Just, Wow!

This weekend was exhausting!!! From the moment the kids were out of school on Friday, we turned our attention to activities surrounding my nephew's wedding. Because my youngest son was the ring "bear" once again, we attended the rehearsal and dinner, wedding and reception, photo session earlier on Saturday, ran several related errands, then had church twice on Sunday with a birthday party and meeting in between. WHEW! I walked in the door last night from church and declared to my husband simply, "I'm going to bed." It was 8:00. I figured I could skip dinner altogether and school preparations could wait until morning.

Except my husband woke me up sometime around 3:00, just as a gargantuan clap of thunder also got my attention. Then a straight line wind. Bless his heart; he had been up watching the nasty weather brewing all night in order to let us sleep. I didn't even know rain was forecasted! And, as he likes to put it, I am usually the lightest sleeper he's ever known. I WAS tired! A tornado touched down within a mile of our home. We are fine. It took the above ground pool, but my husband is rather pleased with that. He's been trying for weeks to "convince" me to get rid of it. A few other families from our school had even more extensive property damage as they took direct hits, but everyone is safe and their homes still livable. Thank you, Lord.

As I type, my friend is telling me via the answering machine that she has found a job! (Her bills are due in 2 days.) Thank you, Lord.

And as soon as I can, I'll be returning to the "Miracle Girl" story. Another time when I was able to say, "Thank you, Lord."

Our Miracle Girl (Part 9)

As Dr. S. and I continued our conversation, the ladies in the room began to trickle out one by one to be with other patients. Thinking as the health professional, his concerns shifted from that of the baby to the health of the mother. He explained, as gingerly as possible, that when a miscarriage occurs, especially later into the pregnancy but without still birth, as mine had been, that although much of the tissue is expelled from the body, some of it is not. It is absorbed back into the body which can take several days to a few weeks. So because this would be my second occurrence, there may be a buildup of tissue which could eventually cause an infection. He suggested a D&C, as he had before, but this time he seemed a little more suggestive that it would be advisable. He has always left the final decision to me in matters that would not put me at any risk of permanent health problems, but whereas the first time, he made his suggestion once, then dropped it at my "no," this time he reiterated the reasons for his suggestion subtly a couple more times.

A D&C is a removal of the remaining tissue of a fetus already deceased to prevent the buildup of tissue, at least as I understand it. Of course, it conjures similarities to certain other things that had surely hurt me the first time. But I felt no moral inclinations against it. My doubt only came back to the PEACE thing I was feeling. I was awash in it, for inexplicable reasons, and it was lasting. Lasting through all these odd conversations and surreal circumstances that had now GONE ON FOR NEARLY AN HOUR. (This will be an important point to remember.) "I'll have to go home and pray about it" I heard myself say, again unaware I'd even had the thought. I just wasn't willing to make ANY decision right now unless it was being made for me, like the words spilling out of my mouth seemed to be.

"O.K." he said. "But I want to check you before you go just to make sure I'm not sending you home with anything going on that I couldn't advise in good conscious." (Remember the tech, and not he, had seen me this time. The original appointment was actually one with HER after my regular appointment with him. He was doing all this on his own time.) So he called in a female assistant and did the check with the same results. The baby was perished. There were no glaring issues, but he wanted to see me again Monday morning when we could check more in depth that everything was O.K. with me and he wouldn't be rushing me into a decision on the procedure so soon after just finding out. I was to go home and "think about it." (Pray.)

Although I was fully expecting to get into the car and finally "lose it" on the way home, that didn't happen. The peace remained. Now, I have had wonderful moments of inexplicable peace that come from the close presence of God, but they seem more like that - MOMENTS. I have had the long-term peace of knowledge of my salvation (because of Christ, and not my own works) for months at a time until I lose that focus and forget to concentrate on what I should. But this was different. It was one of those PERFECT PEACE MOMENTS, lasting for an entire weekend. And it did. I went home. I was neither sad nor joyful. I was even. Not numb, but even. As I recall it, we cooked out that evening in beautiful Spring weather. Enjoyed the sounds of the children playing in the neighborhood, knowing Dalton would soon be old enough to join them. We went to the flea market on Saturday and church on Sunday and caught a baseball game on TV in between.

When Sunday evening came, there was no sense of anticipation - good or bad. I knew I would get up and go to the doctor first thing the next morning, but it wasn't consuming my thoughts. Nor was I ignoring it. It was like rehearsing a typical next day of errands and appointments. My only sense of unrest at all came from wondering what I would answer. Should I have the procedure or not? I couldn't decide. And it hadn't been decided for me. Then again, I don't think I had prayed all weekend. And without realizing it, except for church, I hadn't opened my Bible. I hadn't felt the need to. I was existing in such a strong presence of God Himself; it was like I was living the prayer rather than speaking it, and He was even directing the words. But at 10:00 p.m. on Sunday night, that peace started to falter slightly for the first time and I panicked. I did not want it to go away. I opened my Bible at random and began to read and found this:

"Now therefore go, and I will be with thy mouth, and teach thee what thou shalt say." (Exodus 4:12)

Somehow in that moment, I KNEW that this was a test in faith. I was not going to be getting my answer until the very moment that I needed it.

I'd love to now write that I closed my eyes and slept peacefully the rest of the night. I DID do a lot of praying. Mostly to ask "are you sure you couldn't just give me a hint. I need to know because he's going to ask me and suggest that I do it. And is that O.K? Or do you for some reason not want me to? Because I'm gung-ho to be part of the plan if you're trying to get someone there saved or something. That's awesome! I'll be bold and say anything you want - just tell me what to say!" (Like any of the boldness had been MINE to begin with - ahem.)

So the rest of the night I played Peter. I walked on the water and then I got scared. I was WILLING to do WHATEVER. I just REALLY WANTED TO KNOW what "whatever" was going to be. And then there was the pride. Pride that I was going to help God be a witness to the fine people of R.W. Hospital! That I was focusing on THAT and not my own sad news. I was putting them before my own pain, by golly. Wasn't I good!

Oh, brother!

Our Miracle Girl (Part 8)

It is at this point that the story has come back to (Part 1). It would be helpful to re-read it before continuing.

Here I was again, in that strangely familiar place. Except that death and beeping machines and stic*ky, w*et tummies and unanswered questions aren't supposed to feel familiar, are they? Once again, I was lying alone in the dark with the glow of the monitor faced away from me, waiting for someone with an awkward smile of pity to return and tell me my fate. Except this time, something was very, very different.

It was O.K.

Not because of any great revelation I was given. Not because my spiritual understanding had suddenly catapulted in the last 6 months. Not for any reason I could either pinpoint or even question.......This was It! This was what the Bible is referring to when it promises us we will be given "the peace that passes all understanding!" I couldn't explain it. I didn't even comprehend it myself!

But it was simply O.K.

I very consciously knew that this was not denial. I was well aware that what was happening was real. This was the very presence of my Creator, the author of Everything, with me at that very moment. I couldn't have conjured it. It wasn't some reward for my having "enough" faith or courage or maturity. It wasn't an answer to the right amount or intensity of pleas for a healthy child. It was simply - Him. And that's how He is. Simple in His dealings with us. I realized that He is not some mystical force that can only be accessed by rubbing the Genie's lamp just so. He is personal and relational, just like my parents or my husband or my best friend are, except without all the quirks and faults.

It's not that I knew that the doctors would be returning with any better news than the last time. It's not that I realized all the great lessons I would learn from the hardships if I was about to experience them all over again. It really did just defy explanation, or even needing an answer. I was being held and protected COMPLETELY.

People have asked me why I would have such an experience this time, but not the first. Hadn't I been angry with God the first time? Hadn't I been "holed up like a hermit crab?" Why didn't He make Himself feel nearer to me then? Those are excellent questions to which I have no answer. Except I guess that God had a plan. He knew what He was about to do, although I had absolutely no idea! And perhaps the context of the first event made this one all the more dramatic as it unfolded.

This time it had not been the doctor conducting the ultrasound, but the technician. This time when she disappeared out of the room, she returned just a minute or two later with all sorts of reinforcements. To the outsider who didn't know any better it may have seemed unprofessional to have four or five staff people there while Dr. S. tried to stammer out the unthinkable. But I knew they were wanting to make me feel very supported. A couple of ladies had teared up as I had left there alone a few months earlier. Under the scrubs, they were just women relating to another woman. This time it was Dr. S. whose eyes glassed over in restrained tears, as he managed to tell me in his firm doctor's voice, "I've just never had to tell someone this twice before." It actually surprised me. After discovering just how common miscarriage is following the first one, and knowing he had been in practice more than a decade, I would have assumed at least one of his patients had experienced multiple miscarriages before.

I asked the obvious question, almost clinically, as another doctor would rationally discuss a diagnosis with him. (I was simply feeling calm.) "Does this likely have something to do then with my physical makeup?" His answer was "no, that's why it's so surprising. Miscarriages are not all that uncommon, but multiple ones by fluke - that is - spontaneous, which is why they call it that - they are without medical reasoning - at least as far as our scientific knowledge comprehends, that is pretty rare. I've never had to deliver this kind of news twice consecutively before."

His words trailed as if he were ashamed to speak that last sentence. I wanted to comfort him, and so without thinking I gave him a look of "oh, it's O.K." and a small hug. I even noticed the humor in it. Me telling him it was going to be O.K. Especially, because I am NOT by nature the strong person that was coming across at that moment! That's when he said to me, "are you O.K.? You seem so calm." And without thinking of my response, I said something that sounded like someone else putting the words within me to speak. "I just know that God is going to do whatever He has planned." (For the past few months, I had considered this to be mostly a sad fact. Now, hearing myself say it like some third party, it was inspiring and comforting.) He looked at me quizzically and I probably mirrored his very expression. If I had thought through my response ahead of time, I most certainly would have agonized over picking words more meaningful or eloquent than these. I am going to be honest. I had never done a very good job sharing my faith with strangers. Meaning that I rarely had ever tried. Family that I love and care for and worry about, sure. But those words were spoken through me and not by me. I was being "used" of God, and the feelings were not that of an instrument of manipulation, like a robot, but of BLESSING. I was sensing that some how, some way, I was GETTING to participate in something very sweet.......

Our Miracle Girl (Part 7)

It's truly difficult to describe the feelings that accompanied the knowledge of this new pregnancy. It was a swirl of emotions, mostly all good, a little bit measured. I was ...... satisfied ....I guess, is the closest word, but still not exact. The news came just a little more than a month before Jordan's due date, May 9, 1998 - Mother's Day. I had had no reason to notice this earlier. How special it was to me now!

There was a quiet gratitude held in my heart for God to work it out that way. I was learning slowly that so much of our joy in life is about the perspective we have in considering it. Suddenly those 3 days that had so persistently haunted me in not being able to acquire a death certificate were precious. My second child's expected birth date would always be remembered as Mother's Day. And since May 9 was as the state pointed out, merely a guess, the "floating" nature of Mother's Day changing each year just seemed like sweet spiritual retribution. Wow! God really is a personal Heavenly Father to us. He really does work out all things for good for us in His own timing. I knew the Bible said so. Now I had my own proof.

I was already 10 weeks along when we found out that this new baby was coming, nearly the same age Jordan had been at death. So there were a lot of reminders. And believe it or not, they were strangely comforting to me privately. But then enormously insulting when someone else would point them out in ignorance. "What a perfect replacement!" someone said of the new baby. Seriously? Really? Did you just have the audacity to say that?! But catch me at another moment and I would be defending that person because I knew it was spoken with the innocence of one who simply had never "been there," and I was genuinely happy for them that they lacked the experience that would give them better understanding.

In short, my emotions were still raw, still working out their meanings. I was most certainly appreciative to have this baby. I wasn't afraid of having any reason to expect a repeat outcome. I was just guarded. I guess I was still in the very midst of the painful (at first) and comforting (later) lesson that God can be trusted WHATEVER happens. I was learning to embrace it even while wishing I didn't have to. I was growing up a little and realizing that life isn't just precious in concept, but by first-hand tangible experience. Therefore, I was going to enjoy this new pregnancy, but I was also going to grieve my lost child because he was worthy of remembrance - just no longer of the hopelessness.

And so I did. Both. Not back and forth but simultaneously. When I look back I thank God for the time I took to confirm the new pregnancy. By the time I discovered I was with child, I was already well into my third month and could immediately look forward to the movement and the growth that proved it was real. There wouldn't be those weeks of waiting for the changes to take place. And on my very next appointment, they may even be able to determine the baby's gender........

Our Miracle Girl (Part 6)

Over the next few weeks, a dark cloud of gloom and hopelessness seemed to shadow everything I did. Everything seemed futile, from taking a shower (you just have to do it again the next day) to going out for the evening (the sadness follows you there.) I put on a brave enough face for the world, but not for the reason some thought. I had no pride in being "helped." I desperately wanted that. I was just trying to avoid some of the judgements and guilt that came with displaying my grief. "You just don't want to get over it" someone postured. "Well, of course I don't." I thought. "This was my child. I DO WANT to mourn. Why is that so sinful? To try to pretend this wasn't sad is to try to pretend that my child was not, but he was. What do we believe here?"

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, (Jeremiah 1:5a)

So I surrounded myself with those who knew me best and those who were surprising me most. I found out in those days that I had more and better friends than I thought I did, people that I still stay in touch with though many have moved and all of our "babies" are now on the verge of puberty. And like most people experiencing the normal process of grief, I suppose, I started to have rare moments of joy. I first noticed it in the laughter of my young son when he discovered a new skill. Then in the flowers as they swayed in the swoosh of my car driving by them. I "caught" myself finding particular happiness in squarely beating a rival couple at a heated game of Scrabble.

It was during that time that I learned to shop extensively and go to bed late. The shopping kept me distracted from my darker thoughts, especially as I did it with a two year old. Staying up until the wee morning hours was a way to avoid laying and thinking too long in the quiet of night. I was merely existing, with no real purpose, but glad to at least be functioning without falling apart. Nothing seemed too terribly important which meant that if I lost it, it wouldn't be that bad. It also took the pressure off of me to make all the "right" decisions. I had "done everything right" concerning the pregnancy, but that hadn't mattered. God would do what He would do. I got it now, but at least that put the responsibility on Him too. (Though my attitude in looking at it was jaded, I can now look back and see how much I really did NEED that lesson. My perfectionistic tendencies are not NEAR what they once were! I enjoy life so much more since I quit trying to control every detail of it.)

But this new "go with the flow" experiment I was conducting had it's surprises. Like the day I realized that it seemed like a long time since a certain monthly thing had happened. When it dawned on me, I instantly assumed I had just been too "out of it" to realize how time was passing. After all, some days DID seem never ending - when I couldn't seem to let go of the pictures in my head of that awful event. I dismissed it as being crazy. Until a couple of weeks later when something still hadn't happened. Then I worried that I was subconsciously more stressed out than I wanted to admit and that wasn't a healthy thing to do to my son's mommy. But I really didn't want to see my doctor. He was inadvertently a part of the bad memories. So I waited another week. I couldn't remember IF or WHEN something might have happened to produce a new life. I had been operating so much on auto pilot. It's certainly not something we were being proactive about so soon after such a hard loss.

But I finally decided to make an appointment, more so to get my husband and my mother to quit telling me that I was hanging onto the stress. After all, this was the most control I had ever given up in my life (even if it had been forced) and I was rather oddly proud of myself for it. I wanted to be praised and not hounded.

But we were ALL wrong.

"Congratulations!" the doctor beamed, almost with relief. "You've got a little one on the way!"

The Greatest Love Of All

Why do I need to have a PERSONAL relationship with Jesus Christ?

Because I am PERSONALLY responsible for His sacrifice.


But God commendeth His love toward us, in that while we were YET sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8)


For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. (John 3:17)


Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)

He loves me. And He loves you too, friend.....

HAVE A BLESSED EASTER!

Our Miracle Girl (Part 5)

Eleven weeks and four days gestation. That was the calculation of our baby's age at death (the day of the sonogram) according to our doctor's originally stated due date, which is merely an educated guess, yet the one used in determining whether or not a death certificate would be issued. But at twelve weeks, a death certificate was not only available, but required. The irony of such loose definitions would play a big part in my hesitations to heal. We asked the state if the doctor could amend his due date if medical calculations proved I COULD be due just three days later. The answer was "no."

If I had ever had iffy thoughts before on my feelings about abortion, I sure found it demoralizing now that the only difference between an abortion or murder, legally at least, was who had wanted the child not to exist anymore. And it deeply hurt that only three days determined the difference between a mass of tissue enveloped within a womb or a recognized child with a legal name. (But I also learned through this very experience that you don't REALLY know how you are going to feel in a situation unless you live it for yourself! Therefore my compassion for those who have made this choice in their past became much more real. I am so proud of the years of work my mom has done in helping young girls in this situation. I can understand how those without help are also without hope.) I determined right then that we would name our child. God had already worked out the details. Whether this child was to be a boy or a girl, the name "Jordan" was on the short list either way. I felt it particularly reassuring that He had already known what would happen and provided a name that we would have really used.

A good friend of mine found out within just days of my own news that she too had lost her precious pre-born bundle of joy. She was five months along, and the baby was already too big to expel naturally so she was scheduled for a C-section. We leaned on each other a lot and I was SO THANKFUL to God for giving me someone who understood what I was going through in the very moment. The funny thing was, we each thought the other had it worse. She would have to go in for delivery and anticipate the very moment it would happen right up until the scheduled point. She would have to look upon her infant's death and stare her in the face. She would have to grieve in front of family and friends who also needed to be there. But however difficult these things were going to be, she was also glad to have them. And I was both relieved and yet sad that I would not.

I would not get to know what my baby looked like or whether it was our son or a daughter. There would be no memorial service to celebrate the life, however short, of this newest member of our family. And worst of all, I would be "burying" this amazing child, not by choice, in the same manner as some who choose not to honor their precious heritage - in a bathroom - alone.

Friends sent their condolences or called to stop by and one sweet lady I barely knew until then still thought to send meals for a week, but several thought of my absence from normal activity as no more than they would my having a minor illness like a cold or the flu. In a lot of ways, it seems like a was expected to immediately "carry on" because "it's not like I got to KNOW the baby" before it died.

But others understood FAR MORE than I ever realized. When I returned to church two Sundays later, several of our women came up to me privately to reveal that they too understood the pain of a miscarriage and that they would be praying for me. Because they had been there before, they seemed to instinctively know when I would need to talk and when total silence was the best medicine. I found out in those dark days that EVERYONE has struggles that are unknown to the outside world, and we should approach everyone, especially those who are the gruffest with us, as ones who are wounded and hurting. And I realized that tragedy can be a gift in that it presents an opportunity for people you never knew cared so much to tell you so.......

Something Very Important

I am hastening to finish this story as soon as possible, but at this moment I am unable. I have waited in small part to tell this story because it seemed inappropriate at moments when my niece is not faring so well in her health. When I started it that was not the case, but unfortunately now it is. Please know that this story does eventually end happily, but MUCH MORE IMPORTANTLY, since you have found your way to this site at this moment, will you PLEASE, P-L-E-A-S-E pray for Ashley? Please pray for her mom and her dad, my brother. Please pray for her siblings, Blake and Allie and the Grandmas who are keeping up the work at home. And please - pray for the doctors caring for Ashley. I would appreciate it so much!!!!

Our Miracle Girl (Part 4)

It was such an eerie feeling knowing that I carried my child's remains those few days while waiting for the miscarriage to take place. As long as nothing was happening medically, I could pretend for a few moments that this life within me was fine and thriving and shut out the reality I awaited. But in the next second, I wanted it over already. I wanted to get past the hard part and move on to grieving something already done. My mom and dad came up to support me. Unfortunately, my husband and I did not grieve in ways that brought one another any comfort. I would not realize until years later why he COULD NOT acknowledge our child's death and grieve with me as I so desperately needed. Not on the heels of losing his own father and best friend so suddenly. His method was to ignore it all and only now can I fully appreciate it for the sentiment it actually was. On the flip side, as one who could still take for granted the presence of her original immediate family, I was clueless to the memories that must have been flooding his mind or the questions he might have had about how much he should endure.

The five of us hung out for three days in our tiny one bathroom home, mostly playing with our young son and dragging out meaningless conversations as if they had great consequences. An hour long discussion about spicing the chili was really just an unspoken agreement to fill the awkward silence. On Saturday morning, I awoke to the smells of a home-cooked breakfast just like my dad made while I was young and I was the child. I don't know if it was his way of passing the time, getting a decent meal in the absence of my hostessing, or a well-planned expression of his love, but I took it as the latter. After several days of not feeling like eating, I enjoyed the crunchy hashbrowns, warm biscuits and perfectly scrambled eggs, but most of all, I just enjoyed the presence of those who cared for me.


For that hour, I had begun to think about things a little lighter than the moment I would finally get to see my baby before I said "Goodbye." I know that sounds gruesome, but it was important. But as breakfast ended and the dishes were cleaned, I started the contractions. The moment had arrived. There was nothing I could do now but pray, almost outside of my own consciousness. It was all so surreal. That is until the moment turned into minutes, and then into hours. You see, I had been told to expect "a little cramping and output similar to a very heavy cycle." But the reality was not so much a miscarriage as a premature delivery. The difference being the regular contractions and the full-on labor as I witnessed my own parents in anguish at watching their own baby lose hers. (What love it took for them to be there!) I will not embellish further, except to say that the baby was a little more developed than I had expected. Not fully formed by any sense, but certain attributes were recognizable. That I had not expected.

I anguished over which moment I would push the lever signaling the end of my private memorial, enraged by the sound I knew would accompany it. I blamed myself for not feeling a connectedness with God, even though I had never prayed so hard. I felt guilty for leaving my husband and parents to wonder endlessly in the next room. I even felt rushed by the knowledge that they may need the only restroom for regular purposes. My many confusing emotions were swirling like the vortex to a black hole of hopelessness.

This is when the weeks of melancholy set in........

Our Miracle Girl (Part 3)

It was a Monday in mid October, days until my husband's 31st birthday when I went in for a routine pre-natal exam. I can't remember anything about the details of the day, who kept my son for me or whether my parents were already in town or not. There was nothing spectacular going on in life, just daily routine in the lives of young expectant parents. The wait in the lobby went normally; the exam went normally; the doctor was his usual jovial self and I was most likely thinking through my to-do list for the rest of the day as he took measurements from the sonogram machine. I wasn't far enough along to make out any form of a baby just yet on the monitor and so the whole thing was pretty much just procedure. Until the doctor's face showed just a half second of confusion before he turned the monitor away from me and quickly excused himself without any fanfare.

I thought it odd, but not alarming. A few minutes passed and Dr. S. returned with a nurse, the one particularly skilled at sonogram interpretation, who took a seat on his spinning stool. She picked up the handled thingy-ma-do and picked up where Dr. S. had left off. She had this funny look of, I don't know. Just, like she was trying her mask some other look. The two of them said nothing to each other and nothing to me except "now, just relax" one time. That was the first indication that perhaps I had some reason NOT to be relaxed.

Slowly, I started to make some guesses within me. The two of them left again and after a couple of more minutes, they returned, Dr. S. closing the door behind him. I felt sorry for him. We had such a great repoire, almost as much like friends as doctor and patient, and I could see he was hesitant to break the news. "I lost the baby," I stated more than questioned. He nodded his head yes. I can't remember how the conversation progressed from there. I only remember the sadness that no one was there to ride home with me and that I would have to spend several hours trying to be happy for a toddler whose only understanding would be fear for Mommy's change in demeanor if I sulked.

Before I left, the doctor explained to me my options and I chose to have things happen naturally at home. Part of that had to do with routine use of medical terminology. "Spontaneous Abortion." I hated that term. I understood it. But this was so different from the abortion I was familiar with and it just reminded me too much that no, I had WANTED this baby. My thoughts at that moment were rational enough to understand that the words had no comparison, but frustrated enough to not care about what did or didn't make sense. I just sort of needed to be angry. The doctor actually warned me before I walked out that this would be the term listed on my medical chart. He knew it may conjure up hurtful feelings for me and so he told me ahead of time this is what would be written. He also called up to the front desk to tell them to erase all my charges......

Our Miracle Girl (Part2)

Seven months earlier, we were packing our bags for our very first vacation with a toddler. It was our very first real vacation ever actually, where my husband actually took time off of work to go somewhere. Those of you who have traveled with small children before will appreciate the amount of work that went into getting ready. But as a new mom, I didn't until that week. So we were running quite a bit behind. Of course it didn't help that I thought my home had to be showroom ready before we left, or that the ONLY thing my husband was more Type A about than me was being "on time." (For what, an appointment with the hotel desk clerk? :) )

I, however, was not on time. Not with packing and not in another certain area that was going to DRIVE ME CRAZY if I didn't check before we left. So, literally as the last thing I did before we locked up and left, I took the little stick into the bathroom "just to see." I really thought even if I was pregnant there was a good chance it was too early to show up on a test, but the thought of a whole week away with that wonder in the back of my mind was too much. What I didn't plan on was how crazy it would make me to know, but have to wait a whole week to share because that was a year or two before cell phones. At least for us. (Boy, do I feel old typing that.)

Our trip was AMAZING!!! We stayed with old friends who had recently moved to beautiful Colorado and we told them first only to explain the need to use their phone for two long distance calls -to our parents, of course. We enjoyed the week and basked in all the blessings we were finally feeling after such a rough couple of years when my husband had to take over his father's company after his surprising death.

It must have been something about sitting on the knowledge of our impending arrival for 10 whole days before returning home, but we couldn't spread the news quickly enough when we returned. At that time our church was very small with very few young families, so the news of a new baby on the way was pretty big. A couple of the elderly people were so eager they even gave us gifts within just a few days......

Our Miracle Girl (Part 1)

It was a gorgeous Spring Day. Pregnant again, I was feeling happy and contented on my way for a check-up with the OBGYN. Happy and contented had been rare feelings over the past few months. My neighbor had kindly offered to watch my two-year-old for me while I visited the doctor. My husband was never able to get off work for my appointments, so I usually had to just take Dalton with me. When the time would come for "the examination," the nurses would just get creative in helping out so my toddler would not get confused by the whole thing.

This particular visit especially, it was nice to not have the distraction of a tiny person to entertain. The examination would be quite a bit lengthier this time as they would be hooking me up to the ultrasound to get an extra good look at the baby and it's development. It was all part of the regular routine in my prenatal care. Sometime about the second to third month, they hook you up and try to see that tiny heartbeat whose sound has just echoed loudly through the stethoscope. I appreciated that loud heartbeat. It was purer to me than a finely polished symphony orchestra.

Dr. S. had administered all the obligatory diagnostics and had left the room for a couple of minutes to take a phone call. I loved how real he was with his patients. He never worried that having an obvious family life would diminish his professionalism, and I really respected him for that. He was such an amazing replacement for the original OBGYN I had seen and reported, along with the sincere letter of apology he eventually sent to me. Still, that bridge was burned and Dr. S. was sent of God to restore my trust.

After the phone call, we had to wait a bit for another patient to finish up with another doctor in the ultrasound room. Then the machines had to be tweeked and there was a shift change with the nurses. Nothing out of the ordinary, but enough to cause about 20 - 30 minutes to pass since having heard that healthy heartbeat on the stethoscope. Finally, as the lights went out and the machine went on, the picture emerged. I am no medical professional and in fact, science and history were the only classes I ever struggled in to make at least a B, but I knew what to look for. That little sack, a blob, with an even smaller blob pulsating within it. Immediately I located the placenta sack on the screen, but as I squinted to find my baby's tiny heartbeat, so did the ultrasound technician. She moved the cold wand around and around until finally, the small space outlining the heart was clear. She wouldn't stop on it though. She kept passing over it quickly, stammering that she was having trouble keeping her wand still as she reached up to move the monitor away from view. I knew better. I had recently lived out this exact scenario before......

It's Time To Share

I have wanted to share the story of my daughter's miracle birth for quite some time and for several reasons, but I simply wasn't going to until the timing was right. Meaning that there is one particular, albeit very important part to her story that she simply wasn't yet mature enough to understand, and I was willing to wait as long as it took for it to make sense to her naturally, without any sort of forced explanation.

This has been a sweet year for my daughter spiritually. The two years before that were full of situations that caused her to realize, as we all eventually do, that life contains some not so pretty parts. She was forced to understand through life's unkind circumstances that it is not all rosy and innocent, the way that God had always intended it to be before the Fall of Man.

But last May, she asked us about Salvation. We purposely approached the subject with a bit of apprehension. I have never wanted to frighten my children into a false confession of something they don't really understand. So we waited. We waited for Faith to come to us and explain why she needed Salvation and to ask for our guidance with her own sense of urgency. Last May that happened.

Again, we waited to allow her to be baptized. She said she didn't understand baptism and we felt that an empty procedure of following the motions when she didn't comprehend them anyway lacked the very spiritual significance it is meant to represent. But again, she came to us. For about the last three months, she has mentioned almost daily why she wanted to be baptized and so yesterday, she was. What a blessed moment. I relate so much to Mary, mother of Jesus, as to "pondering these things in my heart." To think, I never thought of myself once growing up as an eventual mother! Yet it is my undeserved status as "Mom" that has given me most of life's GREATEST blessings!

One being, of course, this maturing little girl that almost didn't come to me. Now, because of her God that she so wisely draws near to, she is already discovering the Truths that took me until full adulthood to even first consider. One of those being the absolute miracle she is in her very existence.....

Our Newly Bespectacled Beauty

Blogger is being mean to me today, so the details will have to remain a mystery.

What Is The Word?

Party like a rock star
On your case
Young man, you're gonna be a young man someday
You've got mud on your face
A big disgrace
Splatter your batter all over the place.....

......Singin' We Will, We Will....Rock You.

Yesterday was GORGEOUS!!!! And as we crusied down the highway through the evening darkness with our drive-through food and a friend of the kids' in tow, I couldn't help but thank God for His rich and personal goodness in my life.

Is there anything sweeter than kids old enough to be inhibited - but who feel too comfortable around you to be that way - singing made up lyrics off key at the top of their lungs?

Not in my world. (My kids' new favorite phrase.)