But for now, just stay with me.

I think it's time for an update. It's been a while. God is doing some amazing things with our family and in our lives. I'm not sure where we are headed in all of this, but we have really been striving to abandon ourselves to His will. The last 3 months is a blur.



November: Happiness.

We found out that baby #2 was on the way! We delighted in the fact that our family was going to be blessed with another life. We began preparing George for sharing the spotlight. He even got his first "big brother" t-shirt :)

December: Tragedy.

On December 9th, we found out that our precious gift had gone to heaven to be with Jesus. As a mother, I cannot describe the ache and emptiness in my heart this loss has left behind. Christmas was a quiet time. We celebrated the beautiful birth of Christ, and mourned the loss of our sweet David Isaac. We named him David...beloved, and Isaac, because in Genesis 22, God asked Abraham to give the ultimate sacrifice, his only son, Isaac. A child is the ultimate sacrifice, and I have never felt closer to Mary or more compassion for what she endured. I was not even able to see our child, and yet, the void was so great. I can't imagine what it is like to know and love a child for years, to watch them grow, and to lose them in death. This is something I will never understand. As I was miscarrying, I heard someone pacing our floors at night, and I felt the Father's love.
Audrey Assad's "Show Me" = my anthem for that time:

You could plant me like a tree beside a river
You could tangle me in soil and let my roots run wild
And I would blossom like a flower in the desert
But for now just let me cry

You could raise me like a banner in a battle
Put victory like a fire behind my shining eyes
And I would drift like falling snow over the embers
But for now just let me lie

Bind up these broken bones
Mercy bend and breathe me back to life
But not before You show me how to die

Set me like a star before the morning
Like a song that steals the darkness from a world asleep
And I'll illuminate the path You've laid before me
But for now just let me be

Bind up these broken bones
Mercy bend and breathe me back to life
But not before You show me how to die
Oh, not before You show me how to die

So let me go like a leaf upon the water
Let me brave the wild currents flowing to the sea
And I will disappear into a deeper beauty
But for now just stay with me
God, for now just stay with me

January-March: Joyful but Weary.

There is no other way to describe us, but tired. Avrien is back in school and money has been tough, as well. We pick up extra jobs here and there to make ends meet, and honestly, I think God is keeping me busy as a gift. He knows that I have a "Martha Mind," and that the only times I am really sad now, are in the quiet moments.
We are joyful, and weary at the same time. Our family has experienced great grief and great joy in the last three months.

For now: Hopeful

It's lent. Christ's suffering and crucifixion is approaching. We have been given a the gift of identifying with Christ, and we will be given the gift, year after year, of hope and redemption in Easter.
We know God has a plan for our family. We know that David Isaac is a prayer warrior for our family. We know that we are faithful. We know that God is faithful. We know that we are blessed. Hope is what He's given, and hope is what we've got.

Present anthem: "You give and take away. Still, my heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be Your name."

The things we do not say.

I just came back from singing at several youth conferences. This required quite a bit of traveling back and forth, and I often found myself making new friends along the way. On my flight back from Florida, I sat next to a woman who told me of how she longed to be a mother, and how she and her husband had not been successful in conceiving. I listened as she talked, and I even felt a litte guilty because we, literally, prayed to concieve and BOOM!...it happened. After I listened, I smiled and said, "I'll pray for you." What else could I say?..."I know this will happen for you!" or "Everything is going to be alright?" I couldn't say those things because, the truth is, that I didn't know if this woman would ever be blessed with a child...but I meant what I did say. I really meant it. I did pray for her, and I still wonder what is going on in her life.

In Providence, I cried with a 17 year old girl back stage, who gave her witness to 2000 people. She told the dark story of her childhood...of how her father would sexually abuse her, and then afterwards, say to her, "I wanted you to know how much I love you and how beautiful you are." Luckily, this sweet child knows she has a father in heaven that loves her, and this father takes away all of her woundedness. Backstage, she told me that her family is in the process of a trial. "Can I pray for you? What can I pray for?" I asked. She asked that I pray for courage to do what is right and fair. She has the heavy burden of being included in the decisions that will determine her father's sentencing. Avrien and I pray fervently for her.

In the Toronto airport, I was reapplying lipgloss and I saw a girl drying her tear-soaked face behind me, as I looked in the mirror. I turned around, and asked, "Are you OK?" She replied, "I will be...at some point." I couldn't help but wonder what was going in her life and what I could say to make it better...but I was so little and her problem seemed bigger than kind words. "I will pray for you," I said with tears in my eyes. "Thank you," she said warmly. I left this girl crying in the Toronto airport bathroom. I still pray for her and wonder if she is doing alright.

Sometimes, the words just aren't there. When I don't know what to say, "I'll pray for you," is what usually comes out of my mouth. I used to feel bad about it, like, people wouldn't want to hear those words, but now, I find those are the only words that I need to hear when things aren't going great...especially if they mean it. We can't expect to say or do everything right...that's God's job. What we can do, is promise to take it to God. It is so funny to me, that everyone is connected in this world. I made connections with people that live nowhere near me, and I think about them, often. Is this weird, or is this exactly how God intended it to be? We live in a world that tells us this is abnormal....that it's abnormal to be tenderhearted to people we do not know, simply because we do not know them. Doesn't that sound strange to you? A bit inhumane, isn't it?

When I got home, I realized in prayer, that opening my mouth was not necessary in these situations, but opening my heart was. Sometimes, the things we do not say are exactly what someone else needs to hear....these things are a matter of the heart. "I'll pray for you," seems to be completely sufficient at times like these.

Listen up.

I cannot tell you how many times I have to repeat myself in a room full of 6th graders. Sometimes, I will be answering a specific question, as several students raise their hands to ask another. When I call on these students to present their question, it is the SAME question I just answered!!! There aren't any hearing problems in the 6th grade, just listening problems. When I go home, the problem is the same. "Avrien, can you grab the baby? I am cooking over here....Avrien? Avrien?!? AVRIEN!!!!!" OK, Avrien IS deaf in his right ear, and likes to refer to this as an advantage, rather than a disability. However, 'I couldn't hear you babe,' is only a good excuse the first 400 times. This is frustrating and hurtful to me, as I am not listened to all day.

I, wholeheartedly, admit that I stop listening if someone doesn't get to the point right away. However, I have a different reason...pure exhaustion. I could fall asleep on the toilet, and I have! If you don't get to the point, I start seeing the back of my eyelids. My mother recalled an incident, when she was a young mother. I was about 4 years old. We were driving home from somewhere, and I was talking. Imagine...me...talking. I was telling her all about something. I talked for 10 minutes straight, and when I noticed that she did not react to what I was saying, I asked her if she was listening.

"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy! Are you even listening to me?!?!?"

"Baby, I am sorry that I am not listening. I am just very tired," she said.

"Well," I said, "Do you want me to drive?"

Comic relief for my mom. I was confused then, but I understand her exhaustion now.

Even babies yearn for someone to listen to them. George babbles in his baby talk. He understands the concept of a conversation. If you do not respond, he babbles in a frustrated tone, and he even gets louder, as if to say 'LISTEN TO ME!!!'

Human beings are made to communicate with one another and to validate each other's feelings. Isn't this a central part of all relationships?

Somehow, between the television and the internet, we have managed to zone out and cut communication out of our daily lives. My brother told me that one of his co-workers sends him emails with questions or concerns, and he sits in the cubical five feet away from him. Where is this world headed?

These days, so many children are socially inept. They cannot interact appropriately because they don't know how! Parents allow TV and video games to be their child's only interaction. There are even attempts to inform parents and children of the possible consequences. Look at the movie, WALL-E, example. As Avrien and I sat there and watched it, I wondered if children received the message that was being communicated. Or did the clearly communicated message get lost in the movie theater?

The average American watches 4 hours of television a day. That is 28 hours a week, 2 months out of the year, and 9 years of a 65 year old's life.
I know when children sit in front of their TV or video games all day, because I see it in their interaction with others. I see it in their frustration level, especially when an assignment calls for communicative presentations.

Yesterday, Avrien and I took a walk around our neighborhood. Avrien fished in the lake, and George and I watched the sunset as we strolled home. It was relaxing and refreshing.

LISTEN TO ME.

Take a deep breath of fresh air. Get out of the house. Take a walk. Read a book. Talk with your family.

They call it the 'Boob Tube' for a reason. Don't be a boob.

The Best Medicine.

This morning, I reached across the bed with my leg and rested my foot on Avrien's stomach. I have this thing, where I love being close to him, and being next to him, but I can't handle the heat of a long, leisure cuddle. I do this in my sleep all of the time. Avrien often wakes up with a foot on his back, shoulder, stomach, or leg. Since the baby sleeps with us, he sometimes wakes up with a foot under his back and a diaper in his face.
Sorry Ave.
He never complains about it, and he is still able to laugh about it. This morning, as my foot was resting on his stomach, he reached down and tickled the bottom of my foot. I spastically retracted my leg back to my side of the bed. "Stop!" I whined, half asleep. When I felt that the coast was clear, I put my foot back on his leg. He did it again. "Cut it out!" I said. He started to laugh. "I'm serious. Stop it," I said, as I tried not to laugh. We couldn't help ourselves. We woke up at 6am this morning laughing. This was a beautiful start to the day.

When I was pregnant, God put an immense amount of joy in my heart because I would laugh, and laugh, and laugh. I would laugh, until I cried, my entire pregnancy. Mother Teresa said that, "Joy is the echo of God's love in our hearts." My son, George, is such a joyful child. Sometimes, I wonder if God made him such a joyful child, that his joy spilled forth into me as I carried him.

My hope is that I laugh my way into old age. My students tell me that I look young. They may, simply, be saying that to get an 'A' in my class. Not a chance, but I will accept the compliment. I have one student that tells me I look 18 all the time. "God bless you!" I say back.
Could it be the fact that I laugh with them? We laugh together, and laughter makes us all the same age, I guess.

You don't have to be 16 to use it.
You don't have to be 21 to take a swig of it.

It is what it is...the very best medicine.

No.

Avrien and I have decided not to use the word 'No' with our son. He usually responds to "Uh-uh," or "George," said firmly. So, we reserve the word 'No' for more severe occasions. It's better for him to know when we mean business, rather than equating all instances with the same level of severity. Lately, when we say "GEORGE," he looks back at us with his sweet eyes, and continues whatever he is doing. Sometimes, he will shake his head back and forth, as if to say "No," back to you, and then he continues what he is doing.

I walked in on him pulling books off of the bookshelf in the living room the a couple of weeks ago, and when I said his name, he began to shake is head 'no' and he continued to pull the books off of the shelf, shaking his little head back and forth. Clearly, he grasps the concept. However, he chooses not to apply it.

A couple of days ago, I walked up on him harassing our cat, Addie. He was patting her firmly (VERY firmly - OK, this was just short of a beating) on the head. I said, "Gentle," about 6 times, and after he made the choice to disregard me, I picked him up in my arms and walked into the living room. He fussed for a bit. We try not to respond to his tantrums. So I put him down on the floor. He crawled back over to the cat, and the cat stretched out her sharp claws, as an invitation. "Try it again," she taunted with her eyes. Immediately, I looked at him, and said, "No!" He looked back at me. His pursed his lips, his lip began to quiver, he tightly scrunched up his face, and he let out a loud wail. It was as if I had ripped his toenail off with pliers.
"He's testing you," says my mom.

Ah yes! The test.

From what I understand, he will continue to test me until HE is old. I thought there was, like, a 16 year grace period on this. Isn't he supposed to start this in high school? Apparently not. Apparently, this is what being a mom is all about. Love and tests. These little tests prepare us for the final exam....high school, college, and eventually, letting them go. Every time they occur, these tests bring us one step closer to heaven. Sometimes, I stare at George sleeping and come close to tears. I don't want him to get bigger. I don't want him to experience the negative things of the world...but it's inevitable.

So mamas, look at your babies (or adult "babies") and rejoice in them every second of the day. They are our ticket to heaven....how lucky we are to be mommies. Happy Mother's Day to every single one of you.

Thank you George, my little angel. My first Mother's Day has been exceptional, because of you and the joy that you bring to my life.

Poop happens.

So, everyone has one or two funny poop stories under their belt...no pun intended. However, poop stories tend to get funnier after you have children. You deal with all type of fluids that you never dreamed of dealing with, and you don't really mind it either. At least, most of the time, parents don't mind. I have to say that I, unlike other moms, am not quiet about my dissatisfaction with the laborious job of changing diapers. I hate it! I have dry heaved and come close to throwing up.
I love my son, but I don't like his poop. It stinks, and it comes in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Pee-pee diapers aren't so bad, when he isn't peeing as you are changing him. Rule of thumb: Keep your mouth closed when you are changing a little boy. That little sucker will shoot you, and you won't even see it coming.
I also have tricked my husband (OK, he's on to me) into changing most of the poopy diapers for two reasons: 1) I carried the baby and popped it out. It is, clearly, his turn to do something unpleasant AND 2) I have Crohns disease, and I might unexpectedly throw up..he he he.
However, this day was unique. On this particular day, I was feeling especially brave. OK, OK, OK. My husband was in the other room painting, and since he was working, I was on my own. Lucky for me, this was an extremely enlightening diaper changing experience (sarcasm). I opened the diaper to find that my son, armed with the prophecy that it would be ME, left an abundant gift there...it was everywhere.
As I began to gag, the baby cooed and laughed, as if to say, "You simpleton. I knew this would be amusing for me." Son of a...!!! So, here I was: poop coming out of the diaper, baby laughing at me, with no escape. I started to scream for Avrien...no reply! I took deep breaths, and thought, 'OK, you can do this, one wipe at time. This is not a big deal. Man up, lady.' Then it happened....there it was in all of its glory...poop....under my fingernail. Everything switched to slow motion, as I screamed in a slo-mo, low voice, "NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I screamed for Avrien...this time he came running in. From the way I screamed, he must have thought that the baby had fallen and smacked his head on a rock. This was not the case.
I got up and ran around the house, like a chicken with its head cut off. I was running. Where was I running? What was I doing? All I knew was there was poop under my fingernail, and I was running from something. The poop, perhaps? I ran into the kitchen, attempting not to touch anything with that hand, frantically looking for a nail clipper. I washed my hands, but it would not release itself from the back of my fingernail.

At this point, Avrien was finished changing the baby's diaper, standing at the doorway of the kitchen, and laughing at me. "It's not funny!!!" I screamed.
I found it. The nail clipper. Thank God. I cut it off over the trash can, washed my hands again, poured myself a glass of cold water, put my hand on my head, laid down on the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. I was alive. I had survived.
Had it been my leg, I would have amputated it. Luckily it was just my fingernail. Poop, certainly, happens. That's a fact, and my fingernail died in battle as a casualty of war. R.I.P. Left Thumbnail...you will be missed.

The Piglet Cold

Alright people! So, the thing to freak out about lately is the swine flu. Schools are closing, people are panicking, chaos is ensuing. This is sort of ironic, as the first instruction from every news team and radio show was, "Don't panic!" More people die from the common flu every year, and people are freaking out over a flu named after a pig. A colleague of mine brought up an excellent point. Would people be freaking out if it weren't named, 'The Swine Flu'? Honestly. Would you be worried about something called the Piglet Cold or the Puppy cough?
There is a student out with the flu at my school. She has taken tests to tell whether or not
she has the Swine flu. Some teachers hope that it is. Then we can close up shop early and dismiss for the summer. Ha! Ha! No, but seriously...My son's pediatrician said that they have been extremely busy because there are people coming in to be checked for the flu that do not have any of the symptoms. They are, simply, freaking out because they have a ragweed allergy. Wowzahs! Let's not get ahead of ourselves, people. We've got a whole life to live, and I'm pretty sure it won't be ending with the Piglet Cold.