It was 10 years ago that our first child was born.
He was born exactly 9 months and one day after our wedding, just weeks after my 21st birthday. We were young and in love. We had prayed for this baby, but I don't think we had any idea of the adventure we were now taking.
We brought our sweet-smelling, 7lb 6oz bundle home from the hospital, placed him in his brand new crib, looked at each other and said, "Now what?"
The next day we found ourselves in Children's Hospital. Our baby was covered in tubes and monitors, alarms were screaming, while doctors and nurses rushed into the room to sweep him away. The room went silent and we sat there alone in the dark trying to process it all.
My prayers came from the deepest part of me. I begged for his healing but I also felt that I needed to accept whatever God's will may be for his life...for my life.
The sun came up the next morning and we were taken in to see him. His little body looked even smaller in that hospital bed. The doctors did not know what was wrong. They didn't have any answers. He was moved to the NICU, where we lived for the next week.
His name means "Jehovah saves" and it was during this time that we saw God's healing hand.
His life is a little miracle. And now, 10 years later he stands nearly as tall as me. He challenges me daily. He has been my guinea pig through this decade of parenting. But I am so proud of the young man he is becoming.
So now as he enters double digits, I am reminded that his life is still a miracle. I may never know why his story began the way it did, but I know that God has big plans for him.
As we start this new journey of parenting, my husband and I still look at each other and say, "Now what?", but I know that we are not going to walk it alone.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
A Day of Hope
The phone rings in the middle of the night, jarring me from my sleep. My husband answers it and within a few seconds he is dressed and out the door. There is an emergency that needs him and as he is running to help, I am laying awake in the dark. My mind is racing. This is my life as an EMT's wife, and no matter how many years it has been, I never get used to it.
I lay in bed praying for his safety, and then my heart is aching for the family whose world has just been turned upside down.
5 years ago that was our moment.
That moment when the phone rings and the room just fades away. That moment when fear and confusion takes over and reality feels like a bad dream. That moment when your faith and hope is all you have and your prayers come from the deepest cries of your heart.
And then that moment becomes that day. The day you are forced to say goodbye too soon. That day when your life is forever changed. That day when you feel like you've been broken into a million pieces and there is no way to ever put you back together.
The years have gone by and it is now the day that no one wants to talk about, but nobody can ignore.
It's the day when everyone tip toes around me for fear of saying the wrong thing. But really, it's just another day. It is not any different from the other 364 days a year that I think about my brother, Matt. It is no different than every other day when I can close my eyes and bring back all those memories.
Maybe the wounds are still too fresh, but it's my desire that one day June 10th will become a day of hope.
The day when we finally realize that our prayers for Matt's healing were answered beyond what we could have imagined. A perfect healing. An eternal healing. A day when we cling to God's promises and rejoice in Jesus' victory.
Matt's life is not over. June 10th is the day when his life truly began.
I lay in bed praying for his safety, and then my heart is aching for the family whose world has just been turned upside down.
5 years ago that was our moment.
That moment when the phone rings and the room just fades away. That moment when fear and confusion takes over and reality feels like a bad dream. That moment when your faith and hope is all you have and your prayers come from the deepest cries of your heart.
And then that moment becomes that day. The day you are forced to say goodbye too soon. That day when your life is forever changed. That day when you feel like you've been broken into a million pieces and there is no way to ever put you back together.
The years have gone by and it is now the day that no one wants to talk about, but nobody can ignore.
It's the day when everyone tip toes around me for fear of saying the wrong thing. But really, it's just another day. It is not any different from the other 364 days a year that I think about my brother, Matt. It is no different than every other day when I can close my eyes and bring back all those memories.
Maybe the wounds are still too fresh, but it's my desire that one day June 10th will become a day of hope.
The day when we finally realize that our prayers for Matt's healing were answered beyond what we could have imagined. A perfect healing. An eternal healing. A day when we cling to God's promises and rejoice in Jesus' victory.
Matt's life is not over. June 10th is the day when his life truly began.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Knitting Lessons
This past month I had the opportunity to take knitting lessons at the most adorable little yarn shop. I have been crocheting for 10 years and tried many times to teach myself to knit, all of which ended with a tangled mess of yarn or stitches that fell apart.
I walked into the store and my eyes grew wide at the walls lined floor to ceiling with the most beautiful yarns. Every fiber, color, and texture you could imagine. I just had to touch them.
The instructor sat us at a small table and demonstrated the first steps. It felt so awkward, like eating with chopsticks (which I can't do either!).
This was so much harder than it looked. My neck and shoulders were tense. I couldn't talk and concentrate at the same time, but eventually my fingers fell into a rhythm.
Then another wave of morning sickness swept over me and I was reminded of Psalm 139:13
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.
As my hands were knitting this crooked scarf, God is knitting a new little life within me.
My needles slipped. I dropped a stitch. I let out a gasp and humbly handed my mess to the instructor. She took one look at my mistake, smiled, and effortlessly got me back on track.
Isn't that just how it is in this life?
Just when I think that I know what I am doing, I mess up again. I humbly hand my life back to God, He just smiles and brings me back.
I walked into the store and my eyes grew wide at the walls lined floor to ceiling with the most beautiful yarns. Every fiber, color, and texture you could imagine. I just had to touch them.
The instructor sat us at a small table and demonstrated the first steps. It felt so awkward, like eating with chopsticks (which I can't do either!).
This was so much harder than it looked. My neck and shoulders were tense. I couldn't talk and concentrate at the same time, but eventually my fingers fell into a rhythm.
Then another wave of morning sickness swept over me and I was reminded of Psalm 139:13
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.
As my hands were knitting this crooked scarf, God is knitting a new little life within me.
My needles slipped. I dropped a stitch. I let out a gasp and humbly handed my mess to the instructor. She took one look at my mistake, smiled, and effortlessly got me back on track.
Isn't that just how it is in this life?
Just when I think that I know what I am doing, I mess up again. I humbly hand my life back to God, He just smiles and brings me back.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
A Fresh Coat of Paint
This past weekend I painted our bathroom. It's amazing what a fresh coat of paint can do to a room...and to my spirit.
It's a tiny room. I thought I could get it finished while my little ones were napping, but it turned into a much bigger project than I had expected.
The painted trim was peeling so I had to start with sanding. We wanted to remove the towel bar, which left 4 large holes in the wall. There were spots to patch and more sanding. I started cutting in with a brush, but the room is too small for a ladder; so I stood on the counter top, then took a lunge of faith to the opposite wall. As I reached across the room, my legs burning, I tried to keep a steady hand as I painted the line beneath the ceiling. I was suspended in mid-air on only my fingertips and tip toes. My 5 year old walking in was very impressed with my spiderman skills.
Then I needed to contort myself into awkward angles to try and paint behind the toilet, wondering if anyone would really notice if I didn't.
About halfway through, a bit of panic set in. Is this color too dark? Did I make the right choice?
Change is hard.
The fears I am trying to conquer.
The hurts I want to let go of.
The bad habits I am trying to break.
It's all hard. But maybe those days when I feel like I'm not getting anywhere, maybe that's all part of the prep work. Those days when I'm filled with doubt and wonder if I made the right choice...I need to remember that change is hard.
It's easier to hold on to the familiar, even the ugly, stained walls. It's easier to hold on to my ugly because change takes time and energy, it stretches me and sometimes puts me in awkward positions. Change is hard...but it's beautiful.
Every time I walk into that bathroom I smile. I love the beautiful coffee and cream color of the walls, I love the fresh feeling in that space, and I remember all the work it took to get there.
I know that I am going to get there too.
"And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns." ~Philippians 1:6
It's a tiny room. I thought I could get it finished while my little ones were napping, but it turned into a much bigger project than I had expected.
The painted trim was peeling so I had to start with sanding. We wanted to remove the towel bar, which left 4 large holes in the wall. There were spots to patch and more sanding. I started cutting in with a brush, but the room is too small for a ladder; so I stood on the counter top, then took a lunge of faith to the opposite wall. As I reached across the room, my legs burning, I tried to keep a steady hand as I painted the line beneath the ceiling. I was suspended in mid-air on only my fingertips and tip toes. My 5 year old walking in was very impressed with my spiderman skills.
Then I needed to contort myself into awkward angles to try and paint behind the toilet, wondering if anyone would really notice if I didn't.
About halfway through, a bit of panic set in. Is this color too dark? Did I make the right choice?
Change is hard.
The fears I am trying to conquer.
The hurts I want to let go of.
The bad habits I am trying to break.
It's all hard. But maybe those days when I feel like I'm not getting anywhere, maybe that's all part of the prep work. Those days when I'm filled with doubt and wonder if I made the right choice...I need to remember that change is hard.
It's easier to hold on to the familiar, even the ugly, stained walls. It's easier to hold on to my ugly because change takes time and energy, it stretches me and sometimes puts me in awkward positions. Change is hard...but it's beautiful.
Every time I walk into that bathroom I smile. I love the beautiful coffee and cream color of the walls, I love the fresh feeling in that space, and I remember all the work it took to get there.
I know that I am going to get there too.
"And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns." ~Philippians 1:6
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