading anyway!) the speaker was talking about Mary and the calling that God gave her being the mother of Jesus Christ. He said "Before her calling happened, Mary's obedience was right there." It made me think of everything that has happened in my life during the past 14 months. It made me think of who I am and who I used to be.

 Everyone who knows me knows the struggles that I have had, losing my son and starting my faith from the ground up. I rely on God for everything now. I thank Him for everything. I cry out to Him. I read the Bible and I actually care about God's word. I've always wanted spectacular stuff to happen in my life. Don't we all? Honestly up until a year ago I thought my life was pretty spectacular. Well, except for leaving Texas but that's another can of worms! Everything that was great I thought I had done on my own. I thought Tyler married me because I was an awesome person. Now I think that God was watching over me and blessed me with a good man. I thought that I had great kids because I was a great mom. Now I believe that my children belong to God and if they are wonderful it's because God is using me to teach them well. I used to think I was pretty. Now I think that any attribute I have that is beautiful is from God and glorifies Him because He created beauty. I thought I had quick labors with my babies because my body was awesome and it must just suck to be all those other women who are in labor forever! Now I praise God for giving me those experiences. The list could go on and on. I know some people will read that list and think it's ridiculous. I know in the past I would hear people go on and on with their love affair with God and I just couldn't relate. I didn't get it. I can't even say that I'm there now but I sure am better then where I was!

Almost two weeks ago I underwent a second surgery to try and peel adhesions off of my internal organs, all created from the nasty cesarean we had with Wyatt. It has been the hardest road to walk, wondering why- on top of losing my son- did we have to have the worst cesarean I've ever heard of? Why has God allowed all the pain and sickness I've endured over the past year? Why did He allow the first surgery, the surgery that was supposed to close this chapter of our lives, to fail? Especially right when Tyler had to leave and I was left alone with the children, in more pain then ever? A lady in my life group mentioned to me how much I had changed in the past year. I think it's interesting that other people notice because I feel like everything that has taken place has been an internal battle, between me and God. Apparently not. She told about her life experiences over the past 10 to 15 years and how it took all of that time to change her for the better. Then she began to describe how it seems that God has put us through this funnel of sorts, allowing all of these hurdles into our lives, and how this is creating change at a rapid rate. I have to admit, as long as it has felt when every day is filled with pain, 14 months is relatively short to go from "Sure, I believe in God" to "I am a Christ follower".

During the time when I knew a second surgery was needed I stopped praying for a few days. It was so hard. I don't even know why I didn't give up for good. I prayed for healing. I believed for healing. I knew that "by His stripes we are healed". So.....why not me? I stopped asking for healing when it was apparent that it wasn't coming and just started saying "I know You are good. I know You love me. I trust you". Some days that was all I could muster to say. I wondered why I wasn't special enough or what I had done so wrong that I wasn't even allowed to get well?

Back to Mary. I think last Sunday I understood for the first time how huge Mary's task was and how well she reacted to a scary angel giving her this assignment. I hope my answer would have been the same as hers but somehow I doubt it. Certainly God would not have given someone who was "exploring the idea of God" an assignment so large as to be the mother of Christ. I look at my own life and know that before everything I might have fallen into that infamous "good person" category but I wasn't someone that God could trust things with. Now I'd like to think that maybe I am. Tyler has confided in me that he wants to do something big for God. But neither of us know what that looks like right now. It makes me smile to think that all of this could be for a reason. That maybe Jesus hadn't forgotten me afterall. Maybe he was tired of watching me waste my potential and decided to get me into shape where He needed me to be. Maybe it was never that I wasn't special enough to receive healing, maybe it's that I was too special to be living the way that I was. Maybe He knew that I am more than what I was being. 

I believe in my last post I wrote about having a hard time feeling that God loved me. Well, facing another surgery as a single parent you can bet I was having trouble with that! Aside from telling God I trusted Him, I started asking Him to show me He loved me. I begged for that "peace that passes all understanding" that I used to sing about in Sunday school. If I was going to live in pain I just wanted to feel God's love. And then a funny thing happened. He showed me. The surgeon waived his fees. The same lady from my life group volunteered to go to CA with me and leave her family for a whole week so she could nurse me back to health. Ladies from a Bible study I had attended for only an hour volunteered to bring me meals for two weeks when I returned home. My life group lady (who I am now very indebted to!) set up a rotating schedule of people from church who have spent every moment of every day with me since I've been back. Those who know me know that I do not accept help well. I never have. I am even awkward when people give me presents. I am always the one giving and delivering and cooking and being superwoman. The prospect of having all of these people help me was difficult to face, just because I didn't want them to go out of their way for me. Because I know this about myself I felt like maybe it was something God wanted me to learn. So I tried. People showed up to my house that I had never even met and asked what they could do! It was hard for the first few days to say "well, the kid's clothes have to be washed". Then it got easier and it actually was neat to see everyone operate in their 'sweet spot'. Some loved to clean (my toilets are fabulous by the way, I snapped a picture of them), some love to play with the kids, some love to cook food. All of it has made my transition home seemless. I do hope that if letting others serve you is what God wanted me to learn then I can be done with the pain! I started to realize after a few days that God was showing me His love through His followers. These people were loving on me and I felt less than worthy. Who am I to them? But it was the same way I felt about God, who am I to Him? Just when I needed a lifeline, God threw one.

My days are still filled with questionable pain, if and when it will go away and when I can get back to normal. It sure is nice to think that maybe I have something coming, something that God needs to trust me with that He couldn't before. Maybe it's time for my calling?  

Why are Christians supposed to be so happy....

It took me ten months after I lost Wyatt to open the Bible and read it. Really read it. Not just following along with the Pastor on Sundays. I believe that that was partly due to the grief process but also trying to sludge my way through a graduate program that I no longer care about. For a year I've asked everyone questions about God, prayer, and if being a believer actually makes a difference. No one has been able to sufficiently give rest to my questions so, for me, the Bible was the last place to search. It's interesting that in writing that last sentence it's apparent that it should have been the first place I looked.

In my reading I have jumped around a little, but I find the New Testament most important to me at this time. I'm not sure what I expected would happen when I read the Bible but I have received an amazing peace about it. I can't even point out a specific passage that I can show you and say "This was it. This answered my questions".  The apostles have a way of writing that shuts down my doubt and questioning. They are very point blank. Jesus came. He suffered greatly for us because God loves us. We should worship God because we were not and are not worthy of that sacrifice. We are fallen but God saved us anyway. So love God and love one another. Period. I was happy to discover (unlike so many textbooks) that there is no fluff in the Bible. Everything serves a purpose. If I still "what ifs" after the important and urgent message that the apostles give us, then my "what ifs" don't need to be addressed. I don't need to know why. I recently had surgery to correct the horrible cesarean we had to save Wyatt. Instead of being a healing experience, it has left the door open for yet another impending surgery. Why has this happened to me? Why can't God cut me a little bit of slack, certainly we've had enough for one year. Last week I found myself feeling less than loved by our creator so I took the Bible and sat down with a notebook. All of complicated feelings come down to one basic question: Do I believe in God? I wrote it at the top of a page. I cannot look at everything in this world and believe it was an accident. I also cannot believe that humans do not have meaning, so yes, I will always believe in God. If I believe in God and Jesus then it comes down to another very simple idea. I have to believe what the Bible says. It doesn’t matter if I don’t feel loved or if I can’t see God working in my life. He says it so it is true. I can’t be like a liberal and pick and choose the commandments that I will follow (you knew I’d throw that in!). I will pray because God says to. I will worship Him because I know how faulty I am and yet he saved me anyway. I would not have given Wyatt’s life for anyone else and God gave Jesus for all of us. So it is interesting that what stopped my questions were not answers after all. It was just God.

All of this left me with wandering how Christians are expected to be happy through a life that is so hard. The Bible says we have victory but I don’t see any Christians on earth having more victory than anyone else. Some of my dearest Christian friends have gone through more suffering than most people I know- Tyler and I included. If Christians are God’s people then why do we have to put up with the crap that we do. Let me illustrate this further:
The news this morning spoke of a sculpture of the Ten Commandments in front of a courthouse in Florida that had been ordered to be removed. Everyone in the community was fighting to keep it since everyone in the town wanted it there. It was the American Civil Liberties Union that was having it removed. Don’t you love them? How about the cross that was left standing at Ground Zero that is also being fought against to keep it out of the new Freedom Tower? What about those of us who suffer miscarriages and are spoken to about the “content of our uterus”? Even though it’s not offensive us moms who knew it was a baby, no one will say it. It’s truly exhausting. I want to rest in the Lord like he instructs us to do, but I still long to see some Christian victories on earth. That’s ok, isn’t it?

Aside from receiving peace for my doubts, I also began to understand one other important thing. It all depends on how you look at earth. Since it is all that we see and feel and touch, it is very important to us. God gives us glimpses of the other side so that we can have hope, but earth can still seem much more real. Largely I feel that it remains a mystery to many. That might be why you see thieves shaking before they are hanged and serial killers weep before they are injected. We fear the unknown. Or we fear what we knew but ignored. This life might seem long to us (I know when you’re in physical pain it feels like an eternity) but it’s really so short. It’s nothing. That is hard to wrap our minds around but it’s true. Fashions come and go. Our cars and homes that we are so proud of fail us. Our Ipads are already outdated. Everything that we try desperately to enjoy will be gone before we know it. But eternity is forever. I don’t pretend to understand how long eternity even is. My simple human mind cannot grasp it. But I do know it is exceedingly longer than our lives here on earth. And then what? All the politics, all the protesting, everything that we fight our way through life for…….then what? And its’ that moment that is so crucial, the “then what” moment. Because that’s when followers of Jesus have victory. That doesn’t seem like a big deal if earth is a big deal. But if I realize that earth is not what’s important than the moment of victory is a big deal. God wins in the end, whether someone believes there is an end or not. Because Jesus suffered for me, I can see my son again one day. Earthly struggles don’t last forever so not matter what I’m going through now, there will be an end. This isn’t it. It’s not all there is. That’s why Christians can be happy. I can lose my son. I can be in physical pain. I can fight my way through an increasingly anti-Jesus population, but this is not the end. I have victory because of Jesus. So why not give it all I have now for God? In this short amount of time I have here on earth, why not make a difference? Some lyrics at church last week stuck out to me. It said “Everything I am for Your kingdom’s cause. As I walk from earth into eternity”. That’s just it. We are all on our way to eternity, with every breath that we take. So I am determined to spend the rest of my life living for Him. What that looks like, I will figure out as I go! After all, it’s the least I can do.
   

The Christmas Story for the first Time

The holidays this year were the more challenging of my life but it was also the most meaningful of my life. It was hard to hang up Wyatt's stocking or answer my daughter's questions on Christmas morning as to why Santa forgot Wyatt. I wish my son had been here for Christmas. I wish I still wasn't in so much pain that it was hard to eat Christmas dinner. It hardly seems fair that 5 months later we are still dealing with the fall-out of major surgery. My 6 year-old told me she didn't want kids because of the cut I had and they way "they" take babies out. I ended up revealing God's way of having babies be born and she seemed much more ok with that.
This year, however, I can easily say is the first year that I "got it". My entire life I've known why we have Christmas. I've preached that it's not about the presents, it's about Jesus. But really it was still about the presents. And the lights on the house. And the music. And the cool wrapping paper. And the snacks I could bake and feed everyone. And the friends I could impress. I even said "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays" and was relieved that my children were still allowed to have "Christmas" parties at school. I passed along those emails preaching to other people about the true meaning of Christmas. I've been a Christian my whole life and I didn't even get it enough to know that I didn't get it.
And then I lost my son.And then a few weeks ago my family sat down to watch the "Nativity Story" on dvd so that I could try and show my kids the true meaning of Christmas. I realized how far off the mark we were when I explained to her that it was only about Jesus and she replied "Then what are all the presents for?" I wanted to answer that it was because the wisemen gave Jesus gifts, but seriously, who are we trying to kid? How far from the wisemen's gifts have we come? For the past two weeks it's taken me 45 minutes to get two blocks down the road because of the shopping traffic. So as we watched the movie I thought of what it really would have been like for Mary. How a mother feels when she is pregnant. She seemed obliging to God for whatever His plan was but certainly she had to love her baby like the rest of us love ours. Hindsight is 20/20 and we all know the details of why Jesus came and what he went through. But take that away for a moment. Try and know only what Mary would have known. God sent His son. He had a plan. He was going to be a king and savior. Did she know he had to die to save all of us from the crap that we do? Would she have been so obliging to that? I know that God is God, but when I look at my children's faces I cannot fathom them being tortured and killed to save everyone on this planet from sin. It might sound terrible but I don't care about anyone else that much. Those are my babies. If people want to make bad choices then that's their own problem. I watched the scene of Mary and Joseph holding their baby in a new way, with a new mind. I started crying looking at the face of the baby and thinking of the scenes in the Passion of the Christ where Jesus is ridiculed and tortured. That poor baby! That poor man! I will never be able to fathom what the weight of the world felt like on his shoulders. Jesus seemed to be obliging to God's plan as well but I'm sure he wasn't thrilled about it. I started thinking about everything bad I've done in my life. From the small things, like tiny lies or being disgruntle with the kids when there was no cause, to the larger things, like less than appropriate behavior, a divorce etc. So much of life was spent thinking certain things were important. Things that I thought were important. But they weren't really. They weren't at all. Everything I've ever thought was important, from my looks to things that I own, are not important at all. I couldn't be a good person if I tried. Not the kind of person God and Jesus want us to be. I could never avoid a snicker here and there at someone's expense. I can't be a perfect mother, although I try so hard. I was a pain in the ass daughter and I'm sure I'm the same kind of wife at times. I can't save myself from the bad things I do. But Jesus did. He did that for people he didn't even know. He did that, literally, for the people who killed him. I can't imagine Mary's pain, watching her son fullfill God's plan. When Wyatt passed away I was mad at God for so long. He and I still have some business to work out. I couldn't believe that was part of His plan. There had to be a better plan. I think Mary thought the same thing- there could've been a better, less painful way. I know that Jesus was part of a plan. I am not sure if Wyatt was, but I can't help but think of similarities in the way a mother feels about their baby. I think a lot of us just assume we going to heaven while we sit down and enjoy our lives in whatever way pleases us. I want to go to heaven. I have a son I need to go meet. And I'm finally learning that earth is not all it's cracked up to be. We get one body and mine is having trouble working right now. Thank God there is more than this life. THANK GOD there is something way better because this place sucks.
So this Christmas I sang the Christmas carols in a different way. I'm much more grateful that Jesus was born. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for being born. Thank you God for saving me from myself. Thank you for allowing me to go to a better place than earth! I watched the Polar Express with my kids feeling all the magic and wonder of that movie, wishing there really was a Santa Claus. But this year I feel like there is something just as amazing. The story of Jesus being born. Merry Christmas!