Well, it's here. July 13. Your due date. Well, what I thought was your due date. But God knew all along the days He planned for you. It's amazing how much expectation can be built in so short a time. I didn't actually expect to be having a baby right now. Both of your big sisters made tardy arrivals. I was hoping that you'd be willing to join us around your Auntie E and Papa A's birthdays in about a week. However, that was not your story. You were here so briefly, and gone so fast. We hardly had time to get used to the idea of your coming before you were already gone. And yet, it doesn't matter. You exist. You are real. You are mine. And every mother loves her children, even the ones she has never laid eyes on.
If I am being honest, what I want to do today, is hide. I want to crawl into a hole of my own, with my knitting and my books and my Netflix subscription and hide. I want to lace up my running shoes and go run until my body hurts and my heart doesn't. I want to hide from the hole that was left in my heart, the cracks that I just can't force to mend. I want to do anything but sit with the pain.
But you, you are with Jesus. You will never have this struggle, this life, this pain. They are unknown to you. You got the golden ticket. You are in His presence for all but a few weeks of your life. You know the things I long to know. As a parent, I should be so happy for you. And I have struggled with this, this idea that you got the best there is, and I selfishly want you here. But if God made us all in His image, than perhaps this struggle of mine is not selfishness. He longs for each of us to be in relationship with Him. He longs for us to be in His presence. He longs for us, His children. And like Him, I long for you, my child.
I wish I could say I'm weathering the storm with grace and perseverance, giving God glory in my pain. But I don't think that has been the case. I feel like I'm being beaten by the elements as I try to force my way past this dark painful section. Recently God has rebuked me for several "unholy fires" I've brought before him. We can just call them what they are, grown up tantrums and bad attitudes. Jennifer Rothschild says in the Bible study I am doing, "Your pain is what God uses to expose the reality that you've been granted and sustained by mercy all along." She also says "...if what we really deserve is hell, then anything else God gives us, or spares us from on this side of eternity is a privilege - even suffering." Ouch. Truth hurts sometimes. But it is good, it is freeing. I rest in His mercy each day. I followed His lead to this place. This place that hurts. I don't know why I am here. I don't know God has written my story this way. And honestly, I still don't like it. What I know is that I have a heavenly father that loves me and wants what is best for me. This same study asked us to choose and memorize a verse from a list pertaining to the goodness and steadfastness of God. My choice was easy. "For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed.", Malachi 3:6. So while I flounder, as I push my way forward into the darkness and the elements push against me, I have God's promise that I won't be consumed. He is the same. His mind does not waver, it does not choose what is lesser because it is easier or less painful. He is constant and steady and reliable and longing for us to lean into Him as we navigate every part of our paths.
I wish I had something perkier to tell you on this day. I wish I'd found profound healing and moved past the pain. I wish I was full of joy and peace. I wish I had some amazing revelations about how I'm so tight with God and we're so on the same page. But I'm not. I'm fighting for it. I'm fighting every single day. And I'm waiting on Him.
In the past three weeks the same story from the Bible has been brought to my attention from three different sources. Sometimes we all need to be knocked upside the head. Apparently, in this instance, the someone is me. Earlier this week I was reading in bed when the third instance came up in the book I had started reading, Mended: Pieces of a Life Made Whole, by Angie Smith. (She's my new BFF, she just doesn't know it yet. I've started hoarding her books like a squirrel at the first sign of frost.) I turned the page to the next chapter and the title woke me right up, "Your Road to Emmaus". Apparently I'm dense, but not so dense that the third mention of the same story doesn't wake me up a bit. She says "I did a little word study and found that the name Emmaus means 'warm springs,' and that these springs were frequently used for healing purposes. So I began to picture two people walking toward "healing" instead of to just some random biblical location." (You can read the full story in Luke 24, starting with verse 13.)
I paused. I thought about this story that I had read and explained three times in one day to three different classes of children at Vacation Bible School. (The irony of the fact that I taught it, not once, but three times, and didn't catch it, is not lost on me. Again, knock me upside the head Lord!) I thought about how these two men walked seven miles with Jesus without recognizing Him. They were His disciples. They spent years at His side. Yet, they did not know Him. They were consumed by the pain and disillusionment of the crucifixion and of finding His tomb empty. They thought He was the Son of God who had come to save the world, but He died. He let them kill Him. What kind of all powerful God does that? He didn't act the way they thought He would. He didn't deliver them the way they thought He would. He wrote a different story than the one they had in mind.
They were limited by their humanity. So am I. Not much of this life makes sense. The story that I've got in mind more often doesn't come to pass. God's ways are His ways. He is not limited by humanness. I am. I am so very limited. And I have been just like those disciples. Blinded by my pain, I have become disillusioned, blinded, and even a bit bitter. My God didn't do what I thought He would. He didn't write my story the way I wanted, the way I would have.
Now, I am not the most patient parent when it comes to re-teaching something I've been trying to drive home for what feels like forever. If I were Jesus here I would be tempted to say something not very nice to these disciples. But He didn't. He used those seven miles to teach them everything that was prophesied about Himself, again. Everything. Can you imagine? What a gift He gave to them! Oh, but what a gift He gives to each of us as He walks our road with us. Even as I am busy stoking unholy fires in His presence, He is patiently walking with me and teaching me about Himself. He is writing my story the way it should be written. I am so very thankful that He isn't an impatient parent like me. I am so very thankful that He doesn't allow me to write my own story. He has a better one in mind. I know that He is trustworthy. Even if I don't feel like this is true, I have His word. I have the truth. Feelings often lie. God never does.
I will keep fighting through the darkness, the wind, the rain and whatever else is beating me back as I walk my road to Emmaus. I have His promises. I won't be consumed. He is walking this road with me, even if I can't see Him or understand what is happening. The path right now is dark, it's difficult, I can barely see to put one foot in front of the other. But, God is constant, steady, reliable and right by my side. I will not be consumed. I will continue on. My healing will come. One day Ruby, one day, my path will lead to you. What a beautiful day that will be.
Love,
Mama
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Ruby and Malachi
Facing my Fears
I wrote my way through Ellie’s cancer. But then the words disappeared, dried
up. You see, I write what God puts on my
heart. There are times when there aren’t stories there to share. But there are
other times when I hear God saying, “Tell this story. I am doing something, tell them!” Once again, I can hear that loud whisper in my
heart. God has a story he wants me to
tell, a part of my heart he wants me to bare.
When our second born daughter was diagnosed with Leukemia at
just two and a half years old, our world shattered. Any plans we had were thrown out the
window. For the next 28 months our lives
were consumed with her treatment and care.
After that we spent another 12 months learning to walk again, to live
without cancer at the center. Somewhere
during that time I felt my dream of more children shatter. I thought it was over. Many childhood cancers are genetically
linked. But for a long time I didn’t
even ask. I think I was afraid to. When I finally did look for the facts, I
learned that there are no known genetic links for our daughter’s cancer. They do know that siblings have a four times
greater chance of getting it “for no known reason”. The unknown lurked in the shadows of my
heart. One day I felt God prompt me to confront
my fear head on. I did the math. What did this unknown fear look like? It looked like a .0004% chance. I laughed.
The chances of many other things happening were much greater, and yet,
those don’t stop anyone. By confronting
my fear I had eliminated it. But my
heart was like an onion, under that layer of fear, were others.
When your sweet, perfect looking baby girl is diagnosed with
a ravenous beast like cancer, you realize how precious life is, how delicate,
how fragile. It is a gift, a gift with
no guarantees. There is a saying that having a child is like
forever having your heart walk around outside your body. There is some truth in that. Ellie’s cancer showed me exactly how much a mother’s
love can hurt. The idea of exposing
myself to more of that scared me. It
scared me a lot. But through God’s
gentle leading and the encouragement of five godly women I confronted those fears
one summer. I said “Ok God, I am ready
to walk by faith and not by sight. I am
ready to follow your leading, and not be controlled by fear.”
Time passed. I knew
our family was not yet ready for the “next big thing”. We needed time to heal from our time with
cancer. Practically speaking, we also
needed time to get neglected things done.
So we waited. We worked, we
healed, we began to live our lives back out in the world again. And this whole time the call to have more
children sat on my heart. From time to
time I would go back to God with it.
“Are you sure? Do you
really want us to do this? It doesn’t
make a lot of sense you know. We are way
past diapers and naps now, our lives will drastically change if we do
this. Our house is kind of small, and we
don’t really have much money right now. Are
you certain you want us to have more? We
are getting kind of ‘old’. Do you remember the horrible postpartum depression I battled? Do you want
us to adopt instead? You have instructed
us to take care of the orphans… are you sure that’s not what you want us to do?” In my heart I was thinking that this idea was
completely crazy and I could produce a very long list of reasons why. But His patient answers were always the
same. “Yes, I want you to welcome life.
No, I do not want you to adopt right now, I want you to welcome life through
your own womb. I know all. Yes, child, I do want this. Follow me.”
He was always so sure, so steady, so firm in his answers.
God calls us not to walk in fear, but to walk by faith. And so we did. It took a few months, but soon enough, I was pregnant. Praise the Lord! We were excited, and I was still fearful. But we were going to have another baby…
God calls us not to walk in fear, but to walk by faith. And so we did. It took a few months, but soon enough, I was pregnant. Praise the Lord! We were excited, and I was still fearful. But we were going to have another baby…
Ruby’s Story
Ruby lived only a few weeks in my womb. We lost her before she was even big enough to
see. We were so excited and had told
everyone about her, only to have to turn around a week later and tell everyone
that she had left us, including our children.
Our eldest was heartbroken. She
loves babies and has wanted more in our family for so long. The timing of her loss made things more
painful for me. You see, we lost her on
election night. As I woke up the next
morning feeling devastated and broken at our loss, the news media touted the
great strides and wins for the “women’s vote” and “women’s rights”. I was sickened. I could taste the bile in my mouth. What they meant was the legal right for women
to kill their babies in this country. It
was salt in my open wounds.
My husband was working out of town when it happened. I felt like my emotions were trapped within me. I thought maybe when he got home they would come out. But it was a “birthday weekend” for our eldest daughter. Before he arrived, his mother and aunt did. And those emotions were just trapped inside of me. I tried to put on a face, to hold it together and celebrate the birthday, but I knew I was doing a very poor job. Inside I was crumbling. I needed release and I couldn’t find it. Sunday morning I went to church, alone. Everyone else stayed behind to see Grammy and Aunt off. That was fine with me, as an introvert by nature I knew I had a better chance of release if I was alone. And I knew that the moment I opened my mouth to praise God, I would crumble. And crumble I did before Him. In the safety of His hands I let out my pain.
My husband was working out of town when it happened. I felt like my emotions were trapped within me. I thought maybe when he got home they would come out. But it was a “birthday weekend” for our eldest daughter. Before he arrived, his mother and aunt did. And those emotions were just trapped inside of me. I tried to put on a face, to hold it together and celebrate the birthday, but I knew I was doing a very poor job. Inside I was crumbling. I needed release and I couldn’t find it. Sunday morning I went to church, alone. Everyone else stayed behind to see Grammy and Aunt off. That was fine with me, as an introvert by nature I knew I had a better chance of release if I was alone. And I knew that the moment I opened my mouth to praise God, I would crumble. And crumble I did before Him. In the safety of His hands I let out my pain.
The emotions were intense and confusing, often
conflicting. One day I would feel like
it wasn’t that big of a deal, after all, how could I feel so much for someone
who didn’t even look like a person? And
the next day I would be brought to my knees, heart breaking and weeping for my
baby who died. I sometimes had feelings
of sadness and guilt that I had either thrown my baby in the trash, or flushed
her down the toilet without even knowing, without even looking upon her! But then I would think in some relief that it
would probably be worse if I had seen her.
I was shocked and heartbroken by the physical violence of miscarriage,
even one so early. It was a time full of
conflicting thoughts and emotions. It
was a time of many questions. Questions
like “Was she really a person? Did she
have a soul? How should I feel? Is it really this big of a deal? Should I just move on and try for another? Why does this have to happen?” It saddened me to think of how many children
have been lost, how many people are missing from families. I walked around being envious and sometimes
angry of people who were pregnant or had babies. Happy announcements brought me to tears and anger. I didn’t like many of the thoughts and
feelings I had. An early miscarriage
like that is very confusing and difficult to negotiate emotionally.
After a few months I was ready to try again…
we were blessed right away with another pregnancy.
Malachi’s Story
 |
| Malachi, snuggled in my womb the day before his birth. |
I was nearly 12 weeks, nearly out of the first trimester,
the moment when we would finally share why no one had seen much of me for two
months. Our eldest daughter had been
telling everyone I was sick and I was assuming they must all think I was dying
by now. I felt a bit like I was dying,
so horribly weak and tired, sick.
Yuck. What did I do this
winter? I spent most of it in bed. I have never done pregnancy well, and it
seems that it gets harder on me each time.
We didn’t tell right away this time. I couldn’t handle excitement from others when in my heart I initially felt fear, not joy. Over the weeks I became more comfortable and began to feel some excitement, some hope. We slowly leaked the news out to a few people. I was so sick that we needed some people to be in prayer and to help us a bit. Then around 9 weeks I started to spot… since I had so quickly lost Ruby I assumed that was what was happening again. It wasn’t, not exactly. My midwife sent me to get an ultrasound to hopefully provide us some answers. It did. I went in expecting to see a baby with no heartbeat. Instead we saw a beautiful tiny person with a perfect heartbeat. Later my midwife called to tell me that I had a sub chorionic hematoma. It was really tiny, and she was surprised that it had caused any bleeding at all. I was to take it easy, relax, and wait for it to heal. No crazy activity or exercise for me. But, it was not something to “worry” about. The ultrasound dated my pregnancy several days “later” than I had. It wasn’t enough to cause any concern. However, I started a pattern of the bleeding stopping, and then starting again a day or two later heavier… this kept going for over two weeks. Multiple times I thought it was the end, but then it was ok. I felt like I was going crazy. My bleeding never quite crossed the threshold of needing to check it out again, so we just waited. Plenty of women have bleeding in their healthy pregnancies I was reassured by everyone.
We didn’t tell right away this time. I couldn’t handle excitement from others when in my heart I initially felt fear, not joy. Over the weeks I became more comfortable and began to feel some excitement, some hope. We slowly leaked the news out to a few people. I was so sick that we needed some people to be in prayer and to help us a bit. Then around 9 weeks I started to spot… since I had so quickly lost Ruby I assumed that was what was happening again. It wasn’t, not exactly. My midwife sent me to get an ultrasound to hopefully provide us some answers. It did. I went in expecting to see a baby with no heartbeat. Instead we saw a beautiful tiny person with a perfect heartbeat. Later my midwife called to tell me that I had a sub chorionic hematoma. It was really tiny, and she was surprised that it had caused any bleeding at all. I was to take it easy, relax, and wait for it to heal. No crazy activity or exercise for me. But, it was not something to “worry” about. The ultrasound dated my pregnancy several days “later” than I had. It wasn’t enough to cause any concern. However, I started a pattern of the bleeding stopping, and then starting again a day or two later heavier… this kept going for over two weeks. Multiple times I thought it was the end, but then it was ok. I felt like I was going crazy. My bleeding never quite crossed the threshold of needing to check it out again, so we just waited. Plenty of women have bleeding in their healthy pregnancies I was reassured by everyone.
On a Monday evening, we got together with good friends who have walked through dark valley's with us before. Before we left they all laid their hands on
me and prayed. They prayed for baby, for
me, and most of all for peace. There had
been so much worry, such a roller coaster.
More than anything I really did need peace.
Two days later my bleeding got heavier again. We went in for another ultrasound. Again, I went in expecting the worst, and we saw a beautiful little baby kicking his legs and waving at us, heart beating strong. The hematoma had been healing and had shrunk. Yet my bleeding had continued to get worse. I had also noticed that about a week and a half before my symptoms had eased up and I was able to function more. It was a little early for that, but I didn’t dwell on it. After all, everyone kept telling me to just relax. Baby was past 8 weeks with a strong heart beat; the chances of anything bad happening were very small. I was trying not to see every little thing as a sign. But something was wrong. When my midwife called me that evening after getting the ultrasound results, she said that everything looked good. But then she said “They changed your due date again. Baby measured 9 weeks, 6 days.” My heart pounded. I was 11 weeks and 3 days. She was in her car, going between two birthing mothers, and without all the paperwork in front of her hadn’t realized the discrepancy. It was too much. Part of me knew something was very wrong. I had tried to deny it, but I knew. I had to choose… I could let go of my worry and hold on to God’s peace, or I could hold on to my fear. I chose peace, and when I did God graciously poured it out upon me. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. And I knew, I have learned by experience, that no matter what, I will be ok because God’s got me. Should my heart break, He will put it back together again. I prayed that if this must end, that it would end soon, that He would end this agony of waiting, that the timing would spare the hearts of our girls.
The next morning I woke with light bleeding, the usual. Around late morning I started to cramp a bit, again, usual. Every time I bled it would irritate my uterus and I would begin some light cramping. However, this time, it only got worse. Around 2pm it was so bad I could hardly sit still. By 4pm I couldn’t. Part of me knew and was at peace with what was happening. But the other part of me doubted because I had already been wrong so many times before. Around 6pm I called my midwife and told her what was happening. She asked if I was bleeding heavily and I told her that no, I was only very lightly spotting. She was stumped. She told me that I should go to the hospital. That I had been under too much stress already and I shouldn’t also have to suffer through this much pain. After I got off the phone with her I realized that I was moving like a woman in labor. We called a friend over to stay with the girls and went to the hospital. In the waiting room the pain intensified to the point that I had tears in my eyes. I would have cried if I had the energy, but everything was focused on getting through the pain. It was unbearable. My poor husband was looking at me with an utterly helpless and miserable look on his face. He could do nothing to help. Just when I thought I could not stand it another moment longer, I felt a pop, and the pain subsided just a bit. I asked Josh if he knew where the bathroom was. He located it and when I stood to follow him, a huge gush of fluid poured out of me. I waddled through the waiting room of curious onlookers to the bathroom where I birthed our perfect, tiny baby Malachi, born still at nearly 12 weeks. He was perfect. So tiny he would fit into the palm of your hand, so fragile, but perfectly formed. I was relieved to know that he was not in that body in that bathroom of the emergency room. He was not present in that moment of anguish and suffering. He had gone home to Jesus.
Two days later my bleeding got heavier again. We went in for another ultrasound. Again, I went in expecting the worst, and we saw a beautiful little baby kicking his legs and waving at us, heart beating strong. The hematoma had been healing and had shrunk. Yet my bleeding had continued to get worse. I had also noticed that about a week and a half before my symptoms had eased up and I was able to function more. It was a little early for that, but I didn’t dwell on it. After all, everyone kept telling me to just relax. Baby was past 8 weeks with a strong heart beat; the chances of anything bad happening were very small. I was trying not to see every little thing as a sign. But something was wrong. When my midwife called me that evening after getting the ultrasound results, she said that everything looked good. But then she said “They changed your due date again. Baby measured 9 weeks, 6 days.” My heart pounded. I was 11 weeks and 3 days. She was in her car, going between two birthing mothers, and without all the paperwork in front of her hadn’t realized the discrepancy. It was too much. Part of me knew something was very wrong. I had tried to deny it, but I knew. I had to choose… I could let go of my worry and hold on to God’s peace, or I could hold on to my fear. I chose peace, and when I did God graciously poured it out upon me. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. And I knew, I have learned by experience, that no matter what, I will be ok because God’s got me. Should my heart break, He will put it back together again. I prayed that if this must end, that it would end soon, that He would end this agony of waiting, that the timing would spare the hearts of our girls.
The next morning I woke with light bleeding, the usual. Around late morning I started to cramp a bit, again, usual. Every time I bled it would irritate my uterus and I would begin some light cramping. However, this time, it only got worse. Around 2pm it was so bad I could hardly sit still. By 4pm I couldn’t. Part of me knew and was at peace with what was happening. But the other part of me doubted because I had already been wrong so many times before. Around 6pm I called my midwife and told her what was happening. She asked if I was bleeding heavily and I told her that no, I was only very lightly spotting. She was stumped. She told me that I should go to the hospital. That I had been under too much stress already and I shouldn’t also have to suffer through this much pain. After I got off the phone with her I realized that I was moving like a woman in labor. We called a friend over to stay with the girls and went to the hospital. In the waiting room the pain intensified to the point that I had tears in my eyes. I would have cried if I had the energy, but everything was focused on getting through the pain. It was unbearable. My poor husband was looking at me with an utterly helpless and miserable look on his face. He could do nothing to help. Just when I thought I could not stand it another moment longer, I felt a pop, and the pain subsided just a bit. I asked Josh if he knew where the bathroom was. He located it and when I stood to follow him, a huge gush of fluid poured out of me. I waddled through the waiting room of curious onlookers to the bathroom where I birthed our perfect, tiny baby Malachi, born still at nearly 12 weeks. He was perfect. So tiny he would fit into the palm of your hand, so fragile, but perfectly formed. I was relieved to know that he was not in that body in that bathroom of the emergency room. He was not present in that moment of anguish and suffering. He had gone home to Jesus.
The pain was gone immediately. The nurses were very kind and caring. They took the baby and the tissue I had
passed to the doctor. It was
complete. They let me go home with no
further intervention. This past week has
been a bit surreal. We never told our
girls about this baby. After the deep
disappointment of Ruby, we didn’t want to get their hopes up. We had planned to tell them as an Easter surprise. But God spared them that pain. They do not know. Someday we will tell them, but not yet.
God’s Story
God has been weaving the same theme through our lives and
the lives of our children over the past five years… life is precious. Every single one has meaning and
purpose. Every single one is
important. Every single one is a person
created by Him. Seeing Malachi healed
many of the open wounds and mysteries left from Ruby. She was a person. She is with God. We grieve them both.
In a twist that is one of the mysterious paradoxes of life, the same day we lost Malachi, Ellie cleared her two year post-treatment check up. This is “graduation day”. This is her life back. This is a day we dreamed of. And yet… as we celebrate the gift of having her here with us, we lose another.
There are many things I don’t know. But I know this, God is worthy of our trust and praise. He has created each one of us with purpose, including the babies who only live on this earth inside our wombs. They are his people, created for His purposes. They matter. Life matters. I do not regret following where God has lead, even as my heart breaks. Each one of us is here by his grace. There is nothing more important than walking with Him, wherever He leads. He knows all, I know but a little. I will continue to hold His hand and follow Him wherever He leads, through the light and the dark.
In a twist that is one of the mysterious paradoxes of life, the same day we lost Malachi, Ellie cleared her two year post-treatment check up. This is “graduation day”. This is her life back. This is a day we dreamed of. And yet… as we celebrate the gift of having her here with us, we lose another.
There are many things I don’t know. But I know this, God is worthy of our trust and praise. He has created each one of us with purpose, including the babies who only live on this earth inside our wombs. They are his people, created for His purposes. They matter. Life matters. I do not regret following where God has lead, even as my heart breaks. Each one of us is here by his grace. There is nothing more important than walking with Him, wherever He leads. He knows all, I know but a little. I will continue to hold His hand and follow Him wherever He leads, through the light and the dark.
And so, I do not know what comes next. My body and heart need time to heal. Today I need to find a pair of pants that
will fit and I’m hoping so very much that they don’t have to be maternity
pants. There is much pain in living
inside an inflated body with an empty womb.
It will take time to get back to normal both physically and
emotionally. It is time to step back out
into life, but I couldn’t do so without acknowledging what has happened,
acknowledging the personhood and lives of our lost babies. I don’t want to forget that they
existed. They were people, God’s
people. They are our children. They deserve to be recognized and
mourned. We love them and will never
forget them.
Ruby and Malachi, we love you so much and can’t wait to hold you in our arms one day.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Stepping In
Step. It seems like such an odd word to describe a familial relationship. Step-mother. Step-daughter. And then there's the whole Cinderella tale to give it a negative vibe. The word brings a cold and removed feeling with it. It is aggressive somehow, menacing, mean.
But there is nothing cold, removed, menacing or mean about the woman who stepped into my life, stepped into that role of mother.
There wasn't a clandestine night, with surprise consequences. No, she went in, eyes wide open, to three children. Three children who would later end up on her doorstep, bags in hand, broken, hurting teens in desperate need of mothering when she herself had hands full with three new babies and a husband at work on an ocean far away. Now she was mother to six. Six who desperately needed mothering.
I always knew that it was rough for her. But with age comes understanding. And with my own children came even greater understanding. I understand why the one time she went through the effort to ready us all to leave the house together each week was to go to the house of God. Why she clung close and desperately tight to Him. How else can one mother? How else can one mother six?
She stepped in. She stepped in to countless messy hard places, broken hearts, marriage, birth, sickness. She rejoiced with us, she cried with us, she broke with us, she loved us. She stepped in, again and again. She is mother now to seven. Yet just two came from her womb.
She is a mother hen who has gathered her chicks from afar. She mothered us. She raised us. She chose us.
Step, from the Old English, steop-, with connotations of "loss," in combinations like steopcild "orphan," related to astiepan, bestiepan "to bereave, to deprive of parents or children," from Proto-Germanic, steupa- "bereft". *
I am not bereft. I am not bereaved or deprived. I am not, because I have a mother. I have a mother, who stepped in...
*From the Online Etymology Dictionary
This post is part of...
But there is nothing cold, removed, menacing or mean about the woman who stepped into my life, stepped into that role of mother.
There wasn't a clandestine night, with surprise consequences. No, she went in, eyes wide open, to three children. Three children who would later end up on her doorstep, bags in hand, broken, hurting teens in desperate need of mothering when she herself had hands full with three new babies and a husband at work on an ocean far away. Now she was mother to six. Six who desperately needed mothering.
I always knew that it was rough for her. But with age comes understanding. And with my own children came even greater understanding. I understand why the one time she went through the effort to ready us all to leave the house together each week was to go to the house of God. Why she clung close and desperately tight to Him. How else can one mother? How else can one mother six?
She stepped in. She stepped in to countless messy hard places, broken hearts, marriage, birth, sickness. She rejoiced with us, she cried with us, she broke with us, she loved us. She stepped in, again and again. She is mother now to seven. Yet just two came from her womb.
She is a mother hen who has gathered her chicks from afar. She mothered us. She raised us. She chose us.
Step, from the Old English, steop-, with connotations of "loss," in combinations like steopcild "orphan," related to astiepan, bestiepan "to bereave, to deprive of parents or children," from Proto-Germanic, steupa- "bereft". *
I am not bereft. I am not bereaved or deprived. I am not, because I have a mother. I have a mother, who stepped in...
.JPG) | |
| My mother hen, with 5 of her chicks and 2 grand-chicks. |
*From the Online Etymology Dictionary
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Thursday, May 10, 2012
Gratitude Isn't Always Pretty
Mothers Day. It's one of those days. A day all polished up to gleam in the sunshine. But what if your mother isn't polished? What if she is full of grime? What if thinking of her brings pain and heaviness instead of thankful polished words fit for the prettiness of the day?
It hurts. It hurts having a mother who is broken and dirty. It hurts having a mother who hurts.
I have walked down dark roads. Dark roads that she led me to. Dark roads someone led her to. Dark roads that showed me her pain. By God's grace alone, today I do not walk those same roads. Yet still, my mother does.
Yet so often, that laughter turned, turned right round into sharp arrows that pierce a soul. Wounds causing wounds. How much did it hurt her to raise me? How many scabs were ripped clean off, pain oozing from the deep as she labored over me.
She does not laugh now. She sits, deep in pain, far away, alone. She lashes out at anyone who comes near. She curls around her pain. It holds her captive.
I pray. I pray God's good grace will reach her. I pray God's good grace will set her free from her prison of pain. I pray that she will laugh and dance again. I know God's healing balm of grace. I pray that she will know it too...
Amen.
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It hurts. It hurts having a mother who is broken and dirty. It hurts having a mother who hurts.
I have walked down dark roads. Dark roads that she led me to. Dark roads someone led her to. Dark roads that showed me her pain. By God's grace alone, today I do not walk those same roads. Yet still, my mother does.
Luke 4
17 And
the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him (Jesus).
He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,
He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,
18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed
Deep in my heart I have a little bag. It holds a handful of small gems. Moments that I hold close. They shine pretty in the sunlight. A mother who turns music loud and we dance. A mother who buys a new dress and we eat prawns on the water and she celebrates me, another year older. A mother who cooks good food and teaches us to eat well. A mother who can be so silly and fun and laughs. These are my treasures.
Yet so often, that laughter turned, turned right round into sharp arrows that pierce a soul. Wounds causing wounds. How much did it hurt her to raise me? How many scabs were ripped clean off, pain oozing from the deep as she labored over me.
She does not laugh now. She sits, deep in pain, far away, alone. She lashes out at anyone who comes near. She curls around her pain. It holds her captive.
I pray. I pray God's good grace will reach her. I pray God's good grace will set her free from her prison of pain. I pray that she will laugh and dance again. I know God's healing balm of grace. I pray that she will know it too...
Ephesians 3
14 For this reason I kneel before the Father, 15 from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 16 I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18 may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19 and to know this love that surpasses knowledge —that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever!
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Sunday, February 19, 2012
Six Years
Every child is an artist.
The problem is how to remain an artist when we grow up.
~ Pablo Picasso
Life happens right? And it's a grand scale that it happens on. It's scary. And hard. So hard. So hard that it can squeeze the life out of you for a while sometimes.
Today, after six long years, I picked up my paintbrushes again. And the weird part is, it almost happened without my noticing that it had happened at all.
Almost six years ago I had my second baby. Right after that we moved across the state, from one "fixer-upper" into another "fixer-upper". Oh, and we didn't know a single soul in our new town. Shortly after we arrived I dropped into a very long, dark, and difficult battle with depression. I was rescued and released from that pit after about two years. Right after that, and by right I mean like within 2 months of starting to come up, our two year old was diagnosed with Leukemia. We spent 2-1/2 years fighting that beast. And now, it's been nearly a year since life went "back to normal". Needless to say, I am not the same woman I was six years ago.
I've thought about painting many times. I've been encouraged to do it repeatedly by my husband and a few others. I've even gone so far as to wonder if it was ever meant to happen again. Maybe my calling was elsewhere. Maybe I'd just "grown up" and my grown up life didn't include it. Maybe it wasn't really important.
At one time I defined part of my identity from being an artist. It was a way for me to show society that I had something to offer other than "just being a mom". Yuck. I hate typing that out. What a bunch of garbage that is. Shaping new humans for this world is perhaps the most important job there is. But what I was really exposing there, was a fear of man. Ouch. I worried more about what other people thought of me than of what God thought of me. Honestly, far too often I still do. By the grace of God I am overcoming it bit by bit. I believe God needed to show me that before he would let me use the gift he's given me.
This week I read an article titled 'The Holy Spirit and the Arts'. It's quite a thought provoking read if you have the time. It's been simmering in me all week. The biggest message it spoke to me was that God values art. God values artists. In fact, amazingly, the first person he ever sent the Holy Spirit to was an artist! Think about that for a moment... it wasn't a prophet or a priest or a king... it was an artist! That tells us how highly God values art.
I have devalued God's opinion of art. And on many levels I believe I have devalued the gifts God has given me as an artist. I have shelved that part of me as something I enjoyed, a purely selfish pursuit. I thought there were other ways that God was calling me to serve him that were more useful, practical. Ouch, that one stings a little. You see, I have a pattern of choosing the most "rational" choice over what I feel called to do. If I don't see a clear path, I go another way. Clearly I have not fully learned that lesson yet.
There are so many gifts that God gives each of us. There are so many things I enjoy doing and even excell at doing. The hard part is listening to his voice and following the way he is calling each of us to use our specific gifts. I still don't understand clearly how God is calling me to use this gift. But I have learned that he gave it to me, and I must use it. It's not my job to know how it will be used. But it is my responsibility to hone my skills, listen to his voice, and follow when he calls.
So the brushes and paper are dusted off, the ever important metal straight edge has been found, and I even found my old sketch book buried under a pile of books. I don't know how it will fit into my crazy busy life. It seems impossible. I always thought I would have time to paint again when my kids went to school... then God called me to homeschool them! But I did manage to set up a little spot in a quiet corner of the house and hide myself away alone for a few hours today to work. And so, it is a new beginning...
The problem is how to remain an artist when we grow up.
~ Pablo Picasso
Life happens right? And it's a grand scale that it happens on. It's scary. And hard. So hard. So hard that it can squeeze the life out of you for a while sometimes.
Today, after six long years, I picked up my paintbrushes again. And the weird part is, it almost happened without my noticing that it had happened at all.
Almost six years ago I had my second baby. Right after that we moved across the state, from one "fixer-upper" into another "fixer-upper". Oh, and we didn't know a single soul in our new town. Shortly after we arrived I dropped into a very long, dark, and difficult battle with depression. I was rescued and released from that pit after about two years. Right after that, and by right I mean like within 2 months of starting to come up, our two year old was diagnosed with Leukemia. We spent 2-1/2 years fighting that beast. And now, it's been nearly a year since life went "back to normal". Needless to say, I am not the same woman I was six years ago.
I've thought about painting many times. I've been encouraged to do it repeatedly by my husband and a few others. I've even gone so far as to wonder if it was ever meant to happen again. Maybe my calling was elsewhere. Maybe I'd just "grown up" and my grown up life didn't include it. Maybe it wasn't really important.
At one time I defined part of my identity from being an artist. It was a way for me to show society that I had something to offer other than "just being a mom". Yuck. I hate typing that out. What a bunch of garbage that is. Shaping new humans for this world is perhaps the most important job there is. But what I was really exposing there, was a fear of man. Ouch. I worried more about what other people thought of me than of what God thought of me. Honestly, far too often I still do. By the grace of God I am overcoming it bit by bit. I believe God needed to show me that before he would let me use the gift he's given me.
This week I read an article titled 'The Holy Spirit and the Arts'. It's quite a thought provoking read if you have the time. It's been simmering in me all week. The biggest message it spoke to me was that God values art. God values artists. In fact, amazingly, the first person he ever sent the Holy Spirit to was an artist! Think about that for a moment... it wasn't a prophet or a priest or a king... it was an artist! That tells us how highly God values art.
I have devalued God's opinion of art. And on many levels I believe I have devalued the gifts God has given me as an artist. I have shelved that part of me as something I enjoyed, a purely selfish pursuit. I thought there were other ways that God was calling me to serve him that were more useful, practical. Ouch, that one stings a little. You see, I have a pattern of choosing the most "rational" choice over what I feel called to do. If I don't see a clear path, I go another way. Clearly I have not fully learned that lesson yet.
There are so many gifts that God gives each of us. There are so many things I enjoy doing and even excell at doing. The hard part is listening to his voice and following the way he is calling each of us to use our specific gifts. I still don't understand clearly how God is calling me to use this gift. But I have learned that he gave it to me, and I must use it. It's not my job to know how it will be used. But it is my responsibility to hone my skills, listen to his voice, and follow when he calls.
So the brushes and paper are dusted off, the ever important metal straight edge has been found, and I even found my old sketch book buried under a pile of books. I don't know how it will fit into my crazy busy life. It seems impossible. I always thought I would have time to paint again when my kids went to school... then God called me to homeschool them! But I did manage to set up a little spot in a quiet corner of the house and hide myself away alone for a few hours today to work. And so, it is a new beginning...
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Light
No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden, or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light. ~ Luke 11:33
"Mommy, can you light the candle?" they ask... and they come. The light beckons them. It calls them. It welcomes them to the table. And here, they learn. They learn how to manipulate figures, and of creation and all that is within. And they learn most importantly, of The Light.
If a simple flame can draw them in, how much more can the living light that is within us. Are you putting your light on a stand for your children to see? That is His design. Let the light of his grace shine in you, that He may draw your children unto Himself.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Life After and The Big Shave
My barber and I after the deed was done!
My silly fan club!
September is Childhood Cancer Awareness month. Although if you know me you probably already know that! September was busy with getting the message out and also preparing for my trip to Washington, D.C. for 46 Mommas. It brought with it a heavy heart at times. It's hard remembering. It's hard looking at the statistics and facts that represent the picture of life with childhood cancer. It's hard remembering the kids we know who have passed and seeing the ache that is ever present in their families today. But if we don't talk about it, who will? Our kids can't! This entered our lives and changed them forever in many ways. It's our job to let the world know what's happening.
Here are a few of the saddest facts about childhood cancer treatment today:
- There has only ever been ONE drug developed for the treatment of a single childhood cancer.
- 2/3 of children who survive a childhood cancer suffer from lifelong side effects, this includes secondary cancers caused by the toxic therapies used to cure their first cancer. Then there's the run of the mill... hearing loss, organ damage, brain damage, infertility, limb amputations, reduced immune function, shortened life span, etc...
- At diagnosis 80% of childhood cancer patients have cancer that has moved to other areas of the body. This same statistic is only 20% in adults.
- There is no knows risks for childhood cancers. They simply do not know why most occur. There is no known way to prevent them.
- Childhood cancer is the number one disease killer of our children. It kills more than diabetes, asthma, cystic fibrosis and pediatric AIDS combined.
That isn't a pretty picture is it? Neither is the picture of mothers, on a stage, holding pictures of their children, while someone shaves their head and that mother hopes, prays and pleads with the world to listen, to fund this vital research so another mother does not have to bear their pain, so that another brother doesn't have to miss his brother, his best friend. So another father doesn't have to miss playing soccer with his sons - plural. It breaks my heart. It should break yours too. We have suffered through treatment. And I don't want to make light of that. That was suffering indeed. But we have Ellie. We have her silly little self here to delight us all everyday. Will she suffer in health for the rest of her life? Yes. Her life was forever altered, and shortened, at the age of 2. But I can't stop looking beyond, at the ones who have lost their children. With treatment for childhood cancers it's all an experiment. Odds don't mean anything. They simply don't know. You get what you get, and there isn't anything that can help predict what that is. We are blessed to have Ellie with us still. I am not going to take that for granted.
Just before losing my locks! My hair went to Wigs for Kids.
SO! The big shave! I flew out to DC on a Saturday. My friend, Ivory, picked me up and whisked me across the river to her lovely Capitol Hill abode. I was going on only a couple hours of sleep so I think the most exciting thing we did that evening was go to Whole Foods. Which for someone with food intolerances and doesn't have a Whole Foods, really is exciting. On Sunday we were tourists and went to see the WWII and MLK Memorials. Both were new since my last time in DC. On Monday and Tuesday I was on my own. Well, Monday I had Teddy, Ivory's dog. He and I walked all around the hill. DC is such a beautiful city. I absolutely loved it. Tuesday I spent my day at the National Gallery of Art. Oh, how long dormant that part of my life has been! I stayed until they closed and kicked me out. I stood in front of some artwork and laughed, some I marveled, and some ignited deep parts of my soul and made them sing. Literally. I was singing. I simply must make time in my life for this again. A funny side note... it's really hard for an artist not to TOUCH the art! Especially the Pollock... I really wanted to touch the Pollock! I had to settle for getting really close and looking at odd angles to see all the depth of texture while a security guard kept a close eye on me.
Ivory and I. She helped the barber rid me of my long locks. I love this girl with tears in her eyes!
Monday evening Ivory and I went out to Arlington and met Danielle, our 46 Mommas local event planner extraordinaire. We helped with some simple tasks for the event and then the three of us went to dinner. It was really lovely. She shared with us about her son, Mason, and his last days. During the ride home Ivory shared with me about her dad's last days. And she said what I then heard several more times during the next few days. Through her tears, she said "I can't imagine watching your child go through what my Dad did." Ivory worked her PR magic on DC for the Mommas. She had everyone there. We can't thank her enough. She was not the only volunteer that was fueled by such motivation. Over and over, from our volunteers, I heard the same story... cancer had touched their lives. They had suffered themselves, or watched an adult suffer greatly at it's hands, and they could not stand the thought of a child going through that. Sadly, the reality is, childhood cancer treatment is MORE brutal than the treatment of most adult cancers. Children do not have drugs designed for them. Children get hand me down drugs from adults. And you would think that they would be given in smaller doses, but you're wrong. Children are given much, much higher doses of the same drugs. To the tune of 4-6 times more. Maybe more. Why? Because the drugs aren't designed to kill the childhood cancers. So they drown the kids in them and hope that it's toxic enough to kill the cancers. Often, it's the treatments that are so toxic that they kill the child, not the cancer. "The Children are our Future"... are we treating them that way?
Ellie's Hope Flag (And me with frizz - humidity YIKES!)
The event itself was great. Union Station is so beautiful. So beautiful. We had so much press there. We've named them the "Momma-razzi". I've never seen so many cameras! All for 46 moms who have fought this horrible beast, some have "won" and others have lost. It was really beautiful. And it was so wonderful to see the hopes and dreams and plans come to fruition, and in many ways, our expectations were exceeded. It was a fantastic event. Over the next few days the Mommas hit the hill. I had to come home so we could get ourselves on over to Seattle that weekend. I was sorry to have missed it. They took part in advocating with their representatives to support the Creating Hope Act. Then they took part in the Childhood Cancer Caucus, and a press conference with the sponsors of the Creating Hope Act. They were busy fighting for our kids. You too can help! Contact your representatives and ask them to support this legislation. Here is a link to a site which will look up your representatives and provides you with a form letter which you can customize, if you wish, that is simple to send to your representatives with a few clicks of your mouse. Click on the Creating Hope Act and follow the steps. If you'd like to know more about how the Creating Hope Act works, DC's FOX 5 did a great little piece that will explain it. By the way, FOX 5 also did a great piece the night of the shave that was picked up by FOX affiliates nationwide. Thank you FOX 5!
Having a bald head attracts quite a bit of attention. And it has been interesting to watch the reactions. They're all over the place. Some people look at you really sad and then look away quickly. Obviously they think I have cancer. I try to smile real big before they look away. That always confuses them. I try to wear my Momma gear to prevent this from happening but not everyone notices. I'm bald for a reason, I want to advocate. Yesterday I had a woman stop me at Costco and she and a man at her sample station asked all kinds of great questions and wanted to know about what I was doing. And having Ellie with me definitely inspires people. How can you look at her beautiful face, and her lovely curls, and say no?! Then they wanted to know where and how they could donate! The woman, was a cancer survivor who echoed those words I hear so much "I can't imagine a child going through this.".
One reaction that's really fun is the "Hey! I saw you on TV!" It happened to me first at the DC airport at 5am going through security. "Hey, are you one of the 46 on the news last night? That's really cool!" On Saturday Mindi and I met for coffee here in Spokane. Two bald heads together. That sure gets attention! We had a couple of tv interviews here in Spokane, KREM 2 followed us to Ellie's 6 month post-treatment appointment and Mindi and Gregory met us there. Then on Friday morning KHQ6 asked us down to the studios to do a live interview at 5:30am! I don't think I like live. That was a little scary! We were really fortunate to have gotten such interest and we're grateful for the publicity. Hopefully someone saw it who wants to make a difference too!
Getting shaved!
While going bald does get a lot of attention, the reason, is to get a lot of DOLLARS for research. That's why we did it. Not to just get attention. There's a very important reason. When I look down my list of donors, it's not a bunch of people with lots of money. It's a family with 6 kids, it's a college student, it's regular working people giving a little bit of what they have. It adds up! Just look at my current total! It's over $5000. But guess what? I'm asking for more. I'm asking for more of you to give just a little bit of what you have to help the 46 children who today, tomorrow, next week, next month, every weekday into the future, will be diagnosed with cancer. This is for the children of the future. So that they can have a bright future. Aren't they worth it to brew your own and skip those expensive coffee stand coffee's for a week? Or a few brown bag lunches? Every little bit counts. If you can give $5, do it. Every bit counts. I, and so many others, are so grateful for every single solitary dollar!
And with that... here's my St Baldrick's page. If you don't want to give online, cash and checks (made out to me is easiest) can be given to me as well. Every little bit counts. Every bit.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Sammy's Tulips
Last year a friend of mine lost her son, Samuel David, a baby who was forced to be born at 28 weeks, and then lived just 28 days. During that time there was a lot of heaviness in our life and the lives around us. When little Sammy died, my husband brought these sprouted tulip bulbs home and planted them here where I could see them from the window at my desk. He said "I thought we needed a little life around here." He was so right. We were surrounded by death, and many threats of more death. This small gesture was an act of perfect thoughtfulness and love.
This spring has been long in coming. For months I've been saying "Did I move back to Seattle?! What is with all this cold gray weather?! Is it actually snowing... AGAIN... in May. Ugh!". Well, spring has finally come for real, and these bulbs decided to finally grow and bloom. Ordinarily they would have already bloomed and faded away by this time, but not this year. This year they waited. By this time next week, Samuel's little brother will be born. New life. Did he tell his tulips to wait for his brother? No, I don't really believe he could do that. However, when I saw them bloom, now, when his brother is about to be born, I couldn't help but connect the dots of symbolism. It was too beautiful not to share. At his memorial service I shared this verse with my friends
This spring has been long in coming. For months I've been saying "Did I move back to Seattle?! What is with all this cold gray weather?! Is it actually snowing... AGAIN... in May. Ugh!". Well, spring has finally come for real, and these bulbs decided to finally grow and bloom. Ordinarily they would have already bloomed and faded away by this time, but not this year. This year they waited. By this time next week, Samuel's little brother will be born. New life. Did he tell his tulips to wait for his brother? No, I don't really believe he could do that. However, when I saw them bloom, now, when his brother is about to be born, I couldn't help but connect the dots of symbolism. It was too beautiful not to share. At his memorial service I shared this verse with my friends
1 Peter 5
10And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.
10And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.
I know that in the time that has passed since Samuel died that our friends have gone through some radical changes and redemption in their lives. None of us knew what God had in store for them. They have suffered, greatly. But through that suffering came redemption and now, new life.
Psalm 103
2 Bless the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits, 3who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
4who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
5who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
2 Bless the LORD, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits, 3who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
4who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
5who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.
Samuel's fingerprints are here too. At his service several of us shared this passage of scripture.
I don't think any of us had any idea just how much God wanted to show us through Samuel's short life. We are such finite beings, and God, he's infinite. He thinks so much bigger than we do. What beautiful stories he writes. I have been so blessed to have a small window through which I could watch God write this story with his favorite plot line, redemption.
John 9
1As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. 2And his disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" 3Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.
1As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. 2And his disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" 3Jesus answered, "It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.
I don't think any of us had any idea just how much God wanted to show us through Samuel's short life. We are such finite beings, and God, he's infinite. He thinks so much bigger than we do. What beautiful stories he writes. I have been so blessed to have a small window through which I could watch God write this story with his favorite plot line, redemption.
Psalm 30
11You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
12that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever!
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
12that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Mothers Day
Favorite picture of my family, Ellie's birth, April 2006Yesterday, I went to a production called Listen to Your Mother. I had mixed feelings about going. I knew it would be deep, possibly painful at times. It wasn't going to be a Hallmark style tribute to motherhood. It was going to be real, and raw. Real and raw... really, haven't these been the themes of my own life for years?! Sometimes, I'd really rather not go THERE. I mean, I know I've been given my own suite in that house, but I like taking walks outside of it sometimes!
Twelve women dared to stand on that stage and share vulnerable parts of their souls. And as is usually the case with things that are real, it was beautiful. Real is beautiful. It has varying degrees of pain to go with it that make our hearts clench and tears come to our eyes. But somehow, at the same time, we're smiling. There is beauty. My friend, the Magnificent Mindi, likes to refer to the phoenix rising from the ashes in reference to her son after his bone marrow transplant. Motherhood is also like the phoenix rising from the ashes. So many things happen that can crush us. That do crush us. But again and again, we rise. We look for the beauty, we cherish it, we tuck it away into the depths of our hearts, we pull it out and use it to fuel us when the darkness comes again.
I would like to offer up my heartfelt thanks to the women who each shared a part of their souls yesterday. It was a beautiful experience. It was a true tribute to the many roles, trials, and the beauty of motherhood.
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