Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Tumor
Dear Son,
You were only a few days old, the first time I noticed it.
The small round lump in your neck.
Your beautiful, soft, sweet smelling neck.
No bigger than a small grape, I rolled the pad of my thumb over it a few times and wondered why your lymphs would be swollen.
In my postpartum delirium I did not even pause to question myself. I kept on enjoying the wonder of you. Memorizing the sweep of your eyelashes, adoring the fullness of your cheeks and kissing those ten silly toes. Soaking in the newborn freshness of you while you slept on my chest or nuzzled close to my side.
You.
Miraculous, captivating, you.
A few days later I sat nursing you on my bed. Daddy walked in and we spoke in hushed tones about our day. I remember looking down to turn you over and catching sight of something strange. I placed my hand on your neck and gasped out loud. That small lump had grown in a matter of days to span the length of your neck from chin to collarbone.
How can I adequately explain my fear in that moment? It was mind numbing. I was utterly terrified.
Did I question what God was doing?
Yes, I did.
Did I let my mind drift to all the awful things this tumor could signify?
Yes, I did.
You know sweet boy, Daddy was never afraid?
He kept reminding me of that morning all those months ago when he stood in church and heard God speak to his heart about our fourth son. He reminded me that your name was whispered then, as he stood silent in the pews of the church where your Mama was raised. Daddy had no idea you were in my womb at that very moment. I had only just discovered you that morning and the beautiful wondrous secret of you had yet to be shared. Daddy had your name in his heart even as I carried you, freshly knit and unbeknownst to him.
You can bet that Daddy did not let me forget it.
He never doubted. He remained firm and secure. He knew God had a plan in all this, no matter what your diagnosis was. He knew that God would never leave our side or allow you to slip from the palm of His mighty hand.
So Daddy held me in his arms as I held you and we prayed for you. Your Daddy always leads me closer to Jesus, always. Even though I felt afraid, I followed him to the place we needed to be most in the whole world. At the foot of the throne, asking Jesus for His grace and mercy.
Those first days and weeks were frightening at times and encouraging at others.
You looked so small on that hospital bed. They used an ultrasound wand on you that looked like a miniature hockey stick. You were so mad at the cold gel and the nurse who peeled away your little gown, exposing you to the frigid air. "Mad as a hornet, cute as bee" she said.
Finding out you were living in pain was one of the worst days ever. We began working hard with your therapist to bring you comfort. I have to tell you, watching you smile for the first time once the cloud of pain had lifted...oh my boy... that was heavenly.
Do you know what I am thankful for today?
Your tumor.
Your awesome, miraculous, spectacular, gift from heaven tumor.
Thank you Lord, for blessing my son with his tumor.
Even though it brought you pain and discomfort, your tumor saved your life.
That outward sign of something gone terribly wrong allowed us to act quickly and intervene.
Early intervention, they call it.
Intervention to stop the myriad difficulties and challenges that would have snow balled into your life.
Syndromes and lists of potential -isms. A daily dragon to battle all the live long days of your life.
But that awful blessed tumor sounded the alarm.
Some days you love your therapy--- other days it is a struggle. We work hard together, you and I.
Every day that passes I see progress of one kind or another.
Your tumor suddenly dissolved over Christmas. The muscles in your neck are gradually loosening. Your therapists now expects a graduation day later this year.
THIS YEAR.
If this had gone unnoticed for a few months or a year, it would have been a lifetime of struggle. But it was not months or years, it was days. And because it only took days to find, we will celebrate your graduation this year.
Years from now when we sit together on our porch or gather at the kitchen table and you begin pouring your heart out to us, those age long questions about life and God and faith, falling from your lips--- Where is He leading? Where am I going? What should I do? What is God doing?
I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy, but I may not be able to help myself...
Forgive me if I reach out and ever so gently, place my finger on the right side of your neck? I'm just reminding myself, and perhaps you too, of His ever mysterious ways, working for the good of those who love Him.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Traits and Chapter 8
If its one thing I never do…its make a New Years Resolution.
Its not out of any bah-humbug grumpiness or snobby superiority.
To be honest, I am a pretty impulsive person. If I see something that I want to do—I just go for it. A great motivator and a recipe for disaster all rolled into one inherited family trait.
Case in point, a class trip to the Miami SeaAquarium back in my early elementary school days. I raised my hand to volunteer during the big killer whale show. The trainer called on me and brought me up to the side stage next to the tank. I stood on the rubbery mat portion next to this very sun tanned, wet suit wearing trainer. I recall peering down into that blue oh so blue water and watching those whales swim back and forth. I kind of tuned out the conversation until I heard the trainer say something awesome.
“All right now. What I need for you to do today is jump in the tank.”
The audience giggled since clearly, the trainer was joking, expecting me to react with a vigorous negative head shaking or a loud exclamation of “NO WAY!”
But through the giggles came one very loud, very familiar voice….
My mother… the ever present chaperone, a permanent fixture for all school outing from pre-k to senior year of high school. Quite necessary for the preservation of my life and for the sanity of all other adults in charge of me.
She was SCREAMING one word…it had a nice echo in the dome of that amphitheater...
"Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!”
You see, the minute the trainer said the words “jump in the tank,” I was all ready bending my knees to jump in. My mind had activated imagination mode and I was all ready picturing myself in that tank, swimming with shamu and balancing on that black and white nose while riding around the tank.
Mama knows her daughter well. She knew I would literally “JUMP” on this trainer’s offer.
This story has held true for me through the years. I’d like to think that I have matured a bit in this department and have learned to “look before i leap.” Maybe I have learned a bit…but the deciding factor that pulled the reigns in on my out of control spontaneity was the answer to my mother’s prayers…my husband J.
Oh how my mother loves him.
He keeps my feet planted firmly on dry land while encouraging me to accomplish my dreams in a safe, rational, orderly way. I help him loosen up and have crazy fun when he needs it.
What a team I tell ya, what a team!
So back to the New Years Resolutions….
They are just not in keeping with my personality. I am always trying out new things so there aren’t many new things I must resolve to do.
But this year I have decided to make a resolution of sorts. (Though to be fair, its just something I am picking up and it happens to be January).
My two goals for the year:
1) Memorize Romans Chapter 8.
2) Learn to crochet in honor of my great-grandmother Meme.
Right.
The Romans 8 thing stems back to a sermon we heard at church a few years back. Our Pastor asked us, “How many verses would you have hidden in your heart if you suddenly no longer had access to a bible?” I remember blinking in surprise and thinking, “I’d be in trouble!”
How much of the word would I have hidden away to comfort me, guide me, or anchor my soul to Him
during a time of trial?
Thats where Romans 8 comes in. Have you read it?
Its the anchor.
And this year I am going to memorize it and recite what I know so far, each day at lunch. Maybe the kiddos will pick up on it too? I think if the Bear can manage to memorize a bazillion animal species he can remember the verses his Mama repeats at lunch every day.
Then there is the crochet thing.
You know I am just drowning in spare time these days.
ha!
I wanted something to do with my hands while my boys are working at their play doh or legos or lincoln logs. A mindless busy work, but still beautiful and something I can bless others with. And because...I miss my great grandmother.
I was blessed to have her in my life for 18 years. Our birthdays were two days apart and we were known to rock a shared birthday cake at a family party or two.
We did not get along too well the first 16 years since I had an affinity for lizards, dirt, pranks and daredevil schemes (see: shamu above). At least, I thought we did not get along….
Now that I am a mother, I look back and realize that while she did like to fuss and cluck at me…she really loved me.
I remember how nice she always looked. Hair like a football helmet. Not a single strand out of place. Nails always polished a nice peachy sheen. Pant suits. Lots and lots of pant suits. Clean, tidy, organized…and not afraid to party. :)
Every once in a while she would surprise me by doing something totally goofy and fun. She agreed to put on a clown costume one year for halloween, suggested by my mom at the last minute. Five minutes before we were to walk out the door and into the neighborhood, she agrees and dons this hideous polyester footie pajama. It came with a metallic wig.
METALLIC.
16 years of that sort of thing. Super organized, predictable day to day order and then...the unexpected element that would put the great in "great grandma!"
She suffered a stroke and was blind the last two years of her life. I used to jokingly say to her that she liked me better when she couldn’t see how untidy and messy I was. Because we were quite suddenly, inexplicably closer than ever. A light turned on in the darkness.
During junior year of high school I would drive an extra thirty minutes out of my way after school to the nursing home just so I could hold her hand and listen to her talk.
I learned so much about her that last year. She told me a few stories she had never shared with anyone else. I don’t know why she chose to tell me of all people…but I am glad she did.
Yeah, she loved me a lot.
I loved her too.
Have I mentioned yet that she was the craftiest person ever?
She knew how to sew and knit and crochet. She would make such beautiful things. I used to love to watch her work. She made a pair of little snowmen once for my mom for Christmas. I used to hold them every year when we took them out of storage and run my fingers over the loops and hooks.
After she died I would run my finger over those loops and feel a bit closer to her.
So in her honor, I am picking up that heavy crochet needle and learning this new art. If I can make three things before the year is out, I’ll consider it a success.
Hand in hand with this learning of a new code and a new rhythm, I want to tell my boys all the stories I know about Meme.
So that when they run their hands over each loop and hook of my handiwork, they will remember her. Stories about their blue eyed great great grandmother, the rigidly organized party animal who would surprise her family with something zany from time to time.
Hmmm…you could almost call her occasionally spontaneous?? :)
Happy New Year.
Its not out of any bah-humbug grumpiness or snobby superiority.
To be honest, I am a pretty impulsive person. If I see something that I want to do—I just go for it. A great motivator and a recipe for disaster all rolled into one inherited family trait.
Case in point, a class trip to the Miami SeaAquarium back in my early elementary school days. I raised my hand to volunteer during the big killer whale show. The trainer called on me and brought me up to the side stage next to the tank. I stood on the rubbery mat portion next to this very sun tanned, wet suit wearing trainer. I recall peering down into that blue oh so blue water and watching those whales swim back and forth. I kind of tuned out the conversation until I heard the trainer say something awesome.
“All right now. What I need for you to do today is jump in the tank.”
The audience giggled since clearly, the trainer was joking, expecting me to react with a vigorous negative head shaking or a loud exclamation of “NO WAY!”
But through the giggles came one very loud, very familiar voice….
My mother… the ever present chaperone, a permanent fixture for all school outing from pre-k to senior year of high school. Quite necessary for the preservation of my life and for the sanity of all other adults in charge of me.
She was SCREAMING one word…it had a nice echo in the dome of that amphitheater...
"Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!”
You see, the minute the trainer said the words “jump in the tank,” I was all ready bending my knees to jump in. My mind had activated imagination mode and I was all ready picturing myself in that tank, swimming with shamu and balancing on that black and white nose while riding around the tank.
Mama knows her daughter well. She knew I would literally “JUMP” on this trainer’s offer.
This story has held true for me through the years. I’d like to think that I have matured a bit in this department and have learned to “look before i leap.” Maybe I have learned a bit…but the deciding factor that pulled the reigns in on my out of control spontaneity was the answer to my mother’s prayers…my husband J.
Oh how my mother loves him.
He keeps my feet planted firmly on dry land while encouraging me to accomplish my dreams in a safe, rational, orderly way. I help him loosen up and have crazy fun when he needs it.
What a team I tell ya, what a team!
So back to the New Years Resolutions….
They are just not in keeping with my personality. I am always trying out new things so there aren’t many new things I must resolve to do.
But this year I have decided to make a resolution of sorts. (Though to be fair, its just something I am picking up and it happens to be January).
My two goals for the year:
1) Memorize Romans Chapter 8.
2) Learn to crochet in honor of my great-grandmother Meme.
Right.
The Romans 8 thing stems back to a sermon we heard at church a few years back. Our Pastor asked us, “How many verses would you have hidden in your heart if you suddenly no longer had access to a bible?” I remember blinking in surprise and thinking, “I’d be in trouble!”
How much of the word would I have hidden away to comfort me, guide me, or anchor my soul to Him
during a time of trial?
Thats where Romans 8 comes in. Have you read it?
Its the anchor.
And this year I am going to memorize it and recite what I know so far, each day at lunch. Maybe the kiddos will pick up on it too? I think if the Bear can manage to memorize a bazillion animal species he can remember the verses his Mama repeats at lunch every day.
Then there is the crochet thing.
You know I am just drowning in spare time these days.
ha!
I wanted something to do with my hands while my boys are working at their play doh or legos or lincoln logs. A mindless busy work, but still beautiful and something I can bless others with. And because...I miss my great grandmother.
I was blessed to have her in my life for 18 years. Our birthdays were two days apart and we were known to rock a shared birthday cake at a family party or two.
We did not get along too well the first 16 years since I had an affinity for lizards, dirt, pranks and daredevil schemes (see: shamu above). At least, I thought we did not get along….
Now that I am a mother, I look back and realize that while she did like to fuss and cluck at me…she really loved me.
I remember how nice she always looked. Hair like a football helmet. Not a single strand out of place. Nails always polished a nice peachy sheen. Pant suits. Lots and lots of pant suits. Clean, tidy, organized…and not afraid to party. :)
Every once in a while she would surprise me by doing something totally goofy and fun. She agreed to put on a clown costume one year for halloween, suggested by my mom at the last minute. Five minutes before we were to walk out the door and into the neighborhood, she agrees and dons this hideous polyester footie pajama. It came with a metallic wig.
METALLIC.
16 years of that sort of thing. Super organized, predictable day to day order and then...the unexpected element that would put the great in "great grandma!"
She suffered a stroke and was blind the last two years of her life. I used to jokingly say to her that she liked me better when she couldn’t see how untidy and messy I was. Because we were quite suddenly, inexplicably closer than ever. A light turned on in the darkness.
During junior year of high school I would drive an extra thirty minutes out of my way after school to the nursing home just so I could hold her hand and listen to her talk.
I learned so much about her that last year. She told me a few stories she had never shared with anyone else. I don’t know why she chose to tell me of all people…but I am glad she did.
Yeah, she loved me a lot.
I loved her too.
Have I mentioned yet that she was the craftiest person ever?
She knew how to sew and knit and crochet. She would make such beautiful things. I used to love to watch her work. She made a pair of little snowmen once for my mom for Christmas. I used to hold them every year when we took them out of storage and run my fingers over the loops and hooks.
After she died I would run my finger over those loops and feel a bit closer to her.
So in her honor, I am picking up that heavy crochet needle and learning this new art. If I can make three things before the year is out, I’ll consider it a success.
Hand in hand with this learning of a new code and a new rhythm, I want to tell my boys all the stories I know about Meme.
So that when they run their hands over each loop and hook of my handiwork, they will remember her. Stories about their blue eyed great great grandmother, the rigidly organized party animal who would surprise her family with something zany from time to time.
Hmmm…you could almost call her occasionally spontaneous?? :)
Happy New Year.
Friday, January 4, 2013
This one time, at the Doctor's office...
The baby has the croup. He sounds awful. Heart wrenching, wrist wringing, panic inducing, AWFUL.
I phoned the pediatrician first thing this morning, loaded the four boys into the car and off we went to see our favorite Doctor in the whole wide world.
Have I mentioned that our pediatrican is a ROCK STAR? He is amazing. I really appreciate him.
The boys each received a doctor kit for Christmas so they were pretty pumped about going to the office with some of their tools in hand. We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor with our usual system. Baby in the pram, Babe hanging onto the left side, Cubs and the Bear hanging onto the right side. We look a bit like a chem lab drawing, multiplying hydrogens all clumped together. People either laugh or shake their heads when they see us coming.
The two nurse receptionists at the office are very kind and patient, crucial qualities in their line of work. They noticed the boys decked out in doctor gear and commented right away. The youngest lady cooed at the Bear, "Ooooo, are you a Doctor?" The Bear slipped the stethescope from his ears, "Excuse me, can you say that again, I didn't hear ya?" he asks. "Are you a Doctor?" she repeats.
The Bear shakes his head and laughs, "No silly, I am not a doctor! I am just a kid PRETENDING to be a doctor with this kit my Mom got me for Christmas. Trust me, I don't have a license to give you medicine. I am JUST. A. KID."
You can imagine the ensuing laughter. We made our way into the waiting room, a few other parents were all ready seated. I parked the pram and sat down. The three eldest boys attacked the waiting room toys. An elderly lady across the room shook her head after a few minutes of watching us and she voiced aloud, "I don't know how you do it. I just don't know how you do it," one silver eyebrow was arched up as she said it. I smiled and gave a pat answer from my arsenal of typical rejoinders...something like "I love them a lot" or "I don't care if the house is messy" or "Huh? What kids?" or something like that. I just know that I did not voice my actual thought of "WOMAN, I AM HANGING ON BY A THREAD, MY KIDS ARE SICK AND ALL MY PANTS ARE WRINKLED!" I definitely did not say that. Whatever I said resulted in a slight smirk from her and a snort from the mom next to me. Must have been of the sarcastic come backs I guess...
Well, Cubs and the Bear are trained to listen to adult conversation and they piped right up and began to recite our daily schedules, leaving this woman with no unanswered questions over "how we do it."
A few minutes went by and my mind started drifting to other things. I felt exhausted from the night before and to be honest, I checked out for a bit there.
When I snapped back to attention, a little girl stood in front of me. No parent in sight. Blue eyes, chubby cheeks, blonde ponytail caught high on her head. Purple dress, green coat, grey tights, and sneakers that were once a pale yellow color and are currently that inexplicable shade of color and health code violation known as "preschool sneaker."
"HI" she yelled.
"Hi." I can't help but smile at her. She had instant likeability.
She points a finger in the baby's face. "WHATS HIS NAME?"
I tell her.
"Huh. Wellll, he gets me. We have a connection. He understands me." Her arms are swinging back and forth, the cotton of her dress is swaying a bit.
The Bear hears a small child using full sentences with a decent vocabulary and he comes running. Moth to the flame.
His eyes are wide and he sticks out his hand. "Hi!!' He introduces himself. First, middle and last name. She reciprocates with all three of her names and adds a pretty, "Pleased to meet ya."
The Bear launches into a full on introduction of all his brothers. He is the pefect gentleman. He is utterly charming. He is talking waaay too much, as usual.
But then again, so is this little girl. In fact, they are both speaking rapidly to each other at the same time and both seem to be in possession of an adult sized vocabulary.
At one point the Bear exclaimed "this is all so ludicrous!" and she giggled a bit before purring, "you are sooo hilarious."
They were pleased to discover that they had eached turned five within the past few weeks. They chatted away for quite some time...
"Our baby is very sick. We brought him here to get a diagnosis and some medicine."
"Oh, I all ready got my diagnosis."
The Bear nods, "Hmmm. What could it be?"
"I have boogers and I am SPUNKY."
The Bear laughs and slaps his thigh, "Oh, you are such a funny, awesome girl. Do you know that?"
"Yes, I do!"
They keep talking at one another. I watch as he draws closer and closer to her side.
He is soaking in her warmth. He is completely captivated by her.
She is not oblivious to that fact.
Little Miss Sassy pants starts flirting more and more with my son.
Evetually, the connection is too great, his excitement builds, I can almost see his heart pounding through his t-shirt, love and adoration are shining in his eyes and my son is unable to refrain from telling her, "I have been waiting for you my whole life."
Yup.
That is what he said to her.
"I have been waiting for you my whole life."
Well....
My eyebrows crashed into my hair line.
The mom next to me giggled.
The little girl let out a wistful sigh.
Her mother walks in, having just finished checking out with the nurse receptionist and offers little girl a lollipop.
"Can I have sugar this early in the morning?" she asks.
Cubs nods his head, eyes bright, "you can have sugar ANY TIME of day."
The Bear can't take his eyes off her.
They begin chatting anew and eventually there is no choice but to physically remove them from the room so that we can each go about our busy day. The parting was not easy. Sweet sorrow you might say.
He misses her....or so he says every minute on the dot for the next forty-five minutes.
I catch him smiling a secret smile.
"Mom, wouldn't it be great if I saw her again when I am a big grown up?"
The romantic in me nods. "Yes...it really would be great."
"Don't forget to remind me about her, ok Mom?"
All right baby Bear, this is your reminder.
The day we took your baby brother for a check up because of the croup, you fell head over heels for a little girl named Megan Anne.
She wore a purple dress and you wore your heart on your sleeve.
You waited five whole years to meet her. :)
I phoned the pediatrician first thing this morning, loaded the four boys into the car and off we went to see our favorite Doctor in the whole wide world.
Have I mentioned that our pediatrican is a ROCK STAR? He is amazing. I really appreciate him.
The boys each received a doctor kit for Christmas so they were pretty pumped about going to the office with some of their tools in hand. We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor with our usual system. Baby in the pram, Babe hanging onto the left side, Cubs and the Bear hanging onto the right side. We look a bit like a chem lab drawing, multiplying hydrogens all clumped together. People either laugh or shake their heads when they see us coming.
The two nurse receptionists at the office are very kind and patient, crucial qualities in their line of work. They noticed the boys decked out in doctor gear and commented right away. The youngest lady cooed at the Bear, "Ooooo, are you a Doctor?" The Bear slipped the stethescope from his ears, "Excuse me, can you say that again, I didn't hear ya?" he asks. "Are you a Doctor?" she repeats.
The Bear shakes his head and laughs, "No silly, I am not a doctor! I am just a kid PRETENDING to be a doctor with this kit my Mom got me for Christmas. Trust me, I don't have a license to give you medicine. I am JUST. A. KID."
You can imagine the ensuing laughter. We made our way into the waiting room, a few other parents were all ready seated. I parked the pram and sat down. The three eldest boys attacked the waiting room toys. An elderly lady across the room shook her head after a few minutes of watching us and she voiced aloud, "I don't know how you do it. I just don't know how you do it," one silver eyebrow was arched up as she said it. I smiled and gave a pat answer from my arsenal of typical rejoinders...something like "I love them a lot" or "I don't care if the house is messy" or "Huh? What kids?" or something like that. I just know that I did not voice my actual thought of "WOMAN, I AM HANGING ON BY A THREAD, MY KIDS ARE SICK AND ALL MY PANTS ARE WRINKLED!" I definitely did not say that. Whatever I said resulted in a slight smirk from her and a snort from the mom next to me. Must have been of the sarcastic come backs I guess...
Well, Cubs and the Bear are trained to listen to adult conversation and they piped right up and began to recite our daily schedules, leaving this woman with no unanswered questions over "how we do it."
A few minutes went by and my mind started drifting to other things. I felt exhausted from the night before and to be honest, I checked out for a bit there.
When I snapped back to attention, a little girl stood in front of me. No parent in sight. Blue eyes, chubby cheeks, blonde ponytail caught high on her head. Purple dress, green coat, grey tights, and sneakers that were once a pale yellow color and are currently that inexplicable shade of color and health code violation known as "preschool sneaker."
"HI" she yelled.
"Hi." I can't help but smile at her. She had instant likeability.
She points a finger in the baby's face. "WHATS HIS NAME?"
I tell her.
"Huh. Wellll, he gets me. We have a connection. He understands me." Her arms are swinging back and forth, the cotton of her dress is swaying a bit.
The Bear hears a small child using full sentences with a decent vocabulary and he comes running. Moth to the flame.
His eyes are wide and he sticks out his hand. "Hi!!' He introduces himself. First, middle and last name. She reciprocates with all three of her names and adds a pretty, "Pleased to meet ya."
The Bear launches into a full on introduction of all his brothers. He is the pefect gentleman. He is utterly charming. He is talking waaay too much, as usual.
But then again, so is this little girl. In fact, they are both speaking rapidly to each other at the same time and both seem to be in possession of an adult sized vocabulary.
At one point the Bear exclaimed "this is all so ludicrous!" and she giggled a bit before purring, "you are sooo hilarious."
They were pleased to discover that they had eached turned five within the past few weeks. They chatted away for quite some time...
"Our baby is very sick. We brought him here to get a diagnosis and some medicine."
"Oh, I all ready got my diagnosis."
The Bear nods, "Hmmm. What could it be?"
"I have boogers and I am SPUNKY."
The Bear laughs and slaps his thigh, "Oh, you are such a funny, awesome girl. Do you know that?"
"Yes, I do!"
They keep talking at one another. I watch as he draws closer and closer to her side.
He is soaking in her warmth. He is completely captivated by her.
She is not oblivious to that fact.
Little Miss Sassy pants starts flirting more and more with my son.
Evetually, the connection is too great, his excitement builds, I can almost see his heart pounding through his t-shirt, love and adoration are shining in his eyes and my son is unable to refrain from telling her, "I have been waiting for you my whole life."
Yup.
That is what he said to her.
"I have been waiting for you my whole life."
Well....
My eyebrows crashed into my hair line.
The mom next to me giggled.
The little girl let out a wistful sigh.
Her mother walks in, having just finished checking out with the nurse receptionist and offers little girl a lollipop.
"Can I have sugar this early in the morning?" she asks.
Cubs nods his head, eyes bright, "you can have sugar ANY TIME of day."
The Bear can't take his eyes off her.
They begin chatting anew and eventually there is no choice but to physically remove them from the room so that we can each go about our busy day. The parting was not easy. Sweet sorrow you might say.
He misses her....or so he says every minute on the dot for the next forty-five minutes.
I catch him smiling a secret smile.
"Mom, wouldn't it be great if I saw her again when I am a big grown up?"
The romantic in me nods. "Yes...it really would be great."
"Don't forget to remind me about her, ok Mom?"
All right baby Bear, this is your reminder.
The day we took your baby brother for a check up because of the croup, you fell head over heels for a little girl named Megan Anne.
She wore a purple dress and you wore your heart on your sleeve.
You waited five whole years to meet her. :)
Saturday, December 1, 2012
The Jesus Tree
Advent is here! God Bless you and your families this Christmas. I hope you can find a few minutes each day to set aside for Him. You will be blessed! Its also a great way to talk to your children about Jesus. I know a lot of moms feel awkward talking to their kids about God. How to make the little ones understand something and Someone so very big. Well, this is a great time of year to start talking! There are also TONS of Advent resources out there you can use. I thought I’d write a bit this morning about what we do here in our home and share an Advent resource I wrote up for my kids, along with a few other resources we use.
I spend a good part of my time in November preparing for Advent season and I try to make every Christmas season revolve around this special time of learning and celebrating. Teaching my children what it means to participate in worshiping the holiness of Jesus is the single most important thing I can do at Christmas.
We love using our scripture chains, Advents calendars, Jesse Tree, Advent book, etc. Here is a link to other material we used for Christmas last year and the year before.
This season we are using our Jesse Tree lesson in the mornings along with the Names of Jesus and Scripture verse chains and Advent books. I have three kids eager to help so having lots of things for them to take turns with is a plus! There is always an ornament to hang or a small door to open—everyone gets to do something special!
Believe it or not, I found myself wanting one more Advent lesson for my kids. I know there is an overload of Advent material out there in the pinterest world but I found a few great ideas this past year that I saved. Beginning with the Way of Light wreath made by Caleb Voskamp. His mother is Ann Voskamp, authoress of 1000 gifts and one of my favorite blogs A Holy Experience. We love this wreath. The wood carved figurine of the pregnant Mary riding a donkey, slowly making her way into the spiral of light towards Christmas—beautiful and meaningful to our family. We will be lighting a candle each night before dinner and reflecting aspects of what the coming of Jesus means to us.
The second idea I loved but unfortunately, could not use for our family. 25 Days of Christ was, at first glance, perfect for what I needed. We love our AM advent time with the Jesse Tree but I really wanted to include stories about Jesus for our evening devotionals with Daddy. I wanted to give Jesus his own tree. A Jesus Tree. After a quick pinterest search I stumbled upon this link to 25 days of Christ. Everything all ready written up and an ornament kit available for order. I clicked on the link and found that they were all ready sold out for this season. I decided I could make my own ornaments and just use their devotionals….. until I clicked on the link and discovered that this was a Mormon website (had to google the term “Nephites"). Ahhh, never mind. So while the credit goes to the Mormons for having this great idea…the book of Mormon is occult material and I need to keep this biblical for my kiddos.
So I went through the gospels and pulled together 25 accounts for a Jesus Tree. I have included them below to share with you. We made our ornaments last month and are so excited to add them to our Jesus Tree. Feel free to use it with your own kids. Swap out your favorite passages, lessons, parables if you want something particular for your kids. There are no devotional lines included. I like to read straight from the text and ask my kids questions depending on the day. Praying beforehand is also always a must. Not just with the kids, but on my own, before I even gather them to read from the Bible. I truly believe and have learned repeatedly that asking the Holy Spirit to go before me and open my children’s minds to understand what they will hear, blesses our time and makes things go so much more smoothly. He always provides the right questions and words for me to give my kids from His word.
A quick word about ornaments. This doesn’t have to be expensive or complicated. Even just a small square of paper with a drawing on it is enough to illustrate your point. Sew a loop of thread around it and its ready to hang. Done and done! If you are feeling artistic and want the 3D specific ornament—go for it! :)
This was Cubs idea for the story of the paralytic. We made him a little stretcher :)
And our cross will serve as the Jesus Tree. I put a few tree trimmings behind the cross and we will hang our branches all around the cross.
Here is the write out…ENJOY!
Jesus Tree
Day 1: Birth of Jesus
Scripture: Luke 2:4-7
Ornament: Bundle of hay
Day 2: Shepherds
Scripture: Luke 2:8-21
Ornament: Sheep
Day 3: Wise Men
Scripture: Matthew 2: 1-12
Ornament: Star
Day 4: Jesus in the Temple
Scripture: Luke 2:41-51
Ornament: Scroll
Day 5:Baptism
Scripture: Luke 3:21-22
Ornament: Dove
Day 6: Fishers
of Men
Scripture: Luke 5: 1-11
Scripture: Matthew 5: 14-16
Ornament: Candle
Day 8: Calms the Storm
Scripture: Matthew 8:23-27
Ornament: Boat
Day 9: Feeding of the 5000
Scripture: Matthew 14:13-21
Ornament: Basket with fish and loaves
Day 10: Jesus Walks on Water
Scripture: Matthew 14: 22-33
Ornament: Footprint
Day 11: Jesus Heals the Paralyzed Man
Scripture: Luke 5:17-26
Ornament: Man on a stretcher
Day 12: Woman at the Well
Scripture John 4:13-14
Ornament: Bucket of Water
Day 13: Jesus and his friend Lazarus
Scripture: John 11:43-44
Ornament: scrap of muslin
Day 14: The Little Children and Jesus
Scripture: Luke 15:15-17
Ornament: A picture of your children
Day 15: Triumphal Entry
Scripture: Matthew 21:1-11
Ornament: Donkey
Day 16: Washing the Disciple’s Feet
Scripture: John 13:1-17
Ornament: Small sandal or bowl
Day 17: Body
and the Blood
Scripture: Matthew 26:26-29
Ornament: Wine goblet
Day 18: Gethsemane
Scripture: Mark 14:32-36
Ornament: a tree
Day 19:
Betrayal and Denial
Scripture: Luke 22: 54-62
Ornament: Rooster
Day 20: Trial of Jesus
Scripture: John 19: 4-6
Ornament: crown of thorns
Day 21: Crucifixion
Scripture: John 19:16-18
Ornament: Cross
Day 22: Burial
Scripture: Luke 23:50-53
Ornament: Stone
Day 23: Resurrection
Scripture: Matthew 28:1-10
Ornament: Lily
Day 24: Jesus Appears to Thomas
Scripture: John 20:24-29
Ornament: Handprint with nail hole
Day25: Jesus Ascends
Scripture: Luke 24:50-53
Ornament: Cloud
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Happy Anniversary
Yesterday in the late afternoon, we took an anniversary stroll through the park with the boys. Right when the sky soaks in a few pastels and the temperature begins its soft descent, truly the best time for an autumn walk. Our boys alternately zipped around either side of the walkway, held on to their baby brother’s pram or took off onto the leaf covered knolls surrounding us. They wanted to greet each dog along the way, finding out the name and breed, asking to pet them. I pushed the pram along and watched J interact with his sons.
It was one of those moments when your heart feels as though it will burst from sheer abundance of blessing. I should feel this way many times a day, but truthfully, I am usually too busy to feel it as often as I should.
We stopped at the “Tamarin Tree.” A beautiful tree that has brought us hours of comfort and laughter and play these past months. The boys climb her low lying limbs with varying degrees of difficulty depending on their respective heights. They pretend to be cotton top tamarin monkeys, all related in one way or another and with crazy nonsensical names. They love this tree. Last time we saw her, her leaves were a sad green splattered with brown and yellow. Yesterday the leaves were gone, in their place were fuzzy buds in a pale silver color, almost like pussy willows. They looked a bit like christmas lights actually, though once this comparison was verbalized the boys were quick to shoot it down. Cubs declared them to be “socket eye monkey fruits, hmph!” I guided the pram over Tamarin tree’s roots to stand under one of her higher branches. I pointed it out to J, “this is the tree I climbed the week before the baby was born.” (Ok, yes I know I should NOT have climbed a tree while 36 weeks pregnant, but I had been in labor for nearly 8 days and was not in my right mind). I remembered sitting up there for a moment of quiet while my mother watched over the boys, the Little One fiercely conducting my contractions every ten minutes. I so desperately wanted answers and results and PEACE. I wanted it right in that moment with a snap of my fingers. Of course, I did not get it. Instead, I got days and days of more uncertainty, of constant labor with no snuggly bundle of joy for a reward. He didn’t arrive for another 7 days.
Little One was born on a cold September night. After two weeks of contractions, he came swiftly and “suddenly,” surprising all the nurses and our doctor. I have soaked in every moment. He is my last son, the last child that will come from my body. He, like all my other sons, is a treasure. His brothers are protective of him and love to watch over him. I am fascinated by him and his all ready serious nature. We are in another season of waiting for answers, submerged in constant questioning of our circumstances. One day we will see what it was all for and it will be worth it. Just like Little One...so very very worth it.
The boys played in the leaves the way northern children from land locked states approach the beach, cautiously and with a bit of skepticism. Its so foreign to them still. Leaves that fall to the ground and decay. The lack of green. The barren branches that remain behind. The fact that this all occurs in the span of two or three weeks. The Bear kept asking about it yesterday, taking note of the fact that this place is nothing like Miami. No palm trees. No green leaves. Only “dead deader spike trees” and “christmassy trees.” He loves to shuffle his feet through the piles of leaves. No jumping yet. He’s not quite ready to give himself over to that. It seems he is content to experience this newness in a detached sort of way. He still asks from time to time whether or not we are done pretending that we live here. I know that next year he will jump into the leaves and play hard. As if he has always done it that way, the hesitation long forgotten. But yesterday he merely shuffled along, Babe shuffled behind him albeit a bit more determination in his step. A younger brother’s "divide, conquer and prove yourself" sort of stomp. J followed closely behind, a light smile touching his lips. His feet were shuffling as well, the remembered ritual kind of shuffle. The three of them shuffling in a row in the dusky air—such a mixture of content pleasure and a bit of sadness. Is that even possible?
We miss our home greatly these days. Not just the sunshine and green. But the family and friends too. Its been a hard adjustment, but we are doing it together. There is great joy to be found, simply in being together, even when hard sacrifices are made or life is churning down the rougher path.
We celebrated our six year wedding anniversary yesterday. We laughed often, as always, about the crazy number of children we have managed to produce in such a short time, and reflected on our time together as we walked through the park. We survived the PhD program. We moved across the country twice. One of us nearly died. Two of our children are in heaven with Jesus. We have lived in five different homes. We have buried some dreams and bred new ones. We have shared sorrow and joy. We have grown closer to the Lord. We love our kids…so much. We are thankful.
It was one of those moments when your heart feels as though it will burst from sheer abundance of blessing. I should feel this way many times a day, but truthfully, I am usually too busy to feel it as often as I should.
We stopped at the “Tamarin Tree.” A beautiful tree that has brought us hours of comfort and laughter and play these past months. The boys climb her low lying limbs with varying degrees of difficulty depending on their respective heights. They pretend to be cotton top tamarin monkeys, all related in one way or another and with crazy nonsensical names. They love this tree. Last time we saw her, her leaves were a sad green splattered with brown and yellow. Yesterday the leaves were gone, in their place were fuzzy buds in a pale silver color, almost like pussy willows. They looked a bit like christmas lights actually, though once this comparison was verbalized the boys were quick to shoot it down. Cubs declared them to be “socket eye monkey fruits, hmph!” I guided the pram over Tamarin tree’s roots to stand under one of her higher branches. I pointed it out to J, “this is the tree I climbed the week before the baby was born.” (Ok, yes I know I should NOT have climbed a tree while 36 weeks pregnant, but I had been in labor for nearly 8 days and was not in my right mind). I remembered sitting up there for a moment of quiet while my mother watched over the boys, the Little One fiercely conducting my contractions every ten minutes. I so desperately wanted answers and results and PEACE. I wanted it right in that moment with a snap of my fingers. Of course, I did not get it. Instead, I got days and days of more uncertainty, of constant labor with no snuggly bundle of joy for a reward. He didn’t arrive for another 7 days.
Little One was born on a cold September night. After two weeks of contractions, he came swiftly and “suddenly,” surprising all the nurses and our doctor. I have soaked in every moment. He is my last son, the last child that will come from my body. He, like all my other sons, is a treasure. His brothers are protective of him and love to watch over him. I am fascinated by him and his all ready serious nature. We are in another season of waiting for answers, submerged in constant questioning of our circumstances. One day we will see what it was all for and it will be worth it. Just like Little One...so very very worth it.
The boys played in the leaves the way northern children from land locked states approach the beach, cautiously and with a bit of skepticism. Its so foreign to them still. Leaves that fall to the ground and decay. The lack of green. The barren branches that remain behind. The fact that this all occurs in the span of two or three weeks. The Bear kept asking about it yesterday, taking note of the fact that this place is nothing like Miami. No palm trees. No green leaves. Only “dead deader spike trees” and “christmassy trees.” He loves to shuffle his feet through the piles of leaves. No jumping yet. He’s not quite ready to give himself over to that. It seems he is content to experience this newness in a detached sort of way. He still asks from time to time whether or not we are done pretending that we live here. I know that next year he will jump into the leaves and play hard. As if he has always done it that way, the hesitation long forgotten. But yesterday he merely shuffled along, Babe shuffled behind him albeit a bit more determination in his step. A younger brother’s "divide, conquer and prove yourself" sort of stomp. J followed closely behind, a light smile touching his lips. His feet were shuffling as well, the remembered ritual kind of shuffle. The three of them shuffling in a row in the dusky air—such a mixture of content pleasure and a bit of sadness. Is that even possible?
We miss our home greatly these days. Not just the sunshine and green. But the family and friends too. Its been a hard adjustment, but we are doing it together. There is great joy to be found, simply in being together, even when hard sacrifices are made or life is churning down the rougher path.
We celebrated our six year wedding anniversary yesterday. We laughed often, as always, about the crazy number of children we have managed to produce in such a short time, and reflected on our time together as we walked through the park. We survived the PhD program. We moved across the country twice. One of us nearly died. Two of our children are in heaven with Jesus. We have lived in five different homes. We have buried some dreams and bred new ones. We have shared sorrow and joy. We have grown closer to the Lord. We love our kids…so much. We are thankful.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Gardenia
Right between the 2nd and 3rd chapters of John, the hurried resting place where moisture soaked right into the pages of my bible as our family traveled hundreds of miles to our new home. The petals have dried and the holy words have gathered up the fragrance and the tears and the hurt and the hope and the goodbyes.
It hurt to see him weeping over my children when we said those painful goodbyes. He had turned away, stumbling up the path towards the refuge of his home when he stopped short. I watched from the car, wondering if heart failure was settling in. He said he would die without us. I suddenly feared this would come true. But he veered to the left and made his way to the gardenia bush.
He paused for several moments, looking them over. Searching for that one goodbye blossom. One pure white, no crinkled edges, no faded brown lines, no small black ants scurrying through its sweet center.
He pulled one off and made his way back to me. The lump in my throat growing larger the closer he got.
He is an ornery old goat. My Abuelo. Critical, pushy, meddlesome, childish, angry, fierce in his love and irreverent in life. I love him even when I want to escape him.
He handed me this gardenia. Pushed it through the window in one spiteful sweep, pressing it roughly into my hands and looking at me with wistful sad eyes. The cold AC in our van diffuses the scent quickly, we watch in silence as he makes his way back to the house. Abuela stays on the porch, tears rolling down her brave smile-for-the-kids-face. He enters the house and closes the door, walks to the picture window and watches us pull out of the driveway. I watch as his shoulders shake through the shadow of the pane that separates us. The gardenia carries us away back to my parents home. Then I carried it inside and flipped through a few crackling pages of my bible and pressed it between John 2 and 3.
We all have those scents or sensations that send us rushing into a memory of something. There are elements of life that lead me head first into memories of my four grandparents. Everything from sarna to sawdust to the sunset orange pulp of a mango or the creamy center of an avocado. Gardenias….
Gardenias are a romantic flower. Mysterious in the way it unfolds, delicate petals with a moody temper bent on ruination the moment humidity spikes, uncompromising in the strength of its scent. It is a pleasure to touch, purrs in your hand really. A Cuban love song almost isn’t a love song unless this flower’s name is whispered somewhere in those lilting lines.
For me, this flower is not my own love story, but my grandparent's romances.
My mother’s parents dancing together surrounded by a cloud of piccolo notes and somehow I think “gardenias.” My father’s parents arguing in the kitchen as they make a batch of ajiaco together. Each adding salt when the other’s back is turned. The heat from the stove, the open window, the harsh words, the flashing tempers, the unraveling…and somehow I think, “gardenias.”
Gardenias are the warm bowl of frijoles negros on the table. The freshly baked loaf of cuban bread on the pallet. The sound of mango tree leaves rustling in the wind weeks after the last piece of fruit has been harvested. The soft rapid sounds of spanish radio falling in the kitchen like rain drops. Gardenias are the feel of wrinkled brown hands grasping my own hands. The feel of slipping my newborn son into the arms of someone who will cloak him in love.
Today my bible dropped off the wood table and onto the floor. The pages spreading awkwardly on the floor. Bits of messages and cut outs of handprints scattering and the slight crunch of a once green leaf. And suddenly, the smell of gardenias.
Is it any wonder that tears flooded my eyes the moment I drew breath? A deep ache spreading throughout my body? A not so deeply buried grief for what I have left behind for these Pennsylvania mountains? It was all wrapped in this oh so familiar scent.
I thought of his dearly loved face. My ornery old goat, Abuelo. The other three that stand beside him in the line of my family tree.
I miss them.
And for the rest of my life, I will open the book of John and inhale that sweet scent of memory and love and unfurling petals and remember them.
It hurt to see him weeping over my children when we said those painful goodbyes. He had turned away, stumbling up the path towards the refuge of his home when he stopped short. I watched from the car, wondering if heart failure was settling in. He said he would die without us. I suddenly feared this would come true. But he veered to the left and made his way to the gardenia bush.
He paused for several moments, looking them over. Searching for that one goodbye blossom. One pure white, no crinkled edges, no faded brown lines, no small black ants scurrying through its sweet center.
He pulled one off and made his way back to me. The lump in my throat growing larger the closer he got.
He is an ornery old goat. My Abuelo. Critical, pushy, meddlesome, childish, angry, fierce in his love and irreverent in life. I love him even when I want to escape him.
He handed me this gardenia. Pushed it through the window in one spiteful sweep, pressing it roughly into my hands and looking at me with wistful sad eyes. The cold AC in our van diffuses the scent quickly, we watch in silence as he makes his way back to the house. Abuela stays on the porch, tears rolling down her brave smile-for-the-kids-face. He enters the house and closes the door, walks to the picture window and watches us pull out of the driveway. I watch as his shoulders shake through the shadow of the pane that separates us. The gardenia carries us away back to my parents home. Then I carried it inside and flipped through a few crackling pages of my bible and pressed it between John 2 and 3.
We all have those scents or sensations that send us rushing into a memory of something. There are elements of life that lead me head first into memories of my four grandparents. Everything from sarna to sawdust to the sunset orange pulp of a mango or the creamy center of an avocado. Gardenias….
Gardenias are a romantic flower. Mysterious in the way it unfolds, delicate petals with a moody temper bent on ruination the moment humidity spikes, uncompromising in the strength of its scent. It is a pleasure to touch, purrs in your hand really. A Cuban love song almost isn’t a love song unless this flower’s name is whispered somewhere in those lilting lines.
For me, this flower is not my own love story, but my grandparent's romances.
My mother’s parents dancing together surrounded by a cloud of piccolo notes and somehow I think “gardenias.” My father’s parents arguing in the kitchen as they make a batch of ajiaco together. Each adding salt when the other’s back is turned. The heat from the stove, the open window, the harsh words, the flashing tempers, the unraveling…and somehow I think, “gardenias.”
Gardenias are the warm bowl of frijoles negros on the table. The freshly baked loaf of cuban bread on the pallet. The sound of mango tree leaves rustling in the wind weeks after the last piece of fruit has been harvested. The soft rapid sounds of spanish radio falling in the kitchen like rain drops. Gardenias are the feel of wrinkled brown hands grasping my own hands. The feel of slipping my newborn son into the arms of someone who will cloak him in love.
Today my bible dropped off the wood table and onto the floor. The pages spreading awkwardly on the floor. Bits of messages and cut outs of handprints scattering and the slight crunch of a once green leaf. And suddenly, the smell of gardenias.
Is it any wonder that tears flooded my eyes the moment I drew breath? A deep ache spreading throughout my body? A not so deeply buried grief for what I have left behind for these Pennsylvania mountains? It was all wrapped in this oh so familiar scent.
I thought of his dearly loved face. My ornery old goat, Abuelo. The other three that stand beside him in the line of my family tree.
I miss them.
And for the rest of my life, I will open the book of John and inhale that sweet scent of memory and love and unfurling petals and remember them.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Last Monday
On Monday we sat gathered around the breakfast table, sunlight gently streaming in through the kitchen window. The iPod is playing a few worship tunes from the Miami Worship Choir CD and the boys are singing out loud. I am going through the motions of serving up breakfast. My belly is low and heavy. The dog is in his cage letting out huge sighs of despair that J is nowhere in sight.
Cracking eggs, slathering bread with butter, pouring the steaming hot tea and going through the comforting motions of ritual. My mind is sluggish, thinking about the day-ins and day-outs of the past eleven years. All the breakfasts made and cups of tea consumed, while fighting and death and evil and politics hovered over our heads.
I don’t keep this day a secret from my sons. We pray out loud for those boys and girls that have lost their Mommies and Daddies overseas. They know that men die defending them. They know that once upon a time airplanes hit towers and tears fell and people were lost in the ashes.
They are not too small to understand compassion for those who have lost something so precious. They are not too small to grasp that boys just like them sit at their own breakfast tables and gaze at an empty chair across from them every day.
They are not too small to desire honor, bravery, courage and compassion.
Cracking eggs, slathering bread with butter, pouring the steaming hot tea and going through the comforting motions of ritual. My mind is sluggish, thinking about the day-ins and day-outs of the past eleven years. All the breakfasts made and cups of tea consumed, while fighting and death and evil and politics hovered over our heads.
I don’t keep this day a secret from my sons. We pray out loud for those boys and girls that have lost their Mommies and Daddies overseas. They know that men die defending them. They know that once upon a time airplanes hit towers and tears fell and people were lost in the ashes.
They are not too small to understand compassion for those who have lost something so precious. They are not too small to grasp that boys just like them sit at their own breakfast tables and gaze at an empty chair across from them every day.
They are not too small to desire honor, bravery, courage and compassion.
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