Jesus Came to Serve

The day starts, today for instance- wet beds and fussy kiddos.  Muddy dog paws and literally spilt milk.  Leaky faucets, no time for a shower.  Behavior issues and eating issues.  Running late for doctor appointments.  Crappy doctor appointments.  Screaming and tantruming kids- and the loneliness that comes from no one understanding. Runny noses and scraped knees.  More anger and more fear.  More pain in some of my children that wrecks me and ruins me and leaves me crying.  A husband home late and car repairs. A grocery list I didn't complete.  Dinner that never got made. Winter decorations still on my mantle.  More problems and more issues that run deeper and thicker than I could ever put on paper. 

I begin to feel lost again.  I feel like a failure.  I feel a mess and I want to hide from it all.  I don't know how to redeem the day and the messes.  I find myself longing for the things of this world.  A maid, a new job, kids that don't have handicaps and medical issues, a shower and makeup, and the spiral begins.  I am looking for my identity in places that it shouldn't be and I am upset when I can't find it there.

It's 8:30 at night and the kids need to get to bed.  Kenney and I stare at each other, and I see the brokenness he sees. It's the week of Easter.  Every single night we pray with our children.  We pray they see Jesus as glorious and holy.  We pray they believe and accept Jesus as their savior.  We pray they see themselves in need of a savior and we pray they see Jesus as their everything.  Yet, these littles, they look to us to see that, and when I look in the mirror, do I see Jesus?

So we gather in the middle of the kitchen floor.  In the last moments of the day I confess my sins.  I tell them all I love them.  That I yelled when I shouldn't and  I complained when I had so much to be thankful for. I used words that were not loving and I lived selfishly.  I tell them all I am sorry.  We talk about Jesus forgiving me of my sins, and how much I need, and my children all need a savior. 

I tell them mommy can't be a good mommy without Jesus.  Only Jesus can make me a good mommy, and only Jesus can make them good sons and daughters.  Because there is only one good and perfect man, and His name is Jesus.  I tell them, if we believe, we get Jesus- we get His good and perfect record as our own. We get grace. A couple of the older ones start to think about that. 

We didn't do a passover dinner, as much as in my mind I wished we could have.  (My mom came over and made us some Mexican tortillas) We didn't do Lenten devotions as I wished we would have.  We didn't do Easter crafts and empty tombs to celebrate His death and Resurrection.  We messed up a lot.

But tonight, we stopped everything rolled up each others pant legs and removed our socks and read together:

 

John 13:4-5 So he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he had around him.

 

 

John 13:12-17 When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, “Do you understand what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am.  If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.

Every last one of us washed each other's feet.  It was all I had in me to keep from crying the entire time.  Jesus came to serve.  And He served perfectly, without sin.  Washing each others feet made that so clear and obvious. 

The day has been redeemed.  All my failures, all of my sin, it's washed away.  I believe and claim the One Perfect Servant as my Savior.   The sorrow that seems to consume so much of our days, can still be met with rejoicing!  For in Christ, we have everything.  In Christ we are full of an infinite supply of everything we need.  In that fullness, at the end of the day, we can serve, and wash each others feet. We will go to sleep tonight resting in the knowledge of His grace, and the peace that it brings to our weary hearts.

  2 Corinthians 6: 3...10 In everything we do, we show that we are true ministers of God....as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything.

To tell the truth...

Five of them.

That's how many drafts of incomplete stories from just the last 30 days sit unpublished.

At the end of a day like today, what could I possibly write?

A dear friend, a much wiser and mature Christian friend told me (and I paraphrase) "Sometimes, if I told the truth, about what I felt and what I did, people would seriously be calling me, wondering about my faith, and questioning my sanity, and surely questioning my ability to be a wife, a mother, and a spiritual leader."

The truth is, I don't want to tell the truth.  I'm okay with telling some of the story, but honestly, I don't want anyone to know the whole truth.  I want to hide away the hurt, hide away the mistakes, the pain, the words, the drama, the big fat mess that my life really is.

I read a lot, and I think a lot.  I've been thinking about the Psalms.  Thinking about the different Psalms.  The ones about pain and hurt, the ones about happiness, about joy, about redemption and peace.  There are Psalms about anxiety, Psalms about love, discouragement, awe, delight and fear.  What a mix of emotions.  What emotional people we really are.  What an emotional person I really am. 

The truth is, I am a bunch of emotions.  To say today was only all about joy and that I was thankful and full, happy and in awe of the gifts and grace my Father bestows upon me would really be a lie.  Ask some of the people who witnessed the anger and frustration of my day.  And yet, today, the same day I received a letter in the mail from my grandma filled with words of happiness and history and pain and sorrow... an excerpt...

"You are a kind granddaughter, never to be forgotten...  Since my husband is deceased, he can't remember me...I remember the times we talked at night...Memories are great."

 

All of the thoughts that overflow.  And the irony is, my grandma has Alzheimer's and when I read the words, I wonder.... will she always remember me?  30-some years later does she miss her husband?  Is there still pain and loss?  I do remember the fun times shared with my grandma.  Doing puzzles, and eating fish-sticks,  really- great memories. Memories that DO make me happy.  How can it be?  All these feelings in just one card, a couple words on a page....

 

I do not know what the future holds.  I don't know exactly if these thoughts, so conflicting, will always rage war in my mind.  Today they do.

 

I fight battles with and for my children.  I think all parents fight battles for and with their children.  Some battles that I fight, I fight because some of my children have been adopted.  Not all parents who adopt fight these same battles.  Not all parents have children who struggle the same.  But some of my hardest battles are because my children come from a broken past.  I firmly believe the enemy, Satan, would love to claim the lives of my children, and from where he was sitting, my children, sitting in an orphanage, with no parents, little food, little clothing, no one to share with them the love of Jesus, no one to advocate on their behalf, no one.... I believe it had to look good, in Satan's favor.  I can't imagine he's happy they are here.  I can't imagine he's delighted that they hear about Jesus every day.  I can't imagine he's happy they have a mom and dad to forever love them, and forever point them to Jesus in any and every way possible.  I fight battles.  I grow weary. 

 

I fight and win battles with Christ.  We make progress. We fight to claim our children, as OURS, as orphans no more.  We fight to erase what they have been taught.  We fight to make them believe they are OURS.  We make progress, we make so much progress.  God is so gracious, so faithful, so beautiful and loving towards us.  We are in awe daily of how HE grows us, changes us, and changes and uses us and our children.

 

Yet, somehow, amidst all the joy, all the change, all the growth, hurt and defeat creep in.  I am amazed though, at what I have found to "kill" me the most.  It's the everyone else. 

 

There are two (okay three... after typing, I had to add another...oops...seriously...   I now have four.... I have a problem, admittedly I do)  practical conclusions that I have arrived at this evening. 

 

1.  Antarctica is cold. Africa is hot.  But... do the people in Africa have any understanding of being cold like the people (if there were ones) in Antarctica?  Do the people (if there were ones) in Antarctica have any understanding of being hot, like the people in Africa?  The point really is, there is something that I very much lack in understanding regarding the things, I have no experience with.  I do not know what it is like to be a widow.  I do not know what it is like to loose a parent.  I don't know what divorce is like.  I don't know about LOTS of things.  I have been hurt many times, too many times, by the ones I love, because I am in Antarctica, and they are in Africa.  Neither hot nor cold is any better or worse in theory.  Yet, because we have and deal with "issues" related to things some have not experienced, it seems a perfect breeding ground for things like anger, frustration, condemnation, and mostly judgement to pop up.

 

2.  I am just as guilty.  I have compassion so much for the new mom with a new baby that doesn't stop crying.  I want to love on the parents who have just arrived home with their newly adopted child.  I want to help the marriages that fight to be set apart from what the world deems as a "healthy marriage".  I have understanding and grace to extend to almost everyone who has experienced any experience that I have personally experienced.  That's it.  Single moms.... probably not on my radar.  Widows, cancer patients, divorcees.... I don't know about that... so I find myself lacking grace, lacking compassion, and surely saying words that hurt, words that cut, actions that at the end of the day, make those whom I've sinned against feel weary and defeated. 

 

3.  I fail to obey and conform to Christ's character.  I have put the recognition and acceptance of other's in the place of Jesus.  In other words, instead of looking to Christ to fill me, making me feel complete and accepted, I have put something else in His place.  I need the gospel.  Every. Single. Day.  It is only in going back to the gospel, going back to what Christ did for me on the cross, that I can be gripped by the reality of what He did for me and who I am in Him.  (awesome article on the subject, taken from here)

 

4.  I have to believe that God has delivered everything I need in the person and work of Jesus.  I have to believe that God's love is a one way love.  His love for me is unconditional.  In Christ, I have all the love, affection and worth I need, based on the person and work of Jesus. All that I tend to seek and need in less places (the acceptance and love of other, friends, family, etc) I have in Jesus.  In Christ, my deepest needs are met. I have found that when I am most resistant to love others, and serve others it is because I am afraid that I may not be loved or served back.  But, the gospel OBLITERATES that fear.  IN CHRIST MY DEEPEST NEEDS ARE MET.  That sets me free!

 

As the clock nears 1:30 am and my thoughts have gone full circle.  I rest in these thoughts.  Pain will happen, weakness will happen, insults, hardships, persecutions, difficulties.... they are all gonna happen.  People will hurt me, the ones I love will hurt me.  But, His grace - the gospel-  the finished work of Jesus on the cross is sufficient, is enough, is completely, 100% everything I need.  The more I focus on the cross, the more I see that a loving and perfect God, whom while I was still a sinner, died for me and wiped the slate clean, took away my sins, made me white as snow.... Redeemed me and has called me His daughter, the more I focus on that, the more He IS everything I need. 

 

 

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.  2 Corinthians 12:7-10

The Day After Christmas

For all of the December the 26th's I can remember, I in some way, have found myself crying. Some years a full out weeping with sobs a snotty nose and smeared mascara, and some years, just a small tear drop that slid down my cheek.

Sometimes, I cried because Christmas was over. Decorations were to come down.  Christmas break was almost over and school would be starting soon. No more Christmas cookies, no more Christmas music, no more holiday parties. Sometimes I cried because of my own sin- ways I "messed up" Christmas. Lies I told, people I hurt, places I shouldn't be, sin I knew I shouldn't be involved in. Sometimes I cried because of broken relationships, loneliness, and an unexplainable sadness that just seemed to take over my heart.

I always knew that Christmas was not about a day, and not about presents, or decorations, or any of the magical things Christmas was promoted to be. I had sat through dozens of Christmas day church services, went to midnight masses, Christmas Eve vigils, lit advent candles, and read Christmas devotions. I knew that Jesus came to save the world from our sins. I knew that He died for me. I knew all of the real reasons for Christmas. I knew about the virgin Mary, the realness and messiness of an infant Jesus coming into this world. I knew about the prophecies Jesus fulfilled. I knew Jesus came to this earth for me, and the rest of the world full of sinners. I knew all of those things. And yet, I cried.


Tonight is December the 26th and I sit on my couch pondering. The fire is smoldering on a bed of ashes that is 3 days old and needs to be cleaned. The lights are twinkling and casting an almost magical glow from our Christmas tree. I can see Tommy's socks in the middle of the living room floor, and I chuckle, because I know he pulled them off before he went to bed-he hates wearing socks to bed. The kitchen is halfway clean. The dishwasher is loaded to as full as it can be and the rest of the dishes sit waiting for their turn in the dishwasher tomorrow. Toys and tags and paper are still strewn about in bits and pieces from yesterdays festivities. Everyone is asleep. I can hear Isabell tossing and turning. I can hear Noah breathing too loud. The dogs are dreaming, because I can hear their nails clicking on the floor as they must be imagining they are running. I feel more tired than I have ever been, and yet I sit here awake. 

So many things to think about. So many things I want to remember, I want to share, I want to write down. Yet, I've not done that for two months. 

My heart is so full. Full of sadness- I wanted to write down, to do something in the month of November to celebrate and promote adoption, after all November is national adoption month and I have three children whom we adopted, and I did nothing.  Full of joy- I wanted to write about friendship. In my entire life I have struggled with friendships and slowly, very, very slowly, I have found and learned so much about what I was missing and where I was wrong. I wanted to remember the friends that have helped us. The dozens of ladies that made meals when we came home from China, that will never understand how much they blessed us. How pivotal their generosity to a person most of them barely knew, taught me so much about the character of Jesus. The friends that sat outside on our back porch and chatted on hot summer nights, listening to crickets chirping under a blanket of northwest Indiana stars. The talks we had about Jesus and silly YouTube videos will forever be a noteworthy memory of mine, the comfort and ease and importance of our conversations taught me more about fellowship than I have ever known. Full of pain- the brokenness of my children. The difficulty and struggles as a mamma I have with parenting... parenting little ones, parenting kids from hard places, parenting handicapped kids, parenting when nothing makes sense, and everything hurts. Full of change- a new niece, new schedules, new projects, new paperwork, new friends.  Full of confusion- going where God leads us, continuing to grow, being challenged in our marriage, in our home, in our family, in our finances, in almost every. single. decision. this year we have been challenged to think deeper, seek God's kingdom first, and that has made things harder, harder, because no longer can we be okay with living in our flesh, no longer can we make decisions solely based on what is "best for us", and that brings about changes, daily changes that require us to every single day die to ourselves and allow Him to increase and force us to decrease. 

We are in the middle. In the middle of joy and pain. So many days I cry to my mother about the children I can't parent, only to find myself hours later building a couch fort and snuggling with the kiddos with a flashlight a good book smiling because they are all so precious and life is so good.

Maybe I am fickle. Maybe I am complicated and random. Maybe a bit unstable. Maybe a bit too mouthy.

But tonight is December the 26th and in the 32 years of December the 26th's I can remember, this is the first time I am not crying. In fact I have found myself with a slight smile on my face. Growth and change is not easy. It's hard and messy. It's painful and full of scabs that get reopened and scars that don't want to go away. But to know Jesus.... but to know Jesus.

I can't say that I didn't know Him, but I can say, I didn't know Him, like I do today. All the times I ran from Him, He loved me, and still died for me. All the times I knowingly chose sin, chose to hurt my loved ones, chose to live for myself, chose to steal, to lie, to sin against His commandments, all those times, He loved me.  His mercy for me is unfathomable. All the times He should have abandoned me, He didn't. All the times I thought He did, He was only growing me, disciplining me, challenging me, using what Satan had planned for death, He used for His glory through me. Each day the innumerable times I know better, and yet I parent out of anger, I parent out of frustration, I parent out of selfishness, He is still there- giving me new mercies every morning, and extending me His grace. Every stupid argument with my family, my husband, my sisters, my parents, my in-laws. He is still there, loving me, loving me, His love never changing. No matter my sin, His love doesn't change. On the days I yelled at my kids more than ever, why did I somehow think He loved me any less than the days I didn't yell? Why did I ever think His arms were not open? 

His love has always been there, always been first, and it's His love that changes me. It's his love that grows me. Knowing my savior loves me like this, is what makes me love. It's what brings joy to my broken heart. His love is what grows me. His love is what makes me want to "sin no more." 

It's this unconditional, unfathomable, indescribable love, that He freely gives me, that on this December the 26th in all of the 32 years of December the 26th's keeps me smiling, and brings joy and peace to my heart.

  To keep this joy in my heart forever.  I write it down to remember. 

The Joy of The Lord is My Strength

Today I read the words:

"the Joy of the Lord is my strength." -Nehemiah 8:10

But...

and I find myself making excuses for lacking Joy in my life.

Everywhere I look I see pain.  I watch four of my five children dance in a circle chanting nursery rhymes while one child sits in my lap watching, and each time Audrey watches the video on my phone all I can think is one child is missing from the circle.... one child who can't dance, or run, and never will.  I clean up cat puke all over bed sheets, and I endlessly vacuum hairball monsters from two big shedding dogs.  I wake up and look in the mirror each morning and see wrinkles and tired eyes, and my dad tells me I drink too much coffee, that it's not good for me.  The kitchen floor is spattered with apple juice and dirty footprints, sticky reminders of the work I've yet to complete.  One child struggles, struggles to just remember his name.  Dogs bark when kids are napping.  Streams of mud run through the yard where we've yet to get seeds planted.  I am tired.  Kenney is tired.  Our cars are old and make noises we know mean their end is near. Job opportunities don't happen.  I make phone call after phone call, just to make things work that should already work.  I hear the stories, the pain in the voices of my friends.  A mommy who doesn't know why their daughter doesn't want to live anymore.  A friend an ocean away who holds another baby in her arms that will never have a chance to have a mommy or daddy.  An email telling me the painful loss of child after child.  A dad who can't find work.  A little girl whose heart may one day soon stop beating.  I see it everywhere, in my house, in my children, in myself, in the world.  The pain, the disability, the loss, the tears, sobbing wailing hurts that don't go away. 

Yet...

"the Joy of the Lord is my strength." -Nehemiah 8:10

And I want to search for joy.  How?  How do I get this Joy? 

I've read and re-read this verse for years, years, almost my entire life.

"for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.  I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.  I can do all this through him who gives me strength. " Philippians 4:12-13

I sit with my oldest in the morning. We review the letters and their sounds, and we write the little "b" and little "d" and each and every day we say their sounds and we say "first the bat and then the ball, and first the doorknob then the door"  and we sound out every letter in every sentence, over and over again, and when we've sounded all the words out we put it together and say the sentence, and we do it over and over again, sound by sound, word by word, sentence by sentence. 

It is no miracle he is reading.  He reviews each and every day the sounds the letters make, the long sounds and short sounds, the consonants and vowels.  We put letter tiles together, we play games, we write the letter and repeat their sounds, we sing songs, over and over again, we say it, do it, repeat it.

Tonight I watch him sit with Grandma on the couch and read her a story.  She kisses his forehead and tells him how proud she is of him, and what a great job he is doing.  He gets up and plays with his new cars, as if it's no big deal, as if reading was so easy, so simple.  But, I have worked with him and watched him, and practiced with him, I know the whole story.


"for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength. " Philippians 4:12-13

and again I read it, this time in the book One Thousand Gifts. 

and this time one word hit me.

Learned.

It clicks, it's such a fault of mine, listening to the orchestra play Chorus 21 in Handel's Messiah.  The violins dancing, together, perfectly creating beautiful music.  I want to sit here forever and listen and have the waves of joy and peace and great meditative words crash over me, like "His burden is easy and His yoke is light"  How can I keep this Joy forever?  I didn't see the hours the orchestra put into practice, the time each member spent at home.  Hours of listening to every note, holding their bow to get just the right sound, each eighth note, sixteenth note, over and over again.  Fingers chapped.  Necks with kinks.  Dreams filled with note after note, sound after sound. The bow to the strings, cradling the instrument to her neck, holding the bow, moving the bow, work, learning, practice, it creates the beautiful music, over and over again.


I see it in the violinist.  I see it in my son.  Learning.  Beauty.  Joy.

I read more pages from her book.  I wonder if I believe this.  I think my actions would say that I do.

"That I believe Satan’s way is more powerful, more practical, more fulfilling in my daily life than Jesus’ way? Why else get angry?
So when I, I Laura choose (and it is a choice, always is... thanks dad!) I do it. I crush my joy with bitterness and I purposefully choose to take the way of the Prince of Darkness.
Cynicism isn’t strength and ranting doesn’t rejuvenate and frustration can never accomplish what Faith can.

Does my life testify to my belief in the power of complaint — or the power of Christ? "

I want to learn.  I desperately want to learn.  I want the JOY of the Lord as my strength. 

I will do something. 

I read more:

"The thing is: The cynics, they can only speak of the dark, of the obvious, and this is not hard. For all it’s supposed sophistication, it’s cynicism that’s simplistic. In a fallen world, how profound is it to see the cracks?"

This is me.  I see my daughter who can not walk, and my son who can't talk, the friends with hurts, and the mess and the dirt and the suffering, and each day I point it out.  I see it.  I drink it in.  I go to sleep with it in my heart.  I see the cracks each and every day.  In this fallen world I stare at the cracks.

I don't want to be that.  I want the JOY of the Lord.

It is coming together, I see more, I get more, I begin to understand.

The sages and prophets, the disciples and revolutionaries, they are the ones up on the ramparts, up on the wall pointing to the dawn of the new Kingdom coming, pointing to the light that breaks through all things broken, pointing to redemption always rising and to the Blazing God who never sleeps.

The brilliant don’t deny the dark but they are the ones who always seek the light in everything.

I want to be THAT kind of girl.  I want to see the light of redemption.  His grace in my life, His grace over the earth.

I will learn.  I commit myself to learn.

I will write it down.  I will look for it.  Look for grace.  I will memorize the sounds. Repeat them over and over again.  Sing the songs over and over again.  I will put my pen to the paper of my little book, my learning to find JOY.  I have spent too much time DOING nothing, and wondering why I haven't learned. I need calloused fingers and kinks in my neck.  I need flash cards and a mentor.  I need to see His grace daily and remember, repeat, memorize, apply.  I want to come to the place, where I like Paul can say "I have learned"

the hum of my furnace fan
Bella's soft puppy dog ears
reading in the sunshine
the comfort of a freezer pizza in the oven
coloring with my kids
the chattering of my first child up
MY farmer's toes cracking down the hall
a dinosaur like blue heron gliding over the pond
my babies buried in leaf piles

His grace poured out on me... daily... each and every moment.... I will learn.

I am writing it down to learn.

Numbers on the page to remind me, teach me.

Scriptures in my memory to remind me, teach me.


I begin my joy journey, with a notebook and flashcards, a good book and THE Good Book.  Friends to help me- spur me on. 

I pray for calloused fingers and a kink in my neck, as I know it will produce the most beautiful symphony in my heart.

"the Joy of the Lord is my strength." -Nehemiah 8:10
 

In Heaven

2 Corinthians 12:9
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.

Why write about something that hurts?  Why write about pain, suffering, and heartache?  Because, when I remember those things, I remember HIS work in my life. 

I need to remember the strength and power of Christ.  I too easily forget.  It is not in my accomplishments, it is not in my dreams or goals, not in my "good" behavior, or in my completed tasks - at the end of the day, where Christ's power is, is in my weakness, in my suffering, in the things that hurt.

To share my weaknesses... why?

Because Christ did not die to create isolated worshipping individuals. He died to create Christ-exalting friendships. That is, he died and rose again to create the church. (taken from a sermon found here) We are not alone.  We are to love one another, build one another up, encourage one another, admonish one another in the truth.  Sharing my story, sharing HIS story in me, is all about bringing HIM glory.

April of 2008 Kenney and I decided to adopt from Russia.  Lest anyone think that what I wrote below fueled the decision to adopt, read this again.

About seven weeks later I was pregnant.

In September of 2008, I had a mis-carriage.

From the beginning of the pregnancy I knew something wasn't "normal".  There really was nothing different. I felt fine, looked fine, everything was ordinary.  About 8 weeks into the pregnancy I had some spotting.  I did the "google thing"  and spent an entire night I think, looking up what it could be. Everything seemed to point to this could just be again "normal".  Well, Kenney was so worried, which got me worried and we decided to have things checked out.  Again, everything  seemed fine.  The baby had a heartbeat, which was again "normal".

We went home still feeling uncomfortable.  We both knew something was wrong.  God was preparing our hearts for what he already knew.  I remember reading that almost all miscarriages happen in the first trimester.  We just kept counting the days down, hoping to get past the 12 week mark, and be in the clear.  Twelve weeks came and went, and the feeling still loomed.  We prayed all the time, prayed for the life that was inside me, prayed for a healthy baby, prayed for God to comfort us. We prayed for answers.

Somewhere around the 15-16 week mark it happened.  That morning my sister in law dropped off my niece Corrine as usual.  The day began as usual.  Me and the two kiddos were playing on the deck outside, and I remember looking out to the creek, and thinking the last summer flowers still looked so pretty.  Lunch time happened, nap time happened, and then somewhere after that I had these terrible gut wrenching pains.  No, they were NOT cramps.  Nothing like cramps, nothing to be mistaken for a pulled muscle or girl things. I knew exactly what it was.  It was labor.  It felt just like labor with Tommy.  I called Kenney and asked him to come home early.

He got home and took care of Tommy, somewhere during that time my sister in law picked up Corrine.  I hid in the bathroom and cried.  I can't even explain the feelings that washed over me.  I was in so much pain that I had no actual thoughts,  I just felt heartache.  I just cried.  Labor was nearly impossible.  With Tommy through the pain and contractions there was always joy.  I knew I'd be holding my newborn baby soon.  This time there would be no baby to hold.  Labor is difficult, but the end result makes it worth it.  I felt exhausted, spent, almost numb.  There was no end result I could look forward to.  Kenney would come in and try to comfort me, but Tommy wasn't even two yet, so most of Kenney's time was spent with him.  I remember crying out to God,  I so badly wanted the pain to go away.  I felt like I had come to terms with loosing a baby, but to still have to go through all this pain, it just seemed cruel and unfair.  I wanted everything to be over.  I wanted to go to sleep and wake up and forget everything that had just happened.

Hours passed, and finally Tommy was in bed.  Kenney came in to be with me.  He wanted me to go to the hospital.  There was no way I was leaving the safety of my bathroom. I needed the comfort of quiet.  I needed to be alone with only Kenney.  I wanted my comfy T-shirt and bed to collapse into after this was done.  I wanted the lights dim.  I didn't want a hospital gown or bright fluorescent lights in my face.  I didn't want anyone telling me it would all be okay, or it was for the better, or some other form of non-comforting words.  For once in my life I had no words, and didn't want to hear any.  I just cried.  I never have cried for so long.  Kenney cried with me.  I remember him watching me.  I remember there was nothing he could do.  Every hour or so Kenney would ask if I wanted to go to the hospital and I'd scream violently, no.  At one point I remember telling him he'd have to pick me up and carry me kicking and screaming.  I am not a force to be reckoned with when I am angry I guess, seeing as he didn't take me!

Just as labor progresses with a full term pregnancy, so did mine.  My water broke, I started bleeding.  I remember reading that many women don't even recognize they are having a miscarriage because the baby can look like a large blood clot.  Kenney kept asking if that was "it"?  If it was over yet? And then the pain stopped, stuff poured from my body, and the pain was over.  I knew the baby had been delivered.

I was shaking so hard.  I stood up and there was a baby amidst the pool of blood.  A little, perfectly formed baby. We imagined the baby to be a girl.  She was so tiny, and fit in the palm of my hand, but fully formed.  There were ten fingers and toes.  Finger and toes with fingernails and toenails.  Her skin was nearly translucent and we could see her heart, her bones, her organs, her spinal column.  It was NOT a clot, a mass of stuff, it was a BABY. At that moment my heart broke.  I mourned.  I felt more grief than I had ever experienced.  I felt the loss of our baby, but even more I felt the loss of every child never born.  I saw a real baby.  Things connected for me and became very real.  I was nearly sickened at the thought of how many babies were never born because their mother actually chose to end their life. 

I don't remember how long we just sat in silence.  We just sat quietly, starring.  We had no idea what to do next.  I picked up the baby who fit inside the palm of my hand and carried her outside.  Throwing her away seemed so inappropriate to us. It was chilly outside and I still was shaking so hard. It was dark and quiet. We decided to bury her with the wild flowers near the creek.  I sat outside for along time, shivering in the dark.  I prayed over and over again for wisdom.  We lost our sweet baby, and time still went on.  While I sat crying and feeling like the world had stopped, in reality moment after moment still continued to exist.

Yet, in that moment of pain and sorrow, of feeling so small and lost, I felt most loved.  I thought about all the plans God had for us.  I thought about a little boy a half a world away that wasn't dead, that still needed a mommy and daddy.  I thought about people, people who lost their babies and weren't able to sit on their porch and cry and know their Father in heaven loves them deeply,  The people who don't know Christ, and therefore don't know of His unending love. We went to sleep that night.  And life continued on.

Today, I sit at this computer while five babies sleep under our roof.  I sleep under a different roof, than I did in 2008.  I have nieces and nephews.  I have new friends and new ministries.  I have new challenges and new struggles.  My life has continued on, according to His purpose for my good. (Romans 8:28)  To know, that when I seemingly had so much pain, so little hope, He was there, giving me grace and His power.  His power to wake up again.  His power to rejoice in the suffering. 

Today, it is only four years later, but I think of the impact that one experience, one day in a lifetime of days, has had on me. Today, on my walk with the kiddos, we saw the dried wilted wildflowers of a summer past, and I thought about our little baby in heaven, and I smiled.  I have no idea exactly how this experience will continue to shape me.  I have no idea what His plans are for me, but my Heavenly Father deeply loves me, and He will continue to use each and every moment of my life for my good, to bring Himself glory! AMEN! I am thankful of His power in my weaknesses.

Love.

I don't say it hardly enough.  I suck at it.  I mean really, really suck at it. 

Spend a day with me, and I'll chitter chatter on and on about artificial sweeteners (YUCK!), gardening, chickens, zillions of books I am trying to read, school, education, the kids, doctor appointments, church, friends... almost everything.

Except my husband.

Oh yes, "daddy" is always talked about and mentioned, and we pray for daddy, and love daddy, and I mention "Kenney" his work, and his schedule, and his sometimes maybe annoying habits (phone in the bathroom... seriously????)

But I love him.

 

 

Like, really, really love him.

And I am blessed.

Like, really, really blessed to have him.

And once I realized he IS the man God gave me, and he isn't my brothers, or my friends, or uncles, or even my dad.  He is Kenney, a man that God deeply loves, loves so much, that Jesus, His own son, died for MY husband... and I married him!  That is exciting.  It is easy to compare him to others, and see what he isn't, it is easy to find fault.  Too easy.  I fail.  I find too much fault, and do too much comparing, too much of the time!

Then, something like this last weekend happens, and I have to remember.  I need to put it forever in my memory.  I need to be reminded.  I need to keep the thoughts, the feelings, the words near to my heart daily.

So I stole his best man speech (see point #3 - it really is mine anyway) that he gave at his brother's wedding this last weekend.

I didn't edit, or change anything... I want to remember, just the way it was, well, maybe minus the five kids at my table begging for dinner to start. 



Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen- My name is Ken Kolanowski, brother of the groom and I have the privilege and honor of serving as the Best Man.

To your parents; thank you for this enchanted evening in addition to raising two fine individuals. To each an every one of you, thank you for your attendance in celebrating this marriage as close family and friends of Joanna and Andy.

Let me first say that the bridesmaids look absolutely lovely today, and only rightly outshone by our bride, Joanna. And, I'm sure you'll agree with me gentlemen, today is a sad day for single men, as another beautiful women leaves the available list. And ladies, I'm sure you'll agree that today is passing by without much of a ripple, just kidding Andy.....

Growing up in Dolton, Andy and I shared our childhood together in the same room for more than 16 years. I look back at those 16 years of my life and while I didn't share the special bond he and Gina share as twins, we were brothers. I look back and I see things we have done together. Boy Scouts, Church Camps, High School Drama, amongst many memories. I thought long and hard about what embarrassing story or detail to share with everyone here tonight; and I decided that I didn't want to do that.

Your little brother wants to charge you in your marriage instead. In life as the big brother, you have been first to do many things, however I have spent nearly the last 7 years married to my blushing bride and want to share with you what has been so precious to me so that you and Joanna do not miss out on what marriage really is.

-Love each other more than yourself. Give 100% - as giving 50% and expecting the other person to give 50% is just two people giving it their half, not their all.  

-Your spouse comes first. Before family, before children, before all others - always.

-Always be prepared to put aside personal feelings of discomfort or injustice to keep communication lines open. There is not one square inch of you that does not belong to the other so share and discuss and grow. Never be afraid of, and always appreciate the truth in both giving and receiving.

-You may not always remember verbatim what you say, but they remember for years how you made them feel. Every time you make each other feel better about themselves, in their eyes you seem better.

-Let each other be emotional and pick your battles.

-Do not speak in absolutes, yet specific examples; not to defame, yet to build.

Those are all nice post-it sayings butt there is one key to a successful marriage..... Ensure Christ is the center of your marriage....let me repeat that; ensure CHRIST is the center of your marriage. In the scriptures the word Love is the 6th most used word.  God states several things about marriage and love that I wanted to point out.....
 Proverbs 18: 22 He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord.

Ephesians 4:32
Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

 Proverbs 31:10  A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies.

1Corinthians 13:6-8 NIVLove does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always preserves. Love never fails.

 

Genuine love is focused on another human being. It ... brings a deep desire to make that person happy…to meet their needs and satisfy their desires and protect their interests. Real love is best described as being unselfish in all aspects, even if a personal sacrifice is required in the relationship.

So with that we toast to Andy and Joanna, may your love be as deep as the ocean, an example to others, and a lifetime of blessings to one another.

L'Chaim - to life!

"If you want to change the world, pick up your pen."

It was Martin Luther who said it, and I pulled the phrase from a book I am reading.  And it rings true in a million tones for me.  Writing things down....there is something special, unique, almost magical in putting words on a piece of paper, especially our own words, thoughts and feelings.  Even my dad said it "if it ain't written it ain't real."

To put the words I feel on paper, almost breathes them to life.  Forever I can re-read them.  I can re-feel them.  The memory is not lost.  Each day that passes, I look at my house, my children, my life and I don't want to forget.  I don't want the moments to be wasted.  I don't want to grow up and not remember, not be able to share with others that I struggled too.  I want to remember the pain in labor.  I want to remember the sleepless nights, the fights with my husband, the days that hurt, the sunshine, the garden, my friends that come and go for different seasons, Audrey's silly words, and Caleb's sweet hugs. I want to be able to forever share those moments, all of them. They are all grace moments.  Divine blessings, because I believe God is all good, all the time,  These moments, all of them, are all grace.  Because my life is His, my story is really His too.

In one year, my words, far and few between as they may be, they are there for me to look at and remember.  And in one year, my world is changed. And His story written for me, is slowly put on paper.  I am thankful I picked up my pen.