Inkling's Public Blog

Creativity and Repurposing: A Purse for Mama & a Stick Horse for Grasshopper

2012-01-29T18:06:00.001-08:00

Since deciding we'd make our Christmas gifts this year, I've had so much fun getting back into being creative on a regular basis. Add in a little under-employment with very little money and you've got the makings for wanting to pretend that I'm living in a chapter out of the Little House books. It's actually quite fun.

I had this sweater from Land's End, a three quarter sleeved, navy blue, cable knit, cotton sweater that I no longer wore. I had tried to consign it, but they didn't want it. I donate a lot of clothing, but decided to hang on to this item. I'm glad I did. One rainy day I was in the mood to make a purse for myself. Originally, I was going to use a wool one that I could felt, but I've donated so many wool sweaters that the only ones I had left are ones I'm quite attached to and still wear. Then this navy sweater came into view and I formulated a plan to use it even though I'd have to change my original design, as you cannot really felt cotton.

I decided to use a scrap piece of yellow cotton broadcloth I had to line it. Because I would be using a sweater that would easily unravel once cut, I decided to completely sew it to the yellow lining and then begin forming the bag. I wish I'd taken pictures of the process, but will try to summarize quickly.

The torso of the sweater became the body of the purse, with the hemline forming the bottom of the purse. The arms were used to make a shoulder strap. If I did this project again, I'd use cording to make the shoulder strap and thread the cording through the sheath I made out of the arms. That way the strap wouldn't be so stretchy. I used ribbon to make the drawstring, although I imagine I'll need to replace it with something stronger eventually. It turned out to be a really cute, functional purse. And I love that it only cost me my time.

I've been wanting to make a stick horse for Grasshopper for quite awhile. At Christmas, I ran out of time, plus I'd made him so many other things. But a chance find of a bag of stuffing at a thrift store for $1 and a rainy Sunday afternoon turned out to be the perfect motivation to get me started.

First, I gathered my materials from around the house. Twine and leather cording leftover from a church project, the stuffing/quilt batting from the thrift store, scraps from my cable knit sweater purse project, old buttons, ribbon and thread from my sewing box, sand paper, a scrap of dowel rod leftover from a closet building project, yarn leftover from a scarf I'd made Grasshopper last week, and a wool sock all completed my supply list. (I had purchased a package of wool work socks for my husband when we were first married but bought the wrong size. Since I waited too long to return them, they were just hanging out in my cedar chest for something. Today turned out to be at least a partial answer to what I will do with them.) After that, I just gathered my sewing tools and cleared off the kitchen table so I could get to work.

First I had to sand the bottom of the stick and a bit on the side where some splintering had occurred.

Then I stuffed the toe of the sock with as much stuffing as it would hold up to the heel. I wrapped quilt batting around the first six inches of the dowel rod and stuffed it carefully into the sock up to the heel. Then I packed bits of stuffing all around that until everything was firm and filled out. I took twine and tied it tightly around the bottom of the sock to secure it to the dowel rod, wrapping it around a few times and tying a few knots. After that was secure, I took a long length of leather cord and wrapped it once and tied a good knot, leaving a four inch length to help me with my end knot. Then I wrapped the long cord around and around until the length was nearly used up and finished with a secure knot, trimming the ends.

Two wooden buttons made eyes. At this point, my son named the horse Pete and then went to take a nap so Mama could finish "helping Pete the horse be born".

The leftover scraps from the arms of my sweater were perfectly shaped for making ears. I sewed them together and turned them inside out. I did not trim the edges after sewing, because I knew the added bulk would help the ears be more stable and give it good shape.

Then I sewed the bottom edges closed using my machine.

After that, it was time to hand sew them to the horse. I placed them on a slight curve so they'd stand up well.

It was at this point that I wondered if Pete would turn out looking more like a donkey, but I knew the hair would help a lot. Always have faith in the hair.

Here is a picture of the completed forelock. It took a bit of trial and error to figure out how I wanted to attach the hair. I had read one blogger's idea, but her entire horse was sewn by machine, and that method was not going to work for me. So I came up with a workable solution that reminded me a bit of a hair weave.

To help illustrate my solution, my husband took a quick video of me attempting to explain what I was doing.

Grasshopper was certain his horse needed a bridle and not just reins, so I devised something out of grosgrain ribbon and two buttons. I made two loops - one for the horse's mouth area and one for just behind his ears. I slid those on him and then threaded the rein length of ribbon through both sides of each loop, pinning them carefully and being sure to leave a good length. Because the loop by the mouth easily could come off, I was able to machine sew the two pieces together. But the loop just behind his ears would not have been easy to come off, so I hand sewed it and then covered up my work with a cute button on either side.

The finished product. I was so excited with how it turned out. It took a few hours from start to finish. It is utterly adorable.

Pete and I went into Grasshopper's room to wake him up from his nap. He was so excited to finally see Pete "finished being born", and immediately took him out to the living room to hold him and introduce him to the world. (And yes, he's sitting on a crib mattress in the middle of our living room. We have to drag it out from storage almost daily so he can use it as a trampoline. My child may not have been much a crib sleeper, but at least we have gotten lots of use out of the mattress.)

All in all, I'm thrilled with how both projects turned out. They were both fun to design and make. The satisfaction gained from using items found in our little abode is also very nice. January has been a month of creating memories without spending money, and I have to say that it has been so very fun.

You Know What I Really Love?

2012-01-28T20:59:00.000-08:00

In the girlie movie, "Letters to Juliet", the grandmother says something about life being about the "messy bits". I don't own the movie, so I can't check the exact quote, but that has come to my mind more than once these past several weeks as we are indeed in the messy bits in so many ways.

Today, in the midst of the messy bits I have to say that I found gratitude creeping in. It came in so many little forms - from an encouraging word given by a beautiful stranger who hopefully will become someone I get to know a bit, to the perfect amount of stuffing found at a thrift store for $1 to be able to complete the sock monkey and stick horse I want to make, to the guy at our mechanic who gave my son a miniature VW bus to keep when we stopped in because Grasshopper just had to meet "Tim & Neil", to the lady at the Habitat ReStore who gave me five dollars off a doorknob and deadbolt set we need for our storage unit in the barn. All of those things were little, seemingly insignificant. But all of them amounted to sweet bits of grace scattered throughout this day in a season of messy bits.

And yes, I know there is still that lurking elephant to deal with. Ironically, my son's current favorite book is about an elephant who never forgets, and in that forgetting he cannot forgive. This little elephant has to learn to forget what is not important enough to remember. It's among one of the most profound children's books I've read. So, like little Congo the elephant, I'm learning some important lessons. I'm not there yet and I won't be for awhile, but that's okay.

In the meantime, I'm finding a strange excitement in tackling a crazy project the likes of which I've not tried since I was a little kid in school. In about five months, I hope to come back and report success in memorizing a little book in the Bible. And hopefully, I'll be able to report that I exercised my brain, my heart, my whole body, and my whole soul at the same time. I just typed up the first chapter I'm going to be memorizing, and I'm about ready to get on the elliptical to get going with it.

What is so funny about that whole project is the difference 30 years makes. When I was a child, memorizing was for a grade or a competition. For whatever reason, it never really reached to my heart. Recently, I've discovered that the few things I do remember from my childhood memorizing days have been the only thing able to quiet the accusing voices in my heart that would like to spend all their time telling me how worthless I am. It's so effective, it is like magic. No kidding. It is a really weird experience, if I'm being honest. I mean, I've spent loads of money paying someone to help me ignore those voices and I've tried numerous methods of ignoring, all to no avail. Even as recently as last week as I was reading a girlie book (something by Lori Wick) to escape, the accusations creeped into my brain and hollered so loudly that I realized after a whole page that I'd read all the words but hadn't actually taken them in at all because I'd been so busy listening to the internal dialogue going on. But all it takes is 25 little words strung into one living sentence to conquer those despicable voices.

And yes, I mean living. Now I get what it can mean when it says that the word of God is living and active. I know some of you who read here on occasion don't believe in Jesus or the Bible anymore, and you might think that I'm a little whacked to be saying this. I would have probably agreed with you if it hadn't actually happened and shocked the heck out of me.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I love how our Creator doesn't abandon us even in the messiest of the messy bits. And I love how we get to see markers on the journey here and there to remind us of the gifts we get even in the ugly times. Today was a day like that. And I'm glad.

How Real Can I Be?

2012-01-24T16:21:00.000-08:00

Talk about a daunting question. I'm real here for sure, but I also hold back a lot. It's one thing to write something in a journal that you'll stick under your mattress, but it's an entirely different thing to write in a place where people you actually know in real life do come on occasion to read.

I don't even know quite where to begin or how to give an adequate prelude into this profound post I want to link here from a favorite blogger I've followed for a few years.

To sum it up quickly, I guess you could say I'm chronically dealing with anger, unforgiveness, and trying to understand where others are coming from. Usually, it's only from one area of life at a time, whether work or friendships or family or whatever. But this year, oh my goodness, there is not one area of life that gets to be easy. Every aspect has been impacted, and because that includes all my usual support systems, I'm even angrier than normal. This past year has been the motherlode of anger complete with more F-bombs than my husband cares to handle. (I finally told him that when I fall so far to resort to using such ugly language that it's really a plea for help to get me unstuck from the overwhelming fury I feel.)

I don't really have a clue how to deal with the stuff I know needs to be dealt with. It's basically as big as an elephant under our living room rug, and it's a confusing and jumbled mess of so many stories and so many people. It's not pretty at all.

But thankfully, there is Someone who promised to complete the work that He began, and I just have to say that He better complete this. Because it's getting to be such a huge mess. (I say that tongue-in-cheek, in case it didn't come through clearly.) Of course, I know He will complete His work. He promised and He always keeps His promises one way or another. And He promised that His work will be good and will be complete with a future and a hope for me. And so I stubbornly stand on those promises, looking at the mess of a covered, ugly, stinky elephant in my living room, knowing that somehow, some way it will get cleaned up and purified eventually. If I only had a clue as to His plan and schedule, it would be nice.

And so without further ado, I'll share the post that brought me to tears this afternoon. It reminded me that the only way to get some of this anger to dissolve is to face it head on. I think you'll be blessed by what Adrienne has to say.

Seeing It Through

2012-01-12T00:21:00.000-08:00

I saw a beautiful picture of trust tonight. Two young girls dancing on a stage to a poignantly beautiful song about loss and living through it. Those two girls were in wheelchairs one year ago today. While surgeries and recoveries still lie ahead in the future for one of them, tonight they danced.

Tonight we remembered. We remembered a great loss. We remembered great heartache. We remembered God's faithfulness even despite the unanswered questions of why He let it happen in the first place. We simply remembered. And waves of grief and laughter tossed over each other like waves playing near the ocean shore. The grief won in my case and I found myself hastily constructing unclimbable walls, for that is the season I'm in. But it won't always win.

There are many moments when I went to chuck it all and just start completely over. I want to pretend that I get a total do-over in this move to make Canada my new home. New friends. New church. New name. New life. The old stuff - what I had before last December 28th - hurts too much. And so it is incredibly and achingly tempting to toss it all away.

And yet how much might be lost?

If I stay and gut it out, if I keep on simply trying to breathe and keep walking through this confusing season, waiting on God to move or make things clear or do just something, might I also find myself one day dancing on a stage, leaping triumphantly?

And that, my friends, is the question.

I am going to find out the answer. And I'm determined it will be a good one.

Starting Again

2012-01-11T14:06:00.000-08:00

Sometime this year my 20th reunion will be held. I've not gone back since graduating, and it's only been in the past couple of years that I've even begun reconnecting with a very few classmates. Those years were very hard. It was a combination of being shy, being thrust into public schools for the first time ever from very rigid and conservative Christian schools, and not knowing anyone in this close-knit town. Add to that the fact that I didn't know how to make friends and was dealing with all the effects of what had pretty much been pounded into my compliant, sponge-like brain by a few select teachers and chapel speakers, and I was set up to fail in the social department. Combine that with a few kids who thought it would be fun to physically torment the short, scrawny redhead and a messed up church situation, and you definitely have a recipe for a disastrous high school experience.

So it's no wonder that I'd want to avoid the kids who once lit my hair on fire, beat me up in gym class, tripped me and laughed like hyenas while my books scattered, and collected $37.52 on the school bus for a boy who was dared to kiss me. But here's the crazy thing.

I'm contemplating, with excitement actually, the possibility of going back.

Crazy, I know.

But I'm looking at it like this. It's been 20 years. In 20 years, I've discovered that some of my Christian school teachers were well-intentioned but pretty much dead wrong. Public high schools have a lot to offer that the Christian schools of my growing up years simply couldn't afford. Other kids back then felt just as backward and awkward as I did, albeit for different reasons. My focus was much too self-absorbed and I missed a lot. We've all grown up, lived life, gained and lost, celebrated and mourned, and become just a bit more aware of the humanity around us. Some of us have even found a deep faith, making our lives markedly different from what they looked like in high school. Others of us have discovered that margaritas can be good things. And yes, there are some of us who probably will still be prone to posturing for attention, acting out our pride or insecurities, and who still don't know when to quit drinking.

But for the most part, we aren't the same kids who left those tiger striped halls. So I'm looking at it like meeting a bunch of people all over again for the first time. No longer am I that short, little girl who locked herself in a bathroom stall until she could safely get to the principal's office to ask for help. I'm now someone who has defended the helpless, helped the bullies find redemption and new purpose, and has discovered oodles of gifts in this 5'1" frame. And one of those gifts just happens to be the enjoyment of spending time with people.

So I hope to be able to go. In the meantime, it's been interesting to walk back to that shy redhead and tell her that there were definitely better days ahead.

Remembering

2011-12-28T00:59:00.000-08:00

Today I'm remembering Myron. One year ago we got a phone call that let us know the world as we knew it had shattered. It had shattered for four children and a beautiful wife. And it shattered for us too.

I've thought about how to spend today. I signed off of Facebook, deciding that there was no way I wanted to face such petty banality on a day like today. I signed off saying I was going to be sitting in the quiet remembering our friend. I wanted to say that I was going to sit in the sadness, but stopped myself feeling like I shouldn't be sitting in the sadness. But that is what it really is. Yes, a year has gone by. A whole big year. But I am still sad. I have laughed and I have continued to live. But sadness still lies behind my eyes and resides in my heart. So yes, I am sitting in the sadness today. And that is okay.

I've wanted to find a way to remember our friend, to honor him in some way. If I accomplish anything, the one thing I want to say at the end of today is that I was kind to my husband. Too often I take him for granted and treat him without kindness. Losing Myron and watching his beautiful wife walk through life on her own has taught me that there are no guarantees how long we will have with the one we love most in this world. And so today I'll remember to treat the one I love most in this world with kindness. At least I hope so.

Today I will remember the good times. I'll remember the talks and the laughter, the prayer times and the sweet times with Myron leading us with his guitar. I'll remember how tight our home group once was, and I'll be thankful for the way they were home for me during the darkest days of my childbirth injury. I'll remember the goofy newlywed game we played at our last home group meeting before the Christmas break, and how we laughed until we cried at the antics dreamt up by Myron and my husband. I'll remember the songs Myron wrote and shared with our group. I'll remember the Larry Norman references. I'll remember the way he held his youngest kids and the pride he had in his eyes as he talked about his eldest child's softball prowess. I'll be thankful for the dream God sent some weeks after Myron died to help me process the domino effect of losses that came afterward. I'll be thankful for the season we had as a group, for the friendships I had in that time, and the way it impacted my life. I had once assumed we'd be together for forever. I know differently now.

Today will not be a day when I focus on the hurt from the losses that came afterward. I've spent a year focusing on those losses and got lost myself in the process. Today I will try not to remember those hurts, at least not with bitterness. It's only been in the past couple of days that I've even begun to accept that those losses really and truly did happen and that they aren't anything I can change or fix. Today is not the day for me to think about stuff like that.

Today is the day I remember Myron. And today is the day I ask Jesus to hold up Myron's family as they sit in their sadness.

Dissecting a Why

2011-12-22T20:27:00.000-08:00

So the other day we were running errands in the States and doing a fair bit of driving. I don't even remember what the original topic was, but Grasshopper had asked some question about something. After I answered him, he followed it up with his first "why?" and I tried to answer him as satisfactorily as possible. But it wasn't good enough, and after several more "why" pleas, it got down to "Well, because God made it that way."

"But, why did God make it that way?"

"I don't know, Grasshopper. He just did."

"But why?"

I think at this point I decided to at least enjoy the ride.

"Because He wanted you to be curious about it."

"But why?"

"Because you are almost three and it is important to learn to ask questions and be curious when you are almost three."

"But why?"

"Because your brain is growing so fast and you are learning so much, and being curious helps you to learn even more."

"But why?"

"Well, I think God chooses age almost 3 to start your curiosity because it gives Him a chance to work on mommy's character."

"But why?"

"Because I need to develop patience and kindness and the ability to be longsuffering."

"But why?"

"Because those are fruits of the spirit and God says we need those things."

"But why?"

"Because the Bible says that the fruits of the spirit help make life work better. And goodness knows I need more patience."

"But why?"

"Because it doesn't come in a pill and you can't buy it at the store, and you really need those character traits for life."

"But why?"

"For my sanctification apparently."

"But why?"

"Oh look, we're at the border and it's time to get in line."

"Mommy, why do we have to wait our turn?"

Of course, you totally know how the rest of the conversation went. Life with an almost three year old is a unique kind of wonderful and exhausting all at one time.

Boy Compliments

2011-12-19T20:38:00.000-08:00

We're in that fun stage with an almost three year old where the talking never ceases and the "why" questions have begun in earnest. It is exhausting and exhilarating at the same time. He is so funny and so fun and just so delightful. Most of the time. Sometimes I look at him and wonder how such a little person could hold so much sweetness.....and so many words.

I came down with something in the night and after the worst was over, I slept the day away. Henry David was on kiddo duty all day long, which meant I got to soak in the tub and read half a book uninterrupted. When I came out with hair wet, fresh from washing, my son said, "Mama, I do like your long hair. I really do like your long hair." The funny thing is that he visibly reacted with delight on Saturday too when I came into the kitchen with two long braids ready to head to the last farmer's market of the season. "Oh, Mama! I do like, I do like, what are those?" "They are braids, Grasshopper." "Oh Mama, I do like your braids very much." What is not to love about this?

Then there are the moments after dinner when he has picked up on a habit of his daddy's that really warm my heart. "Mama, thank you for making that for dinner! That was good!" Interestingly enough, he says this even when he hasn't hardly eaten anything and has decided he doesn't like something. No matter how many calories he ingested, I do love his enthusiastic and sweet gratitude. He's such a fun kid.

He asked me to sit by him at his little table this evening while he was finishing up a snack and some tea his daddy had made him. He does love his tea times with Daddy. "Mama, do you want some tea?" "No thank you, Grasshopper. Mama can't have tea today." "Oh, okay. Do you want to share mine?" "No sweetheart, I can just have some water because I have a yucky tummy, but thank you for wanting to share." "Oh, okay. I do like tea. Daddy made it for me. I do like this cup."

There are moments when I just want him to be quiet so that our little home can experience a moment of silence. "Mama, you mean I can't talk? You mean, I can't talk right now?" The moment of silence never happens as he fills in the spaces with questions in response to my gentle request that he think about giving his tongue a rest. And though I miss my quiet and I miss the solitude, really I have to say that life is so much better with the little boy who compliments and thanks and questions and talks and loves and plays all day and all night long. (Or so he often requests when we tell him it's bedtime.) He won't always be almost three and asking me to "hold my whole body, Mama". So I have to say that I'm grateful for the little boy who follows me around all day, in all of his stages. His little personality is fun to get to know and discover.

He's a precious gift and I just hope I can keep on being a good and patient and kind mama all of his days. In the meantime, the boy compliments do go a long way. ;)

Hope of Healing

2011-12-05T22:37:00.000-08:00

I've written a bit on this blog about my journey with a birth injury caused by malpractice and the long road to healing that it required. I mostly walked that road alone, for no one really knew how to help or how to properly resource me. Through sheer determination and stubbornness, I found healing in various places. But it always made me wonder about a woman in a similar situation who might not have the same dogged determination to find healing and hope. What would happen to her? Out of that wondering grew a passion and a purpose to help any woman who ever came my way.

I met them on the playground and at the grocery store. And a few even emailed me after reading my story on a birth board I had joined. The one thing all of us held in common besides a traumatic or injurious birth was the fact that we had to walk this road alone and didn't know where to turn for help. Thankfully, women in Canada no longer have to walk that road alone.

A group of amazing women have formed a group called Vancouver Birth Trauma with two main goals in mind: 1. change the face of maternal medicine, and 2. make sure every woman knows her available resources and doesn't feel alone in her plight. The first goal is going to take a long time, because there are many hurdles to cross, not the least of which is the belief of many physicians of "first do no harm to your fellow physician". But the second goal is already getting met each day as more women find out we exist and reach out for help.

I am excited to be a part of this, and passionate about offering every hurting mama who crosses my path a promise of healing and hope that is kept by properly resourcing her with everything from physiotherapy to books to counselors/therapists. I'm putting this post out here in the hopes that a woman finds it and takes us up on our invitation to offer help. Feel free to contact the website (there is even a number for peer counseling), or contact me via the email address found if you click on my profile for this blog. Even if you don't live in Vancouver, we want to offer help and hope and make sure you find the healing you need.

'Nother Book Recommendation

2011-11-15T23:46:00.000-08:00

Some folks we know that I like to call the Faithfuls lent us a copy of the book by Todd Burpo called Heaven Is For Real. It's about Todd's son Colton who has emergency surgery when he's 3. As time passes, he tells his parents things about getting to see Heaven. Some of what he shares is so spot on accurate but absolutely impossible for him to know naturally that it gets his parents realizing this isn't just a little boy's imagination.

I read it in two sittings and with more snot and tears than I'd like to admit publicly. Regardless of your belief system, it's an interesting book. Interestingly enough, the first time my tears got really provoked was while reading about a medical mistake that could have ended his life. Dealing with medical injustice is still a tender spot for me and probably will be for a long while. Then some more tears came when reading about how Colton's parents' experience of their church loving on them impacted how passionate they are about helping people in heartbreaking crises. For me, that's another sore spot in life at the moment. I grew up with that, but haven't exactly experienced that when most needed this past year. So as I read, I had to face my own near-bitterness about it all and once more talk to God about helping me let that go. The rest of the tears came just from hearing this little boy's descriptions and interactions, things of which I can only dream of for now.

Anyway, I'd like you to consider reading it, even if you think the whole Jesus thing a little narrow or crazy. Maybe I'm just a softie, but it touched some parts in my heart that I've had carefully guarded. It's a book that is worth the time it takes to read.

If anything, at least it reminded me that things do get righted in the end. And for the current season of life I'm in, that's peace to a troubled heart.

Respite

2011-11-13T22:26:00.000-08:00

Today was hard on my heart. Tonight was a gift of joy. Awhile back, feeling the desert dryness of no community, I reached out. Tonight was my first chance to meet the people who reached back. What a gift of hope they gave tonight, the possibility of friendship and connection.

Having a solid community of people who care about each other is vital for a person's well being. Finding that connection is often difficult and takes a lot of time and effort to build strong relationships. But sometimes Someone intervenes and connections are made with ease and it's a whole Kevin Bacon "six degrees of separation" kind of thing.

Tonight, was such a time. Only I think there were only a couple degrees of separation. I'm grateful for the respite tonight provided, excited about what might unfold as relationships form, and peaceful about what the future holds in terms of friendship. For the first time in a long while, I feel hope and the chance for a fresh start in the one department of life that has ALWAYS been the hardest for me.

Today

2011-11-13T15:14:00.000-08:00

Last night my little guy was begging me to stay home with him. If my husband hadn't encouraged me firmly to keep my commitment to go teach a bunch of toddlers, I would have totally said yes. Church is a hard place for me to be. I hate that about me. That has never been my story before. I don't want it to be my story now.

But this morning found my little guy snuggled in close to his daddy while I ventured out into the cold morning. My first thought outside my door was wondering what bear slept on our porch and would he please take a shower next time. Actually, I doubt a bear slept there, but it was rather smelly and I jangled my keys all the way to the car in my weak attempt to scare away any four legged fury garbage eaters.

This morning wasn't easy. I was able to ignore my surroundings and put aside the thoughts of "I wish this were more like X".

But then my husband's marathon partner came downstairs and I just had to ask him the question I've been asking all week, "Are we going to do anything together to remember Myron on or near December 28th? Our group - the group that was once as closeknit as a family - hasn't been together in one room since his funeral." The tears slipped out and he gave me a hug and said he'd find out. I went back in the classroom and got myself back together to be all "up" for the kiddos. When I think back on all the things still not really talked out with the people we once counted as our best friends after the loss of a precious friend and good leader, my heart remains broken and cannot fathom healing or restored relationships. But oh, how I want that.

I was happily playing along with kiddos, greeting them with enthusiasm and loving on the ones feeling a bit shy when a friend came downstairs. I mentioned that her daughter had told me about moving to Alberta and asked if there was a target date yet. I've known this was coming, but conveniently kept hoping it wouldn't happen until we were like 90 or something. December 1st. And tears flowed between both of us. I know she is going where she is supposed to be. But I'm sad that yet another friendship is going to be carried out with many miles in between. Why is it that I get to meet these incredible women with adorable kiddos near my son's age and then they move a province or a country away?! At least there is Facebook. Thank goodness for that one way of still getting to "do life" together.

Then, as if my heart could bear anymore, I found out some details about the physical property of our church home and felt most of my hopes come crashing down. Details aren't important, but I've never experienced so much drama, so much constant change, so many dead ends and "no's". I told my husband when I got home that I wanted to write a letter to the man who caused all of this grief. It would say, "You may not be the spawn of satan, but you are certainly his pawn. Thanks so much for making me homeless in yet one more way." Certainly not my most stellar moment as a gracious human being. Thankfully, my husband currently carries enough optimism for both of us.

By the time 11:00 this morning came around, I was shredded emotionally. It would have been nice to have someone, anyone, notice the obviously weeping redhead and smother me with a hug and a "it's going to be okay. It sucks right now, but it will get better." But while Jesus was a "man of sorrows and acquainted with grief", His people are less inclined to be comfortable around someone grieving in the middle of a community hall and they let me walk right on by. I was so tempted to reach out to a couple of people, but decided that this one time I needed to not have to do that. This time I needed someone to notice and reach out without me asking. But that didn't happen and it took a few minutes sitting in my locked car before I could see well enough to drive away.

I know that these things won't always be like this. Eventually we'll know if we have a physical home for our church that is actually usable and good, or things will get to the point for our family when we have to make some decisions. Eventually, I will have some good friendships with women that endure and are local and fill me up and are healthy. Eventually, I'll be able to give and fill up others. Eventually, I'll have joy. Eventually, I'll be able to accept this series of losses. Eventually, I will learn how to keep living and moving in a forward direction even those these losses remain a part of my heart.

But today. Well, today sucks. I know not everyone who reads this blog shares my belief in Jesus and a sovereign plan. I know that some probably even question how intelligent or sane I could be to believe in that stuff. But I do. Despite all my periodic attempts to shake it off or try something else, I do still believe in my core that there is Someone who made me who does care and who is involved. I don't understand that Someone. But I do believe that all of this mess is being somehow fashioned into a story that will point to Him and turn out beautifully.

Grief's Gifts & Eyes to See

2011-11-12T17:27:00.000-08:00

I read today that grief comes bearing gifts of its own. And those gifts are assumed to be good ones. I believe that is true. But though experience has recently shown that to be true, I find myself blind again. I need eyes to see the gifts that grief brings.

All day long, the words have failed to come. Posts have been written and rewritten. I shelve it all away, thinking that those words have no place on a public blog. At least, not until I can learn to articulate them better. Grief is at the forefront of my thoughts in this season as I wonder how to go through this season that includes an anniversary of perhaps the biggest loss I've ever encountered.

And so I ask for eyes to see the gifts in the grief. For wisdom to accept those gifts. For the grace to appreciate those gifts. For the ability to let go of what keeps me from holding those gifts in my hands. I need all of that and more. But mostly right now, I just need eyes to see.

Luggage Fiascos & Learning to Breathe

2011-11-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I traveled home to BC from visiting family and friends in the States. Fortunately, the flight was not full at all, and I discovered that it's possible to lay down completely on three seats with my toddler on my chest after finally getting him to give in and nap. We were both excited to see Henry David, so it was a bit of a bummer to arrive 30 minutes early and have to head down to baggage claim alone, knowing he would not have arrived.

It was an even bigger bummer to discover that one of my suitcases was missing. It was the one full of medicine, our camera, my jewelry, and all my toiletries among other things. I stood in the Southwest baggage office waiting for them to file a report and realized that after the three hour drive home that night I'd have to run out and buy enough supplies to make me presentable for a meeting I had in Vancouver the next day. I was frustrated and my normal melancholy self that assumes the worst and fails to see the positive. I was trying to be gracious but was clearly failing.

They called the airport of my departure to no avail and had no idea where it could have gone. They suggested we wait another three hours for the next flight to see if it had been placed on that one. I declined, knowing we still had a long drive ahead of us and asked about shipping options. Since it would have to cross a border, they told me it could get stuck in customs for weeks. So we made arrangements to have it delivered to a place in Washington near the border and they prepared a travel voucher for me for my trouble. Then the agent got an idea.

She asked me if my bag looked like one she had by the door. She wondered if the party that owned that bag had accidentally taken mine since they had picked up the other nine bags they had checked but had left that one. She tracked down the guy's daughter who called her dad who was still thankfully on airport property. He said he would double check their bags to make sure they belonged to the right people and come to get his bag. He came and said that they had looked, but that all the bags they had belonged to them. I felt like a deflated balloon as that last shred of hope disappeared and I tried to accept that I'd be going home without my suitcase. I felt really vulnerable knowing all it contained and realizing that my privacy could be invaded more than a bit if someone found it and opened it. My husband, our little boy, and I walked to the parking garage and I tried to believe that it would "all be okay" like he said. But inside I was not the most positive redhead on the planet, despite the travel voucher in my pocket.

And then, as we were paying at the kiosk for parking before heading to our car, the same man who had come to get his bag came walking while rolling a suspiciously familiar suitcase behind him. He apologized for accidentally taking my bag and for not discovering the mistake until they were loading their rental vehicle. He said he was from Atlanta and was coming here to do the music for a funeral and that he was only focused on claiming his guitar and had let the other members of his party deal with the bags. I hugged him and told him he had no idea what an answer to prayer he was. I could have cried with relief. And I was in shock that out of all the zillions of places we could have been that we ran into each other at that very moment.

This may seem like some random story, but to me it's a bigger deal. I've been feeling a bit adrift in the world lately, feeling like everyone else is getting great favors from God while we're still waiting. This event was like the bookend on a trip that had functioned as a bit of a mending time in my heart. I had gone to the States devoid of confidence and no longer knowing myself or any of the emotional health I once held dear. A lot of that had to do with friendship issues here in Canada. The last week of my time in the States was spent getting to catch up with one friend after another, some I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years. I left the States remembering that I do indeed have a lot to offer as a friend and feeling like not only my friendship tank had been refilled but that my confidence had gotten a big boost.

This last event of having someone accidentally take my suitcase reminded me that even in frustrating happenings that there may be a greater purpose, a greater gift intended. This may sound silly to some, but to me, it's a silly story that contains an important reminder. I'd been wishing for a simple "favor" from God, something like a sweet gift. He had given me one the night before in the form of a friend who gave me a gift as I walked out of her door, but this gift was different. That gift was pure sweetness and encouragement. This one had me wade into a frustrating situation first. First I had to navigate the apparent loss of something important to me, and the knowledge that it may or may not be found and returned. I didn't know how it would end. But it ended in my bag coming home with me AND a travel voucher that will help us pay for a ticket in the future. To be honest, I felt a little abashed that I'd handled it with little grace and had allowed my frustration to come through so clearly. I wished that I had not been so impatient with the gate agent at the outset and so negative.

I wonder how many life events that look hard or feel incredibly frustrating are really gifts in disguise? That question right there is the big lesson for me. I know that is an area in my life that needs to grow, and this little story illustrates that to me so clearly. I look back on another friend's story and see how true that is, and I wonder just how many events in our lives that seem like bumps in the road are really gifts that are destined to make us richer in a multitude of ways.

And now that I'm back from my meeting in Vancouver with other women who suffered horrible birth traumas, I am reminded that maybe, just maybe, beauty really does grow out of ashes and good gifts really do come out of hard times. None of us would have chosen the stories we have, but I was amazed at how each woman's story is positively shaping her mark on the world. Despite the hellish experiences each of us have gone through, or perhaps more accurately BECAUSE OF THEM, we are each uniquely finding ways to help other women.

Hopefully the next time something hard comes my way I will remember to breathe and look with anticipation and hope at what may come of it instead of spending my time being impatient and declaring that the sky is falling. Robert Benson from Atlanta taught me that, whether he knows it or not.

A Little Child Helps Me See?

2011-10-12T00:36:00.001-07:00

I've been journaling elsewhere the deep things I can't say, the things I can't share, the specifics of what I only intimate here. And earlier tonight I found myself listing thing after thing that had weighed my shoulders down with resentment bordering on bitterness, sadness teetering on the edge of hopelessness.

Then late this evening as I found myself unable to sleep with sour stomach and sore heart, I got a clue. And this is something I can write here in this place. At least I shall try.

I have a little boy who has no siblings. I am his usual playmate. Sometimes we see other children, and if they are around long enough, Grasshopper ventures out of his shyness to play with them. But most of the time it's just the mama and the boy. And he is constantly saying, "Play, Mama, play!" Only I usually don't want to play. I'm lonely for adult conversation. I want to connect with the world. Talk on the phone. Get on the computer. Or chores beckon me. And the "Just a minute" I learned to dread from my mom's own voice knowing that it really meant "just an eternity, dear" is now coming out of my mouth. Sigh. I should be a better mama. After all, it is my only job.

I tried that tonight. We played cars and trucks and had a Ferrari and an Infinity playing hockey with the occasional Zamboni interruption. He was happy. For once I was fully engaged and not looking for an escape to "better" things, "higher" pursuits.

That is when it dawned on me. And a little child shall lead them.......

My son is echoing the cry of my own heart.

I ask and ask and ask again. Please connect with me. Please spend time processing with me. Please walk with me for even a tiny bit of this journey. And all I get are "no's" and "I'm sorry for your pain" and "have you tried seeing a paid expert to walk with you?" No one has time. They have their own hurts, their own circles, their own whatevers. They wish me warm and well and well fed, but no one actually does anything, takes any action. And the cry of my heart just grows louder and more plaintive and causes sour stomachs and sore hearts when I should be sleeping.

This is what he feels like. This is the ache his little heart feels when all he wants is somebody to be with him. He says, "Sleep with me, Mama. I want somebody to be with me!" Oh son, I know the feeling. You are teaching me.

And so, while I cannot make my ideals come true, I cannot make the people in my community do as I believe they ought, I can make myself be the Mama I ought.

Next time when he asks me to play, I will try my hardest to remember to say, "Yes, son, I'm coming right now." Maybe in the playing, healing will come?

Creative Ways to Avoid Amnesia

2011-10-04T14:46:00.000-07:00

I've been reading and soaking up Ann Voskamp's 1,000 Gifts book. The other day I pondered over the chapter about defining blessings and curses. And I thought about how glad I am to find someone else who admits to being like an amnesiac Israelite.

When I was a kid, I used to wonder how they could forget God's instructions and promises so easily. Now I know. I am them.

One moment, I remember God's faithfulness and think that finally I have grasped joy and peace and truth. And the next minute I'm wallowing in despair and stuck in hatred and unforgiveness and shame. Apparently, God knows my propensity to forget and has given me what may be the most creative way to temporarily remember.

I broke or bruised my tailbone the other day when landing at the bottom of a very fun and fast slide in the playground area at a local apple orchard. Five days later, I still have to sit and move in ways that are quite similar to how I had to move when I suffered a traumatic birth injury. It is no picnic, and today especially has been painful. So I emailed the orchard and suggested that maybe they change the landing a bit. They emailed back right away and called me, wanting to bend over backwards to make me happy. I think perhaps they were worried I would sue or be really angry. But I'm not. It was fun to give them grace. Really fun. Perhaps it was because they weren't expecting it. Whatever the case, it was a great feeling to let go of any frustration with the situation and let them completely off the hook, not even taking them up on their offer to give me a gift certificate. The feeling was so great and wonderful that I felt full of sweetness.

My only frustration is that the pain is very similar to what I struggled with when my son was born, and I know a bruised or broken tailbone can take months to heal and needs the help of physiotherapy to fully heal (at least for me with my prior injury). It seemed almost like a "curse". How could it be a blessing? I mean, really.

Awhile later it hit me. God has a funny sense of humor. It actually IS a blessing.

Every single time I move, the pain can be a reminder to snap me out of my amnesia and forgetfulness. The pain can remind me of this instance where I chose to show grace, where I chose to let go. Where I chose not to hate or be angry or vengeful.

Sure, it's just a sore bum. And the areas where I'm most prone to show hate and anger and not let go are a lot more serious than a simple accident at an apple orchard. But the same principle applies.

That person who is making my community life hard? Forgive him. The loss of last year and the struggle to accept that our community looks different? Let go and just love with no expectations. The other heartaches I keep inside that continually remind me that we are on this side of Heaven and not yet Home? Yes, even those get laid down on a daily basis. Sometimes even a moment by moment basis.

And when I give up the right to bitterness, sweetness comes trickling in. If only I can remember to do that.

Apparently, God gifted me with what amounts to a broken bum to help me remember that.

So what delightful gift has He given you lately? You know, the kind that you at first wanted to return as all wrong for you? Could it really be a gift after all?

While Waiting

2011-10-01T15:53:00.001-07:00

Weekends are hard. On one hand, we've looked forward to them all week long because that is when Henry David is home with energy to play and Grasshopper and I miss that part of him all week. On the other hand, it's hard because the days of Friday night to Sunday only highlight the loss of what we once had in terms of close community and serve as reminders of an ugly conflict with someone who has given into evil and refuses to show any grace to a body of believers who just long for peace. So Saturdays are at once a welcome gift of a Sabbath and a hard struggle with melancholy.

But the past two days, there have been brief moments of respite from that hard struggle. Today one of them came during the rare bit of alone time I get on the weekends, a gift from my husband who knows that sanity is maintained when one has a break from the toddler crowd.

I was thinking about some times in my childhood when women who were either single or without children poured into my life and blessed me with some really special memories. For a brief moment, the sadness fled and smiles filled its place. This is what made me smile.....

~ Lenny, a single woman from church, let me stay with her for a weekend in her mobile home. I had never known anyone who lived in one of those before, and it was quite the novelty to see how a long home on wheels parked permanently on a concrete pad was organized into a cozy home. It was also a unique experience because I'd had sleepovers with kids before, but never a grown woman who had no kids and was interested in reaching out to one. We made hard candy, boiling sugar and other ingredients and pouring it out on cookie sheets, waiting until just the perfect time when we broke it with a hammer and sampled the variety of flavors. We cross country skied from her doorway through a field, if I remember correctly. It was gloriously fun to be a kid cross country skiing under the moonlight when I would normally have been in bed.

We've lost touch in the intervening years, but today I thought of Lenny and was grateful for the time she took to invest in a little girl. That weekend was so fun.

~ Miss Jones was my fifth grade teacher. Back in those days I was at the top of my class and routinely got my work done early. She let me paint a whole set for a play the younger kids were doing. I got to do that again later on, but she was the one who did it first. She taught us the most fun crafts too. And for reading, once we achieved a certain number of pages, she would take us out to lunch to our favorite fast food restaurant. (Those were the days before uber strict policies between students and teachers.) She paid for more chicken sandwiches from Wendy's than I can count. I was a motivated reader who probably drained her bank account.

She's also the teacher who knew of two little girls who had been badly burned in separate accidents, and she had us all make special cards to send to brighten their days. She had us memorize the Sermon the Mount. Her teacher's aide wasn't the best (to put it mildly) and some of the kids remain in my memory as bullies, but some of my favorite school memories still took place under her tutelage.

~ My Aunt Anita used to live in a yellow house in the middle of what was basically a forest, at least to my memory. People would park their RV's there to store in the off season. I remember there were train tracks nearby too. She and my uncle didn't have any kids yet, and I loved to go spend the night at their house. She would take me for ice cream near where my uncle worked, and she read the Boxcar Children to me. She had a huge stuffed animal bear that was big enough to sit on. I loved playing with it, though I'm probably largely at fault for its broken back. She let me bake with her and help her with various projects, and when she had her two boys, she was among the first mamas to let me help.

I loved my time at her house. And she's the reason I herded all the neighborhood kids into a group and contrived a way to act out the Boxcar Children. I'm not sure we ever quite achieved acting it out, but setting it up was sure fun.

I'm sure there were other people who invested time and love into me, but these three are the ones I thought of today. It's funny how their investment in a little girl not only made that little girl's day, but it shaped future choices. Many of the things I did as a teacher and the ways I poured my life into other people's children back in my single days can be traced back to these three women and the memories they made with me.

Several amazing women, both young and not so young, come to mind today. Former students, a relative, some friends - all incredible women with lots to offer - are waiting. They are waiting for what they dream to be reality. I hope that as they wait, they can find opportunities like these to make indelible memories with kiddos in their realm of influence. One never knows the fruit that can grow from one little seed of time planted with love and care.

For me, it grew lots of good things that shaped who I became. And today, it grew gratitude that is strong enough to bring in light on what could otherwise be a rather gloomy day. I needed that light today, and I'm grateful that God decided to bring those three women to mind. They sure have brought a smile to my heart.

Another H-less Sara, My Joyful Teacher

2011-09-22T23:02:00.001-07:00

I can't remember how I found her, another Sara who spells her name right and is the same age as me. It was probably following some link on the (in)courage site. But something she said caught my attention and I hopped over to her blog and began reading. Pretty soon, I found myself coming back every day, eager to learn from a Sara who can see joy even in the midst of pain. When I am stuck in my melancholy and can't seem to find any light, simply going over to her blog and reading what God has been growing in her heart serves to help me take a deep breath and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The irony of that doesn't escape me. My teacher can't walk anymore. She can't take a deep breath. And yet, that is exactly what her words helped me do each and every time I visited and soaked up her thoughts. And she's flying Home sometime very soon. This past year I noticed changes, like how she moved her bedroom out to her living room. But she explained it all with such joy, such gratitude, such hope, that I ignored the fact that it might mean my teacher was getting sicker. But she was. And all of her words are now written. Until I get to meet her in person on the other side of eternity, her words chronicled on a beautiful blog are my textbook left to guide me.

One of the ways she is still teaching me is illustrated in one of her blog posts from this past January. Since losing our home group leader and admitting that the death of someone other than a grandparent has entered my life, I've been wrestling with a lot of fears. The biggest fear being losing my husband. The idea of living life without him is too much for me, and the fear escalates until the thoughts spiral through my head full of what-ifs. I forget what it feels like to trust that God really plans to keep His promise to never leave me or forsake me. I wonder if I ever have really trusted Him before, if I can trust Him with this most precious part of my life. Then I read what Sara writes.....

"That's when I had to stop and remember something very important.

God gives us what we need when we need it.

Not before. Not after. But during.

Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
~Hebrews 4:16

There are so many "what if" scenarios that could realistically happen to me. But I can't plan ahead and expect there to be solutions to problems I'm not currently facing. Because God gives us what we need when we need it.

In our time of need.

There has never once been a time in my life when I was faced with a problem that an answer didn't present itself in some form or another. And if God hasn't abandoned me in 37 years, I don't know why I think He would abandon me in the 37 yet to come.

So I'm quitting my chess game before I even learn how to play. I'm going to trust Him. And praise him. And go along for the ride.

I will not let fear have the power.

How about you? Do you trust Him more than your fears?"

Sara has taught me so much. God has used her to begin growing some pretty amazing things inside of me. She speaks and I can listen. I want to hear her heart, knowing that she knows what she's talking about, that she lives it for real each day and doesn't just speak it because it sounds good or wise. I want to be able to come to the end of my life and be able to say like Sara that I trust God with it all too, even my most precious part, even my biggest fears. I'm not there yet. But she's given me a good start and a clear example to follow. And as I make my list of 1,000 Gifts, Sara who can see joy even in the midst of pain is one of my gifts for whom I thank God and find a smile growing alongside the gratitude. I'm going to miss my teacher, but I sure am grateful she has left a beautiful legacy for so many of us.

Our Tears Are Precious To Him

2011-09-05T00:39:00.000-07:00

"Whether it’s walking through a door…
or climbing over a fence…
or simply staying right where you are and taking one long moment
to pause
and gaze on the wonder of what was —
with no plan at all but to praise –
may all your wanderings this weekend, kindest friends, be one refreshing adventure of faith." ~ Ann Voskamp

Somehow I knew that little post in my email inbox had a message for me. The title, Weekends are for new seasons, beckoned to me, asking me to open it up and read. So I did. And the part about gazing on the wonder of what was with no plan at all but to praise struck my heart with enough force to burst open a dam of tears that have been waiting, longing to fall if only the right invitation would come to release them.

I could try to write a long post about what is going on in my head and heart, but the simple truth is that I miss the life I knew before December 28, 2010 when we lost a precious friend and leader in our lives. Wonder is exactly the right word. I can look back with a sense of wonder at his life and his family and our little community. They were such good gifts in that season.

In the early weeks that followed and all that happened beyond my understanding, others told me and I told myself to just wait until September to sort things out. September is here and things aren't sorted out. And really? I realize now that I hoped the "sorting out" would include having everything miraculously right itself. The dead would live. The lame would be made whole. The broken would be healed without scar. And all pain would be utterly forgotten. But that's not how it works this side of Heaven for the most part.

September is here and so is the ache in my heart. The respite of summer and the business of planting seeds and tending them was a gift. And that gift has brought me here. To September. Somehow I must find the gift in it, and have no plan at all but to praise. And even if tears come, and they are, it's okay. Because I have a Maker who catches each one and promises to one day wipe all of them forever from our eyes.

All is Grace and Grace Enough for All of Us

2011-08-31T13:10:00.000-07:00

A long time ago I found a blogger named Ann Voskamp. She lives on a farm in Ontario. I love her writing. She has a friend named Shaun Groves. I love his heart. And today I wanted to share his latest project with you. Maybe give it a listen as you work around the kitchen? It's blessing me today, and I wanted to share it with you even if you don't believe as I do. I think it's still a good gift for a sore or tired heart no matter who you are.

And There's Another Layer to This Onion Called Processing

2011-07-31T22:22:00.000-07:00

Just the moment I think life is normal and wonderful again, I hit a bit of a roadblock. But it will be okay. It has to be. (Somehow that last sentence has me hearing it in my head as if Tom Hanks is saying it about Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail, not that I've watched it recently. Anyway...)

So I found out the pessary ointment may have an ingredient that is used in pesticide. Um, wonderful. Not. Whether or not that is actually true, it does have parabens in it, and I'm sensitive to those at times. In this case, quite sensitive. So the ointment is out, and I'm wondering how to make this whole thing work. Using a pessary is not as easy as the doctor made it look. But I'm not giving up because I intend to run and climb and hike.

But I'll be honest and say I had a brief and horrible meltdown on Friday night when this bump in the road had me imagining my future life stuck at home and unable to live like the outdoor girl my husband taught me to be. Somehow, I got really depressed imagining myself spending the rest of my life walking shopping malls, eating at McDonald's, and sitting on the sidelines of anything active. Yeah, I don't understand my imagination either. But it did a darn good job of depressing me.

I was on my way to working through this and getting the wind back in my sails when a woman at church asked me if Grasshopper was my only child and if I planned to have more. Usually the question doesn't bother me, and I just say that I hope we can have more. But for some reason, her question brought up a bunch of fear. Maybe it's because the pessary isn't perfect and perfectly easy after all. Maybe it's because I peed my pants while playing in the sprinkler yesterday, which would never have happened had not childbirth happened first. Maybe it's because as much as I'd like to forget, I'm well aware that c-sections aren't exactly as easy as opening and closing a ziplock bag and can come with complications of their own. Whatever the reason, I found myself looking at yet another layer in this processing of grief and fear.

And I don't have any answers. I'm not sure that I'll be okay with another delivery, or even if I'll get to have another baby. I'm not sure how I'll deal with it if Grasshopper is it. Heck, I'm not sure how I'll deal with it if Grasshopper does get a sibling and I have two kids to love on with all of my heart and keep up with.

All I know is that the layer I met today was mainly fear. And it did a darn good job of trying to paralyze me. I had no idea that fear was a part of the grieving and healing process. But now that I know, you can be sure that I'm going to kick its butt and tell it the Truth when it tries to make itself at home in my heart. The first thing it has to know is that my heart is completely occupied and there are no vacancies, at least not for fear.

Someday, when I get to the end of this story, I hope the original Author will help me understand all these chapters and let me have His view for just a bit so I can see why each chapter was valuable and how He didn't waste any of this. Because He better not waste this. And I know He won't. My favorite pastor in the world has a tattoo on his arm to that effect. If that's not certainty, I don't know what is.

I Just Have To Share

2011-07-18T22:28:00.001-07:00

I primarily keep my deepest, most personal thoughts for my private journal these days. The past five years have involved moving to a new country, getting married in my 30's for the first (and only!) time, finding my part in a whole new community of people, getting pregnant, having a horrific birth injury that is only common in third world countries, learning to advocate for myself, going through the loss of a niece to stillbirth, watching my grandparents grow frail, losing a dear friend through a traumatic and sudden accident, losing the closest friendships I had in this new community (at least temporarily), and finding my place all over again in the midst of everything. So you can see why I don't put my heart out here with all of my thoughts and feeling available for everyone to see. A lot has happened in five years, both wonderful and hard.

Today though, well, I have to write about today here. Because maybe someday someone will need it.

Awhile back, my family doctor whom I'd learned to trust and appreciate decided to go back to school to become a palliative care specialist. That meant that I had to put my trust in someone who didn't know my story, who didn't know how long this birth injury journey has been. Thankfully, my family doctor understood how big of a deal it was after all I'd been through and he found a wonderful female family doctor who was willing to fit me into her already full patient load. And that new doctor took the time to meet with me and ask me if I had any concerns regarding this whole birth injury and healing journey.

And that one little question led to today. I got to meet with a gynecologist from South Africa. He's familiar with birth injuries and fistulas. He was also familiar with my story because he'd taken the time to review my records before I ever stepped foot in his office. He asked a few simple questions and I found myself responding as quickly and completely but concisely as I could. After all, I was just there to be fit with a little device that would enable me to run again. But we need to back up a bit.

First of all, this doctor happens to be in the same office building and just down the hall from the former office of the doctor who caused my injury. Though that doctor is no longer in that building, nor is she even practicing full time anymore, the idea of going into that building was not easy. For at least a year post partum, I fantasized about blowing the place up. I was that angry. So it's understandable that it was with some trepidation that I parked and entered that building for the first time in over two years. And as I climbed up the stairs I well remembered having had to crawl up just days after sustaining a fourth degree tear and other complications, I took a deep breath and hoped with all my being that this visit would be a good one that would not include a panic attack. I was proud of myself for having the courage to go there.

Secondly, I was a little bit of a mess today because I was over 20 minutes late for this appointment. I'd been stuck on the only bridge near us for over 45 minutes thanks to construction and people who were too busy to take turns. And I was a stressed out mess afraid of losing a precious appointment with a specialist, well knowing what wait times can be like.

Thankfully, the office staff was amazingly gracious and kind and immediately got me into the doctor's office. As I found myself telling a bit of my story, I was amazed to hear this doctor saying that he believed that things like failure to provide informed consent and failure to follow standard protocol happened during my child's delivery. I've been saying this for 2.5 years, but few have believed me. To hear a gynecologist not only saying it but suggesting that I seek official sanction of those involved was surprising to say the least. For every shred of affirmation or validation I've received in the past has had to be fought for. I've always had to present a passionate and solid argument, trying to win others to my perspective. But this time I barely had to utter a word. He knew my story from my records and he already knew that I'd suffered an injustice, a malpractice really, that led to a horrific injury that could have been prevented with a c-section. He actually said that I'd been given bad legal advice, not to mention inappropriate medical care during and after the delivery. But more importantly than that, he said what no one else has ever said. He said that this was about me as a woman and the injury that happened and should not have happened. Everyone else always focused on the fact that I ended up with a healthy child despite the unfortunate injury to me. But he was bold enough to focus on me and the importance of caring for the health and well-being of the mother as equal to that of the child. (This is hard to articulate, but I'm trying.)

I found out today that this man could have helped me from the beginning of my injury. He could have done the surgical repair, and if it had proven to be too difficult for him, he could have gotten me into see the most skilled Canadian surgeon here within two weeks (someone who was never even on the radar as a specialist I should see). As it was, I waited months to be seen for even a consultation and then had to endure invasive and painful tests that were unnecessary and ineffective. When I described what it was like to go through all of that and how the exams were so rough that all the physiotherapy I'd been doing to retrain my brain and body in the realm of pain memory was undone, he totally understood and mentioned that is why he never sends anyone to that particular surgeon. I don't hold any anger for those who sent me to the specialists in Vancouver, for they were only doing the very best that they knew how. My family doctor had never encountered anyone with my injury and neither had my maternity doctor, so they did the best they could to find a specialist for me by asking around. They just didn't know.

The only thing we can figure is that perhaps the Ob/Gyn who injured me did not refer me to this doctor down the hall from her when my complications first began growing worse because then she would have been found out, and referring me to someone in Vancouver (outside of our local health authority) would protect her from being humiliated or held accountable. I also found out that there are reasons beyond my own story that this Ob/Gyn is not practicing full time. This all made me feel quite vindicated for all the times I tried to share what my experiences were and all the times people thought I was too sensitive. The doctor I saw today could not believe that the Ob who delivered my son via forceps never mentioned the risk of a 4th degree tear or fistulas when seeking my consent, and he was speechless when he heard that they offered me a choice between forceps and a c-section, but then coerced my husband into choosing forceps after I asked for a c-section. He literally could not believe that they refused to accept my choice. But the thing is that he did believe me. He believed every word and he affirmed and validated me for all the hell that I went through.

He also affirmed my decision to seek physiotherapy with a woman trained in uro-gynecology and pelvic floor function. I've come a long way in the past 2.5 years thanks to my physiotherapist. Without her, I would still be unable to carry my son without incontinence, or enjoy marital intimacy without pain. He's the first doctor I've met who knew about it, believed in it, and understood that it's a very real thing to deal with muscle memory and pain memory. He's the first doctor I didn't have to sell on the idea of doing physio instead of surgery. And he operates on women with these issues. Amazing! In fact, it really is amazing that a doctor who primarily works in surgery would work with me to help me find a non-surgical solution for the remaining pelvic floor dysfunction I suffer so I could get back to running and climbing again.

After a long consultation, we finally made it into the exam room where he easily and gently fitted me with a pessary and taught me how to place it and remove it. And then he told me to go run and exercise and make sure it is a good fit. I did exactly that. I ran back and forth along our side yard, disbelieving that I was having no issues. So I went inside and jumped all over our living room, skipping through our suite. Still no issues. I felt like a normal woman who has never given birth, never faced pelvic injury. I still wasn't quite sure it was for real. So I did another test. In fact, I tried the test that is the gold standard. I jumped on the trampoline for quite awhile, stopping only when I was out of breath. If you are a woman who has ever dealt with incontinence, you know what a beautiful and fun gift this is. I haven't been able to jump or run for 2.5 years. My husband and I have a date at our favorite old running spot tomorrow, rain or shine. I can't wait.

I have no regrets for the journey I've been on, for I truly believe that God doesn't waste anything, and I know I've learned so much that will be valuable for others. While I would have loved to have had my fistula fixed quickly and in Canada, I am still and will always be grateful for the amazing surgeon in the States who had compassion on me and operated on me without a fee. I'll always be grateful for my old Ob/Gyn in my former home in the States who walked with me through this and made sure I got good care on his watch. And I'll forever be grateful to the Catholic hospital in the States that lowered our bill and enabled us to pay in full without bankrupting us. I know that the interactions I had with the various staff people in billing were beneficial to them as well as to me. And all of this experience has left me with a knowledge of and a passion for obstetric fistula care in Africa and Haiti. If I'd had my way and had a c-section, I would never have learned about the hundreds of women who suffer this injury without the medical care I've had, and my capacity for compassion and advocacy would never have had an opportunity to grow.

Even though I lost so much time with my child and suffered so many other very real losses because of this injury, I have gained and am gaining a great deal. So even though this isn't the story I would have written for myself, I am confident that it is ending with hope. And that is the best ending to have.

***If this helps anyone at any time now or in the future, this attempt to be so intimately transparent and very authentic will have been worth it. And if you ever need to talk to anyone about a birth injury, incontinence, pelvic floor dysfunction, PTSD related to a birth experience, or any other post partum issues related to a traumatic birth, feel free to view my profile and find my email there. Also, Solace for Mothers is a very helpful resource if you find yourself dealing with a hard birth experience. You'll find just about every kind of story there, everything from women who are ant-hospital/anti-intervention (not like me) to women who are pro-intervention (like me).

Contentment Outside the Rat Race

2011-07-14T22:34:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my husband tonight as our child was blissfully falling into a melatonin induced slumber about how grateful I am for what our life looks like at the moment. Honestly, it's the community garden project that our church farm is doing that has provoked this sudden burst of gratitude and contentment.

It has been such an absolute gift to discover the peace and joy that have been filling up my empty soul as I've weeded and planted, watered and fertilized, staked and pruned. It's crazy that a little garden plot lent to me on a hazelnut farm would be the catalyst for so much, but it's true.

When we lost our home group leader in a horrible car crash that injured his family, my world literally changed overnight. I just didn't know it at the time. I had no idea that friendships would change so drastically. And I certainly had no clue that the church I ran to the Sunday after our friend died would suddenly be a source of crippling anxiety just one month later. It wasn't really the church. It was the relationships within the church. The changes to those precious gifts that had once given me a sense of belonging were just too much for me to handle. So I stayed away. One week turned into twelve, and before I knew it, I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually attended. Even when some amazing things happened in my heart to heal me in that broken part at an Easter retreat, I still couldn't screw up the courage to walk back into those doors. I knew it was time, but it was just too hard.

Then came the garden. After awaiting dry weather for what seemed like eons, we finally were given the go ahead to get in there and begin planting. I put in my seeds and plants, having no idea what fruit was in store for me. Sure, maybe I'd get some lettuce or some peas, but something deeper? I had no idea. But it's true. Coming to that little plot of borrowed dirt on the hazelnut farm my church owns gave me the courage to step back into the doors of the hall we rent on Sunday mornings. But it's more than that. The garden plot has given my heart a chance to grow and heal, to find peace and joy again. I know that all I can do is put the plants or seeds in the ground and tend them as best as I know how, and that God really decides what grows and what bears fruit. I cannot make a seed do anything just as I cannot make the sunshine and warmth visit our little spot in BC longer than a day at a time here. (Boy, if I had that ability, you know I'd be using it about now!) In a sense, I'm partnering with God in my little assigned plot. I still don't know if my tomatoes or peppers will ever have enough sunshine or warmth to produce or if that spinach I've planted three times now will ever grow. I don't even know if I'll get more than just that one first harvest of lettuce. Everything must be held loosely at the garden. Even that is teaching me some pretty big internal lessons that maybe I'll be able to put into words someday.

And I've found the contentment and joy permeating other areas of my life too. We live at the back of a little town in a rented suite. We've got trees and moss and slugs in abundance. Our neighborhood is quiet. I have to be intentional about putting my child in social situations, for we could easily stay home all the time and enjoy just our little family save the occasional trip to the grocery store. My life looks very different than it did when I was a busy classical educator balancing Latin lessons with science and math, studying reformed theology and systematically putting everything from books to beliefs in neat little boxes. I don't spend hours at a coffee shop debating the latest doctrinal topics with seminary students, and I'm not busy writing curriculum or helping to plan classes for a mega church. I'm busy doing laundry and trying to keep up with the stuff that gets tracked into our house. I'm busy changing diapers and kissing owies, reading board books and making up games. My life is about making creative dinners, making the bed, planning when I'll plant kale or can peaches or pick raspberries. I have no idea what the latest shows on television might be outside of the little I see mentioned online, and I definitely am not entirely aware of the latest fashions. Yes, I had no idea how much life would change when I moved into marriage and a new country five years ago.

But you know what? I like this life. Sure, there is no disposable income or cute SUV for me to play with. And I don't have to dress up for work. Heck, I don't even have to get out of my pajamas for work. But it's a beautiful life. I never understood how a friend of mine could say, "All I need to know is that Jesus loves me and that I belong to Him." I thought she was crazy. Because obviously, she needed to know about the deep things of theology and doctrine. She needed to know about the latest books or speakers out there. At least, that's what I thought.

Now I'm pretty sure my friend is onto something. The simplicity that has come into my life from moving away from all of that has been rather freeing, maybe even purifying somehow. I was reminded of that when I read about the latest kafuffle (how do you spell that anyway?!) in the evangelical church with a well known theologian and his comment on facebook. Five years ago, that would have mattered. I would have spent hours thinking, conversing, and writing about it. But now? Well, I read about it and then decided that I had other things I'd rather be doing. My husband put it well when he said that we're fixing our eyes on one Person. He's right. In this current season, I've found all the outer trappings of faith and daily life in a bigger town stripped away from me. And I've discovered something I didn't know was missing - a contentment and joy that sometimes surprises me with its sweetness.

I like this current season. I'm grateful for what (and Who) ushered it in. Do I still mourn all that was lost? You bet. But this current season takes that grief and wraps it up in hope and peace. And that's what makes the joy steal back in. That is a gift. And I'm grateful.

Let the Little Children Come

2011-07-06T22:46:00.000-07:00

Jesus knew what He was saying when He told his disciples to let the kiddos come to Him. He valued them and loved them and He knew that they had a lot to contribute to the world now, while they were children, and not just later on when they grew up.

I was reminded of this today as a young friend was over for a baking day. She's had a long journey since the last time she was over to help out with my little one and do some baking. I was privileged to talk to her at this leg of her journey and was amazed at the wisdom and growth that she has gained in the midst of one of the biggest heartaches a person could ever face. As we talked about her story and her journey, she sounded like a seasoned counselor as she shared her perspective of grief. Honestly? I could have used this wisdom a long time ago when I was stumbling through trying to make sense of the part of her journey I shared. She knows more at 11 than I did at 36. And she probably has no idea, but she totally blessed me today with her words.

Jesus had it right. He knew we grown-ups would be so much richer for the time spent listening to a child. I sure am. And so is my little boy. He signed "please" the whole way home as he requested that she stay at our house longer after we'd already dropped her off.

Comfort When There Aren't Perfect Words

2011-06-27T10:11:00.000-07:00

That Sunny Day In A Whole Different World

2011-06-23T13:00:00.000-07:00

It seems like a lifetime ago. We were gathered at the home of one our fellow home group members for a picnic to celebrate the beginning of summer and the temporary end of meeting weekly. We were on a big property in the country, surrounded by trees and fields. The kids were all there laughing and playing and exploring. My little guy was being shared and passed around by the adoring girls who loved to love on him. I sat on a blanket and listened to this dad talk about his daughter's softball season and could hear the pride in his voice as he talked about her and the rest of the team he coached. I remember him stretched out on the grass, under the sunshine, with his hat perched a little over his eyes. He and the other guys were chatting about life and sports and things that mattered. He and his wife led our home group and invited us into their home every week.

I remember that man's wife taking her camera and sneaking around the trees to capture the kids playing on film. And when the owner of the property got out her vintage green truck to take the kids to the creek across a field, the man's wife - my friend - went along to capture some more memories. She got a lot of good pictures that day though I haven't seen them all. The smiles on the faces show a carefree innocence devoid of deep pain or loss.

We sat around in chairs and on the grass, talking and laughing, eating and enjoying being together. I remember thinking how grateful I was that this was my group, that these people had become my friends. And I remember thinking that this group was the answer to my prayers and wishes for a group where we could all grow together and do life together here on out. Contentment and gratitude filled me up and I felt a sense of belonging that was precious. Life seemed like it had come together at last, like I had a home. It felt complete. And not for one second did I even imagine anything could change that.

Not six months later though, life changed as we all knew it when the dad who was so proud of his daughter and her softball team died in a horrible car crash that also injured his family and broke all of our hearts. Everything has changed, and the memories that day that I accepted as a matter of course have become more precious than gold or diamonds. The fellowship that I planned on has become pretty much just a memory for now. Maybe one day things will be different and we'll find our place together again. I hope so. But it isn't happening right now. I never knew I could love and appreciate so much and lose the chance to share that.

The next time I make a memory like this, I hope I'll remember to take a moment and say thank you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your fellowship and for letting me do life with you. Thank you for caring about my life and for letting me care about yours. Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for being an example. Just thank you. I'm grateful for you, for your life, for this community we're in together.

Something I Like Right Now

2011-05-29T18:36:00.000-07:00

Frailty

2011-05-18T16:39:00.000-07:00

It seems he knows me.
He said my name and knows the name of my husband and child.
But what else he thinks and knows and feels is a mystery.
The only thing I know for sure is that I love him.

Her heart is frail and out of rhythm.
Her mind is sharp though sometimes her vocabulary falters.
She determinedly continues on, strong beyond her body.
She loves and prays and endures.

I am their firstborn grandchild.
Swimming and fishing and playing and crafting are my memories.
They are my prayer warriors and my advice givers.
I do not know how to do this and tears fall from six eyes.

Frailty is not in the original blueprints.
Someday God will make all things new. He promised.
Vocabulary and vigor return.
I'll know how to do that and so will they.

They Did It

2011-05-04T00:32:00.000-07:00

My hubby and his friend completed their marathon on Sunday. It was a beautiful day full of sunshine and breezes. I had a blast with our toddler as we cheered the runners on. There is something about a marathon that is full of profound pictures. I especially love the verse in Hebrews that talks about those who've gone before us to Heaven cheering those of us on who are still journeying through life. I got an earthly glimpse of that Sunday as I watched hundreds of people cheering on the thousands of runners, whether they knew them or not. I also got much food for thought as I watched dozens of senior citizens complete the marathon, some with times that beat men and women 40 years younger. It was a glorious day with a glorious finish, save for the remaining lactic acid that has yet to work its way out of my hubby's legs and the little sunburn that somehow painted my ankles a vibrant shade of hot pink.

I've got lots of thoughts going on and some things I would love to share when I can find words to fit. But for now, I need to get back to bed. Morning with a toddler comes too quickly these days. =)

Marathon!!!!

2011-04-30T22:32:00.000-07:00

In just a few hours, we'll roll out of bed before the sun even thinks about shining and get on our way. My husband and a friend of his are running in a marathon to honor a dear friend who was our home group leader before he died in a horrible wreck just three days after Christmas. He was many things, a runner being one of them. So these two men who loved and respected him are going to be giving their best to run in a marathon to honor him and provide a little something for his wife and four kiddos. I'm praying for a good beginning and a good finish and for no injuries.

This one is for you, Myron. We love you and we miss you more than we can say. But we hope you and Jesus are smiling as you cheer these two zany guys on as they run for you and your family. Oh, and if you have any pull with some guardian angels, this redhead wouldn't mind if you sent a couple to run with these two guys. =)

Heart Stuff

2011-04-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

This season has been so challenging, and it's been sorely tempting to hibernate completely. It dawned on me that the mechanisms I was using to cover up the hurt weren't the most helpful, namely copious amounts of melted peanut butter and chocolate. Not even the addition of an apple could really justify that, so I went looking for better methods that weren't so hard on my physical self. So for about a week I read all of my John Buchan books into the wee hours of the morning, losing myself in the pages of World War 1 adventures. But then I ran out of reading material and needed something else.

I decided to try Brennan Manning again. His books are so deep and pithy that I have to be in the right space to really grasp them and have them bear fruit in my life. (It's way easier for me to grasp something profound if it's encased in a bit of fiction rather than philosophy.) Anyway, I decided to pick his book, A Glimpse of Jesus, since the subtitle talked about how Jesus is a stranger to self-hatred, and that seemed like something I could use a little help with these days.

While I don't understand all of what Brennan Manning writes in this book, little bits are jumping up and hitting my heart full force.

The first one that struck me was this: "The church, in all its structures and facets, should contribute to the resolution of self-hatred rather than write another chapter for the script." (page 15)

The church gets blamed for a lot, and I confess to being guilty of blaming it for a lot of things lately. But this resonated as truth in my heart. In the past nearly four months, instead of feeling built up and loved and valued, I've felt quite the opposite. And the funny thing is that most of the experiences of hurt came from parts of the church. Even funnier to me was that the two main experiences of being built up and loved and valued came from two places decidedly apart from the church. I'm a part of the very church I accuse of letting me down, and I realize that the responsibility of doing this also lies with me. And when I look into my own heart, I see lots of places where I could have done a better job of loving and valuing others too. So I guess this means we all have room for lots of improvement.

The next thing Brennan said that really struck me helped me understand why I've been so prone to "paint pictures of Egypt" lately. Here's what he says:

"I can be anointed, prayed over, sermonized to, dialogued with, and exposed to God's unconditional love in books, tracts, and tapes, but this marvelous revelation will fall on ears that do not hear and eyes that do not see, unless some other human being refresh the weariness of my defeated days. Barring prevenient grace, we humans simply will not accept our life and being as God's gracious gift unless someone values us. 'We can only sense ourselves and our world valued and cherished by God when we fell valued and cherished by others.'" (page 35)

That's what I've been missing. That's the biggest reason I've been, to quote Sara Groves, "painting pictures of Egypt". (I'm not saying that my old home is equal to Egypt, but if you know the song, you can understand how this metaphor would fit.)

When I first walked into the doors of my old church home, I was a broken failure of a person. I'd recently been booted out of a job I loved because I was failing to meet certain necessary expectations. It was handled in a very messy manner, leaving me reeling emotionally and feeling about as valued as a piece of garbage on the curb. But I walked into The Crossing that Sunday morning, full of nervous anxiety, ready to visit the church of someone I was dating at the time, not expecting to find it an instant home and hospital for my broken self. But when a pastor named Russ got up and began to talk that day about grace, he did it in such a way that it broke through the pain in my heart and beckoned me to come back to find more healing. So I kept coming. And I got up the courage one day to ask to meet with the discipleship pastor to tell her my story and see where I might fit. And the crazy thing is that she valued me. Even before I could really offer anything of value, she valued me and reiterated that it's really true that Jesus cherishes me. And then she did something even crazier. She invited me to try a few things alongside her. She let me serve, and she kept letting me serve. And with each success or failure in serving, she valued me even more until I found myself believing that I really did have value, that I really did have something incredible to offer from this messy journey of failure and grace that I was on. Before I knew it, I found myself getting to try things like speaking in front of church to share a bit of something I'd written, and writing curriculum for a class of a couple hundred folks. And in between those experiences, I was doing things like serving as a one-on-one caregiver for a child with special needs and making coffee for one of the classes and helping sort through toiletries and food for Hurricane Katrina victims. Those were days of growing in emotional health and really believing that a God named Jesus could love me, the girl who failed to grade papers in a timely manner and couldn't manage to make it to morning prayer meeting at her teaching job because she hated to get up early.

But I've forgotten all of that five years after getting married and moving to another country and another church home. I've forgotten that I really have value, that I'm really lovable. I've forgotten how to stride forward with confidence and take on little or big tasks with competence and creativity. And I know why, and I'm not yet ready to honestly let it go and forgive. That is the crux of all of this. When somebody doesn't value us, not only does it have wide-reaching consequences in how we feel as humans on this planet and as children of God, but it also brings up a need to forgive. And I'm not good at forgiving, especially when nothing has changed and the hurt continues. And while I'm the type to stubbornly insist that I shouldn't have to do this until someone values me, the truth is that not letting go and not forgiving and not focusing on just loving others keeps me stuck. It's rather silly to wait around for someone else to decide to help me get unstuck when making the hard decision to let go and move on would unstick me quite quickly.

And so that is where I'm at. Today I have the choice to get unstuck and to let go of the confusing junk of the past few months and just seek to be a kind and loving and valuing human being for whatever other human Providence puts in my path. This is going to take some work. And today I have the choice to just accept that where I am at now is not at all like where I once called home, and that though there are many things I don't like about it, I have the choice to find and appreciate the good things. Surely, there are good things about it. I have the choice to let go, to appreciate, to reach out, to be the lover of people and valuer I wish to receive. Wish me luck!

Listen to Your Mother

2011-04-01T23:10:00.000-07:00

Mamas are all different the world around and yet so very much the same. We love with all we have and all we are. Some talented mamas used their words and put the beauty of motherhood on display last year. I share it with you because I thought you might want to gift yourself with this bit of encouragement just as I did after the dishes were finally finished, the laundry was halfway in process, and the two males in my life were fast asleep in bed.

This is amazing and well worth your time. (click on that link and it will take you to a vimeo video of the Listen to Your Mother performance directed by Ann Imig)

I hope you are as encouraged and blessed as I have been in watching this.

Song for Japan

2011-03-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

A friend sent me this YouTube video, and I thought I'd share it with you.

Can I Get a Heck Yeah?

2011-03-07T22:18:00.000-08:00

Life lately has been anything but rosy, and I have the melancholy all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes to prove it. And while I love Jesus, I have to admit that I'm having a heck of a time loving His Bride at the moment. This is not a new adventure, as I've cycled through these feelings before with different people at different times. So I ride the bad attitude waves, knowing that God will eventually give me the grace and mercy needed to learn to love my fellow humans again. For I remember the truth in what Derek Webb sings, "If you love Me, you will love the Church." (And by Church, he doesn't mean a building or a denomination, but the whole group of people who follow Jesus. Sometimes I get hung up on that part too.)

But here's the deal. It would be a heck of a lot easier to love the Church if we loved each other well and actually treated each other with kindness and sweetness and love and all that. I think that's where I fall off the end of my rope. I'm pretty sensitive, and after one too many times of being treated without kindness or gentleness or whatever it is that I need by someone who claims to follow the same Jesus I try to follow, I start to get tempted to give up on Christians as a whole. And when I see someone else I love being treated like crap by people who should be loving them instead, my penchant for justice comes to the fore and I want to come in with fists swinging. (I'm so dainty like that.) I pendulum between being angry and being sad and hurt. And I can totally picture the illustration my former pastor used years ago when he talked about Jesus in Heaven looking down at us on Earth and saying, "Kids! You're getting it all wrong! You're missing the point."

Lately, I feel like so many people I know are missing the point. And it makes me want to be a hermit. But I know that instead, like Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, we're called into community even though it's messy. Another blogger gets this too and she expresses it way better than anything I've written here. Plus, she sounds nicer. And I just sound like I have a snarky attitude. (I'm working on it, Mom, I promise!) So without further words from me, here you go.....

This lady says it well.

There is Something to the Determination of a Child

2011-03-01T23:03:00.000-08:00

I watched a little girl walk all over the place today. Two months ago, she was full of broken bones basically from head to toe. One week ago, she was proud to show me how she was just allowed to stand on her own. And now she is walking on her own. As I watched her full of so much determination motor around like a little penguin, I couldn't help but wonder in awe at how much can be accomplished by desire, perseverance, and stubborn determination.

There are so many reasons Jesus told us to be like little children. I'm thinking it's time to figure out how to be more like an eight year old.

Kindness

2011-02-26T23:24:00.000-08:00

"Yes, my life has meaning. And so it doesn't matter that the day began with me feeling like a nobody who just got stepped on. As it would turn out, my heart feels much differently now. Funny how just a few minutes of someone's time and a few kind words can do that to a person. "

I wrote that in my private journal just before Christmas on a day that had started out rather crappy but was brightened and given a whole new outlook thanks to my doctor taking a few minutes to speak some encouraging words. My husband and I were talking tonight about how a certain situation could have transpired much differently than it has. He asked me what I'd boil it down to. I couldn't pinpoint it yet, but he mentioned that affirmation would have made a world of difference. Affirmation in the way people spoke and acted would indeed have made all the difference. It's a shame it didn't turn out that way.

So I write here in this space and encourage anyone reading to take a moment to add in the kindness and courtesies that make sunshine in someone's life. Use the "please" and "thank you", the "I'm sorry" and the "well done" when you can. Pay attention to the tone of your spoken and written word. Even if you aren't a word person and don't spend the kind of time thinking about semantics that I do, pay attention to how your words can come across to someone not like you. If you're not a highly sensitive person and you are having to work with a highly sensitive person, don't insist that they speak your language. Try to learn a bit of theirs instead. It won't kill you. It might enrich you. When someone shares their heart, listen. When someone shares their perspective, remember that perspective is reality for that person and seek to understand. Keep a soft heart. Don't discount what someone says even if you have a different viewpoint. Even in the midst of your own exhaustion or grief or stress, take a moment to be kind to the person in front of you.

Kindness matters. It can change the world if you let it.

Thinking About the Future

2011-02-21T23:42:00.001-08:00

Since our friend died on December 28th and our whole world changed as we had once known it, I've been doing a lot of thinking. Things like what matters most, relationships, a legacy, taking care to plan for my child in the event something happens to me before he is grown, and other things have filled my thoughts and kept me up at night. But after listening to my friend speak of Heaven and the conversations she is having with her children as they grieve the loss of their daddy, I've been thinking about it too.

The other day, I crossed the border with a friend and stopped at the bookstore to pick up a couple books for our home group. I spent a bit of time looking for this one book on Heaven that my friend had mentioned reading to her kids. While it wasn't in stock, this other book was. It's called Heaven, and it's basically an encyclopedic look at Heaven by Randy Alcorn. It is endorsed by Joni Earickson Tada, among others, so I knew it was probably pretty good. I've read other books by Alcorn and was willing to give this one a try even though it wasn't cheap. So far, it has been totally worth every penny.

He backs up each point with Scripture and explains a lot of history and where we get some of our notions about the afterlife. I'm only now realizing that a lot of what I was taught growing up came from terribly written hymns, silly Baptist school teachers who were more influenced by Plato than they would ever dream, and some other less than stellar resources. What I'm learning about Heaven now actually makes me look forward to going there.

This post totally does not do the book justice at all, but I highly recommend it to anyone whether you have a faith or not. It is fascinating, and if you are at all like me and secretly hope to live in Narnia and be friends with the Beavers one day, I think you'll like this book. I totally dream about seeing the giraffe I met at the St. Louis Zoo this fall when I get there. I hope we are neighbors. =)

Quick Bloggy Note

2011-01-30T23:20:00.000-08:00

For my favorite Sarah in the UK and a few others, I am so sorry your comments haven't been showing up. I just found out about them when I was going through some html settings. Though I had set everything to notify me with comments, none were coming into my email inbox, so I just assumed you all were quiet (or that I'd scared you away). =) Anyway, I've hopefully fixed that issue, and now hopefully you won't think I was just ignoring you! Because I wasn't, I promise. =)

Little Birds & the Dark

2011-01-30T22:41:00.000-08:00

My husband has a lot in common with the American Dipper. That's a story for perhaps another day, but that is why he calls me Little Bird. Well, for that reason and the fact that I remind him of this little bird he often sees on construction sites. Currently, this Little Bird is prone to running into trees, pecking too much, and forgetting that I have a Heavenly Father who really does care about even the littlest of birds.

Grasshopper came down with a cough and a fever this afternoon. He and his daddy are snuggled under the covers fast asleep and I'm still awake longing for connection, wishing that a simple conversation could take away the pain in my heart. But it's too late to call anyone and because I know sleep is impossible at the moment, I decided to read some of my favorite blogs in hopes that they would have some form of connection, some nugget of hope or truth to shed some light on this dark day. To be perfectly honest, I was ignoring that still small voice that was inviting me to connect with Him and not a phone or a computer. But God loves me despite my looking for His comfort everywhere but Him. God in His infinite mercy led me here, where Angie Smith contributes on occasion.

Check out her post and then come back if you like.

When I got to the paragraph she quotes about how a sparrow cannot learn to sing in the daylight but must instead learn to sing in the darkness, the tears just burst out of me with a cathartic suddenness that only happens when God opens the floodgates Himself. Because that is me. I'm that sparrow. Years ago, I had other beautiful songs to sing. But the season for those songs is over and I've been left wondering what song I'm meant to sing and how I can even begin to learn it. Can a Little Bird really learn to sing in this darkness that seems to prevail despite every attempt to illuminate it? I believe she can. It may take time, and it certainly will take darkness. But if God really made a bird on purpose that needs darkness to discover its song, surely He knows what He's doing in my own dark season.

Quietness & Understanding

2011-01-25T20:00:00.000-08:00

In this current season as we are experiencing sorrow and other hard things in our community, we also find ourselves learning some important lessons. I could list so many, but the one that sticks out at me the most involves being wise with our compassion and our words.

As I've read blogs over the years of people going through huge trials, I've often attempted to say something encouraging or helpful. As I watch my friend going through the loss of her husband and writing her beautiful heart out on her blog, I'm also watching people (including me) leave comments. Some are like a balm, soothing and loving. And some make me want to cringe with their presumption. Some even make me want to throw things. And it dawned on me that maybe I've been that type of commenter for others, without ever wanting to be that way or intending to be that way. But maybe I said things that were in fact hurtful simply because I did not have full understanding.

In times of grief we all want to do something, do anything to make the pain go away even a little bit. We do that in our own grief, and we do that when we see others grieving. What I'm learning is the importance of just being. It is hard to just be, but it is sometimes the very best thing to do. If Job's friends had been patient and willing to sit with him and just be for longer than the few days they gave him before they started speaking, I wonder if they too would have been richer for it. One by one, all the people around Job ended up hurting him with their words. They meant well, but their many words failed to show true understanding or even an acknowledgment that sometimes there is no understanding available. Does that make sense?

When I hear someone writing about depression as if it were only a sinful or weak response that could be simply combatted by putting on God's armor, I have a hard time staying silent. Those can be supremely hurtful words to someone who has been on the medical side of depression. Those words are like Job's friends, clueless and pompous, believing in their own compassion, failing to see it was no compassion at all. So when someone grieving mentions that particular topic, the best thing we can do is listen and pray and just be present. If we are in a position to have them consider themselves close to us, then we might ask questions to draw them out, but we should still be careful when making any statements that could feel more like harsh judgments. We have no idea what road they have walked, what wrestlings they have already fought through, what portions are body chemistry and what portions are everything else. We just don't know.

All this I would like to say to one commenter in particular on my friend's blog, but I cannot. So here I am on my public blog writing it out so that my heart can at least let this go. I don't know what my friend is most longing to feel or to hear or even if the comments that strike a nerve in me do the same for her, but for me, I know that I always most long for understanding. And when it cannot be given, I long for presence with quietness. I don't want to be alone in my grief, but neither do I want to have to hear words that sound like clanging gongs.

I don't know how much I'll write over here. Most of my time is spent privately journaling the confusion, grief, pain, and sorrow in a safe place. But if it were possible for the lessons I'm learning to be put into helpful words that were good, beautiful, and true, I might try to put them here. But this could also stay a pretty quiet place too. Only time will tell.

***If you are hungering for a good companion made of words to walk with you in a time of grief, I recommend Jerry Sittser's book, A Grace Disguised. I'm rereading it after several years and finding it packed with gold once again. There are other books by Lewis and Packer and others that are wonderful too, but Sittser's book is in my mind more helpful in the earlier days of grieving than the others.

To Begin Our Year

2011-01-03T22:38:00.000-08:00

I haven't felt up for writing here in the last few days. It's not like I write very faithfully or well here often anyway. But sadness hit our lives on the 28th when a dear friend and our home group leader was killed in a car crash that also injured his wife and seriously injured their four children, including one who is my mother's helper and dear to my heart. I've been privately journaling about it, and that has helped. But did want to share one thing here.

When it came to December 31st and the idea that we'd be entering a new year, I was saddened. It dawned on me that I'd been secretly wishing God would give me a year where I could "coast", to quote something Brian Doerksen said in his Today dvd when speaking about his wish for an easy year after a series of hard years. And after the events of the 28th, it was obvious 2011 wasn't beginning at all like a coasting year, but instead it was beginning with intense grief and pain.

My dad, who is one amazing and caring and loving guy, sent me a devotional from some mission's organization that sends him online newsletters. I copied the first part of it below, which I later found out is rather timely because of the movie "The King's Speech" that is about this very king. (We're seeing the movie in a couple of days and I can say I'm looking forward to watching Mr. Darcy, er, I mean, Colin Firth.) Anyway, if you are having a year begin off a bit like mine, this quote and the excerpt from a beautiful poem may just feed your soul like it did mine. So here you go......

Pressing On
by Wye Huxford

It was a nervous, frightful time in England, when, on Christmas Day 1939, King George VI addressed his fellow citizens. One could hardly be critical of people in those days for being nervous and frightful. Hitler was moving into high gear when it came to his goal of taking over Europe - perhaps the whole world. Some have suggested that his speech was the most important Christmas message the royal family in England has even given.

King George closed his speech by quoting a few lines from an otherwise obscure Canadian lady named Minnie Louise Haskins. She had written these lines in a poem titled "The Gate of the Year." Here is what he quoted:

"And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:

'Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.'

And he replied, 'Go out into the darkness, and put your hand into the hand
of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.'"

A Fun Craft Project For A Gift

2010-12-26T23:01:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I get to go take a friend out for lunch to celebrate her birthday. One of her friends from her home group arranged for 40 of us who love her lots to celebrate her birthday for 40 consecutive days. I think it's a great idea. Her friend who organized this suggested we put our creativity to work to come up with some special way of remembering the day.

So....Grasshopper and I painted an unfinished wooden picture frame I picked up from Michael's. I really wanted this to be Grasshopper's work, so I just gave him several brushes and put several colors of acrylic paint on two paper plates and let him go for it. He combined his brush work with using his hands and elbows. The whole frame looks like one incredibly colorful modern work of art, and you can see a few places where his hand or finger prints come through clearly. It's adorable. All I did was paint around the inside and outside edge to finish it, and then put Grasshopper's name and age on the back.

I had watched this neat card making video on a blog awhile back and filed it away as something I'd want to make some day. Today was the day. It took forever to relocate the video, but once I did I was reminded it was worth all the effort. The card I made took awhile to make, but I loved every minute of it. I'd take pictures, but it has real names all over it. So you'll have to watch the video to get the idea. My card starts out with red, blue and yellow, and then turns into ivory and teal and a fun plaid, which then turns into the plaid with some blue and purple blocks. It ends with rose colored paper in various patterns and solids. It is a very cool card, and I'm so proud of it. I think it will definitely be one I make again for a gift for someone else.

Here's the video tutorial I used. I would watch a step of it, complete the step, and then go back and watch the next portion. That made it easy peasy. The only thing I did differently was to use double sided scrapbooking tape so I wouldn't have to worry about waiting for glue to dry or paper getting too saturated or wrinkly. I've played with the card enough already to see that the tape should be strong enough to hold it permanently. This is such a fun gift! Check it out!

A Christmas Gift For You

2010-12-12T22:19:00.000-08:00

My mom told me about this video tonight. I guess she's from around where they live. It's pretty special if you ask me. Just the right Christmas gift as I look over at the manger with the handmade baby Jesus that was well kissed tonight by a little boy I love.

Check it out!

Beautiful

2010-12-10T23:46:00.000-08:00

Lots of life has been happening. My toddler was in the hospital for a bit. We traveled home to the States for a bit. Our adopted family here has been in the midst of a tough journey. I've been following what I think might be a new calling for me. All kinds of stuff. But I don't feel much like writing. Instead, I'll just share a video I love right now. A blogging friend I hope to one day meet has this song on her blog, which made me decide to find out who Forever Jones is. And that led me to watching a few videos. This one makes me want to dance with God.

*Loading this was a bear and I have NO idea why. If you click on the partial box in the far right hand corner at the bottom, it will take you to YouTube where you can watch it there without having any of the screen cut off.

Sacred Stories

2010-10-25T21:41:00.000-07:00

“Story is the way the Spirit of God can bind up our wounds. When these words find their mark, God heals two hearts-yours and mine.” ~ Ann Voskamp

I read this quote on a blog, can't remember which one. But it is so true. I've been reading John Little's book, Catherine's Gift. I highly recommend it. I wrote him yesterday to thank him for the way his book is helping heal my heart. And he wrote me back. It's like there is finally someone who truly understands the emotional impact of a traumatic birth injury. While I married for love and at an age that was definitely considered adult, and had all the advantages of a wealthy western nation's health care at my disposal, the injury still happened and it still wounded my heart just as much as it wounded my body. So while my story is not entirely like those of the young women in his book, our hearts echo the same refrain.

And so it is true that his book is healing my heart like nothing else. And it is also true that story is a way that God's Spirit binds up our wounds. The stories of the women from Ethiopia are doing just that for a redhead in Canada. His words found their mark - my heart. And such is the way that God heals.

Overheard

2010-10-25T13:53:00.001-07:00

The other day some friends of ours were discussing my usage of "Inkling" on everything. They thought it must symbolize something, but they didn't quite know what that might be. When I told them, they had the typical "aha" moment, and then life went back to normal with our boys playing and the men talking and me sitting quietly and making sure no one toppled Grasshopper over in their enthusiasm for life.

Even though I feel as if part of my brain has disappeared since giving up all teaching jobs and moving to Canada to become a wife and mother, I still try to stay somewhat connected to my love of all things literary. It's not particularly easy when my toddler would rather have me read Goodnight, Gorilla five zillion times in a row. But I try. I even made the owner of a local used bookstore light up when I asked him if he had any John Buchan or Arthur Quiller Couch in stock. I think he'd had one too many people trying to sell him their cast off Danielle Steele's that day, and he needed a sign that not all was lost in the realm of literature appreciation.

So, do you have some literary loves? Do you too wish you could have been invited to an informal meeting of the Inklings? Do you wish you could have known Henry David (the original one, not my husband) to ask him about his writings and thoughts? Or am I the only one surreptitiously smelling books in used bookstores and looking to know Hugo Dyson and his fellow comrades a little better? Please tell me I'm not the only one. But if I am, maybe that's okay. After all, that leaves more Q for me. =)

Bits & Pieces

2010-10-21T13:09:00.000-07:00

So I guess it's been awhile since I've written. Life has been so busy, and though I've been learning and experiencing a lot, I haven't had a whole lot to say that could be shared in this spot. But I'll give it a try....

~ Grasshopper is growing. He is such a delight. He isn't talking outside of a very few words. I worry sometimes, but his comprehension and ability to understand are so great that I'm trying to just be patient. People keep telling me that he will be one of those kids who just starts speaking in paragraphs when he turns three. I hope that's correct. For now, we he's good at saying "no, bah (for bottle), bo (for book), yeah, mama, dada, ball, dat (for that)" and he makes various animal and machine sounds.

He still sleeps in our bed. Henry David is probably going to build him a bed of his own, and I'm hoping to move out my dresser and put it there until I can feel comfortable having him in the nursery. Because the nursery has the boiler closet in it, that makes me more than a little nervous. Plus, I like having Grasshopper close by. I sleep better and so does he. But it's getting to be that time where the mama and the daddy get their bed back to themselves.

He still isn't a great eater and he still asks for a bottle at night. We're working on this. If chocolate could suddenly possess all the nutrients of the fruits and vegetables of the world, we wouldn't have a problem. But as it is not the same as a green bean or piece of kale, I will continue to try to get my child to eat enough so he can grow.

He loves to help me with chores, regularly running "errands" for me around the house, emptying out the dishwasher and handing me the dishes, loading and unloading the washer, and helping me mop and sweep and dust. He's actually quite good at it. For 21 months, I find that impressive. The trick will be helping him keep that desire to clean and do chores once he's into his elementary years.

~ I've been reading. After a long time of literary starvation, I am making up for lost time. I read David Platt's Radical recently and am attempting to take on the year long experiment he suggests. I also enjoyed some books about First Nations, and one woman's journey through Labrador. And of course, I'm always checking out cookbooks from the library and discovering new recipes and methods of cooking. My latest find is a cookbook from Iraq. Books for Grasshopper are also on my reading list, with the latest being one on mollusks. (Did you know a slug is a mollusk? We have a lot of those, and he is very intrigued with them, so getting a book on them seemed like a good idea.) I'm in the middle of reading Ravi Zacharias' latest, Has Christianity Failed You?, and it is proving to be rather intriguing. I'm also in the middle of reading Chesterton's Orthodoxy, which is one that I've been wanting to tackle for awhile now. And finally, I'm in the middle of reading Catherine's Gift, which is a sequel of sorts to the book Hospital by the River about a doctor who pioneered fistula treatment in Ethiopia. This book is breaking my heart all over again, and as much as the idea of traveling to Africa makes me want to puke, the idea of loving on women who have been through a hell that I can definitely begin to understand firsthand makes me want to go despite my fear. I keep dreaming of all the things I would load in my suitcase to take to them. (Poise pads included.)

~ Speaking of fistula treatment....that continues to be a journey. I continue to press on with physical therapy to regain my ability to run and do anything requiring the use of my core. I go on a retreat in less than two weeks, and during the free time I plan to use that time to put my experience into official words for the official complaints. A part of me would rather just forget this part of my journey and go on with my life, but protecting other women from the poor medical practice of the folks involved in my case is a responsibility of mine. (God didn't give me a justice complex for no reason.) The surgery appears to have been successful, and though I still experience pain at times, the fistula seems to be gone once and for all. We still won't know for some months, but I am hopeful that my days of living with an abscessing fistula are permanently over. Now the hard work of getting back into shape after nearly two years of mostly sedentary living has begun, though it is hampered by not yet being allowed to run or do anything that would use my abdominal muscles to a great degree.

~ We are going "home" for Thanksgiving for the first time since getting married. I am excited to get to celebrate with Americans and really experience all the tradition again. I try to keep it up here on my own, but it's not nearly as fun. And it's also not nearly as easy since Henry David doesn't get American Thanksgiving off as a holiday in Canada, which means I'm cooking all day all by myself. So going home is going to be special. I can't wait!

~ I'm being stretched and challenged in a few areas of life, not the least of which is my collection of clothing and books. I'm being moved to share it permanently with others around me who actually have greater need of it than I do. So far, I've made some small attempts to share. Nothing earth shattering yet, but I'm on my way. A friend of mine was gifted with my favorite wool skirt and some favorite wool sweaters and some favorite tops. I don't know yet if she has chosen to keep them (if they fit and if she likes them), but I'm hoping they bless her in some way. My goal is to feel the "freedom we find from the things we leave behind".

~ We're doing a marriage book as the current study for our home group (a small group of couples from our church). The women are reading For Women Only and the men are reading For Men Only. We decided to do this after realizing that we collectively knew too many couples to count who have been married for years but are throwing in the towel, as well as other couples who were going through a tough season (us included). So we're reading the books and discussing them, and then standing together to commit to encourage one another in marriage and to stand by each other as couples. After that, we're talking about reading a book that deals with the whole idea of being "downwardly mobile" and participating in distributing wealth. (In other words, there isn't a shortage of wealth in our world. There is just a shortage of distribution and sharing. Not to be equated with socialism or communism, of course!!!)

~ This summer I didn't get to harvest any berries, but I did get to can peaches and make grape jelly. A young couple in our church are starting up a community garden on the hazelnut farm our church owns for next year, and I jumped at the chance to sign up for a plot. I can't wait to get back into gardening and putting up fruit and veggies. It should be easier next year because Grasshopper will be older and my health will be hopefully back to normal, enabling me to actually go pick berries and plant a garden. When they announced this idea on Sunday, it took everything in me not to cheer loudly. As it was, even my "soft" cheering collected stares and some laughter from those sitting around us. Obviously, I'm pumped!

I think that's about it. I need to get back to chores and completing my "homework" to facilitate tonight's home group. The chapter is on respect. I'm just hoping my questions resonate with the women in the group. We are technically the babies of the group, having only been married for 4.5 years. Everyone else is in their second or third decade of marriage. Bye for now....

Where Do You Put Your Heart To Work?

2010-09-10T23:29:00.000-07:00

Lately it seems that the world's brokenness is just so huge, so impossibly big for a 5'1" redhead to change. But like JJ Heller sings about how a cup of cold water can change the world, I keep on giving out cups of cold water and accepting the occasional cup that comes my way to help heal my own brokenness.

This morning I listened from our little den in Canada to my President answer questions. Someone asked him about the sorry state of something or other and asked for the reasons for it's brokenness. Of course, the President said something perfectly acceptable and expected. But inside, I kept thinking, shouldn't he mention that this world is a broken place in need of a Savior, The Savior?

Too many couples to count are being assailed until love begins to fail, hearts grow cold, and the fires of love and commitment die down and threaten to become ash. We watch on the sidelines, and sometimes we are in the horrible game ourselves. It's a fight. A fight to keep love alive. A fight to stay faithful to one's vows made before so much water under a bridge. We alternately cheer the ones we see struggling to keep on fighting, and then we fight to keep our own marriage intact and strong.

Babies are being born with Trisomy 18 and I just ask God how long. How long must mamas have bursting hearts? How long must parents fight for the care they need for their precious wee ones while the doctors and various organizations (social security, etc.) are saying that a disorder is incompatible with life and therefore not worthy of an effort or a fight.

The women and children in the Congo. Forever impacted in their bodies, minds and hearts. How long, Lord? Will You step in? They need rescued.

Those children in families in tin shacks on the side of a mountain in Guatemala who cling to life just as the tin of their home clings to the side of the mountain. Will their lives rush away like the walls of their homes when the rains come unrelenting? Who will come to them and provide even basic clean water and food and shelter? Who will keep them from harm? Who will tell them about a Savior? Who will be their savior?

A young woman forever altered because of medical malpractice seeks to get a normal life back and protect other women from injury. As I (the young woman) research this area to see about help and healing, I uncover story after story of heartbreaking neglect and incompetence. Who will speak up for the helpless? Who will fight an uphill battle against a modern day Goliath?

A doctor well loved in the community discovers he has Parkinson's. The disease is held at bay for a few years, but then it begins to show. What of his faithfulness? Who will be his Healer? He who has worked to be healing hands to so many?

Another doctor watches patients with months and weeks left here on earth and finds that all the important words to say don't often get said. He uses his time and talents and resources to write songs, lullabies actually that will soothe their injured hearts and comfort them as they face death. Who will partner with him to get these songs into every needy hand and every hurting heart?

Those youth on the streets on a Friday night. Looking a little lost despite being in the middle of the herd. Knowing that their home life is a bit of a wreck. Who will come and mentor them? Who will tell them that they were created as masterpieces with a purpose?

The original occupants of our lands, those aboriginals, natives, whatever label the area places on them, what of them? Displaced, addictions enabled, government that seeks to help too little too late after too much damage, high suicide rates, separated from the rest of society where both sides have become unwilling to understand and live together in harmony. Some of us long to reach out, but our color is the first thing they see and it is not at all attractive to them because of the history they carry in their hearts. Where will healing come from?

And I could keep on writing until my fingers were raw and bleeding from typing. So much brokenness. So much hurt.

So what are you doing with your heart and your passion and your resources? Where are you putting them to work? Where is your cup of water going to help change our world? And how in the world can I make my cup of water grow into thousands upon thousands of cups of water?

Car Seat Love

2010-08-20T19:00:00.001-07:00

It was time to buy a new carseat for our little guy. We'd had the Graco Safeseat since we brought him home from the hospital, and it was finally coming to within 1" of the height limit for usability. So our search was on. I combed the internet for reviews, reading both American and Canadian*. That led me to three top choices: the Graco My Ride 65, and two from Britax.

We intended to go to a shop called Baby's World on the way home from physical therapy today in Vancouver, get a ton of customer service with expert advisors, and then go save a ton of money by buying it down the road at Baby's-R-Us where you get good pricing but horrid customer service. Well.....

Baby's World is routinely more expensive on the same products I can find in other stores. But this time, they were running a sale on Britax of 20%, plus they were subsidizing over half of the HST. We spent a ton of time there narrowing down our options, and then headed to Baby's-R-Us to check out the Graco model and see their prices.

Less than five minutes in the big box store told us we were NOT giving them our business. Not only did their sale end yesterday, but it was still advertised and when I asked the clerk about it, she took the flyers away and told us the prices we saw on retail would have to do. They were WAY more than Baby's World, and an average of $50 more than their own online prices. And the Graco model sounded better online than it looked in person. So we walked out of there after telling them we were headed back to Baby's World with some smug satisfaction.

Call us crazy, but we are the happy and ecstatic owners of the Britax Advocate CS. I love the pattern, and the way it fits in our tiny little Jetta is amazing. I LOVE the fact that we can raise the shoulder straps with a simple turn of a knob to get an incremental and perfect fit. No more rethreading straps and pulling everything apart!

We're still rear facing, and plan to be until our little guy turns 2. The height limit for rear facing is almost reached though, so we will just keep checking the position of his legs and his comfort level. If the leg room isn't a problem after he turns two, we'll reevaluate then, because research shows how much greater safety is when children are rear facing. While I would love to let him face forward so he could see so much more, the research I've read is more compelling than being able to point out cows on the side of the road.

We plan to use this one until our little guy turns 4 or 5, and then we'll evaluate to see if he's still comfortable. Currently, our plan is to buy the booster with a high back after this one for him to use until he's out of carseats altogether. Of course, there's always the potential advent of another kiddo to make us juggle carseats too, so we're open to the time frame. Right now, we're just enjoying the Lazy Boy of carseats. If only my driver's seat were that comfortable. ;)

Thank you, Government of Canada, for the monthly "gifts" you send us specifically for having a child. Those gifts are the reason we can buy such nice childcare items.

And thank you, Baby's World, for once again offering customer service that rocks the world and makes your customer's days brighter. You guys are amazing. I may not be able to afford most of what you sell, but for big and important items like stroller and carseats, you guys are THE BEST. And I still remember how kind you were to my grandparents when they came to look at Bob.

*Car seats must be purchased in the country you live in for them to be accepted by insurance companies. Even if we bought the same product in the States, our insurance would NOT cover us if we were to be in a wreck. That's just the way it goes.

Prayers for a Family Needed

2010-07-04T11:47:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite blogs is by Angie Smith. She has a friend, Adrienne, who also write a special blog. Adrienne and her husband have been on an incredible journey that has led to three adoptions and one biological birth. She gave birth last night to a baby boy named Bennett Isaac at 26 weeks 5 days gestation. You can read about this little man on her blog here. Because he stopped growing a few weeks ago, he's even tinier than the normal almost 27 weeker, and he's really struggling. I would ask you to pray for this family and just to be thinking of them. My only connection with them other than the fact that they live close to my brother is that I once bought Tupperware from one of their adoption sponsors to help them raise money. I don't know them personally, but my heart goes out to them. Please pray. Regardless of what ends up happening today, I know this journey is going to be tough and hard on their hearts. Thanks!

Where Has This Book Been All My Life?

2010-07-02T12:30:00.000-07:00

Awhile back, I was on my way to the post office across the border to mail a package of earrings to a little girl who just had her ears pierced. But the line was so long that I knew the post office would be closed before I could even make it across, and no one would let me over into the left lane so that I could escape at the last place possible before going into an area where you HAVE to cross. I was frustrated and tried to figure out what in the world I'd tell the border guard. Truth be told, I'd just come from a pretty emotional meeting where I shared the emotional impact I'm dealing with as a result of the malpractice that caused my traumatic birth injury. So I was already near tears. The whole Canadians not letting me over to go back into Canada and try the border another day only made me even more homesick.

The poor border guard asked the innocent question, "Where are you going and what is the purpose of your trip?"

"Lynden. I'm just homesick."

"Oh, you have family in Lynden?"

"No, they are a couple thousand miles away. But I'm just homesick and need to be in America for awhile. I thought I'd go to Lynden to a bookstore."

"Oh. Well, uh, carry on. Hope you have a better day."

So I drove to Lynden, frustrated that all that waiting kept me from mailing that package and that I'd have to wait another week to mail it. But I kept driving, crying and asking God to do something. I was pretty ticked in reality. Missing the States, frustrated with Canada for a variety of reasons (I do love it most days), I just needed something, anything to encourage me and bring some joy.

For some reason, I wandered down the audio aisle at the bookstore and noticed an audio book called the Heart Mender. I read the back and was intrigued, but put it down since I never have a chance to listen long enough to a book. Besides, I'd decided to buy a cd of music that would speak to me. So I went to the cds and picked out two, trying to decide which one would be the best pick-me-up possible. Then the bargain books caught my eye, but there was nothing there. But over in the corner where the "A's" begin in the fiction section I saw Heart Mender by Andy Andrews. I decided to splurge and took it home.

It wasn't until this past Wednesday that I even had a chance to pick it up. I read the first four chapters during some rare alone time, and was totally hooked. After putting Grasshopper to bed, I couldn't help myself. I picked it up and before I knew it, it was almost 2 in the morning and I was finished with one of the most amazing books I've ever read. For me, it was the perfect book. For it softened my heart and made me open to the possibility of forgiving the midwife and OB who are responsible for altering my health permanently. As I lay there contemplating all the profound messages in this book, I realized some pretty deep things about my own situation. And somewhere inside, the hard shell I've been building these past 18 months got a crack in it. I'm not saying that I don't still have moments (like now) when I'd happily watch those two medical practitioners get a taste of their own medicine, but the Heart Mender opened my eyes to how it may one day be possible to look back and say that I have indeed forgiven them and found freedom from all the anger and hurt that currently weighs be down.

If you like stories that are basically true; if you like stories that build your anticipation and make you laugh and cry and come out a better person, this book is the one for you. I love it. Go read it. The Heart Mender by Andy Andrews. Lord bless that man for seeing a story in a rusty vegetable can. Incredible.

So Many Ways To Make A Difference

2010-06-23T15:56:00.000-07:00

This blog is always quiet on the comments sent to my box, but I know some of you are actually reading. While my current calling seems to be a combination of motherhood and homemaking and advocacy for women with birth injuries, a young woman I know of has another calling. I just thought I'd post one of her videos here for you to watch. It will link you to other related videos and ways to get more information about the Not For Sale campaign. I figure posting it might make someone out there sense a calling on their life for this particular subject. (Again, you'll probably want to go directly to YouTube to watch this. I'm thinking that perhaps my template is cutting the video in half, but don't have time to rectify that today.)

Part of My New Calling & Passion

2010-06-15T11:08:00.000-07:00

I sit here with a metaphorical hole in my heart and a wondering of when it will be healed. The literal hole that was once a fistula caused by trauma during childbirth looks to have finally been healed, though I won't be out of the woods for some months. But the lingering effects of living with a fistula and dealing with the aftermath of a lack of appropriate, knowledgeable, and timely medical care here in BC have put a great toll on my heart and mind.

I never wanted to be an advocate for other women, but my situation has opened my eyes to the calling and the great responsibility I have to educate women and medical practitioners of so many issues involving childbirth and maternity care. There is so much I would say today, but simply do not have the words that can pierce through my emotions at this moment.

So until I have those words, I want to leave you with two things. First, this idea...."evil triumphs when good people do nothing." Don't be someone who allows evil to triumph. Too many people are willing to agree but then sit and do nothing. Please be somebody who agrees and does something. Even a little something.

And that leads me to my second thing I leave you with, a tiny way to do something. Watch the video, research, look up the terms "obstetric fistula", learn what obstructed labor is and imagine what it would be like to experience that with no medical care (or in my case, with inadequate and inappropriate medical care), and sign the petition or write letters. (For some reason, this isn't wanting to post with the entire picture visible. But if you click on the title in the video box, it will take you directly to YouTube to watch.)

At Long Last.....JOY

2010-06-02T17:36:00.000-07:00

Hi everybody! I am full of excitement to share a few things with you.

1. The last thing the surgeon used to help heal the fistula is finally out and I am on the road to healing once and for all. Now I can get back to doing physical therapy to get back in the shape that lets me run and climb!

2. The hospital chose to write off a huge portion of our bill, and so we were able to pay everything in full today. This leaves us enough to cover our expenses for physical therapy this coming year. Thank you for helping me eat this elephant!!!!! You played a huge part in my recovery, and I am so very grateful.

3. I want to write more, but a toddler is systematically undoing all the work I just did cleaning up the place before his daddy arrives. I better run, but will try to pop in again soon and share a few things.

There's Joy In The Journey, Even When It's Hard

2010-04-18T21:59:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to pop in and write here that recovery is happening. So slowly. But the moments when I feel able to focus on life outside of my birth injury are getting a little bit more frequent. I still deal with pain and probably will for several more weeks until the seton is out and things have healed (please God, NO complications). But I'm learning to deal with it.

I have to say though that there is one book that is walking alongside me on this journey in a way no other book could. And I'd recommend it to anyone dealing with health challenges that make one wonder if healing will ever happen. I know, for me, sometimes when the pain is really bad and the wound looks so terrible, I confess that I begin to wonder if healing will happen or even if my life will be taken from me. My birth injury and the resulting chronic infection is not life threatening at this point, but that is still a fear I battle at times when I look at my little boy and long to live forever so that I can always be here for him. And you know what? That's where this book comes in.

It's written by someone who has faced horrific injury that stole her ability to function below her shoulders. But it's also written by someone who has been used mightily for decades now to encourage others, to share with others a beautiful faith in Jesus, and to make tangible differences in the lives of folks with disabilities all over the world. Her name is Joni Earickson Tada, and the book is her memoir called, The God I Love.

She writes with honesty, openness, vulnerability, and she gives hope even when the parts of her story ebb at their lowest points. Truly, she is a person who makes the phrase "beauty out of ashes" totally make sense. Out of the depths of her pain and struggle one sees indescribable beauty formed by Someone who could only be called a Master Creator.

I'm going to be sad when the book is over, for it's been my companion during the often painful process of dealing with daily bodily functions, wound care, and the ever present sitz bath in iodine-laced water. It's a special book, for I'm a melancholy person easily given to throwing lavish pity parties where I can fantasize about all the horrid things I'd like to say to the midwife and OB who caused this, and yet this book stops all of that in me and incredibly turns my focus to gratitude for all that I'm learning through this. Weird but true. I hate what has happened to me, and yet I'm thankful for the suffering that is working to change me and grow me in ways that a non-injured life could not do in me.

The other thing I totally appreciate about this book is that Joni is extremely open about the fact that she didn't suddenly reach a plateau in her suffering that allowed her to be perfectly happy about everything. She's clear that despite the fact her story has changed many lives that she still wrestles with negative thoughts that would seek to creep in and take control of her whole mind and heart.

I needed to hear that. Because one moment I am feeling hopeful or grateful or some other positive trait. And the next I'm ready to wish a horrible death for the midwife, financial and reputation ruin for the OB, and recognition by the whole world that something very wrong happened at that hospital. It's a crazy pendulum to be on. I originally thought that I would stop feeling that way....once the hospital listened to me, once I got surgery, once I got to seek justice, once...and the list goes on. But in almost 16 months I can say that every time I think I've arrived at some inner resolution that another area needing to be resolved becomes apparent. I wrestle with swinging between hopeful patience that one day all will be well and the opposite feeling of despair that nothing will ever be right. When I pick up Joni's book the pendulum swings in a better direction, one toward hope that one day I'll be okay and that I will finally be able to let bitterness and anger and hurt go.

It's a long, arduous, trying journey. And I'm so completely glad to have Joni walking with me. Because that is EXACTLY what she is doing. Legs may not be involved, but she's walking with me nonetheless.

Songs

2010-04-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Songs are so important to humans and animals alike. Really.

I asked my friend from church to email me a copy of the songbook we use in prayer group so I could have all the words with me to sing during the time I was going through surgery and recovery here in Missouri. I found myself singing them softly to myself whenever my anxiety would start to climb.

My son has a few songs that immediately calm him and help him fall to sleep, and he has songs he loves to splash and clap to when he's in the tub. He even has a cd of special songs that bring a bit of happiness if he's getting tired of being in the car.

I've been wanting to tell everyone about four songs that are especially written for those facing terminal illness or know that they are in the last chapter of their life. He's a doctor who is well acquainted with people and their questions about how to face the fact that we are all mortal. This guy is really talented and has a heart that is genuine. He has provided these songs in a free download for anyone. I highly recommend at least clicking on the link to listen to them. My favorite is the first one called "Is There Any Hope For Me", but all of them are good. I hope you take the time to be blessed by them. For me, though I knew in my head that this whole saga wasn't "life or death", I also was keenly aware of how fragile life is and did have to face some deeply personal questions and thoughts in this past year.

Anyway, I hope you are blessed by those songs, and I hope you find yourself finding more songs of your own that fill your life with joy and peace.

Surgery & Recovery

2010-04-10T10:45:00.000-07:00

I had surgery yesterday morning and was home before noon, wonderfully. As the pain meds have worn off and I've had a chance to see the wound that had to be made to heal me, I am realizing recovery will take more than just a few days. I am black and blue, swollen, and possess a hole not made by God that is equipped with a seton to keep the hole open so infection can continue to drain. I am a little afraid at this point for a variety of reasons, but also a little bit full of hope that at long last healing can come.

The hospital and staff were both wonderfully equipped with comfort and compassion. In fact, it was tempting to move in were it not for the knowledge that it would cost more than your average penthouse suite. We don't yet know how the billing will all work out, but are trusting that it will come together and that we will be able to pay everything off one way or another.

The surgeon has hope that I can have my life back very soon. I'm glad he has hope, because as I figure out what body part is what and see all the black and blue, my hope isn't quite as fixed. The surgeon also is confident that there won't be complications and that the seton can be removed in a couple of months with no further surgery being required. That would be a dream come true. And as I'm living proof that some dreams do indeed come true (I did get to marry the prince of my dreams, well, a lifeguard really), I am going to hope that this dream too will come true in good time.

In related news, the anesthesiologist I had was incredible, and I've decided I'd like to see about keeping her. Not for the drugs, but for the compassion and gentleness she possessed. The nurses were very good and kind, and their personalities were entertaining and made me laugh discreetly at times.

Well, it is time to go attend to myself. Blissfully, my husband is here to care for our son, so I am able to care for just me at long last. The night was not so easy as our son had trouble sleeping since he couldn't nurse with me, so somehow I mothered him last night in the midst of trying to sleep under the influence of pain meds. He was so happy this morning when he could finally nurse. So was I. At least there is one thing I can continue to do for him. But now it is time to take care of me. Bye for now.

On The Subject Of Elephants

2010-03-09T15:43:00.000-08:00

If you're on my email list, you already got a note about this, but I wanted to write it here too.

At church on Sunday, some friends gave us a little card shaped like an elephant. Inside it was a check to put toward my surgery expenses. Today, at my post office box in Washington, I found a little envelope with elephants printed across it and a note inside also with elephants. An amazing young woman (who makes me wish I had a single younger brother still) had given us her tithe to put toward my surgical expenses.

As I sat in the car looking at her beautiful penmanship and the check, I asked God if He had something for me. Did He have a theme with these elephants? Was He trying to show me something?

And then it hit me.

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

And the elephant that is my expensive medical saga is getting shared for dinner by friends and family who love me and are standing in my corner. I gotta say that elephant eaten with friends is much tastier than elephant eaten alone.

For those of you who are helping carve this elephant up into bite sized pieces, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I don't deserve it one bit, but your kindness and love reminds me that God's mercies are new every morning as I continue on this long journey.

***We are heading to the States in early April to meet with a great surgeon and have him operate to repair my fistula from my birth injury. If all goes as planned, my husband will take off one week of work, unpaid. I will remain with my family for longer so that I can recover. Once I am strong and well enough to travel home, our little boy and I will fly back to Canada.

If you feel led to hep out, I've posted a pay pal donation button. Thank you.

The States, Maybe?

2010-03-02T17:17:00.000-08:00

Just a quick note to anyone out there reading that it looks like I'll be paying for a private MRI here in Canada, and then coming to the States to get surgery. It's been nearly 14 months, and no progress has been made in Canada.

Canada rocked for the Olympics, and I love CTV, but the healthcare has huge issues. I love the fact that it's available to everyone at anytime, but the waiting and the lack of accountability is unconscionable.

If anyone is interested in helping me in any way, feel free to go to my profile and send me an email at the address listed.

Hokey Dinah, I Recommend This Book!

2010-02-13T11:55:00.000-08:00

So I was reading a favorite blog a couple weeks ago, and the writer mentioned Beth Moore's newest book, So Long Insecurity. Now, at the time, I remember thinking, "Duh. I'm not walking into a bookstore to buy something everyone will know is a 'self-help' book, especially one admitting I might be insecure!" And then I laughed at my obvious insecurity at worrying about what strangers would think, and made a mental note to buy it the next time I crossed the border.

And I did. I've only read the first few chapters, but already I can tell you that regardless of your religion, background, occupation, and personality, this book really is a good one. It's hard to read, not in terms of grammar and depth, but in terms of how it squarely meets the mark dead center on so many issues in my own heart. So I find myself protesting, "I'm not that bad! Well, maybe I am, but I can hide it, so surely it's okay to not address!" And then I decided all over again that this is an issue I'm sick of in my own life, and one that I want to address even if it hurts. So then I keep reading.

Anyway, in case any of you would like to stop worrying more about what other people think, being too aware of yourself, feeling insecure, thinking your desires or emotions aren't real or valuable, or anything else that leaves you mildly uncomfortable in your own skin, this book just might be one you'd like.

"So Long, Insecurity" by Beth Moore.....a book that so far is doing a pretty good job exfoliating all that skin I'm not comfortable in.

***(I personally decided to buy it because I know she's coming from a solid perspective that I respect and find to be true Biblically. But even if you're not into Bible stuff, this book is still so totally valuable.)

So It's Been A While

2010-01-24T14:58:00.000-08:00

I never meant to go this long without writing here. But it's been a few months.

My little Grasshopper has celebrated his first Christmas, and he's had his first birthday. I've celebrated my fourth American Thanksgiving in Canada, and picked up packages for Christmas at my post office box in Washington for the fourth time. Time seems to pass so doggone quickly.

But in other ways, time does NOT pass quickly or efficiently enough.

I am STILL waiting for surgery, only we have now lost confidence in the current surgeon and are hoping to get into the only other fistula surgeon in BC before the first surgeon calls me up for surgery. We are still waiting to hear from the hospital, although we do know that they sent my files to an outside physician for review. My fistula is now symptomatic daily again, and that means I have hit a wall in the physical therapy until the fistula and open wound I live with is taken care of.

So with all that said, I have to be honest and say that this has done a real number on my faith. Once again, I find myself asking God if He exists, if He cares, if He has any power. I told Him (or the ceiling if He doesn't exist after all) that my faith is like my stomach. They are both like wobbling bowls of jelly, too easily shaken at the first sign of difficulty. I thought I was done wrestling with the existence and involvement of God in human affairs after my student teaching in Argentina and a few other traumatic times in my life. After all, I've spent most of this year speaking of my trust in Him despite these awful circumstances. But this past week, hearing my family doctor say that he had broken his promise to refer me to a second surgeon (and one recommended to me by two international fistula surgeons as well as a local radiologist and my physical therapists) because he had a "check", meaning a "check in his spirit". And that made me realize how often I hear God's name get thrown around as reasons for people doing things or not doing things. That left me wondering if I was just mad at all the people who claim to be His followers or if I was mad at Him. Then I started to wonder how many things are really His doing or really just circumstances. And before I knew it, I was plunged into a despairing cycle of hopelessness. (This was further complicated by the news that our friends who moved from South Africa specifically to partner with us in our outdoor business/ministry have suddenly decided to probably take another job at a camp instead of working with us. And of course, the excuse given was "God's leading".)

But I will admit that though I can't say that I'm firm on my beliefs about God and His existence or involvement in my life at this point in time, I can say that I have had the most interesting dreams about things while I've slept. That's unusual for me, and I can't help but wonder if He isn't sending me those dreams to reassure me - His temper tantrum throwing child - of His reality and care. All I can say is that I sure hope so.

And I hope that somehow, somewhere, sometime soon, someone operates on my fistula and fixes it perfectly once and for all. No excuses. No mistakes. No more limits on my life. I want to know what it means to run and exercise, to swim and climb, to love my husband, to have the possibility of another child one day, and to have a healthy body once again. It's been so long.

But the thing I want most, or maybe this comes in tied with my longing for physical wholeness......I want to know that I know that I know that I know that God is real and that He cares about me. No more wavering. No more anger.

Of course, none of this is possible on my own. And to be honest, I'm pretty sure a miracle or two is going to be necessary.

As for writing, I will try to keep it up. It's just a little hard with a wee one hanging on me and trying to type his own posts. =)

A Free Moment

2009-10-31T12:04:00.000-07:00

My husband took our little guy for the day so I could have a bit of down time, as well as a big chunk of time to clean our very dirty home. Our son has recently decided he cannot sleep without his mother, and that he has no need of sleep until very late. That means no down time for me, and no time to clean without him around. So this day alone is a gift. Our friends from South Africa arrived safely last weekend, and their guys and my guys are hiking today whilst I enjoy the quiet.

I have recently discovered the joys of Nutella, so that will be on the menu for today. And if I can get out of my pajamas (the perfect cleaning uniform), I may even treat myself to a meal out all by myself. Or maybe a nap. Yes, a nap sounds lovely.

I have nothing deep to share, but wanted to pop in and say hello. Since making my other blog more private, I feel like I should at least write a bit more over here. But honestly, this season of life has me rather protective of myself, wanting to keep my heart and mind safely tucked away from view. But maybe, one day, I'll feel like sharing again. Or maybe I'll find a fun writing contest to enter, which will give me an excuse to post here.

Blessings to the 2.5 people who read this (if that many). =) I'm off to go clean with my remaining four hours of freedom.

Just Some Updates - Happy and Sad

2009-10-13T17:52:00.000-07:00

* The hospital meeting went well. I look forward to hearing their conclusions, and to seeing what tangible things they offer. They said my story was "compelling", that I was "eloquent" and "articulate and clear", among other encouraging things.

* I have an appointment at a major hospital in Vancouver for some tests to help the surgeon know what to do, and another one coming up to help me process some of the emotional aftermath of all of this.

*The head of the hospital where I delivered is going to contact the Vancouver area surgeon to see if there is any way to speed up my surgery and get me healed faster.

*My youngest brother and his wife lost a baby girl this weekend. Their full term baby girl was delivered yesterday. We are all heartbroken and heartsick. There is nothing to say. So many questions and wonderings. So much pain. And there are three little kiddos who have no concept and will never know their baby sister this side of eternity.

*The "Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep" organization is very much worth your support. I have read about them on many blogs of women who have lost children, and they stepped in and recorded some precious memories for the few moments my brother and sister-in-law had with their little baby girl.

*Based upon some of my discussions with physiotherapists (physical therapists for you Americans) and with the hospital heads, I think that becoming a type of advocate may be in my future. A passion for gently educating women about their options for everything from continence therapy to post trauma issues is something forming in my heart and mind.

*Finally, I'm so ready for this world to be made new again. This Fall stuff is too hard to bear most days. Literally. The Fall even impacted the bears. We've had a rogue bear making meals out of our son's diapers lately, destroying a 4'x4' garbage shed with two locks, tearing the doors off the hinges. I'm ready for Narnia bears that are good. Do you think Heaven will have those? That would be fun.

Learning To Be A Brave Advocate

2009-09-22T18:15:00.001-07:00

The news arrived today that some top folks at the hospital have agreed to meet with me to hear our story. It will happen in a couple of weeks.

My goal is not only to get my story heard and to find some sort of resolution to our issues, but to advocate for all women whose choices are removed and who are injured when protocol is not followed. I'm new at this and am planning and preparing a ton so that my presentation is clear, concise, and professional.

Cheer me on and hope with me for justice and the right things to be done!

Is This How It Is With Us & God?

2009-09-19T20:57:00.001-07:00

So my son is teething. His top front teeth have been trying to come through for some weeks now, but despite hugely swollen gums, nothing else is happening. He's in a lot of pain, and that combined with his hesitation to sleep when he'd rather be spinning around in circles, made for a rough bedtime routine tonight.

I fed him, gave him pain meds, read to him, rocked him, and nursed him before laying him down the first time. He cried and cried and cried. And these cries were not angry ones, but pitiful and frightened ones. So after a few minutes, I went and got him. And rocked him and tried to nurse some more. He wasn't having it, but wanted to play, so back to bed he went so I could eat sushi with my husband. (Oh My Goodness, that was wonderful. Of course, we didn't get anything that had raw meat in it. Everything he chose was cooked for my sake.)

Grasshopper cried solidly and again they were not angry cries, but ones that let me know he really needed me. So we dimmed the kitchen lights and went and got him, taking turns holding him so we could eat. But when I was finished and went to rock him, he just wanted to move all over the place like a squirmy worm. I knew he was so tired and desperately needed sleep, and that if he would just relax and stop turning circles in my arms that he would go right to sleep. But he wouldn't, so back to bed he went as there was nothing he would let me do for him.

Finally, his cries were getting totally frantic and I could tell from the volume that he was now standing in his crib, facing the doorway. He needed me. So I turned off the living room lights, went and got him, and then came back and rocked him.

This time he was ready. He melted into my chest under his flannel blanket, sucking his thumb contentedly. Awhile later, I could feel the slow, even cadence of his breathing, letting me know he was ready to curl up in his crib by himself. He practically melted into his crib mattress too, curled up in a little ball before sprawling out on his tummy as I covered him with his blankets.

And it hit me. Am I like that with God? Does God know that I desperately need His comfort and rest, and want me to just melt into His lap so that He can give those things to me? But instead, I spend my time turning in circles, looking to other people and things for comfort, calling this person and that person never satisfied that anyone really understands me, doing a bit of retail therapy we really cannot afford, eating chocolate anything not thinking of how it will show on the outside of my body, refusing to just settle down with His Word in the quiet of my home. And I wonder at my unhappiness and unsettledness, confused and surprised that nothing is making me feel better. But then desperation sets in and I run to Him with overwhelming emotions, throwing myself headlong into His mercy.

Before I know it, I'm passed out in the rest and comfort He gives, finding my tense muscles melting into the original supple way He designed them to be. And I realize that this could have happened much sooner had I only run to Him first and let Him be my comforter.

And I wonder, does God see me as I see Grasshopper?

Determination

2009-09-10T16:35:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of things conspiring to get me to just give up. But today I decided something after being disappointed by an expert for the millionth time this month.

I am going to fight. I am going to be valiant. I am going to write my own story with the ending I want. Sure, I cannot heal my broken body on my own. But I can make other important decisions that shape me as a woman, a wife, and a mother. And I am going to listen to my Father God and use the wisdom and the heart He gave me. And I will decide. I will write a good story. And there will not be a victim in it anywhere. Just a good and true and valiant woman striving to love her God, herself, and her loved ones well. Fighting for justice, for healing, and for hope.

I am tired. But I am determined. Once again. At the end of my rope. But still hanging on.

If you want to hang on with me, as I know some of you have expressed, I'd be glad for the company. There's always room at the end of this rope for another hand or two to grip alongside mine.

Yes, this story is growing longer than I ever wanted. But it's good to be reminded that I am the author and I get to do the writing, even if I can't control all the characters. So this redheaded author is going to write a good story with a good ending. Even if it takes a million pages.

Sorry For The Quiet

2009-09-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

It's been a little busy over here. A sick babe, multiple physical therapy and surgical and other medical appointments for the mama, guests from out of town, trying to find real help for the mama, and the usual tasks of life have kept me quiet. I'll write again soon.

In the meantime I'll leave you with this....

When a person is in need and you have a friendship with them and some ability to act (working hands, a working mouth, working feet, whatever), don't just offer words of solace or prayers, DO SOMETHING PRACTICAL AND TANGIBLE to let them know they are not alone in the world.

I would love it if some human out there could be that for me. But my prospects look grim. See to it that those in your life have better looking prospects today. =) A grateful redhead thanks you for making the world a less lonely place.

Well then...

2009-08-20T15:25:00.000-07:00

I'd like to get on here and say that life is wonderful. In reality, it is very hard.

British Columbia has no money for healthcare until next year. That means only a miracle will get me in for surgery before the new year. We're looking into paying for it, even though we really cannot afford it. We have a tiny bit in savings - for an emergency or for the beginnings of a down payment on a house. But I don't think I can keep going on living unless I get my body fixed.

No one seems to want to advocate for me, and I am learning how to work the rules of this crazy Canadian system. Socialism works if the government isn't broke. When it runs out of money, a screen door on a submarine is more effective at keeping out water than socialized medicine is at taking care of people.

I am low. I've cried out for help. But there really isn't much anyone can do. And people are tired of trying.

I am numb. Because really, if I allowed myself to feel what I'm feeling to its fullness, I would probably not make it.

So there you have it in a nutshell. Life is very hard right now, and I'm thinking that the only thing at the end of this tunnel is probably an oncoming train.

Don't you just love my optimism? Yeah. Me too.

And This Was Going To Be A Long Post

2009-07-13T15:33:00.000-07:00

But my dear son is grumbling in his cradle, apparently only wanting to nap on me today. Ah, he will sleep when he's 18. Until then....well, at least he's cute. Here you go...

Today

2009-07-03T15:38:00.001-07:00

Today is my birthday. I am 35. When I was a kid, I remember my brother and I having a conversation about how 35 was middle aged. Now that seems funny to me because I'm pretty sure 50 is the new middle aged, and I still feel like a kid who is playing "dress up" and "house".

It's weird to think about, but now that I'm a mom, I've discovered that it's okay to do work on your birthday. And now that I'm a wife, I've discovered that it's okay to cook your own birthday dinner and make your own birthday pie or cheesecake. Granted, we aren't celebrating until next weekend due to other scheduling commitments. But today I found myself doing dishes and laundry as if it were any normal day. Temporarily gone are the days when I lounged around all day and acted like a princess with no duties other than reading a book and eating chocolate. Things like nursing and changing diapers don't stop just because someone is turning middle aged. =)

I've been totally blessed today. My husband left me a special e-card on my computer to find this morning. A friend of mine - who just had her second child mere days ago! - called and left a sweet message and then took time to talk later. A blogging friend sent me chocolate and the coolest diaper clutch ever. The border wait was very long and hot, but despite bringing enough goods back into Canada that they could have charged me duty, they let me pass without a comment (and they were nice, which isn't always the case). My brother closest to me in age called me. And my parents are soon to be sending me a refurbished Mac to replace my aging and rather apoplectic one. It will have a built in camera so we can more easily stay connected and they can see Grasshopper's growth and latest accomplishments. And because it hasn't been dropped twice (and Lord willing, won't be), its battery will actually work without having to be plugged in all the time.

So I'm feeling loved. Now, if the cheesecake recipe I've dreamt up from my imagination turns out when I make it sometime in the next day or two, it will be perfect. (I'll let you know if it turns out. I have this vanilla/strawberry/ganache idea going on, and I think I know how to pull it off.)

But I do have a question. Does a person ever feel like a grown-up? Do they ever feel like they have a right to be sitting with adults and conversing with them as if they belonged there? I'm just wondering, because I still feel so strange in that one aspect of my life. An incredibly responsible nine year old who loves my baby spent the day with me this week to help out, and she plans to spend a day each week this summer spending time with Grasshopper so I can get work done around the house. I remember when I was her age or a little older, doing the same thing for a lady named Winona, among others I begged to allow me to help. The women who allowed me to do that are the reason I was totally fine with babycare for Grasshopper from the very beginning. They invested in my life, teaching me so much. I only hope that I was a blessing to them. It seems so surreal that now I'm the grown-up, investing in a child's life, helping her become a capable and skilled babysitter.

Anyway, that's my burning question. Do we ever grow up? Do we ever feel grown up? And is it a bad thing if we don't feel that way? I mean, is this like some sign that I've got some deep seated therapy-needing issues to work through? =) Is it possible to feel mature and be young at heart? And why is it that I feel less mature at 35 than I did at 19? Just wondering.

So this isn't a brilliant post or anything, but I just wanted to record today that I feel blessed. I am so totally imperfect and disappoint people (namely my husband) almost daily. And yet, people (especially my husband) love me and delight in me. There is a little boy sleeping in a cradle who will one day figure out how to call me mama, and he smiles a unique smile just for me. There is chocolate in my pantry and a cheesecake in my future. Yes, I am blessed. If I counted all the blessings of these 35 years, you would be reading a very long book. Life has been hard at times (even now), but it has also been very good (even now).

*******
In other news, I survived a special test a couple days ago that involved me drinking copious amounts of really gross barium and having an IV. Hopefully, it will help the surgeon see the path of the fistula. And then we just wait to hear when I get to have my turn having surgery. It will probably be at least a two-step surgery, and I'll probably still have to see another specialist for another birth injury issue that is currently putting a serious cramp in my outdoor loving style. It's going to be a long road, but I'm hoping to be able to celebrate next year's birthday at the beach with no fear of infection or having to have indoor plumbing within a few yards walk. And hopefully, my body will one day be healed enough that we can give Grasshopper a sibling. I'm hanging in there. There are days when I fall apart, but this week has mercifully been devoid of any of those despairing moments. And for that, I am so very thankful.

********
Happy late Canada Day. Happy early Independence Day. =)

When The News Feels Real And Close

2009-06-16T21:58:00.001-07:00

My husband and I were talking tonight about an NGO we support. Lately, they have hired a new president who has changed the focus and tone of the organization in a way that we feel is less than positive. We had talked about dropping our support to put it towards another organization that helped in a way that matches what we care most about, but then decided first to call to see if someone would first meet with us to perhaps cast their new vision or tell us if their original vision really is gone for good. So we'll be meeting with a great guy who writes incredible letters to supporters next month when he comes to our house for dinner.

But what brings that all to mind is how we were talking about this NGO's new focus of straight relief work, and how the new president likes to quote numbers of those lost in natural disasters and damages in terms of dollars. We talked about how that no longer really touches us because it is so prevalent on the news.

Such and such a place had a hurricane and hundreds of people died? So what. That happened just last year somewhere nearby, didn't it? That country had an earthquake and thousands are dead or homeless? So what. Earthquakes are always happening, and poor people are always losing their homes to some natural disaster.

That is unfortunately our unconscious response a lot of times because we have all been deadened to the shock and reality simply because we are inundated with it through all types of media. Nothing touches us anymore. Or does it?

My Bohemian Midwife friend knows what it is like to hear a news story and have it touch the core of her own heart, to cause such agony of soul that sleep and peace are lost in the midst of the grief and helplessness caused by being thousands of miles removed and unable to do anything.

Did you hear about the murders in Yemen? Did you know that those nine people were real people with senses of humor, real heart, real lives, real conversations, real dreams, real families, and real stories? Did you know that they spent their time saving lives every single day in a rather ill equipped hospital, and simply went out for a picnic together, never suspecting that they would soon be murdered? In that group, a family of five is lost forever. Can you imagine?

For the first time in a long time, a news item on the media has finally touched my heart. But only because I know my friend is grieving a deep loss.

It makes me realize how careful I must be not to stay permanently desensitized, and it also cautions me against making sweeping decisions about where my money and help go without first talking firsthand to those in the trenches. We need to know the stories, to know the people, to connect heart to heart.

Don't know if this makes sense or not, but it's something I wanted to put out there, mainly for my own benefit to remember.

For Our Favorite UK Housewife

2009-06-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

I got tagged. I don't usually do these, but since I really like visiting over at my favorite UK Housewife's blog found through my cousin's blog, I thought I'd cooperate with her kind request to play a game of tag. Fortunately, it doesn't involve real running, so I don't have to worry about various organs falling out of me. Ah, the lovely side effects of giving birth. But I digress. Onto the game....

What is your current obsession?
I'm not really obsessive, but as for something I REALLY like, well, it might be those miniature seedless watermelons.

What is your weirdest obsession?
Again, I'm not obsessive, but my weirdest habit might be melting chocolate chips to have as dip for Granny Smith apples. In my twisted way of thinking, the fruit justifies the chocolate.

What are you wearing today?
Gray crop athletic pants, a white nursing tank, and the most adorable light pink short sleeved top. Someone once told me redheads weren't allowed to wear pink. I've recently discovered all over again that I LOVE pink, and so I'm forgetting that someone ever told me pink wasn't for me.

What's for dinner?
The most amazing and kind sister of a friend of ours came over and spent her whole day cooking in my kitchen and taking care of Grasshopper so I could do some chores. She made a delectable vegetarian chili that had butternut squash in it. It was so yummy, and I had two servings topped with fresh cilantro and shredded cheese, along with a slice of my own homemade whole wheat toast. I had only met this woman once before, and she lives four hours away. But she spent all that time to come here, and she not only cooked, but she stocked my frig and freezer with fruits and veggies, and even gave me some special products known for their healing properties. What a gift, and what a yummy dinner. She was such a blessing to have in our home, such a calming and sweet presence.

What would you eat for your last meal?
Salmon with a marinade of sundried tomatoes, garlic, and parsley; roasted root veggies, grilled green veggies, and homemade rosemary focaccia, with chocolate torte and homemade mango sorbet for dessert.

What's the last thing you bought?
Living butter lettuce and a huge artichoke.

What are you listening to right now?
The sweet silence left after my child finally stopped crying. He's past the point of going to sleep, and so he's been sobbing with exhaustion, but can't seem to give up and sleep. But the silence tells me maybe it finally happened. Thankfully, his daddy has been with him during this time, so I could have a bit of a break. (We don't leave him to cry like that alone, thinking that is horrid.)

What is your favorite ice cream flavor?
I really love and miss Baskin Robbins chocolate fudge.

What do you think of the person who tagged you?
I am so glad to have "met" her through my cousin's blog. She makes the world a better place because of how she lives out her beliefs and what is in her heart. And I wish so many good blessings for her.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Somewhere in BC with a view of a mountain and water, preferably the Pacific. But then again, I like snow, so it would probably have to be a bit away from the Pacific. And ideally, it would be on a plot of about 40 acres, complete with forest, orchard, garden, and horse barn.

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
The Caribbean or maybe Hawaii. I long for a beach.

Which language do you want to learn?
As a future Canadian, it would behoove me to speak French. My husband keeps trying to teach me, but I'm woefully incompetent at forming the sounds properly. And because there are so many East Indians here, perhaps it would be good to learn Farsi or whatever it is they speak.

What's your favorite quote (for now)?
Eugene O’Neill has written: "Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is the glue.”

What is your favorite color?
Purple and light pink. (How girly am I?!)

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?
It's a toss up between this very pretty ocean blue layered skirt I bought the other day and my wedding shoes - crocheted espadrilles wit ankle ties that I actually still wear on special occasions.

What is your dream job?
A novelist and non-fiction author writing under a pseudonym.

What is your worst habit?
I am terrible about putting laundry away and keeping an uncluttered home. This really needs to be fixed.

If you had £100 now, what would you spend it on?
Can a woman buy sleep? Okay, clothes and shoes.

Do you admire any one's style?
The 50-something director of women's ministries at my church has amazing style. (It's funny that I was once shocked by that same style, but now I love it and wish she could take me shopping. And I kind of wish I could pull of the diamond nose ring too.)

Describe your personal style?
Classic, washable, feminine, with a penchant for outdoor technical clothing and the odd flirty skirt.

What are you going to do after this?
Sleep until the next nursing session.

What are your favorite movies?
Pride and Prejudice (A&E), Anne of Green Gables

What is your favorite fruit?
Fresh picked raspberries.

What inspires you?
I'm going to keep what our UK housewife said:"good honest people who dare to live the way we all should".

Your favorite book?
Currently it is: God and I by Lewis Smedes.

Do you collect something?
Books and sweaters.

What is your favorite smell?
Lilacs and my baby.

What is your fave HGTV show?
I don't have a television, but I used to enjoy Design on a Dime.

Okay, that was fun. Now onto see about getting some sleep before the wee one wants to nurse.

Sabbatical of Sorts

2009-05-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

In an ideal world, someone would offer to pay me to go on Sabbatical, where I would spend my time reading, writing, traveling, and touring.

But in my world, which is not even close to ideal, my time is spent taking care of a baby and waiting for him to sleep deeply enough so I can either shower or attend to chores. My world also involves dealing with waiting for doctors and hospitals who can't make up their little minds and keep throwing curve balls, a baby whose tummy hurts because of some meds he's on to cure the rattling in his chest, and other messes too hard to relate. So in my less than ideal world there is a need for me to retreat and just be in my little home, disconnected from everything else.

So I'm taking a break. I don't know how long. Heck, I don't even know if I'll be on sabbatical tomorrow. Maybe I'll wake up and suddenly find I have something to say that can actually be put in print. But until that happens, I'm going to just be quiet for awhile. I'll still probably visit my favorite blogs, and may even comment there. But here I'll just be quiet. I need that right now.

Hanging In There

2009-05-19T14:39:00.000-07:00

I haven't had much lately to write about. Well, it hasn't been possible to write about a lot of it. But suffice it to say, we are hanging in there.

For a week, I had the most beautiful respite from pain, and I walked and shopped and lived like an almost ordinary woman. But this morning, that respite came to an end, and now I am once again moving with slowness and pushing forward with courage. I'm disappointed that the pain would come today, of all days, for Grace is coming to visit for a week and she arrives tonight. I have much to do to prepare for her arrival, but instead I'm resting on the couch while the pain meds kick in, and praying my little guy doesn't need to nurse until the highest concentration of the drug in my milk passes. But despite my disappointment, I'm not growing bitter. The credit for that is not owed to me. It's really a God thing, a faith thing, if you will.

One thing I'd like to learn through all of this is how to keep close to Jesus even when my pain levels are good and my mind and body can focus on just enjoying life. I think it is too easy to get through the easy times of life without thinking about the One who enables it all in the first place. It's when we are in pain, when our hearts or bodies are in agony, that we remember to cry out for help. But if God really wants to be personal with us, if He really wants to have a friendship of sorts with us, then surely He wants us to hang out with Him on the good days as well as the bad. It's hard to explain, but it's a lesson I'd like to really and truly grasp.

One thing I am learning in this is how much the human spirit grows during adversity, and how much beauty can come out of it when the human spirit determines to act with courage and grace instead of with whining and a sense of entitlement. For most of my life, I've actually responded to crises in the latter way. But for the first time, I'm somehow finding my responses mirroring the former way. It's refreshing and exciting, truth be told. But I can't get all prideful about it, because anything good coming out of me right now, really isn't from me. It's really a God thing. If I were left to my own devices, I'd be looking and sounding a lot like Eeyore.

Another thing I'm learning is how to savor the moments of life that are good and enjoyable, and how to treasure even the most mundane of abilities. I like that, for it's actually helping me understand and see others in a more true light. When I see an elderly woman walking through the grocery store, I now can see how it is no simple thing that she is walking on her own. And when I see a new mom, I know what it means for her to be walking around as well. Does that make sense? It's hard to articulate exactly what I mean here. (The pain meds are kicking in after all, so my vocabulary is going the way of clear thinking for the next few hours.)

In other news, Grasshopper too is hanging in there. He has had a bad cold for a week now, and the little guy is coughing and congested in a miserable way. He shared his cold with me last week, but I recovered for the most part by Sunday. He is still struggling though. I believe in large part it's because he is too young to take Oil of Oregano and I am not. I took it a few times each day during the time I was sick, and it seemed to help. But wee babes cannot take such potent stuff, especially because they don't test natural remedies for safety in infants. It sounds crazy, but Oil of Oregano is pretty much the main reason my getting a cold no longer means it will develop into a sinus infection requiring antibiotics. I really do believe in the stuff.

But because Grasshopper has had the cold for eight days now, and because his cough seemed to be moving deeper into his chest, I did take him to our doctor. When I called first thing this morning there were no appointments available, and my only option was to wait for the afternoon when our doctor was serving as the walk-in clinic physician. When I arrived just moments before the afternoon walk-in clinic hours were to begin, there was already a two hour wait to be seen. But when I arrived, there was also a blessing waiting for us.

Our doctor was actually standing there speaking with the receptionist. So I said, "We are here to get in line to see this guy (pointing to our doctor), so Grasshopper can be seen." That is when the receptionist said there would be a minimum of a two hour wait. So I said, "Sure. Can I give you our name to get us in line, and then come back in awhile?" And that's when the heavens opened and angels started singing. Well, not actually. What really happened is that our doctor looked at us with a smile and said, "Why don't you just come on back right now?" And with that, Grasshopper got his lungs checked out and was given the all clear. It's just a cold that he will keep on fighting, but he fortunately doesn't appear to need medicine or other intervention.

So from the time I pulled into the parking lot to the time I pulled out of it, we were there for 15 minutes. What a total blessing, especially on a day such as today. Our family doctor really is a gem, and his heart is full of compassion. He and I may not see eye to eye on the treatment of infant colic/GERD, but I trust him and appreciate him very much. And for a mama with a painful fistula flare up, today I appreciate him even more.

I am going to rest while Grasshopper is still asleep. Perhaps I'll soon be able to put up some recent pictures of the sweet little guy. For now, the one bright side to this flare up is that the specialist will have something to see on Friday if I really do get to have that appointment I've been waiting for these past six weeks. I was beginning to think he would not have much to look at, but if today is any indication, he will have something to occupy his time. I just hope he can fix me soon. I've given up hope that I'll get to climb or take a trip to the ocean for wading this summer, and I've begun to let go of my expectation that I'll have any normalcy this year. But I do hope to have health soon enough, to make up for all the months I am losing because of these crazy childbirth injuries. The one promise I hold onto with full hope and joy is the one where God promises to restore the years the locusts have eaten. If He could do that for countless folks in the Bible, He can do that for a short redhead who wants to get back to a life of climbing, being a wife, and being an energetic mama. I just know He can.

Now We're Cooking With Grams

2009-05-07T09:53:00.000-07:00

I have recently fallen in love with some cookbooks from the library. I even ordered my own copy of Nigella Lawson's Feast off of abebooks.com, for the wonderfully low price of $4 and some change. (Ooh, and I found a piece of fiction from Arthur Quiller Couch in the UK that is being mailed to me quite soon. I am so excited. I imagined myself becoming another Helene Hanff, writing letters to some book shop owner in England. But that is a rabbit trail for another day.)

Nigella Lawson uses measurements that this American girl only studied in chemistry or some such science course at some point many moons ago. My doctor's wife is a friend of mine, and she is from England. So I ask her lots of questions about measurements and what certain terms mean like caster sugar and double cream and golden syrup. It's quite fun to learn.

But now it is time for me to break down and buy a scale that uses grams, ounces, and pounds/kilograms. So if anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears.

Yesterday, my son cooperated fairly well to enable me to bake a blueberry coffee crumb cake for my husband. He loves it, but as it uses 3/4 of a pound of butter, I am loathe to make it very often. It turned out to be a good idea because my husband had completed a hard day at work where he made a rather costly mistake. He was bummed and needed reminding that he really is a skilled and diligent carpenter, not to mention the most wonderfully handsome mountain man and gifted outdoor educator I know.

The coffee crumb cake recipe is from the King Arthur Flour Company, and I add a cup of blueberries and 1.5 pints of homemade blueberry jam in between the cake and crumb layer. (Using jam as filling for cakes of any kind is a great way to empty the pantry of homemade preserves before a new season of berrying begins.) It was inspired by a treat we used to buy from a bakery across the river. I got it into my head to figure out a way to make it myself. The dessert isn't the cheapest to make because of all that butter, but it is decidedly cheaper when you compare it to buying the individual pieces from the bakery. It makes a huge lot, which I cut in pieces and vacuum seal to freeze for a later time when the babe isn't wanting to let his mama bake.

Ah, I love being creative in the kitchen. It is so fun to tweak recipes, change up leftovers to make them into a whole new dish, and come up with my own concoctions. Last week's success was a chocolate pudding cake from How It All Vegan that I tweaked by adding Morello cherries, cherry juice for half of the boiling water, and a bit of coconut. We won't talk about last week's failure of beef enchiladas with salsa verde. Who knew you needed to saute the onions and garlic before baking?!

Anyway, the babe is asleep after keeping us up all night, and I am thinking once again about making something special in the kitchen while he cooperates by staying in his cradle. It is quite the challenge to cook and create when a little one is wanting to be held or fed or talked to. That is one hard balance I am learning to keep, which currently means late suppers and a rather messy house. But it will get better. They go to college eventually, right? =)

Four Months, Two Weeks

2009-05-03T23:31:00.001-07:00

My baby will be four months old this Thursday. The time is flying by, and I am loving motherhood even though I'm rather limited in what I can physically do. I saw an eight day old baby today who weighed a full pound and a half more at his birth than my baby at birth, and yet he still looked so tiny. Can my baby really have been that teensy? Those days were such a fog of pain that I barely remember life with my babe, and we didn't really take any photos until my parents arrived one week later. Ah, experienced parents were right. Time really does fly when they are wee ones.

In two weeks, I'll be off to see the specialist. I admit to being afraid of the exam and of what he may say about surgery and wait times. While I've been through the exam before and I know I will not die even though it will be very painful, I am still fearful. But hopefully, my courage will rise to the occasion when the time comes, and I will gut it out once more with aplomb. It really amazes me how my courage is growing through this. I am such a fearful wimp when it comes to needles, drugs, doctors, and hospitals. But those things are becoming old hat, and I'm getting braver as the days go by.

I am ready to be better. Someone told me today that she saw a long road ahead of me in the healing department. I am hoping she is wrong. It's already been a long road, and I'd really like it to come to an abrupt conclusion with a suddenly healed fistula. I don't care how that happens - a miracle from Jesus, a surgical procedure by a competent colorectal specialist, or a fairy godmother with a medically inclined magic wand. (Okay, so the last option is pretty fictional as far as I know.) I just want to be better so that pain will be a thing of the past, being a wife and active mommy will be a thing of the present, and climbing will be in my future.

If you don't know what fistula is, I encourage you to google it. And then I encourage you to read up on the stories of women in developing nations who suffer these on a regular basis. If anything, my future may include supporting or helping NGO's that help women in Africa find healing from fistulas. If I thought my life was difficult from mine, their lives are far more challenging.

Finally, I was sharing with someone today that I feel like my life has been on hold for four months, and that it will remain on hold until all of my injuries are resolved. (And there may be other issues needing surgery after the fistula. I discovered some rather prolapsed body parts during a brief jog to the car the other day. Really, a woman should never feel like she's about to drop an organ like a chicken drops an egg while she's running.) And though I hate feeling like my life has been on hold and I'm impatient for it to get back to normal, I am learning a great deal. I've never been able to read books about the holocaust before now because the sense of suffering was too overwhelming for me. But now, I've read seven books on the subject, and have been helped by some of the stories I've read of women who found their lives on hold due to long stints in concentration camps. I've watched as they continued to live, and I want to be able to do the same once this time of suffering has passed. And like the women in the stories I've been reading, I also want to adequately grieve and forgive and move on when the time is right. I don't want to be bitter or focused on this hard experience as all negative. I've met far too many women on a birth board who sound like bitter old hags harping about their negative birth experience. My precious baby is worth too much to have me act like that. He needs a mama who can find the good in this hard time, and he needs a mama who can model peace and quiet joy even in sorrow and suffering.

If anything has occurred to me during these past four months it is this: it is possible for courage, beauty, and good fruit to come out of suffering and trauma, and that possibility is only dependent on my attitude. We may not get to control this life as we'd like, but we can make it a positive experience even during hard, unfair, painful times. I can't really articulate that as I'd like, but it's a work in progress, as am I.

Glorious Naptime

2009-04-25T12:18:00.000-07:00

My baby is napping. He did not nap yesterday for any real length of time thanks to various interruptions into our peaceful little world. So last night and today he is seemingly making up for it. While I should be showering and getting into real clothes as it is decidedly past noon, I am instead enjoying reading a few cookbooks borrowed from the library, catching up on blog reading, and just thinking in the quiet of my home.

And this is what I'm thinking....

Are there other women out there who experienced traumatic birth injuries to themselves? Did they also long for a book to read that could identify with their experiences? Did they too wish that someone could really understand them? Did they also go through thinking about suffering, strength, and endurance? Did they too wonder if there were a greater good intended in all of this?

Do I have a book in me? Do I need to have a book in me? Is there a reason? Would anyone else be interested or helped by that kind of thing? Even though there a billions of books about a zillion other subjects out there?

This is what I wonder in the stillness of my home right now. Maybe if the words come I'll write a book. And maybe if it's any good I'll see about sharing it somewhere in some way.

But right now, I'm just thinking about it.

Because That Grin Is For Me

2009-04-19T15:38:00.000-07:00

I got a new name on January 7, 2009. My name is Mama, sometimes Mommy, or just that woman who has a reason for getting up in the morning with a smile.

I've always wanted to be a mommy. Sometimes I wondered if it would ever happen, or if I'd just be that girl who loved on other people's children. But one day last May, I didn't have to wonder any longer.

As we survived the first trimester of intense sickness, reveled in the wonderfully energetic second trimester, and watched our baby boogie in my womb during the third trimester, we hoped and planned and dreamed big for our little boy. So it was with much excitement and a bit of trepidation that we headed to the hospital to meet the one who had previously only been known to us as "Grasshopper".

When I look back on the labor and delivery, I see God's handprints all over it. My husband's car was in the process of breaking down when I called him to tell him to come home since my water had just broken. He didn't tell me what was happening until later, but a friend of ours just so happened to be driving through that area to our neck of the woods and was able to get him back home without me any the wiser. A nurse who was the mother-in-law of my husband's boss was our primary nurse, and if there was ever a woman meant to be a mothering and nurturing sort of nurse, this woman fit the bill. She was exactly what I needed. My own doctor was working a twelve hour shift at another hospital, but came by afterward when she heard I was still in labor and things were not progressing. And I see God's hand in sustaining the life of my son and my own, even when some medical folks made some poor decisions. Of course, I wouldn't know they were poor decisions until nearly three months later.

When our sweet Grasshopper finally made it out of the womb, his exit via forceps injured me severely. Days later an abscess would form. Three surgeries later, we would think the abscess was finally healed. One plane trip of 2,232 miles to the States to see family who wanted to meet our sweet boy would lead to the news that the abscess had developed into a fistula. Suddenly, an American girl who had always grown up with wonderful private health insurance would understand what it is like for the millions of uninsured Americans because she is now living in Canada and has their "free" government health care that comes with its own caveat. Waiting. That led to wondering if we should risk our financial stability to have the surgery immediately in the States, or if we should wait for surgery in Canada. The wait just to have the initial consultation with the specialist is over one month, and there is no guarantee that surgery can be immediate. That means balancing pain pills with nursing schedules, and praying that infection doesn't go further and that the fistula doesn't grow. And this is just the short version of a long and hard journey that no one planned on.

On this long and hard journey, I am discovering some things and learning some valuable lessons.

I understand now what it means to truly act selflessly, to lay aside selfish wants and even needs to care for someone else. And with that, I understand now why the motivation to act unselfishly cannot be the simple rightness of that quality. No. The motivation must be love. And oh my goodness, no one ever could help me grasp the depth of the love a mother feels for her own. But my sweet Grasshopper has captured my heart, and I find myself acting in ways I never thought possible. The love of my sweet boy spurs me on to be strong for him, to keep pressing on even when the pain becomes unbearable, to keep clinging to Jesus, and to concentrate on getting well instead of getting angry. When I look into his trusting eyes, I know that I cannot let him down. And when he wakes me up before dawn with bright eyes and a grin that begs one to play with him, I can't help but smile back.

I am a mama, and I will give my efforts to fulfill that name my whole heart. Because that grin - his grin - is for me.

*This post is for Scribbit's Write Away April entry on the topic of "Mom". While it may not be my most fabulous specimen of writing, it was written while truly experiencing the topic. Four diaper blow-outs, two baths, three nursing sessions, two hours in the rocking chair, and one cd of lullabies later we have ourselves a complete post. Honestly, we're lucky to have one coherent thought after all of that. Motherhood - there's nothing better.

Oh The Irony

2009-04-17T11:47:00.001-07:00

When I was first pregnant, my big fear was post partum depression. When it came time to pre-register at the hospital, I filled out special forms requesting to speak with a social worker in a proactive manner about that very thing. And I even called up the health nurses one teary day and took a test to see if I needed help, and I'm meeting with a health nurse every so often in my home just in case. The crazy thing is that despite all these horrid complications from my childbirth injuries, and despite occasional dark clouds that I have to fight through, I actually don't have any resemblance of a full blown case of post partum depression.

Do I have emotions that are hard? Yes. Do I wonder if there will ever be light at the end of the tunnel in the realm of my broken body? Heck yeah. Do I have to fight through feeling like it would be easier to not have to keep breathing? Yes, sometimes. But am I depressed in the clinical sense? Actually, surprisingly, not really. I've been there and done that, and what I'm going through in my heart and mind isn't what I've gone through before. This is manageable with just a bit of sunshine, a listening husband, and a dose of chocolate. Sitz baths aren't overrated either. I'm quite shocked to be writing all of this. After all, my picture is probably next to the definition of "melancholy" in the dictionary. And yet, though I do have teary and sad moments that threaten to overwhelm me, I don't have that constant sense of sadness I once had years ago.

So I found it kind of funny that when I gathered my courage to ask my maternity doctor yesterday if she had any knowledge of the phone call I got from the midwife, she said that the midwife was thinking of calling me again. Apparently, the midwife is very concerned that I might be struggling from post partum depression.

What the midwife is really saying is this: "I feel like an idiot for not calling in help sooner, and I feel guilty that I've caused the life-altering injury of a new mother. But I'm too chicken to admit it, so I'm going to call into question her mental health just in case she squeals on me."

I took the high road and didn't tattle on her to the doc. My only goal was to make sure my relationship with my maternity doc is good. After all, I did promise her a climbing trip this summer, and I mean to make good on that promise. We're good. That's all that matters to me.

Meanwhile, the midwife (if she has a conscience at all, and I think she does) is going to find herself feeling like a character in an Edgar Allen Poe story. I just hope she finds the courage to be honest before her guilt eats her alive and makes her totally crazy.

And meanwhile, my primary goal outside of mothering the most adorable boy is to get well. Once I'm well, I may think about "squealing" in order to protect other women. But that's really not my first priority. I'm just a girl who has a broken body that needs to get fixed so she can take her son climbing as soon as he graduates to big boy underwear and has the walking and running thing down solid. And I WILL get well. My mind and heart are "more well" than I realized, so I've got hope that my body will follow too. And if any more dark times come, I'll trust in the One who loves me most to keep me going and help me to stand and fight.

In the meantime, I've got a whole lot of living to do. Conflict resolution is so valuable, believe me. It makes a way for a girl to get around to all that living.

How To Dismantle A Bomb

2009-04-15T21:53:00.001-07:00

It's not an atomic bomb, and I'm not U2. But I think I know one way to take apart a bomb without allowing it to explode and wreak havoc on the world. Wanna know that one way? It's simple. It's two little words.

I'm sorry.

And maybe four more words.

I was an idiot.

There. Doesn't that feel better? Didn't you just hear that bomb stop ticking? Did your shoulders just descend from being stuck in your ears with stress?

I thought so.

If more people would use these helpful words, this world would be a better place. Even if the midwife let me push for four hours with not enough progression. Even if the doctors wouldn't allow me to decide for myself what I wanted because I'd been laboring too long, and they left it to my husband to make a decision with limited and inaccurate information. Even if the doctor broke her promise to properly prepare my body for forceps. I could cease being pissed if they'd just say they were sorry. If they'd stop justifying, blaming others (including me), and making excuses. If they'd just admit to being an idiot for one second.

But instead I'm left to diffuse my anger alone. It's a long and ugly story that didn't have to happen. If only someone would admit to being an idiot.

Oh God, this must end sometime. Until then, You've got to keep me going. I am too weak to keep this up on my own. And I think I exploded tonight. So I need a little help with clean up in aisle five. Okay. A lot of help.

Gotta run. My son is teething. It's gonna be a long night on so many levels.

When We Walk Through The Water....

2009-04-07T18:39:00.000-07:00

....He will go with us.

God seems silent. But He also seems present in some of the moments of this journey.

We're considering surgery options in the States because we've heard about some financial assistance and I can't bear to wait until May just to see the surgeon. Plus, can I really trust that the surgeon will give me what I need since he first thought I was okay enough to wait until JULY to see him? We were originally under the impression that you applied, waited to hear, and then got the surgery if they said yes. Turns out you have to have the surgery first, then they decide how much - if any - that they will write off. So we've got a lot to think about.

But before we can decide that, we have to recover from the worst stomach bug I've ever had. We thought it was food poisoning, but six people from my family have come down with it so far, so we're thinking it's a bug. It has rendered me to weak that I cannot even carry my own son, and he feels like he weighs about 100 pounds. He only weighs about 14. I've been able to deal with some tiny amounts of juice mixed with Sprite, some ice chips, and some lukewarm water. I never want to see food again. Interestingly enough, the bug further caused pain with my birth injuries. This is such a long journey.

My husband is taking care of our little one now that he is recovering, and we're doing a bit of formula and a bit of nursing. We are hoping and praying that our little guy doesn't get what we have.

Because of all of this, we had to change our travel plans. We're now supposed to leave on Thursday, but I'm thinking that is awfully close for me to have time to get well enough to have a full day of travel with two flights, one long layover, and a whole ton of carrying luggage and a baby.

Normally, during moments like this, I find myself begging God to let me escape. This time, I'm just asking Him to cling to me and keep walking me through it. He's used it to show me some yucky stuff in my heart that needed to come out - things like pride and judgmental attitudes involving mothering issues. It's amazing what goes through your mind when you physically feel so terrible that death seems like a welcome option. I can't really feel Him as I'd like, but there is a sense that I'm not exactly alone in this.

I'm exhausted and full of questions, waiting for what I hope will be clear guidance from the One who loves me most. I am hoping He chooses not to be silent in this. But we shall see. The one thing I do know is that I don't think some folks ever get to the point when they stop doubting and questioning their faith. At least, that's where I'm at. The one huge consolation is that if He's really there, then He's really big enough to handle my questions, my doubts, my what-ifs, my forgetfulness, and my pain.

It will probably be quiet around here for some time. We have a lot of decisions to make, and I'm feeling pretty awful. We just need time to "be". And I need time to heal.

To Clarify

2009-04-01T08:22:00.001-07:00

I am loved by a family of bulldogs. Okay, not really. My family is entirely human. But they are quite passionate about protecting each other, and that extends to me and my health. In other words, I've been sensing their frustration with what they see as being Canada's fault. But it's not.

What happened to me - the long and insane hours of pushing, the forceps without episiotomy, the missing the fistula diagnosis, etc. - are all issues related to individual decisions and individual judgment calls. It isn't Canada's fault. If anything, the midwife should have followed a policy of not allowing me to push for more than two hours, and she should have called for help earlier. The Ob/Gyn who used the forceps should have done what she promised and performed an episiotomy. And had I known how this would have ended up, I should have asked for a c-section. All those "shoulds" are related to individuals, not to a country with nationalized healthcare. Those situations could have just as easily happened in the United States.

Right now, I am barred from getting the care I need here in the United States while I'm on holiday simply because of money. It costs too much. And if you had heard the bored and unconcerned tone of the administrative employee who called to tell me that the minimum estimate for this surgery would be $6500, you would know that some in the healthcare system here have lost sight of the original purpose. It's not about money. It's about helping people. The surgeon here gets that. She waved part of her fee at the office visit when she did a procedure that increased our bill by $100 after they'd already told us it was going to be "just" $165. And she was willing to wave her fee for surgery. But not everyone gets that - specifically the insurance companies.

If you want to take a hard look at reforming the medical system here, it must start with the insurance companies. I believe it begins and ends with them. They are the ones who tie the doctor's hands and keep hospitals from getting to focus on healing instead of bookkeeping. And I hope and pray someone does reform this system. I've already seen the horrors of debt that can occur when someone has a serious illness and doesn't have coverage. And I don't want to imagine how my parents are going to get by once my dad retires and gives up his company provided top of the line group plan. Something has to change.

So to those of you Americans who think that my troubles are because I'm in Canada, please know that isn't exactly accurate. My troubles are because I didn't go to medical school and therefore didn't know enough to recognize that some choices were being made that would lead to poor outcomes. If anything, I owe a debt of gratitude to Canadian healthcare. In nine months of care that included one emergency room visit and one emergency ultrasound, I don't owe a dime. In a long hospital stay, three surgical procedures already done and at least one more in my future, I don't and won't owe a dime. The only money out of my pocket has been for pharmacy costs once we are home. And when my husband lost his job when a construction company went defunct, I didn't have to worry about our healthcare plan. It stayed the same, regardless of what our employment status was.

The waiting isn't exactly something I like to do, and I know that some Canadians have had to wait a long time for things that would have greatly increased their quality of life. So it's not perfect. And I wonder if the wait times are more related to the government paying for medical care or to the Canadian doctors who are leaving for the richer pastures of USA medicine. I don't know. But I do know that life and death issues will get you pushed ahead in line, and a good family doctor to advocate for you makes a difference. The wait times could be improved, but really, that's an easier problem than figuring out how to help Americans keep from going bankrupt just so they can be healthy.

So be a bulldog. Keep loving on me. Please don't "should" on me or encourage me to "should" on myself. And if you want to become an activist to somehow improve the system you have here in the land of the free and the brave, know that you have a redheaded cheerleader on your side.

Waiting

2009-03-30T20:38:00.000-07:00

We are in Missouri with family. Our little guy is smiling more and more, and he has discovered how fun it is to grin at himself in the mirror. He loves his Granddad and feels safe with his Grandma. His mama likes the fact that she gets a break now and again to have a real nap.

I've had a setback in the health department. With all of my heart, I wish I'd had a c-section 11.75 weeks ago. And with the same part of my heart, I'm wishing there was such a thing as a butt transplant. But then, I've never been a medicine person, and all those anti-rejection drugs would be hard to comply with. And really, just how would one go about picking out a butt anyway? Thinking through all of the possibilities in that realm gives me something to chuckle over. Could you get one that had a permanent bikini wax? And what about no cellulite? Really. What kind of butt would you want?

My husband and I got to see a surgeon today. I so wish she could help me. If I had $5,000 or more, she could. But I'm in the realm of Canadian medicine now, and no longer have the wonderful insurance that once upon a time enabled me to partake of the insanely expensive healthcare of the United States. So this surgeon's findings will just have to be taken to Canada where I will get in line, and someday have the surgery that may fix me once and for all. I'm not incredibly hopeful anymore that this saga will ever be over with a good ending. If others have strength to hope for me, that would be nice.

I've talked with both my maternity doctor and my family doctor today. I've asked my family doctor to take over my care so we can get things centralized, and he agreed to talk with my maternity doctor to coordinate things. I don't want my maternity doctor to feel like she failed or like I'm upset with her. She has been a gift, and I really love her. I just want and need someone who can be a bulldog with my care anytime of the week and has an office staff that is more reachable. The only way I can ever get in touch with her is to call her on her cell phone, and that seems like a boundary violation to me. Her office staff is nice, but I always feel that they are a little cold and clueless. Plus, they are only open three days a week with very limited hours those days. I'm most likely going to forget about following up with the Ob who had been involved. I no longer can trust her to know enough or be thorough enough, though I really like her bedside manner and her gentle ways. Still, I'm sad that this is happening. I wish I could just keep seeing all of these doctors. I hate to disappoint anyone, and it feels like that is what has happened.

I am learning some things during this waiting to be healthy time. I'm braver than I thought. I can take more pain than I ever imagined. I'd rather not find out if I can take more though. How people deal with such awful diseases as Crohn's and cancer, I'll never know. Nor do I want to. I can also get through tough examinations with no pain meds with a gracefulness that amazes even me. But I'd like to be done learning. It would be nice if we could move onto things like climbing, going to the beach, walking, running, and enjoying the finer things in marriage. But instead, I'm waiting. Waiting to be better. Waiting for someone to fix me. Waiting for a miracle.

Here's hoping it comes my way soon.

Hey Guys

2009-03-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Isn't that just a cute face? I love that he gets to look at me and that I get to look at him all the live long day. Someday he may sass me, but for now, he adores me. After all, I do have the milk. He is cuddly and adorable, and I fall more in love with him each day. Even his projectile pooping incidents cannot dampen my enthusiasm for spending time with him. He is truly a fun blessing.

We are all headed to the States to visit family this week, and we are trying to pack a ton of preparations into a tiny window of time. I was supposed to have help on Friday with our little guy to give me time to clean, but that didn't happen after all. Yesterday, the little one and I were on our own all morning while his daddy headed to an outdoor show, and then it was off to a town an hour away to pick up the most insanely expensive stroller bag I've ever seen. (I am seriously regretting it and wondering if it's really necessary. But then I imagine the gate check guys losing one of the three wheels to our Bob stroller and I momentarily forget that the stroller accessories such as the travel bag have eaten up whatever college fund we had for our little guy.) Then when we got home, I cooked dinner from scratch for the first time since the whole sage of childbirth complications. It was deliciously amazing and made me wonder where I've been all my life. Ha. Seriously, we have missed my cooking.

That leads us to today. I had been hankering to go to church simply because I miss the community of friends we have there, and I hadn't gone since sometime around Christmas. Between the snow, giving birth, and wishing for the first ever lower torso transplant after childbirth, we just hadn't gone. So it was such a treat. So many people came up and loved on us, cooing over our baby. What really made me tear up was when our pastor said he'd had a "Henry David and Inkling sighting" and had us stand so everyone could see that FINALLY the answers to their prayers for my healing had been mostly answered with a resounding yes. But what was the most fun was the music and watching our little guy stare wide-eyed with wonder at the musicians. He and I both loved the music, and I really wish I could have been inside his mind to know what he was thinking and know how much he could actually see.

We came home from that after picking up a roast chicken at the grocery store, and after a lovely lunch of that and roasted veggies, I apparently zonked out on the bed while nursing the little guy. Now we are awake and the day is half over. I still have a bathroom to scrub, floors to vacuum, clothing to go through to figure out what will fit me for this trip, and preliminary packing to do. (May I just say that a bad first trimester sickness wise and a serious childbirth injury and infection for the mama to go through really suck, but that the bright side is the fact that I can fit into pants I haven't been able to wear for two years.)

So that's what's been happening. I am really and truly on the mend at long last. The last surgery happened two weeks ago tomorrow, and it seemed to be the ticket to finally helping me turn the corner. I have four more weeks of recovery where activity is somewhat restricted, but it looks like I can at last see the light at the end of this tunnel.

I'll see you later. We've got a trip to the States to take and great grandparents to meet the little guy!

Spring Is In My Future

2009-03-11T14:37:00.000-07:00

On Monday I had surgery to correct some nagging issues leftover from a rather traumatic childbirth. There will be physiotherapy (physical therapy for you American readers) and maybe more surgery in my future, but for now, I seem to finally be on the road to real healing.

And with that healing comes hope. Hope for getting to enjoy the spring. I have essentially missed the winter with these nine weeks of being a near invalid. And with the spring comes walks in the park, Easter chocolate, flowers, sunshine, and most loved of all - climbing. Sunday it looked like climbing season was once again going to be kept from me. But Monday's surgery may just have saved it for me. If I keep on feeling like I feel right now, I see a climbing helmet and a harness in my future.

Can anyone say Squamish?!

More Ways New Moms Like Help

2009-02-22T18:18:00.000-08:00

Learning to ask for help is humbling, frustrating, and wonderful all at once. It's not something I yearn to do often, so here's hoping a bottom near me starts healing soon. =) I have been blessed, so I am indeed grateful. But I have also learned a thing or two, and want to chronicle them in hopes it helps keep another mother sane.

~ If you commit to come to a mom's home, arrive on time or call to let her know you'll be late. And when you commit to come, be up front about how long you plan to stay. In other words, don't spring the surprise that you are staying for lunch on her thirty minutes after you arrive and that you'll be happy to eat leftovers. If you want to stay for a meal, I suggest bringing and assembling the ingredients yourself.

~ Don't offer to come to do a project and then stand around like you expect her to offer you tea and cookies. Initiate getting the work begun. She probably already feels awkward asking you to do her chores, so don't make her ask twice.

~ When you offer to do a project, do the project. Don't go all ADD on her and flit from one thing to the next without finishing any one thing. If you say you'll do her laundry, chances are she is counting on you to do just that.

~ If she asks you to put together a recipe from her own archives, now is not the time to change it up by deciding to cut the salt in half or leave out the white sugar. And you might want to follow the directions in the order they are given. After all, cooking can involve scientific reactions, and it would really be a bummer for her to have to throw out an entire batch of something because directions weren't followed. But of course, you'll never know this, because she will be too shy to tell you that you made a fatal error with her much anticipated cookies.

~ If you bring a meal, make sure it isn't spoiled. And again, please include something green.

~ If you clean or wash dishes, be thorough. Oh, and ask which one is the hand soap and which one is the dish soap.

~ Study up on the Biblical character of Martha. See her capabilities, even if she did get a little too task oriented at times. She had a real gift. Who knows? Maybe the mom you are serving has that gift too, and maybe it's hard for her to accept help. And maybe it's even harder for her to be grateful for the help she accepted when it leaves her feeling like she has an even bigger mess on her hands.

~ And if you are the mom, maybe it would be better to just let the laundry pile up, buy frozen meals and paper plates for a couple of months, and order a boat load of movies to keep you company. There are just some days that idea will seem a heck of a lot easier, especially if you are a particular mother like me. I had no idea I was so particular, and it was a big surprise to find out that not every one does it the right way like me. =) (Please catch my humor and don't think I'm really that arrogant. I do like "my" way and think it works well, as the women who came before me in my family would also agree. But I'm learning that not everyone has a clue what hospital corners are, or that it's a good idea to wash hands before beginning a cooking project. While that drives me bonkers, this world would be really boring if everyone looked and acted like me.)

I'm low in the cheerful, laid-back attitude department at the moment. It could be because I'm still doing laundry, making a new batch of cookies, and figuring out what meals we'll make this week while dealing with a baby who has a sore tummy and takes cat naps. Oh, and that doesn't include the latest "guess which body part this is" game that is my life now that everything below my waist has been rearranged and changed. I see the OB in two weeks, and will find out from there what specialists I'll get to see in my future. Frankly, I just want to be able to leave my house for extended amounts of time without packing a diaper bag for two people, if you know what I mean. Repeat after me.....this will get better.....this too shall pass (and without stool softeners!).....this sense of humor is not a bad thing....this really will get better....and one day you really will be able to take all things bottom related for granted again....I just don't know when.

How To Help The New Mom

2009-02-04T12:40:00.000-08:00

We've been blessed with help and support during this tough time of healing and recovery. I've been filled with both gratitude and a little frustration, so this post is going to be the explanation and remedy to that.

My parents both came, and my dad extended his stay so that he could be with us over a week. He was our emergency room chauffeur, cook, errand runner, and night duty nurse with a little boy so the mama could sleep. My mom will have stayed a full month with me by the time she leaves, and her willingness to extend her stay has also been a huge blessing. She is my errand runner, cook, cleaning lady, baby burper with the magic touch, nurse for both mama and baby, and all around personal assistant. I'd be lost without her. Having family come and generously serve you in whatever way you need cannot be underestimated in terms of value. It is a most priceless gift.

The health unit here has been faithful to call to check on us, offer visits, and they've given encouragement and praise regarding how I'm functioning as a mama despite rather large challenges in the delivery complications department. I'm grateful for them, especially for the last reason, for it's kept me going during some pretty emotional times.

We've been blessed with gifts out the wazoo for this little guy. From my husband's boss to the mom of one of my husband's friends, and from my creative cousin in the States to one of my husband's cousins, our little boy has been loved on in tangible ways.

Cards and emails have come, and those have been even more appreciated than phone calls because this redhead can read them at her convenience. They've been the tangible reminder in her inbox that she may be stuck at home, but she is remembered and loved. (This is something I'm not always good about doing, and this time has taught me how much a card means to a person.)

A friend of mine who is a midwife in Ontario is back in BC visiting family, and she has also been a huge blessing to me. From ordering me some special tea for the bath to bringing me an extremely generous gift of special juice (4 bottles!), she and her mom have gone above and beyond just being neighbors. And what's even better is that they gave us a meal that totally fit who we are in terms of menu items and disposability.

People have also brought us meals, and that has been so appreciated. And that's what motivated this post today. I wanted to include a few pointers that I'm discovering are not exactly natural to everyone even though they are incredibly kind to provide meals. So if these pointers can help someone else, this post will be worth it.....

~ Call at least a day ahead to let someone know you'd like to bring a meal. That way, they won't have already taken something out of the freezer. If you can let them know even earlier, that is awesome.

~ I cannot stress this one enough: Bring your gift of a meal in entirely disposable dishes or items you do not want returned. This not only means you don't risk losing a dish, but it makes perfect sense. If the recipient is getting a meal because they cannot cook for themselves, it follows that they may not have the energy or capability to take your dish back to you. And, if they have been given meals from multiple folks, it gets tricky remembering the owner of each dish. Plus, if they need meals because of an illness or injury or other similar need, they really don't need one more task added to their plate. Washing and returning your dish is one task they could live without. So invest in some foil pans, some Ziploc bags, some glass jars from the thrift store, and some cheap plastic containers (or even ones formerly used for yogurt or sour cream). Not only will they remember your meal, but they will remember your thoughtfulness and wisdom, which will make them appreciate you all the more.

~ I know it's a gift and all, but it will be even more appreciated if you ask the recipient what types of food they appreciate most. Are they into brown rice, veggies, and whole wheat? Then you might want to stay away from minute rice, white bread, and include a something green. Do they have any allergies or tolerance issues? That is great to know, because you'd be sad to find out they had to throw out your generous offering because they could not eat it.

~ Are there any instructions for heating or storing your meal items? If so, write them down and attach them to the specific item.

~ If you are hoping for a visit when you drop off your meal, ask first. If a new baby is involved and you are hoping to hold the wee one, wash your hands after you've been invited to stay for a few minutes. And the few minutes thing? That's a really important thing to remember. Few means exactly that. Keep your stay under 15 minutes, unless the person you are visiting clearly lets you know they hope you extend your visit. While I'm sure they love having time to be social, especially if they've been stuck at home in bed for weeks, a simple visit can actually be pretty tiring. Besides, if you brought dinner at dinner time, you can imagine they are hungry and ready to eat. So be sensitive about not staying too long, and make a mental note to see about visiting them at a more welcome time.

~ Ask first if you want to bring your children. And if you do bring them, keep them with you at all times, even if they have previously had free run of the kid friendly bookshelves. After all, this visit is being made because your friend is recovering from something, and they don't have their usual energy. And to be honest, they probably aren't in the state of mind to focus on someone else's child right now.

~ If you are bringing children and there is a new baby involved, don't even consider bringing a kiddo with the remains of a cold. And make sure your kids know that we don't touch a baby's hands or face, and that the baby's mama will invite them to touch or hold the baby if she's comfortable with that. If she doesn't offer, don't ask. Just give her time.

~ Finally, meals are awesome and practical gifts that make the recipient glow with gratitude and feel relieved beyond words. But if you call and say, "I'd like to bring three meals tonight," don't be surprised if they turn you down. Three meals means freezer space has to be reserved, and they might not have that available. If you have three meals you want to offer, consider investing the extra time and effort to bring them at three different times. Yes, that takes more out of you, but it also means you'll be that much more appreciated.

***As a new mom who is having a long and arduous road to recovery, I can say that this post is from my heart. At this point, I can say that I'm finally on the road to recovery, after three weeks of setbacks. The challenges are still looming large, and it will be a long time before I'm back to doing every day tasks most people take for granted. So that's why offers of practical help matter to me all the more. I truly could not keep on going without them. If it were not for my parents, I would have to hire someone to help out with basic needs. So if there was one more thing I could say about helping a new mom, it would be this......if it's in your power to help out a friend in need, make room in your schedule and do just that. And even if it requires an investment of time, money, or a sacrifice on your part (giving up vacation time, finding sitters for your kids, etc.), your gift of service will be the most valuable thing you could ever give to your friend. They may not be able to repay you for your generosity, but I'm pretty sure God will keep that in mind and you'll be blessed someday down the road. In the meantime, there's no greater gift than being a practical blessing to a new mom in real physical need.

One Strong Woman

2009-01-24T22:02:00.001-08:00

Hello everyone, this is Grace, aka Inkling's best-friend and mama to her Sara Orange Gang. She has asked me to give everyone an update for her, so here it goes...

On Monday when Inkling went into the ER for the procedure she mentioned below,she was met by some rather rude nurses that were not happy that her doc had sent her through the ER to get to her. Then after two hours of waiting, she was told that there would not be an OR available after all.

So on Wednesday, Inkling had an in-office procedure done by the OB that performed the emergency forceps delivery. For this procedure, she was given a local that did nothing for the pain, but she endured it with the hand of her mother squeezed tightly. This was supposed to have drained the abscess that has formed, but it only made it worse, and the abscess just filled back up causing her excrutiating pain.

On Thursday, her maternity doc examined her and decided that the OB's report was much different from what she was seeing and something needed to be done. She put her on antibiotics and told her to come in for a procedure to take care of it on Friday. Thursday evening, the abscess separated and necessitated a trip to the ER immediately. Thankfully her maternity doc was the one on call that evening and was able to call ahead to the ER to fill them in on what was going on.

Upon her arrival at the ER, she was immediately given care. Thankfully she had wonderful docs and nurses this time around, and she and Henry David were able to joke around with them and keep everything a little lighter. Her maternity doc and the other doc in the room are both Christians, and she was blessed to have them stop everything and pray over her before they moved on to what needed to be done. They sedated her right there in a trauma room and did the surgical procedure required to drain the abscess and packed it with gauze. After she woke-up, they sent her home to recover.

Currently she is on antibiotics, pain meds, high doses of vitamin C, and several other natural things. One of the pain meds she is currently taking means that Grasshopper cannot nurse for 6 hours after she takes it, so during that time, he is recieving formula. Yes, that's tough for her, but she knows that it's not forever and in order for her to heal, she has to let someone else care for him for now. She isn't taking that particular pain med around the clock though, so she is able to nurse him for several feedings in a row. He seems to be making the switch between formula and breast well.

One of the biggest things she needs now is sleep. Her body needs to rest so that it can begin to heal itself and allow the meds to do their jobs. She is working very hard at staying positive and looking for the good that's going to come out of all of these trials. God's going to use this time in her life for good in someone's life someday.

Please, as you leave comments for our friend, be encouraging. She's not a poor, pathetic soul that needs our pity. She's an amazingly strong and courageous woman who is going to see the other side of this challenge and be able to hold her head up and say "I did it with the dignity that only my Jesus can give me". Please hold her up. Hold her up as a woman. Hold her up as a wife. Hold her up as a new mom. Hold her up before God in your prayers.

Specific Prayer Requests
- Please pray for Grasshopper. Pray for his little mind. Pray that he notices none of the stress everyone is under and only feels the fact that there are extra people there who love him dearly. Pray that he knows he's loved. Pray for his comfort. He's having some serious gas issues. They aren't sure if it's normal baby gas, or if it's being caused by the antibiotic his mama's on.
- Please pray for Henry David. Pray for his endurance to see him through this time of their lives. Pray that he gets enough sleep, as I hear he needs his sleep. Pray that he is able to comfort his wife in the ways she needs him to.
- Pray for Inkling's dad. He's going to have to leave in a few days and that can't be easy. Pray for his safe journey home and for peace in his heart while he's away.
-Pray for Inkling's mom. She's caring for two of the people she loves the most around the clock right now. Pray for her energy levels to be where they need to be. Pray for her to stay positive in the midst of all this seemingly crazy stuff happening right now. Pray that she is able to serve Inkling in the way she needs right now.
-And of course, pray for Inkling. Pray for quick and complete healing. Pray that she is able to turn off her mind and get the sleep that she needs to get for that healing to take place. Pray for her emotional health. Pray for her "mama's heart" as it struggles with letting someone else care for her little guy much of the time. Pray for peace. Pray for encouragement. Pray for comfort. Pray for a pain free exsistence, so she can get on with her life as a new mama.

There's a children's song about a bear (or lion for some people) that I've always recited to myself when I've been going thru some of my own trials with something similar to what Inkling's dealing with now. It's always been one of my fav's during all my years teaching preschool children. To my knowledge, I've never mentioned this strange little recitation to anyone, but strangely enough, the other day, Inkling herself brought this song up in one of our conversations. Here's the lyrics...

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

Mud!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

Sticks!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

Trees!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

Gate!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

River!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

Grass!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Goin' on a bear hunt.
Gonna catch a big one.
I'm not afraid.
Look, what's up ahead?

Cave!
Can't go over it.
Can't go under it.
Can't go around it.
Gotta go through it.

Feel yourself along the wall.
Oh, oh What's this?
Something funny.
With a long soft thing on it's end!
With two sharp things!
Two big gleaming sharp things!
A BEAR!!!
Run for your life!

Run out of the cave!
Crawl through the grass!
Swim across the river!
Run through the gate!
Run around the trees!
Jump over the sticks!
Slosh through the mud!
Run into the house!
Close the door!
Run up the front stairs!
Crawl under mom's bed!

This is a time in Inkling's life that she can't go over, she can't go under, and she can't go around. She has to walk straight through this thing. Thankfully she's not walking through it alone. Jesus is holding her hand the entire time. Actually there are times where she's being carried by His strong and enduring arms. For some reason, not known to her yet, she must walk through the mud, the sticks, the trees, the gate, the river, the grass, and the cave to get to the other side. All things are made beautiful by God, and sometime in the future this time in her life will be used as something beautiful for Him.

To You Oh Lord, I Lift Up My Soul, I Trust In You....

2009-01-19T08:43:00.001-08:00

So goes the Psalm. And so goes Inkling, though she is scared on the inside, hurting on the outside, and facing unknowns everywhere.

There have been some complications with my delivery and recovery due to a partial fourth degree tear and four hours of pushing before the emergency forceps delivery. I've courageously faced them one by one these past 12 days, but now am in need of extra help. I'll be heading to the hospital this afternoon to be sedated so they can take care of an abcess, some extensive bleeding from my stitching near the abcess, and perhaps some other things.

I pumped two ounces last night in my first ever pumping experience, and am trying to pump this morning. But my body isn't wanting to release the milk, most likely because I can now only lay in one position and it isn't ideal for pumping. But I'm still determined to try. We hope to only need enough for one feeding. If he has to temporarily go on formula, I will not die. But I will feel like dying. At least I've been able to watch him grow plump and big from my milk already. That is saying a lot because he has a partial tongue tie that they cannot repair (because there is nothing to cut), and that makes latching painful for me. So even though his latch isn't great and thus our time nursing takes a long time, I have been able to keep on providing for my son up until this moment. I pray I can continue to provide for him in that way.

I would ask you to pray for us. Thank you.

On Flexibility

2009-01-15T18:02:00.000-08:00

So having a baby means you make plans, change them, change them again, change them again, and then discover you can indeed be as flexible as a contortionist if you really find it necessary.

This is a life lesson you would be wise to remember for times, like say, when the boiler repair guys put your landlord off for the second week in a row and they are no shows to fix the boiler in the room your parents will be using in less than 24 hours. But you will still want to throw a fit, because you will find so many reasons why what is happening didn't have to happen. And it will seem like giving birth was rocket science, while this situation was Kindergartener's play. And you'll wonder why in the world everyone else isn't as intelligent and wise as you would have been were you the one administering the repair plans. But you would do well to be flexible anyway. Your blood pressure will stay low; you'll gain another step in maturity; and after all, this is not life or death. Childbirth is. Broken boilers are just a pain in the rear, but not life or death. (Granted, childbirth is a pain in the rear too, literally, but we're not going there.)

So the baby thing is real. I did it. Not at all like I planned, but that's okay. Why? Because I am discovering that I'm one courageous and strong woman, even if I still feel like a wimp who hates pain. But considering the recovery process and its very interesting complications (which I will not explain) and the fact that I'm being a good mama despite my own infirmities, I am a woman who is stronger and can go through more than she realized. "How did I do this," you ask? Well, behind every strong woman is a stronger God. And if she's really blessed, not only will she have a very big God giving her strength, but she will have a husband standing alongside her every step of the way giving her his strength. And those two persons will show her what is inside of her.....determination, guts, strength, the ability to be flexible, and courage.

If she can just remember that in relation to boiler repair issues, she will be set.

Missing The Point ***Updated

2009-01-04T15:59:00.000-08:00

Sometimes humans miss the point of something.

This holiday season was another example of an entire group of folks missing a very large point. I just need to vent a tiny bit to process this, okay?

I participate in Freecycle, though I'm thinking that I'll soon withdraw my membership since it seems to have gone from something really cool and helpful to a way for people to be lazy about taking out their own garbage.

Over the holidays, I don't know how many "wanted" posts I saw for things like Wii systems, new games, and other things people wouldn't be tossing in the garbage. This confused me and irritated me. It confused me because Freecycle is helping people recycle things in the community while keeping usable items out of landfills. The Wii system seemed a little too new for anyone to be throwing it in the garbage. It irritated me because it seemed greedy to use a forum meant for one purpose for another purpose. The intended purpose is to be a responsible caretaker of this planet, not to save a person from having to shell out money for a gift.

The latest thing that broke this very pregnant camel's back was the offering of an expired carseat. The person offering it readily admitted it was expired, and then suggested using it at the grocery store or on public transportation. Hello. Illegal postings anyone?

I think my Freecycle days are seriously numbered. I'm tired of picking up dishes that need washing, baby items that need washing (after I pick out all the animal hairs), misadvertised items that really should be thrown away, getting boxes of miscellaneous junk thrown in with the one item I did agree to pick up, and having people respond to my offers of items but never picking them up. (Obviously, I'd wash any item I received, but these items have involved serious scrubbing and soaking. We're talking people donated them in a truly used and NEVER washed after usage condition. Eww.)

What started out as a good idea has quickly turned into a place for people to be lazy, greedy, break the law, and be generally unintelligent. Or maybe I'm just grumpy and passionate about complying with little things like doing what is right. Actually, a compelling argument that both sentences are true could easily be made right now.

I'm off to go watch more snow fall, and contemplate what it must be like to be a meteorologist who is rarely correct. I sure hope they don't gamble for a hobby.

***UPDATE
I have just requested the moderators remove me from the Freecycle community in my town. The response I just received from my letter to the moderator about the carseat was poorly thought out and clearly written from someone who is inexperienced with babies, car seat laws, and ICBC. At the same time that response came through, someone posted a "wanted" ad through Freecycle for a sectional couch and recliner. I'm done.

I'll continue to live responsibly by donating usable items to our thrift stores in town, recycling other things that are not usable, repurposing still more items, and composting what I can. But I'm done with Freecycle....if they comply and take me off the list. It will be a relief. I was getting dozens of emails a day from them, which ironically all went in the garbage. At least it was virtual garbage.

Faithfulness

2009-01-02T22:52:00.001-08:00

No, I'm not talking about any faithfulness I can muster of my own. I'm talking about the faithfulness of God despite all the crazy happenings around me and inside of me. He is faithful, even when it doesn't feel like it.

As we met last night with a woman who became our answer to prayer for help in childbirth instruction, I had a chance to recall so many Ebenezers from this past year. Ebenezers are just little moments where you realize that God has helped you, and you've made a marker there to remind you.

From a mysterious gift of money to an ivory sweater set, from a tough three months with an unfeeling midwife to a chance meeting with an incredible doctor in a park, from prayer times with some precious women to a three hour drive to a retreat with two strangers, from a broken freezer to a sudden cold snap enabling us to save most every piece of food, God has shown me that He is in the business of never leaving us or forsaking us.

I need that now, in these coming days full of uncertainty with battles to be fought against fear.

There may be snow piling up outside on our cars unequipped with winter tires or chains, and there may be no plows about town. There may be further boiler issues and other challenges yet to be faced with our living situation. There may be uncertainty with work, the economy, and our finances. There may be dozens of unknowns in the development of our wilderness ministry/business. But there is one thing that trumps all of that. The faithfulness of the One who loves me most rises above and beyond anything that could seek to destroy me.

And that faithfulness is what I'm going to cling to in these coming days full of mystery. I am not alone, and that is the most comforting thing ever.

Just Checking In Before 2009

2008-12-31T00:21:00.001-08:00

It's been a whirlwind of a week. We've had the craziest weather, and our driveway is like an ice rink. My husband is wonderful about not letting me fall, which would be quite dangerous if it were to happen now.

We've had a crazy busy social calendar, what with doctor's appointments, trips across the border to get fun mail, taking dinner to friends, meeting for brunch with a favorite blogger friend, having other friends over, and still more to come this week. I think we have two more dinner engagements this week and a private childbirth course to get through.

After Sunday evening, when all on our calendar is said and done, I'd be game to give birth. Okay, maybe not. I'm petrified. But ready. Still afraid. But also longing to give up my Zantac addiction, sleep on my stomach actually lying down, and be able to paint my toes and tie my shoes all by myself.

For an introvert who prefers to keep social engagements to less than one per week, we sure have a full calendar. But everything thus far has been utterly wonderful, and I wouldn't trade any of our social things. Still, this redhead is tired. Our latest guests are on their way home; the dishes are washing thanks to electronic technology, and I'm headed to bed to put my feet up and see if the cankles will go away overnight. (I always wanted full calves, but this is most decidedly not what I imagined. It will be nice to have that part over with soon.)

Good night for now. I'll catch you next year.

Snowed In For Christmas

2008-12-24T10:55:00.001-08:00

We here in the Pacific Northwest (can this American call it that in my neck of the Canadian woods?) are snowed in completely. This is the kind of snow one sees east of us, like in Manning Park. This is not the kind of snow we ever see in our town. We are too close to the ocean for that. But not today. Today we have snow of Northern Indiana proportions in the early 80's, at least the kind of snow a redhead remembers when she was eight. (And isn't everything bigger when you are eight?)

The pics aren't spectacular, as I took them in seconds from our front window looking into the front yard belonging to our landlord, and the driveway we all share. But you get the idea. Church is cancelled tonight.

Oh, and I'm am thanking God for an early Christmas gift of hot water. A repair man who was recommended by the manufacturers of the boiler came out and worked yesterday. I knew he was a dream when he put on booties to walk through my house and he brought a tool bag so he wouldn't be putting his metal monstrosities on my furniture. Yes, my friends, he was competent and courteous. And it appears we can take hot showers, wash dishes, and do laundry all without having to boil water on the stove. The most luxurious Christmas gift I've ever received. =)

Merry Christmas! And if you are related to G-ma Christmas Gift, well then, an early (and practice only) CHRISTMAS GIFT!!!!!!! to you.

I Managed To Be More Like Marilla, And I'm Glad

2008-12-23T08:46:00.000-08:00

Well, this morning I am not paying for soaring on the heights of ecstasy by dealing with the inevitable thud. Thankfully, I didn't let myself get too excited.

The hot water is gone again.

We don't know what we'll be doing, as Christmas Eve and the shutting down of businesses is just hours away.

Oh my. The adventurous life is getting old. I'm ready for calmness, hot water, an easy birth anytime now, the ability for our town to actually plow the roads, and for something in life to go easily. But I have a feeling it's a pipe dream at the moment, and instead we're being thrust into survival mode in just about every aspect of life.

And so we wait. And we do our best to keep our heads. But it isn't easy.

Could It Be?

2008-12-22T09:59:00.000-08:00

Could we really have our hot water issue fixed? Dare I believe it? At this point, this Missouri girl in Canada is going to remain skeptical, not allow her hopes to soar Anne-like on the wind, and try to keep positive about the efficacies of boiling water for a 3" deep bath in the tub.....just in case her hopes get dashed yet again.

Still, she hopes this is really true and hot water on demand has come back in time for Christmas. Even if she did have to greet her landlord at the door this morning at 7:34 a.m. with little warning, trying to hide the fact that her pregnant body had no bra on with a fuzzy fleece poncho. Thank goodness I'm not voluptuous. And thank goodness I've learned to face the world without mascara and perfectly coiffed hair.

This redhead is going to take a well-deserved nap (hopefully) now. G'night.

Hanging Onto Hope Is Horribly Hard Over Half The Time

2008-12-22T00:02:00.000-08:00

My husband is hanging onto hope for us today, because I seem to have let it go. I'm hoping it is just a temporary thing, this inability to find joy or hope in a season that's supposed to be full of it.

It would be a little easier if we had hot water. And if I didn't have heart burn. And if this baby would just get here already so I could miraculously sleep better. And if I didn't have weird things coming out of my body making me feel disgusting and highlighting the need for hot water.

Today, to be honest, everything bugs me. But the good thing is that my husband has hope for both of us, which is good, because I can't be expected to hold onto it by myself consistently.

While I'm back to thinking it would just be easier to skip Christmas with everything that is happening, I would like one gift. Hot water. Coming out of the faucets. Regularly. Brought to us by competent boiler repairmen who don't leave messes on every surface in the baby's nursery and who don't flood my bathroom cabinets leaving four boxes of feminine hygiene products and various rolls of toilet paper to mop up their mess.

Yes, that would be a good Christmas gift. And it would go a long way in restoring hope.

If I could ask for a stocking stuffer, it would be the ability to drive myself somewhere without getting stuck or sliding in the snow that covers every road. But that wouldn't fit in a stocking, because it would mean the city would have to buy more than one snowplow, and everyone knows real snowplows don't fit in stockings. Ah, the joys of living in a town where they don't expect snow. Only in Canada can it be this unreal. Something tells me it would be more bearable in Florida, because you sort of expect them to be clueless about snow. But Canada? Geez. They are north after all. You'd think they'd own at least two snow plows.

Santa, I know I've been freaking out the past 24 hours and have earned myself a piece or two of coal. But it would be nice, considering all my good qualities hiding out beneath this current crisis, if you'd see fit to do something involving hot water and independent transportation. If you need Jesus to help you, make sure to ask Him. I'm currently too cranky to talk to anyone myself.

Hope In The Cold

2008-12-20T16:23:00.000-08:00

We are in the midst of an adventure. The boiler that provides the radiant heating to our landlord's house and our suite, as well as heating all the water we use for other things quit working last week. But after some strange happenings, it perked up again and kept us going just until the repair guys could finally come. The repair guys began their work yesterday, not only to fix the boiler but to fix our gas fireplace (yes, we are quite cold in this place), and they are back again today. It's going to be a rather large job.

We asked some friends down the road if we could use their shower to get ready for a company party tonight in Vancouver. Upon our return from that, we stopped to check the mail at the bank of boxes at the end of our road. There was a package waiting for us to pick up a couple miles away, so we just turned around to go get it since we were already out and my driving days are numbered until after Grasshopper's arrival.

It was so cold and my hair was wet, so I stayed in the car while my husband went in to retrieve the package. We noticed an older gentleman putting up signs with reflective tape that said, "Will work for food or money". In our area, most of the time, we just see guys asking for handouts. Because our climate is normally mild, there are a lot of homeless and poor around us. But we currently have snow and below average temperatures, and it's not fun being out there - even for a girl who loves snow.

Well, we don't have any work to offer, and we really don't have much to offer ourselves. If you only knew what adventures we've had lately, and what the cost has been, you would realize that the amazing blessings we do have come from God's provision. We found ourselves going to a drive-thru, ordering a couple burgers, and taking it back to the gentleman. After all, if God is going to keep on providing for our needs, we can't stand by when we could provide for someone else.

This life I'm living sure is different than I ever imagined. And to be honest, I wouldn't trade it for all the financial security in the world, nor would I trade it to have my new Rav4 back. I never thought I'd say that or believe that, but I do. There are just too many things that make this life I get to live now richer than my old one, and growing brave enough to see that gentleman as a fellow person and being able to look directly in his eyes and talk to him is one of them.

On Building Living Cathedrals

2008-12-19T12:57:00.000-08:00

I read something really amazing today about motherhood and how moms are in the business of building cathedrals. But what I really want to talk about today is how teachers also build cathedrals. Yes, parents are the primary shapers in their children's lives, but teachers have a huge impact that cannot be ignored.

Recently, I've been tracking down the history of my life to prove to the United States consulate in Vancouver that I qualify to have my child be a United States' citizen once he arrives, though he will not be born stateside. Taking the advice of a friend, I've actually gone above and beyond what basics are required and have tracked down my history all the way down to Kindergarten transcripts. No kidding.

Yesterday, when I crossed the border, I picked up an envelope from the school where I attended grades 6-8. It was a little private school in Indiana. The report cards not only recorded my academic grades, but they included marks on my character and behavior, pages completed in independent reading, and the usual attendance numbers.

While my sixth grade year was fairly traumatic in the friendship department, including a lovely goose egg and black eye from a swinging purse with a metal frame wielded by a badly aiming girl who was supposedly gunning for the boy next to me, my grades and all marks were stellar. From my report card, one would never know how many nights I was up with stress induced stomach aches. I remember how our teacher read the Hobbit aloud, and how she lent me her sweater and comb when I came in completely drenched one day from the short run in the pouring rain from my mom's van to the school door. It was a tough year, but I made mostly A's for academics and C's for character (C equalled Consistently Commendable).

The reports from my seventh and eighth grade years spent up in the junior high loft hint at some of the challenges I was facing. My grades from all the teachers in the subjects of home-ec, music, art, physical education, English, and a few other things were still all A's in academics and C's in character. My seventh grade year also showed nearly perfect scores in history/social studies from the teacher I had that year. But my seventh and eighth grade years showed less than stellar scores in math and science, and my eighth grade year history score tanked both academically and character-wise. Why? And what was the end result?

Well, my math and science teacher had a thing for valuing boys above girls, and he was more changeable and unpredictable than the weather. I never knew when he was going to be kind or when he was going to impatient with me. Instead of helping me learn in a gentle and scientific manner how to not be grossed out by dead animals we needed to disect, he took a more direct and traumatic approach. He literally threw the dead and pregnant perch at me, thinking that would get me to not hesitate in touching it. Instead, it simply turned me off to all seafood for over 10 years. The main message I learned from him was that girls, especially me, were not made to be mathematicians or scientists, and that we really had no business earning more than an average or passable grade in those courses. I believed that until I began teaching and discovered that math and science were actually fun. But by then, it was too late to go back and redo all the basic courses I would need. Sure, I tried to go back, but when you're 22, it's hard to go back and start fresh in seventh grade algebra. To this day, I have plans to work through a comprehensive math book hidden behind all my other books on one of our shelves in our living room. And my scientist/chemist dad never got to see his daughter excel in science, though he spent hours with me working on re-enacting Edison's lightbulb invention and paying for tutoring. All because I stubbornly believed a misguided teacher named Mr. P.

I don't quite know why my history grade tanked in Mr. G's eighth grade class, but I am quite certain that his assessment of my character was very wrong. What I do remember is that he really didn't spend time loving his students, investing in their lives by inspiring them to great things. Instead, I remember off-topic sermons and rants, his attempts at garnering attention by goofing off and trying to be humorous (but never allowing that in his students), and a basic lack of knowledge about how to be gentle with impressionable girls. From him I gained the message that true historians were males, and any success or love of history I had experienced before was simply a fluke.

It was at that time that I began to box myself into a tiny container where I allowed myself only to be good in a few things related to English. I stopped challenging myself, stopped learning how to have a study ethic in things that no longer came naturally for me, and stopped being consistently diligent. I believed that I was not smart, not deserving of high achievement, and incapable of excelling in what I now considered subjects for boys. And even though we moved to another state before my ninth grade year, I continued to tell myself those messages, and continued to interpret those messages from my future teachers (whether or not they actually communicated them).

My point is this: Teachers and their words and actions matter more than they realize. Teachers have more power than they know in shaping a child for life. Teachers have incredible power both in the spoken and unspoken, in the clearly spelled out and the merely assumed. Teachers have the ability to build a gorgeous and sprawling cathedral capable of standing through wars and storms and years. And teachers also have the ability to build a cathedral made out of hay and stubble that will collapse at the first sign of a breeze.

When I look back on my own teaching career, I see the times I built stunningly beautiful and strong cathedrals. But I also see the times when I wounded a child's heart, misguided them in their thinking (or in the mathematical order of operations as is the case of my first year of teaching), or taught them to put themselves into a box. My successes are great and all, but it's my failures that makes me wish I could go back and do things over for the sake of those precious souls I didn't properly nurture or appreciate.

I don't know if Mr. P and Mr. G have regrets, or if they are still contentedly resting on their legalistic and insensitive philosophies. But I do know that they practically knocked down this cathedral that God designed in His image. Thank goodness He didn't let them totally destroy it. And thank goodness it takes more than 34 years to complete a cathedral. There's still hope for me.

Thank You, Canada

2008-12-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

This is my second post of the day, but I just had to write.

I just got off a 40 minute phone call from a prenatal nurse with the local health unit. She called to see how I was doing, ask me a few questions, and allow me to ask any questions I had. It was incredible. We talked about everything from breastfeeding to family support to weight gain to vaccines to postpartum issues like recovery and depression. She was a wealth of information, and the best part was that she affirmed my intuition, resourcefulness, and the study and preparation we've already done. I think that strengthened me more than anything.

She will be sending me a package of information, and a local health unit nurse will call and visit at least once after we bring the baby home.

And the cost for all of this? I have no idea. We won't be getting the bill. The BC government pays it.

Sure, one may have to wait six months for carpal tunnel syndrome surgery (as my friend did), but I have to say that I'm grateful for Canadian health care that provides for my family without draining our savings or disappearing when employment disappears or changes. And yes, I still have to be assertive and proactive and do the research to make sure my doctor is acting in my best interests, and I have to not be afraid to ask for a second opinion or to change health providers. But that is normal and necessary in any developed country that offers health care.

So thank you, Canada. Now we just have to figure out how to provide this for the broken system in the United States so that everyone - not just those with an employer who is privileged to be a part of a big group plan or those with no pre-existing conditions - can have the care I have.

When I think about moving back to the States, this is one very big reason I currently say no. Canada has cared for me just as well as my wonderful private insurance company did in the States. The other thing Canada has that I feel is superior is that family doctors here seem to know more and be more competent than ones in the States, simply because they are the first line of offense and defense here before any specialists are ever called in. In fact, I have not yet seen a specialist in my nearly three years here. Considering I saw specialists for everything but strep throat in the States, that's a very big change. It freaked me out at first, but now I'm actually good with it.

Again, thanks Canada. I have to say that the benefits here outweigh the costs. And that is a rare find indeed these days.