In a past life, I was a high school cafeteria lady. One year, when we were getting things ready for the first week of school, I witnessed something really disturbing. The teachers were gathered in the cafeteria for a workshop on bullying. We were stopped for a lunch break, and I watched the teachers as they watched the video and discussed the issue. At the back row was a group of male teachers, most of them coaches. The entire time, these men snickered and muttered to one another under their breath about how much of a waste of time this was for them, and making fun of the children featured in the video.
I was appalled. Not shocked, because I had been through it. I knew what it was like to be bullied, and to have teachers either join in or sit back and watch as it happened.
Fast forward to last week. In the same school district, just a few miles away, a fourteen year old boy hanged himself because he had been mercilessly bullied from the time he was in elementary school. Coincidence? I think not.
According to the Tennessee Equality Project, Phillip Parker's former teachers had witnessed how he had been tortured at the hands of bullies from very early on.
"While attending Saturday's conference, H.G. Stovall and I met a former teacher who knew Phillip while he attended Gordonsville Elementary School. Tears flowed as she told us that Philip had endured years of anti-gay bullying at the school and that bullying in general at Gordonsville Elementary School often goes unaddressed by faculty and staff. She knew of several students who had to transfer to other schools to escape the harassment."
Phillip was bullied because he was gay. Kids are bullied because they are small, because they are big, for the color of their skin or hair, for being poor or having a different kind of style. They are bullied because of who their parents are or are not, what kinds of things they believe or read, the things they like or don't like. Kids are bullied for all kinds of reasons. It so happened Phillip was bullied because he was gay.
I'm going to set the record straight for anyone else who is like me, a Christian who believes that homosexuality is not part of the plan for his children. NO one has the right to single out a child who identifies as gay. The scriptures we believe in do not condone bullying, taunting, condemning, or anything else of the sort, especially toward children. If we do it as adults, you better believe our children will do it to other children. STOP IT NOW! Teach your kids that while we may disagree with how someone lives their life, we have no right to belittle them for it. Our job and our joy as Christians is to live a life of love and compassion, and pray for the Spirit of God to fall on our communities and foster a spirit of understanding rather than confusion. It is the job of the Holy Spirit to convict, not ours. It will be the job of God himself to condemn, not ours. And doing any of these things in the name of God is blasphemy, it is the very definition of taking God's name in vain.
In addition to our responsibility to stop this kind of behavior, it is also our responsibility to understand something about sin. There is no sin worse than another. When the lists of different kinds of sin are mentioned in scripture, sexual sin is in the same category as gossip, malice, slander, and a whole host of other sin that Christian society deems "okay." Besides that, homosexuality is not the only kind of sexual sin. Are you one of those Christians who says it's not a big deal for an engaged couple to go ahead and move in together and live as if they are married before they are? Or that maybe it's detestable for teenagers to engage in premarital sex, but it's a different story for consenting adults? Scripture says differently. Do you dance as close to the "line" as possible? The Bible says you are to stay FAR far away from it. So as Jesus says to the Pharisees, let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Having been involved with a church in this community, my heart is grieved for this child and his family. I understand what it's like to be different, to not have much in common with them. I was there. I have seen the attitudes that brought about the bullying he endured. And sadly, I have worked with some of the adults that were charged with his safety and education. In large part, they are a community of people who believe in God, but who have very little compassion or understanding toward people who are different, people who might have a different perspective. There are of course those who behave differently, who strive to make a difference. I commend them, and I pray that God works through them to foster a spirit of compassion, a community effort to make sure kids like Philip know they are loved unconditionally by the God who created them.
I also pray that the rest of the kids who are bullied at that school and the others in the district find support. Whether the bullying is because of their race, appearance, interests, religion, or in fact their sexual orientation, they have a voice that needs to be heard.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I Resolve...
The weeks before Christmas have always been hectic for me. I am always full of regret when Christmas is over because I didn't really take time to enjoy it like I should. I've been working retail too long for that, I suppose. I always say, "We'll do better next year," and write out plans of how this will be accomplished. Somewhere along the way, I lose that piece of paper in the busy-ness of life and never get around to carrying out our carefully laid out plans to make Christmas meaningful.
And then there's New Year. Resolutions almost always include eating healthier, losing weight, being a better mom and wife, getting organized, being on time, etc.
No more. Let me tell you what happened to me this year.
The day after Christmas, I had to be at work at 7:30 am to change our promos. It was raining, and I was about to turn onto the street where I work. A car came speeding across the intersection and couldn't stop in time, and hit me. I'm fine, and his minor injuries were likely caused by his airbags and failure to wear a seatbelt. I didn't get checked out that day, but my OB appointment last week showed that everything was fine with Leah as well.
The problem is that our family no longer has a vehicle. The damage to our only car was enough that it's not really worth fixing. My genius mechanic father in law is working on finding us something, but it might be another week before we have a vehicle.
If you've ever had your independence taken from you, you understand how I feel right now. Not only do we not have a home of our own to live in, we have to depend on others for things as simple as getting to and from work and doctor's appointments. Also, because we don't have a car, we can't really go looking for a place to rent. I'm learning to depend on others for help. And this is a new concept for me.
It's funny that it would take something like that to make me see it. My life is not determined by my plans, my resolutions, my desires. No matter what I want, something will always get in the way. And I am not in control. No matter how much I try to be, no matter how responsible I am, I am not in control of the other people and circumstances in my life. People make their own decisions, and circumstances can't always be changed.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a fatalist or a determinist. I do believe that God has given us all of the tools we need to live our lives, that he 0nly allows us to endure what he gives us the ability to handle. But the key word here is God.
I am learning that I can only overcome my circumstances when I am dependent completely on the resources God provides. When I try to depend on myself, I will fail. I will get frustrated because I am unable to do it on my own. So if I have a resolution this year, that would be it. I know I have goals that I want to accomplish in the next twelve months: Get a car and a place to live, get Toby and Nathan into school, lose weight (I'm estimating at least fifteen pounds by April), etc. But a real change I want to make in my life, a new leaf I want to turn over would be to spend more time depending on God's provision alone. It is only through his grace that I will overcome.
And then there's New Year. Resolutions almost always include eating healthier, losing weight, being a better mom and wife, getting organized, being on time, etc.
No more. Let me tell you what happened to me this year.
The day after Christmas, I had to be at work at 7:30 am to change our promos. It was raining, and I was about to turn onto the street where I work. A car came speeding across the intersection and couldn't stop in time, and hit me. I'm fine, and his minor injuries were likely caused by his airbags and failure to wear a seatbelt. I didn't get checked out that day, but my OB appointment last week showed that everything was fine with Leah as well.
The problem is that our family no longer has a vehicle. The damage to our only car was enough that it's not really worth fixing. My genius mechanic father in law is working on finding us something, but it might be another week before we have a vehicle.
If you've ever had your independence taken from you, you understand how I feel right now. Not only do we not have a home of our own to live in, we have to depend on others for things as simple as getting to and from work and doctor's appointments. Also, because we don't have a car, we can't really go looking for a place to rent. I'm learning to depend on others for help. And this is a new concept for me.
It's funny that it would take something like that to make me see it. My life is not determined by my plans, my resolutions, my desires. No matter what I want, something will always get in the way. And I am not in control. No matter how much I try to be, no matter how responsible I am, I am not in control of the other people and circumstances in my life. People make their own decisions, and circumstances can't always be changed.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a fatalist or a determinist. I do believe that God has given us all of the tools we need to live our lives, that he 0nly allows us to endure what he gives us the ability to handle. But the key word here is God.
I am learning that I can only overcome my circumstances when I am dependent completely on the resources God provides. When I try to depend on myself, I will fail. I will get frustrated because I am unable to do it on my own. So if I have a resolution this year, that would be it. I know I have goals that I want to accomplish in the next twelve months: Get a car and a place to live, get Toby and Nathan into school, lose weight (I'm estimating at least fifteen pounds by April), etc. But a real change I want to make in my life, a new leaf I want to turn over would be to spend more time depending on God's provision alone. It is only through his grace that I will overcome.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
If you think Christmas is all about the kids, you've missed the point.
There, I said it. Call me a Grinch or a Scrooge or whatever you want to. But that's what I think about it.
I keep coming across this idea that Christmas is all about making children happy, that all of the decorations and gifts and lights are just for them. The prevailing mindset seems to be that everything grownups do from the last week of November through December 26 is for the children. And that it's the way it should be.
Maybe I'm just weird, but I'm of the opinion that Christmas should be enjoyed by everyone, no matter their age. Maybe it's because I never had Santa Clause as a child. Maybe my parents "ruined" Christmas too early for me. Or maybe I'm the only one that gets it. Regardless of the reason, I'm here to tell you that I am a 25 year old mom of two (or three or four, depending on how you want to count), and I have no doubt that Christmas is for me, too.
You see, I have grown up with a totally different perspective on Christmas than many kids my age did. We didn't have Santa. I'm not sure all of the reasons my parents didn't do Santa, but I'm grateful to them. Around Christmastime, we always focused on the story in Luke chapter 2. My parents have been in ministry my whole life, so we celebrated Christmas with songs about Emanuel, Christmas pageants that always included a little baby in a manger scene, a very breakable nativity set that I loved to look at and play with very carefully. Yes, we had presents. My parents sacrificed a lot (probably more than they should have some years) to make sure we had Christmas presents in our stockings and under the tree. But that was not usually the focus, even in our young hearts. The focus was that God came to us, became one of us, so that he could save us.
One of my favorite Christmas movies is "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Have you ever seen it? This rough and tumble family with six kids starts coming to church because they heard there were snacks. Through a series of events, they end up with all of the principal roles in the Christmas pageant. As a result, they learn the true meaning of Christmas in a way most adults still have yet to grasp. "HEY! Unto you a child is born!"
That means YOU, too!
I keep coming across this idea that Christmas is all about making children happy, that all of the decorations and gifts and lights are just for them. The prevailing mindset seems to be that everything grownups do from the last week of November through December 26 is for the children. And that it's the way it should be.
Maybe I'm just weird, but I'm of the opinion that Christmas should be enjoyed by everyone, no matter their age. Maybe it's because I never had Santa Clause as a child. Maybe my parents "ruined" Christmas too early for me. Or maybe I'm the only one that gets it. Regardless of the reason, I'm here to tell you that I am a 25 year old mom of two (or three or four, depending on how you want to count), and I have no doubt that Christmas is for me, too.
You see, I have grown up with a totally different perspective on Christmas than many kids my age did. We didn't have Santa. I'm not sure all of the reasons my parents didn't do Santa, but I'm grateful to them. Around Christmastime, we always focused on the story in Luke chapter 2. My parents have been in ministry my whole life, so we celebrated Christmas with songs about Emanuel, Christmas pageants that always included a little baby in a manger scene, a very breakable nativity set that I loved to look at and play with very carefully. Yes, we had presents. My parents sacrificed a lot (probably more than they should have some years) to make sure we had Christmas presents in our stockings and under the tree. But that was not usually the focus, even in our young hearts. The focus was that God came to us, became one of us, so that he could save us.
One of my favorite Christmas movies is "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Have you ever seen it? This rough and tumble family with six kids starts coming to church because they heard there were snacks. Through a series of events, they end up with all of the principal roles in the Christmas pageant. As a result, they learn the true meaning of Christmas in a way most adults still have yet to grasp. "HEY! Unto you a child is born!"
That means YOU, too!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
'Tis the season
Today is Thanksgiving, the day when we traditionally give thanks to God for the blessings he has bestowed on us, enjoy the bounty of harvest, and watch football. In the past couple of decades, something else has crept into our Thanksgiving traditions. Have you noticed it? It's the annual planning of the Black Friday shopping excursion.
I'm sure almost everyone knows what Black Friday is and why, but I feel the need to give a little explanation tonight. The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is obviously the biggest shopping season of the year. Therefore, if a retail company has been in the "red" for most of the year, Christmas shopping will bring them back up into the "black." As you well know, the media has helped this process along by hyping up the deals that retailers offer and covering the chaos that is Black Friday shopping. At first, retailers would shockingly open at 6am to catch the early birds with great "doorbuster" deals. How could another retailer compete with that? By opening at 5am, of course. This competition has led to what is now being dubbed this year as "Black Thursday," when some stores such as Walmart and Toys R Us are opening as early as 9 and 10pm on Thanksgiving night.
Which is an awesome thing for companies, and for some customers who are looking for great deals. And arguably great for the economy, which we all know could use a little help these days. But is it really so great in the long run?
As I have been gearing up for work tomorrow, I have to wonder what this kind of consumerism does to us as a people, and to us specifically as Christians? I look at my precious little ones and think about how I want to make Christmas so special for them this year, since we've been through so much in the past several months. But when I think about the ways I can do that, it seems none of them really include toys or movies or games. I want to find creative and fun ways to teach my kids about what Christmas really is all about. For me, what that means is carefully explaining why we decorate, letting them play with a kid-friendly nativity set, teaching them to be generous and kind to others, and telling them the story of Christ's birth and our redemption. Of course, the will get toys. There will be puzzles and games, pajamas and sweaters, cars, and maybe a movie (anyone know if Cars 2 is on DVD yet?). But those are extra things. They are not what Christmas is about.
As you are standing in line and getting online for your deals this weekend, please remember a few things.
First of all, be nice to your cashiers and retail workers. Contrary to popular belief, most of them have not chosen this as their life's work. They have taken whatever job they could because they had few other choices. Yes, we all know the downsides when we apply for retail. But you don't have to make it worse for them. Also, keep in mind that since many of them were hired specifically for the Christmas season, they may not be as knowledgeable as you think they should be. Some of us who have been doing this for years are overwhelmed. The newbies are even more so. Be patient.
Secondly, tip well. Did you know that as minimum wage has gone up for most everyone else, the standard federal minimum wage for servers is still $2.13 per hour? And even though restaurants are required to make sure their servers are being tipped enough to equate to minimum wage, many still don't. The industry standard for tips is now 18%. Of course, you will have the occasional rude or hard to find server. But if you can see that your server is working hard to take care of all of their customers, make sure you give them a fair tip. Most of them are working very hard and long hours and need that extra couple of bucks more than you know. Fun fact: It is a well known fact that Sundays are horrible for servers because church people are horrible tippers. Don't be that customer.
Third, make an effort to keep Christmas what it is supposed to be. As I stated earlier, it is NOT about the deals, the presents, the endless lists of friends and family members. It is about Christ, about celebrating family, about being content with what you have (okay, that was today, but it goes for the rest of the year as well). It may sound strange coming from a retail associate to say things like that, as I can only have a job as long as my companies are making money. But it is no less true. So pay attention to what it's really all about. It's so easy to get caught up in the crazy. Don't let it steal your real Christmas joy.
I'm sure almost everyone knows what Black Friday is and why, but I feel the need to give a little explanation tonight. The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is obviously the biggest shopping season of the year. Therefore, if a retail company has been in the "red" for most of the year, Christmas shopping will bring them back up into the "black." As you well know, the media has helped this process along by hyping up the deals that retailers offer and covering the chaos that is Black Friday shopping. At first, retailers would shockingly open at 6am to catch the early birds with great "doorbuster" deals. How could another retailer compete with that? By opening at 5am, of course. This competition has led to what is now being dubbed this year as "Black Thursday," when some stores such as Walmart and Toys R Us are opening as early as 9 and 10pm on Thanksgiving night.
Which is an awesome thing for companies, and for some customers who are looking for great deals. And arguably great for the economy, which we all know could use a little help these days. But is it really so great in the long run?
As I have been gearing up for work tomorrow, I have to wonder what this kind of consumerism does to us as a people, and to us specifically as Christians? I look at my precious little ones and think about how I want to make Christmas so special for them this year, since we've been through so much in the past several months. But when I think about the ways I can do that, it seems none of them really include toys or movies or games. I want to find creative and fun ways to teach my kids about what Christmas really is all about. For me, what that means is carefully explaining why we decorate, letting them play with a kid-friendly nativity set, teaching them to be generous and kind to others, and telling them the story of Christ's birth and our redemption. Of course, the will get toys. There will be puzzles and games, pajamas and sweaters, cars, and maybe a movie (anyone know if Cars 2 is on DVD yet?). But those are extra things. They are not what Christmas is about.
As you are standing in line and getting online for your deals this weekend, please remember a few things.
First of all, be nice to your cashiers and retail workers. Contrary to popular belief, most of them have not chosen this as their life's work. They have taken whatever job they could because they had few other choices. Yes, we all know the downsides when we apply for retail. But you don't have to make it worse for them. Also, keep in mind that since many of them were hired specifically for the Christmas season, they may not be as knowledgeable as you think they should be. Some of us who have been doing this for years are overwhelmed. The newbies are even more so. Be patient.
Secondly, tip well. Did you know that as minimum wage has gone up for most everyone else, the standard federal minimum wage for servers is still $2.13 per hour? And even though restaurants are required to make sure their servers are being tipped enough to equate to minimum wage, many still don't. The industry standard for tips is now 18%. Of course, you will have the occasional rude or hard to find server. But if you can see that your server is working hard to take care of all of their customers, make sure you give them a fair tip. Most of them are working very hard and long hours and need that extra couple of bucks more than you know. Fun fact: It is a well known fact that Sundays are horrible for servers because church people are horrible tippers. Don't be that customer.
Third, make an effort to keep Christmas what it is supposed to be. As I stated earlier, it is NOT about the deals, the presents, the endless lists of friends and family members. It is about Christ, about celebrating family, about being content with what you have (okay, that was today, but it goes for the rest of the year as well). It may sound strange coming from a retail associate to say things like that, as I can only have a job as long as my companies are making money. But it is no less true. So pay attention to what it's really all about. It's so easy to get caught up in the crazy. Don't let it steal your real Christmas joy.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Whirlwind. That's the most accurate way I can describe much of the last few years. We've worked so hard to keep our heads above water that we ended up missing out on life.
This is most evident to me as I watch Malachi and enjoy this time in his life. He's just shy of two now, and he's such a riot. I love his expressions, how he laughs and plays. I love how he tries to make me laugh no matter what. Thinking back two years ago, I realize I barely even remember Toby at this age. I don't know if it's just time passed or what we were going through then. I remember being very tired, stressed, and always frustrated with him. What happened between then and now?
I think a lot of it has to do with change. When Toby was about to turn two, Malachi was being born. I was looking at the calendar and realizing that winter was coming. Our house didn't have heat, and I worried about keeping them warm. We were not in a good place in our marriage. Not to bore anyone with unnecessary details, but it was just bad all around. We were on the brink. And we never had time. Nathan's job kept him away twice as much as he was home, and he was always tired.
It's different now. Nathan is still looking for work, but we are optomistic. We live with his parents right now, but it's not nearly as stressful to me as one would think it should be. I'm working two jobs, but it makes me appreciate the boys even more instead of making me too exhausted to see them. And I was told by a guy that I work with last week that he wants to go out to dinner with us so we can tell him how to have a good marriage. In two years, we've gone from the brink of disaster to the couple someone else is looking to for advice.
I can't pinpoint everything that has changed, but I do know one thing for sure. It is so much better to depend completely on God. That's what has changed in me. At that time, I was determined that it was my job to fix it. And I was overwhelmed because I knew I couldn't. What a difference a couple of years makes! I have to wonder where we would be if we had continued on the path we were taking.
And I wonder what I will say when I look back two years from now.
This is most evident to me as I watch Malachi and enjoy this time in his life. He's just shy of two now, and he's such a riot. I love his expressions, how he laughs and plays. I love how he tries to make me laugh no matter what. Thinking back two years ago, I realize I barely even remember Toby at this age. I don't know if it's just time passed or what we were going through then. I remember being very tired, stressed, and always frustrated with him. What happened between then and now?
I think a lot of it has to do with change. When Toby was about to turn two, Malachi was being born. I was looking at the calendar and realizing that winter was coming. Our house didn't have heat, and I worried about keeping them warm. We were not in a good place in our marriage. Not to bore anyone with unnecessary details, but it was just bad all around. We were on the brink. And we never had time. Nathan's job kept him away twice as much as he was home, and he was always tired.
It's different now. Nathan is still looking for work, but we are optomistic. We live with his parents right now, but it's not nearly as stressful to me as one would think it should be. I'm working two jobs, but it makes me appreciate the boys even more instead of making me too exhausted to see them. And I was told by a guy that I work with last week that he wants to go out to dinner with us so we can tell him how to have a good marriage. In two years, we've gone from the brink of disaster to the couple someone else is looking to for advice.
I can't pinpoint everything that has changed, but I do know one thing for sure. It is so much better to depend completely on God. That's what has changed in me. At that time, I was determined that it was my job to fix it. And I was overwhelmed because I knew I couldn't. What a difference a couple of years makes! I have to wonder where we would be if we had continued on the path we were taking.
And I wonder what I will say when I look back two years from now.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Morgan
Last summer was an interesting time. School was starting, and we were working hard as usual to keep our heads above water. Malachi was eight months old and just starting solid foods (my kids never took to purees), still nursing day and night. Toby was potty training. Things were hectic. There was one week in particular, though...
We had severe flooding in May, and August was threatening the same. One night when it was raining particularly hard and the news was broadcasting flash flood warnings, I went outside to check the water level in the storm drain. As I was heading back inside, I went down, feeling my ankle snap on the way. Laying on my couch, I called my boss and told her I wouldn't be able to make it in the next day, because my ankle was pretty badly sprained.
The next day, I was sitting on my porch while the boys were napping, and I realized something: My period was late. I had a pregnancy test in my bathroom, so I took it, and surprise! I was pregnant. Quite a shock, and I was a bit terrified. We were so broke. We had trouble providing for our family as it was. I couldn't imagine adding another child to the mix. I called Nathan and we agreed not to say anything to anyone for awhile.
That Sunday at church was special. The choir had been preparing a worship concert, and God's presence was palpable. We sang songs of God's provision and awesome power. We lifted our voices in praise and adoration. And I knelt at an altar and gave God my burden. I remember praying, "God I am so scared. But I know you are in control. I know you have it all taken care of, and I'm just going to trust in you. No matter what happens, I will trust you." Little did I know.
The next day, I had an appointment at the health department for a confirmation of pregnancy. I had scheduled it as early as possible so that I could get it done and get to work at nine a.m. I went in to give the sample and started bleeding. I wasn't sure if something was wrong or maybe I was just starting my period after all. When the nurse came in, she said, "Oh, about thirty percent of pregnancies are lost like this. It's not a big deal." They sent me to a doctor in Lebanon, where I gave a vial of blood and had a transvaginal ultrasound done. I was told it may just be too early to see anything, or it may be that I was miscarrying. They wouldn't know till they checked my hormone levels and then checked them again two days later.
It was a big deal to me. I had barely resigned myself to not having anymore kids because we couldn't afford it, and then I found out I was pregnant and might be losing a baby before I even knew for sure how I felt about being pregnant. I was a basket case. I had to call my mom, my mother in law, and my best friend with the news that I was pregnant, but I might not be for very much longer. I told God, "I know I said no matter what, but this wasn't what I meant." The response, "Peace, my child. I'm still God." I still had hope. After the initial blood at the health department, I didn't bleed anymore that day.
I went to work after I left the doctor's office to let the ladies know what was going on. I worked with some pretty interesting women at the time. They all liked to think they were my mother or grandmother, and had all kinds of advice for me. Mrs. Gari, one particularly interesting lady, said to me, "Why would you want another one?" As it turns out, those were her last words to me. I was sick the next day, and when I called in to work I was told she had passed away that night. Tragedy, but I was too focused on my baby to mourn. I'm not sure still what I was feeling at that time.
Wednesday, I went in for the next blood sample. I waited all day for the call telling me whether the levels had gone up or down. It never came. I went to church that night and told our choir and worship pastor what was going on. The prayer that was prayed did not ask for healing or the baby's health, but that God's will would be done. I resented that a little bit. I was beginning to think I was the only one who wanted this baby. That hurt.
Thursday morning, I got a call from the doctor. I was miscarrying. I cried for the rest of the day. But strangely, there was a kind of peace. God was still whispering in my ear, "Peace, my child. I am still God. You are still mine."
That weekend was an all church retreat. We went to the campground and spent time together. It was wonderful and peaceful. I lost my baby on Saturday.
I am so grateful for God's peace. Throughout that week, as hard as it was, God allowed me to know that I was firmly in his hand, that nothing was too big for him to handle. I never once questioned that I would someday get to meet my baby, that he or she was in the presence of God from the very beginning. I was surrounded by friends and family who have been through the same thing, who knew how to comfort me.
It's popular in these situations to say things like, "Everything happens for a reason," or "God wanted another flower in his garden," or "Your baby is an angel looking down on you from heaven," or "God took your baby because he knows what's best for you." None of these things are true or biblical, and I am thankful that I know that. Sometimes bad things happen, and there is no reason. And sometimes God allows it, even though it breaks his heart to see us endure so much pain. I don't serve a God who steals children from families because he wants them for himself. I serve a God who hurts when he sees his children hurting, who longs to give them peace and comfort if we will only let him. While I have grieved over the past year, I have for the first time known what it is to truly know the Peace of God.
We named our baby a couple of weeks ago. Morgan. It means "bright sea dweller." Fitting. In the Chronicles of Narnia, the bright sea is the sea that is at the end of our world, just before the land where Aslan comes from. Maybe one day we will meet there.
We had severe flooding in May, and August was threatening the same. One night when it was raining particularly hard and the news was broadcasting flash flood warnings, I went outside to check the water level in the storm drain. As I was heading back inside, I went down, feeling my ankle snap on the way. Laying on my couch, I called my boss and told her I wouldn't be able to make it in the next day, because my ankle was pretty badly sprained.
The next day, I was sitting on my porch while the boys were napping, and I realized something: My period was late. I had a pregnancy test in my bathroom, so I took it, and surprise! I was pregnant. Quite a shock, and I was a bit terrified. We were so broke. We had trouble providing for our family as it was. I couldn't imagine adding another child to the mix. I called Nathan and we agreed not to say anything to anyone for awhile.
That Sunday at church was special. The choir had been preparing a worship concert, and God's presence was palpable. We sang songs of God's provision and awesome power. We lifted our voices in praise and adoration. And I knelt at an altar and gave God my burden. I remember praying, "God I am so scared. But I know you are in control. I know you have it all taken care of, and I'm just going to trust in you. No matter what happens, I will trust you." Little did I know.
The next day, I had an appointment at the health department for a confirmation of pregnancy. I had scheduled it as early as possible so that I could get it done and get to work at nine a.m. I went in to give the sample and started bleeding. I wasn't sure if something was wrong or maybe I was just starting my period after all. When the nurse came in, she said, "Oh, about thirty percent of pregnancies are lost like this. It's not a big deal." They sent me to a doctor in Lebanon, where I gave a vial of blood and had a transvaginal ultrasound done. I was told it may just be too early to see anything, or it may be that I was miscarrying. They wouldn't know till they checked my hormone levels and then checked them again two days later.
It was a big deal to me. I had barely resigned myself to not having anymore kids because we couldn't afford it, and then I found out I was pregnant and might be losing a baby before I even knew for sure how I felt about being pregnant. I was a basket case. I had to call my mom, my mother in law, and my best friend with the news that I was pregnant, but I might not be for very much longer. I told God, "I know I said no matter what, but this wasn't what I meant." The response, "Peace, my child. I'm still God." I still had hope. After the initial blood at the health department, I didn't bleed anymore that day.
I went to work after I left the doctor's office to let the ladies know what was going on. I worked with some pretty interesting women at the time. They all liked to think they were my mother or grandmother, and had all kinds of advice for me. Mrs. Gari, one particularly interesting lady, said to me, "Why would you want another one?" As it turns out, those were her last words to me. I was sick the next day, and when I called in to work I was told she had passed away that night. Tragedy, but I was too focused on my baby to mourn. I'm not sure still what I was feeling at that time.
Wednesday, I went in for the next blood sample. I waited all day for the call telling me whether the levels had gone up or down. It never came. I went to church that night and told our choir and worship pastor what was going on. The prayer that was prayed did not ask for healing or the baby's health, but that God's will would be done. I resented that a little bit. I was beginning to think I was the only one who wanted this baby. That hurt.
Thursday morning, I got a call from the doctor. I was miscarrying. I cried for the rest of the day. But strangely, there was a kind of peace. God was still whispering in my ear, "Peace, my child. I am still God. You are still mine."
That weekend was an all church retreat. We went to the campground and spent time together. It was wonderful and peaceful. I lost my baby on Saturday.
I am so grateful for God's peace. Throughout that week, as hard as it was, God allowed me to know that I was firmly in his hand, that nothing was too big for him to handle. I never once questioned that I would someday get to meet my baby, that he or she was in the presence of God from the very beginning. I was surrounded by friends and family who have been through the same thing, who knew how to comfort me.
It's popular in these situations to say things like, "Everything happens for a reason," or "God wanted another flower in his garden," or "Your baby is an angel looking down on you from heaven," or "God took your baby because he knows what's best for you." None of these things are true or biblical, and I am thankful that I know that. Sometimes bad things happen, and there is no reason. And sometimes God allows it, even though it breaks his heart to see us endure so much pain. I don't serve a God who steals children from families because he wants them for himself. I serve a God who hurts when he sees his children hurting, who longs to give them peace and comfort if we will only let him. While I have grieved over the past year, I have for the first time known what it is to truly know the Peace of God.
We named our baby a couple of weeks ago. Morgan. It means "bright sea dweller." Fitting. In the Chronicles of Narnia, the bright sea is the sea that is at the end of our world, just before the land where Aslan comes from. Maybe one day we will meet there.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Malachi's birth day
Birthdays are a big deal in our family. I am one of very few people that doesn't share a birthday with someone else or a holiday. My mother in law and younger brother in law have the same birthday. My husband's birthday is the week after theirs, and he shares it with our "adopted" sister. Toby's birthday is three weeks after Nathan's, and it will sometimes fall on Thanksgiving. My sister in law shares a birthday with a very close cousin. My brother and my brother in law's birthdays are only three days apart. You get the picture. Almost everyone in our family shares birthdays.
So when we found out I was pregnant and calculated the due date, my husband got very excited. His birthday is November 10, and I was due November 7. He said for nine months straight how he hoped I went past my due date. And I replied with some comment about kicking him if I did. I didn't think I would, seeing as how Toby was a couple of weeks early, but I also wasn't that worried about it. I figured he would come when he came, and I wasn't going to rush it.
I made an appointment with a local midwife soon after I found out I was pregnant, and the first thing she said to me was, "So I guess we're scheduling a repeat section?" I said, "No. I did that already. I want a VBAC." She went on to explain that since our local hospital was not staffed for 24 hour emergency surgery, they did not accept VBAC patients. I was pretty disappointed. We had driven over an hour to the hospital with Toby, and I was really hoping to give birth locally this time. But I soon found the midwives' practice in Cookeville, and my disappointment faded quickly. It was so worth the drive.
Fast forward to my due date. Nathan was scheduled to work overtime in Nashville. Our midwives' practice and hospital were in Cookeville. We live in Carthage, and only had one car. If you're looking at a map right now, you see why this might pose a problem. We packed Toby up in the car along with the hospital suitcase, and went to Nashville with Nathan. I didn't want to be stuck with no vehicle and only a crappy hospital nearby if I went into labor while he was an hour's drive away.
It was a beautiful day. I took Toby to the park, and we walked the 1.1 mile loop about fifteen times. We went to a basketball game at my alma mater and went up and down a flight of stairs about twenty times. And then we went out for Mexican food, where I downed about five shots of Pico de Gallo. I was so determined to get this baby out, because the OB overseeing my case had mentioned "induction" if I went too far past my "due" date. I did not really want to be induced.
Needless to say, Malachi was still in there when I went for my appointment on the 10th. Poor Nathan had to spend his birthday taking me to the midwife. Dr. Casal (who I really do respect and appreciate) pretty much looked at me and said, "You're still pregnant? Let's schedule you to come to the hospital in the morning and we'll break your water."
At this point, my parents were already on their way up from Florida. I had already been pregnant two weeks longer than I felt like I should have been (remember Toby was born at 38 weeks). And Nathan didn't have too many more vacation days left to spend on this situation. So I agreed. We went to an Italian restaurant and ate eggplant parmesan at the nurses' suggestion. It didn't send me into labor, but it sure was yummy.
My parents got in at 2am, and we got up at 4am to get to the hospital. They broke my water at 7am, and started the Pitocin. I was at a 7 by about 11am, and begging for an epidural (have you ever had Pitocin contractions? They are PAINFUL!). So I started pushing about an hour later, and Malachi was out after less than an hour of pushing. Dr. Casal wanted to do an episiotomy, but I talked him out of it, and managed to tear just enough for my little thumb sucker to come out with his fist up by his face, already trying to get it in his mouth.
I wrote in Toby's story that I dealt with horrible PPD. I knew throughout my entire pregnancy with Malachi that I was still a little messed up. I promised my husband that I would get help after he was born if I was still feeling off. I mention this because of what happened when I pushed Malachi out. I felt the most amazing sense of "rightness." I told Nathan later that it was as if a switch had flipped, and I was back to normal. All of those feelings of failure, of worry, of anger and bitterness at the people who violated me, they were gone. Malachi wasn't the only one born that day. I experienced a rebirth, too.
When little piggy came out, he was wonderfully red and had a beautiful lumpy head, just like babies are supposed to when they enter the world. He weight eight pounds even, and was born with fat rolls around his little legs. He was so adorable. He came out with an appetite, too. He cried for me the whole time he was being weighed and checked, and went right for the breast as soon as they gave him back to me. He nursed like a champ from the get-go, and didn't stop until I decided I needed to get some sleep a year later.
I knew that the recovery would be better than the cesarean recovery, but I didn't know how much better. The day after Toby was born, I was struggling to make a lap around the maternity floor in the hospital. The day after Malachi was born, I was packing up a heavy suitcase to go home. We went home the day after he was born, and I was out running errands while my mom watched him sleep. I felt incredible! I could not (and still can not) imagine why anyone would choose to have a c-section.
Malachi and Toby will be two and four years old this November. Their birthdays fit them so well. Toby was born the day after Thanksgiving, the day we spend every year giving thanks to God for His blessings and provision, and for bringing us through times of trouble. Malachi was born the day after his daddy's birthday, on Veterans' Day. I think after his birth, we all felt like veterans. Obviously not of war, like many of our family members, but veterans of birth. We had fought a terrible experience, depression and frustration, and we won. I saw a t-shirt a couple of weeks later, and it fit so well. "ICAN. I did it, and I would do it again."
So when we found out I was pregnant and calculated the due date, my husband got very excited. His birthday is November 10, and I was due November 7. He said for nine months straight how he hoped I went past my due date. And I replied with some comment about kicking him if I did. I didn't think I would, seeing as how Toby was a couple of weeks early, but I also wasn't that worried about it. I figured he would come when he came, and I wasn't going to rush it.
I made an appointment with a local midwife soon after I found out I was pregnant, and the first thing she said to me was, "So I guess we're scheduling a repeat section?" I said, "No. I did that already. I want a VBAC." She went on to explain that since our local hospital was not staffed for 24 hour emergency surgery, they did not accept VBAC patients. I was pretty disappointed. We had driven over an hour to the hospital with Toby, and I was really hoping to give birth locally this time. But I soon found the midwives' practice in Cookeville, and my disappointment faded quickly. It was so worth the drive.
Fast forward to my due date. Nathan was scheduled to work overtime in Nashville. Our midwives' practice and hospital were in Cookeville. We live in Carthage, and only had one car. If you're looking at a map right now, you see why this might pose a problem. We packed Toby up in the car along with the hospital suitcase, and went to Nashville with Nathan. I didn't want to be stuck with no vehicle and only a crappy hospital nearby if I went into labor while he was an hour's drive away.
It was a beautiful day. I took Toby to the park, and we walked the 1.1 mile loop about fifteen times. We went to a basketball game at my alma mater and went up and down a flight of stairs about twenty times. And then we went out for Mexican food, where I downed about five shots of Pico de Gallo. I was so determined to get this baby out, because the OB overseeing my case had mentioned "induction" if I went too far past my "due" date. I did not really want to be induced.
Needless to say, Malachi was still in there when I went for my appointment on the 10th. Poor Nathan had to spend his birthday taking me to the midwife. Dr. Casal (who I really do respect and appreciate) pretty much looked at me and said, "You're still pregnant? Let's schedule you to come to the hospital in the morning and we'll break your water."
At this point, my parents were already on their way up from Florida. I had already been pregnant two weeks longer than I felt like I should have been (remember Toby was born at 38 weeks). And Nathan didn't have too many more vacation days left to spend on this situation. So I agreed. We went to an Italian restaurant and ate eggplant parmesan at the nurses' suggestion. It didn't send me into labor, but it sure was yummy.
My parents got in at 2am, and we got up at 4am to get to the hospital. They broke my water at 7am, and started the Pitocin. I was at a 7 by about 11am, and begging for an epidural (have you ever had Pitocin contractions? They are PAINFUL!). So I started pushing about an hour later, and Malachi was out after less than an hour of pushing. Dr. Casal wanted to do an episiotomy, but I talked him out of it, and managed to tear just enough for my little thumb sucker to come out with his fist up by his face, already trying to get it in his mouth.
I wrote in Toby's story that I dealt with horrible PPD. I knew throughout my entire pregnancy with Malachi that I was still a little messed up. I promised my husband that I would get help after he was born if I was still feeling off. I mention this because of what happened when I pushed Malachi out. I felt the most amazing sense of "rightness." I told Nathan later that it was as if a switch had flipped, and I was back to normal. All of those feelings of failure, of worry, of anger and bitterness at the people who violated me, they were gone. Malachi wasn't the only one born that day. I experienced a rebirth, too.
When little piggy came out, he was wonderfully red and had a beautiful lumpy head, just like babies are supposed to when they enter the world. He weight eight pounds even, and was born with fat rolls around his little legs. He was so adorable. He came out with an appetite, too. He cried for me the whole time he was being weighed and checked, and went right for the breast as soon as they gave him back to me. He nursed like a champ from the get-go, and didn't stop until I decided I needed to get some sleep a year later.
I knew that the recovery would be better than the cesarean recovery, but I didn't know how much better. The day after Toby was born, I was struggling to make a lap around the maternity floor in the hospital. The day after Malachi was born, I was packing up a heavy suitcase to go home. We went home the day after he was born, and I was out running errands while my mom watched him sleep. I felt incredible! I could not (and still can not) imagine why anyone would choose to have a c-section.
Malachi and Toby will be two and four years old this November. Their birthdays fit them so well. Toby was born the day after Thanksgiving, the day we spend every year giving thanks to God for His blessings and provision, and for bringing us through times of trouble. Malachi was born the day after his daddy's birthday, on Veterans' Day. I think after his birth, we all felt like veterans. Obviously not of war, like many of our family members, but veterans of birth. We had fought a terrible experience, depression and frustration, and we won. I saw a t-shirt a couple of weeks later, and it fit so well. "ICAN. I did it, and I would do it again."
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