Layers

"It never ceases to amaze me how we pray and pray to see God's hands move.  Yet, even when we do we still fight against the work He is trying to accomplish."

Like a craftsman preparing to restore a damaged piece of furniture, I can feel Him using this time, stripping away the layers of my pride and independence.  Yet my entire being is kicking, screaming, and crying out in agony with each pass of the blade.  My body and mind are tired, my soul is weary, and the pain is real.   I am scared of how much more He will ask of me, I am not sure I how much more I can take.  So how do I willfully surrender to this discomfort?  How do I "count it all joy" as we are urged to in James 1 when my spirit is anything but joyful? 

I think that this is the crux of my relationship with Christ, this inability to fully release the grasp I have on what I consider "mine."  My independence has at times defined me and I relished in the ability to "do it all," but how many times did it blind me to occasions He presented?  How many opportunities did I miss to share His goodness, His grace, or His comfort because I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts and desires? 

Perhaps what I thought was an integral part of "me" the Lord looked at more as thick coat of poly. Something that covered up the reality of what was hidden underneath with a shiny exterior, one that looked good but was also impenetrable.  What if what I thought of as a shield others saw merely as hard?  Maybe it is only through the painful scraping of each layer that Christ can be seen, when we are exposed, when we are raw and unprotected, that His work can be completed.  Maybe it is only through my brokenness that others can see His light in me. 
    

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the trying of your faith worketh patience.  But let patience have it's perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing."  James 1:2-4

Beauty from Ashes

Chiffon, tulle, and satin spilled from the racks, transforming the room into a thing of beauty with little effort.  This was a place of magic, this bridal store that held within its confines the dress that I would wear when I pledged my life to my forever love.  My hands couldn't help but reach out and touch the gowns that I had spent hours perusing online.  The "perfect" dress was already pulled in anticipation of my arrival and as I stood in the dressing room I drank in the moment, overwhelmed by the magnitude of emotions that coursed through my veins, overcome by the reality of the event, this moment in time of which little girls dream.  The satin skimmed against my skin and I relished the feeling of "my" gown as it hugged my body in  all the right places.

I stepped onto the platform fully expecting to love what I saw yet instead I HATED it.  This dress that adorned my desk in countless pictures was not at all what I was expecting, not at all what I was wanting.  My mom instantly noticed the distress on my face and my sisters ran to pull countless options from the overflowing racks.  Dress after dress was met with disappointment until only two remained.  One a beautiful mermaid flare that fit like a glove, but covered with lace, an option I had never even considered, it didn't seem like me.  The other an A-Line adorned with beautiful scroll work forming a cross on the train and delicate pearl detailing along the bust.  The design I loved, the fit I despised.

Not willing to commit to either I left the salon frustrated, irritated, and saddened by the prospect of being unable to find "the" dress.  My mom felt like it would serve me well to take a step back so we went to a local mall.  My sisters were concerned, none of the joy that should be present on such a day was evident in my demeanor.  When I squealed over the procurement of a denim jacket they all felt the day was lost. 

Pregnancy for me is much like that trip.  It was something I dreamed of, something I prayed for, something I looked forward to with joy and anticipation.  Yet after two miscarriages, one micro-preemie, one full term delivery, the diagnosis of an incompetent cervix, an emergent cerclage, and 14 weeks of bed rest, it is instead a journey riddled with trepidation, anxiety, and fear. A constant awareness that the light at the end of the tunnel just might be a train.

No one prepares you for the "ugly" side of this experience and in truth no one can.  Each road is different requiring first hand travel for knowledge to be gained and wisdom garnered.  No one can explain the depth of hurt that follows the loss of a child or the sea of emotions that accompany seeing your daughter fight for a life full of unknowns.  No one can prepare you for the emotions that come when the bottom falls out once again or foresee the sacrifices required to bring a healthy child into this world.

We headed back to store for one last attempt and were met at the door by their seamstress who was convinced she could combine the fit of the one with the design of the other.  I slipped into the A-Line again and watched skeptically as she pulled and pinned, clipped and folded the gown, shaping it into something new entirely.  After what seemed liked hours she stepped back and told me to look.  I did, and was amazed at the transformation that had taken place.  Something I despised had been turned into a thing of beauty...

 



Our Lord, like the seamstress, is waiting to make something of beauty from situations that to us seem impossible. We are promised in Isaiah 61:3 that the Lord will "...provide for those who grieve...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of His splendor."  Sometimes we just have to open our eyes.     

Please Lord may mine be open...

Today

Today I am tired, worn out, exhausted…  The irony of being tired while I am on bed rest is not lost on me but that is where I am.  My body is aching from the days of inactivity, each hour seeming progressively worse than the last. The lack of real sleep and the screaming of my hips is all culminating in a feeling of misery.  I struggle to maintain perspective, knowing that this is only for a time and the reward is great but sometimes it is hard. 

 

 I know that it has long been said that comparison is the thief of joy but sometimes, just sometimes, if you allow it, it can also be the reminder of blessings.

• Every time the pain becomes unbearable I must remind myself thousands of NICU mommas would have given anything for one more day of aches…
• Every time I am irritated because I can’t go grab what I need I must be thankful that I have a husband who has willingly purchased fake eyelashes, the correct conditioner, and any snack my heart desires without the bat of an eye or even a snicker. 
• Every time I am frustrated that I can’t sleep I must remember that there are millions of people that can’t sleep, at least mine is temporary.
• Every time I am at wit’s end with MG and her homework I must be appreciative, there was a time when we weren’t sure she would ever have it.
• Every time the stretching of my muscles makes me wince I must keep in mind it is a sign that our precious little girl is still growing within me.
• Every time I am disappointed because I can’t see my students I must be grateful, I might not be able to hear them either.
• Every time 8 more weeks seems like an eternity I must remind myself that when MG made her appearance I would have jumped at the chance if it would have prevented her early birth. 
• Every time AF gets a little crazy I must remember that just weeks ago I was envious of the one on one time she and her daddy had.

 Today I will be thankful...even if I am tired.

The Game of LIFE

Little did we know that hours later when we heard our nurse paged to the phones it was to talk with our doctor.  Fifteen minutes passed before she came in amazed and a bit bewildered.  When the words "He is sending you home" came out of her mouth I wasn't sure whether I should squeal or cry.  Obviously going home was the end goal of all of this but when so much is hinging on a part of your body that you can't see or feel make changes, there is a certain amount of reassurance that comes from being in the hospital setting.

The hubs and I just looked at one another and started laughing at the irony of it all.  The poor man had come prepared for us to stay for days and not four hours later we were repacking everything he had just hauled up to our room.  Even though we were excited to be heading home we both knew that the next few weeks were going to be very different for our family.  It wasn't until our nurse walked in with discharge papers that we found out just how much different it would really be. 

Bed rest...may be up for meals...may get up to use the bathroom...quick showers...lay on left side preferably...stay off of back...schedule follow up for the 26th.  Her voice faded in and out as I processed what this meant for our extremely active family.  We were fully expecting that I would have to take it easy but complete bed rest?  I felt like I was playing the game of LIFE and I had just drawn one of the miss a turn cards. 

"Oh dear Lord, how will the girls react, how will I teach, the hubs is on shift work how am I going to handle a 7 and a 4 year old while he is at work?"  My list of questions was mounting and my insides were starting to twist as internally I began breaking down, the calm fleeing once agian.  The stress must have been evident on my face because seconds later the hubs reached over, took my hand, and just squeezed.  It was a silent signal, a code per say, "We've got this..."

As they wheeled me down and the hubs helped me in to the car silence prevailed.  I just couldn't quite comprehend how much our lives had changed in the span of three short days.  We caught the interstate to head home and I curled up in the passenger seat looking longingly at the cars filled with what seemed to be happy, healthy families whose only concern was finishing up all the loose ends of Christmas. 

We drove for miles it seemed before the hubs broke the silence.  As he placed his hand on my leg his gentle "Hey" was enough to make me  pull me away from the window and shift in my seat to see his face.  "I've got you and we've still got her, we will make everything else work, " and you know what?  He was right. 

The Wrong Place

 

After the procedure I was taken back to triage where they started a mag drip to counteract any contractions the placement may have caused.  At this point we weren't really sure what to expect but after finally being transferred to a room our nurse (who just happened to LOVE Gilmore Girls so we know that she was awesome) informed us that our doctor wanted me in L&D for at least 24hrs but more than likely it would end up being more. 

I should explain a bit about our doctor I guess.  He is probably in his early sixties and is an old Army doc with absolutely no bed side manner.  BUT he truly cares and it is very cautious in his approach.  With everything we went through with MG I would much rather have someone who will tell me how it is than someone who will hold my hand and fill me full of fluff.  (I have the hubs to do that lol!)

Anyway, the worst part of the whole ordeal hands down was the catheter.  Getting comfortable was impossible and sleep, which is what they wanted me to do just wasn't happening.  I finally had to ask for meds just to help keep my mind off it.  I felt like a total wimp but at that point it was either meds or rip it out.  I took what most would consider the lesser of the two.

We really struggled with what to do next.  The hubs felt so torn, he wanted to be with me yet we both knew we had two little girls at home that were confused and needed their daddy so home he went.  Being there by myself wasn't ideal but I was armed with two seasons of Gilmore Girls, Netflix, Sweettarts, and Cheez-Its so really, what more could I ask for? 

After a fitful night and a stellar breakfast of cold cereal and yogurt (I tried the "real" food the day before, let's just say I am not sure how real it was) the hubs arrived with everything we thought that we would need for our 3-4 day stay.  At this point the nurses were even discussing the possibility of me being there for Christmas.  That didn't exactly go over well but I was still contracting 3-4 times a hour and they just didn't see him releasing me anytime soon.

I tried to cling to the calm that I had felt in the OR but I was floundering as I imagined not being there when the girls woke up on Christmas morning.  I remember feeling SO devastated yet as I look back I can see God's hand in every step.  Funny how sometimes it takes simply pushing through the pain to be able to see the beauty on the other side. 

The admin came in with our admittance paperwork, the hubs signed my releases, paid my copay, and then just sat in silence as we both processed how very different the next 16wks were going to look.  After some time he reached out his hand and as I placed mine in his he looked me straight in the eye and said "It's going to be ok."   As long as I live I will never forget that moment.  It was me and him against the world doing whatever we needed to do to make sure our little girl got the best shot possible. 

I thank God for that man and that moment as it made me realize I was not alone and hadn't ever been.  I was just looking in the wrong place. 

The Unexpected Journey

I should begin by saying that nothing that I/we have ever done would be considered "normal" for some reason we always tend to be the one in a million which, as you can imagine has its ups and downs.  When the hubs and I found out that we were expecting #3 we were thrilled.  Granted it was in a kind of "Oh crud what are we going to do about A, B, and C" since the timing was a bit off from what we had discussed but nevertheless we were excited about adding another little one to the bunch. 

We knew that I would be considered high risk due to my past history but the 17p shots aren't horrid and we felt like we had traveled the road before so what was another trip.  Should have known better than to assume it would be the same.  Shortly after we found out that little bitty #3 was another precious girl I began experiencing what most books and websites would consider typical symptoms, but with my experience that just isn't ever the case.

After a call to the office, an hour and a half drive and a 15 minute visit we were faced with a new diagnosis and scheduled for an emergent cerclage at dark thirty the next morning.  That night was a struggle to say the least, my emotions would run the gamut from one extreme to the next within minutes and my poor husband just sat back and watched.  It's hard to explain to someone that hasn't experienced the same.  It's almost as though I was working through the 7 stages of grief, I was already struggling with what we had to do to bring a healthy child into this world and now this?   Even for me, someone who wasn't expecting a "perfect" pregnancy I certainly wasn't expecting what took place. 

We left for the house at 2:30am the following morning, arrived at the hospital by 4, and was I was in the OR by 5:45.  The only way to describe the entire procedure is as a God thing.  The OR was unbelievably cold and for me, someone who is cold natured anyway it was miserable.  As I sat on the operating table waiting for them to place the spinal I tried and tried and tried to bring portions of James to mind.  (I participated in the Beth Moore study last April and have large amounts committed to memory...or so I thought.)  No matter how hard I tried though it just wouldn't come but something else did.  If you have never heard Louie Giglio's Star Mash Up its worth the 14mins of your life.  Over and over this began to play in my mind, as they laid me back, as the doctor suited up, as the surgery started it remained in the background.  When two minutes later my doctor said "You are open (dilated)" the Lord graciously made it louder, drowning out everything else in the room until the procedure was complete. 

Our doctor later told the hubs that we would have lost our little girl within a week if we had not gone into the office that day.  That next week?  Was Christmas.  I was immediately overwhelmed by God's goodness and provision in spite of my crappy attitude.

And that was the beginning of this unexpected journey, the twists and turns have been many but God is faithful, so in Him I will rest...