Life Unexpected

It is the stuff of nightmares.

A doctor with an apologetic face;

He’s offering a chair, taking a deep breath…

Brain tumour.

My heart clutches.

I look to my husband and I see his face cringe.

Our son snuggles closer between us when we cling and sob out sorrow.

I race home to collect a bag of things,

To hug my girls good-bye.

Their fear and innocence in contrast pushes me on.

I promise them and hold them tight.

Before I can breathe,

process,

hold this new reality in my hands…

We are being rushed toward the helicopter, my tiny son strapped to a stretcher and crying as we roll through the darkness.

I’m kissing my husband goodbye.

“I will be there as fast as I can.”

I want to scream,

To pull my baby in my arms and run far away from all this.

The men are large and strangely comforting in their neon jackets.

They are gentle and calm.

They strap us in and sit quietly in my stunned grief as we fly through the night sky.

My son settles into an exhausted sleep and I hold his hand and stare down at the lights below.

Steadfast love.

It comes to me and pulls together my anguished heart.

Over and over in the last 2 weeks I was drawn to the psalm, not sure why, and now the words bind up my wounds.

“Your steadfast love, O Lord; extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.”

“How precious is your steadfast love, O God!”

“Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us, even as we hope in you.”

Steadfast.

Love.

I breathe and take refuge in the angels in neon across from me.

We are landing and they place him back in my arms.  I hold him close and wrap a blanket around his bare arms.  We’ve left without a jacket and the night air is cold.  I grip him to my heart and try to transfer myself to him.  I know he is afraid.

Steadfast love.

We follow strange corridors and crowd into an elevator.  The men in neon surround us and tower over us.  My son gazes wide eyed and scared.

We follow back outside to an ambulance and whisk away.

I breathe gratitude and feel tears well when they allow me to hold him instead of strap him to the stretcher.

We are sitting in a busy hallway on a stacking chair being admitted and still I hold him tight to my chest, the blanket securing him to me.

My eyes feel big and scared.  I feel small and unsure.

My heart flows gratitude when I see my big brother round the corner and come to us.

He stays with us even with his own son lying upstairs.

Steadfast love.

The hours blur as they insert IVs, put on lead lines and watch monitors.

My baby’s skin has always been so spotless and white.

I cringe as they pin him down and poke and press.

He is terrified.

My husband comes and we sit together in shock as our baby drifts to sleep on the cold white hospital bed.

Questions.

Answers?

My phone dies from the texting.

We spend the night in a crowded room trying to sleep in the upright hospital chairs.

We won’t leave him.

He falls into sleep and I am so thankful he can escape this nightmare as I try to get comfortable.

The next day there are tests.

More questions.

Information staggers my mind and makes me stare at my boy unbelieving.

So perfect.

So unblemished.

So innocent.

Brain surgery tomorrow.

9am.

They will cut his scalp open and drill a passage way through his brain.

I hold the words at arms length and turn my eyes so I won’t have to look too close, to let the terror seep in.

I focus on reassuring my toddler, learning new terms and piecing together brain anatomy.

I phone my girls and once again I put on my brave voice.  I am their string of hope and I won’t let them down.

My voice is strong and sure as I promise them and reach for words they can understand.

I give them just enough to ease their anxiety, but not too much.

We take our little boy, clad in hospital gown and pajama pants, to the play room.  For over an hour he plays and we watch him forget about the IV on his arm.  He babbles and laughs and points at the elevators moving up and down.

Steadfast love.

I wonder when he will play again.

That night I sleep on a couch near his room, comforted by knowing that I will be close by if he needs me.

Morning.

Surgery day.

Only now do I let myself Google it…preparing my heart for the fall.  The words I find give me footholds of reassurance and I claim them fiercely.

My husband carries him through the halls to the OR.

We look at books and try to hide our uncertain tears from his little face as we wait.

He likes the trucks and tractors in the book.

For a minute he goes very soft in my arms and snuggles up to my neck.  I squeeze him close and breathe him in.

Steadfast love.

When they take him and his bunny Flopsy away he cries and we force ourselves to turn and walk away.

My mother in law’s arms give me a second to collapse and I feel tears rush in.  She holds my pain for a minute before letting go and it feels good to share a bit.

It is 6 long hours.

I am nervous…but I also feel held.

I am humbled as I realize all the people praying in this moment.

I believe.

Steadfast love.

The surgeon is there.  I anxiously rise to the inevitable and scan his face for hope.

He is so pleased.

Gratitude overwhelms as he describes what we hardly dared hope for.

It is gone.  They’ve gotten every piece they could find.

Steadfast love.

We go in to see him and I could weep with relief.  His chubby cheeks relax in peaceful sleep.  Flopsy is still there with him and we tuck him up by his arm.

Steadfast love.

The uncertainties lurk but we hold onto the hope and embrace it.

Its been a few days now and I sit by my baby’s bedside in the ICU.

The adrenaline rush is collapsing and the truth feels cold and hard beneath my tumbling heart.  I am scared and uncertain in this new reality but still…

Steadfast love.

I reach for the hearts that I know will hold me, us, in all our pain.

He is seizing beneath my trembling hands and his eyes stare dull and lifeless.

They are rushing in, grabbing masks, calling code.

I am being pushed back from his bedside and I cling to my husband’s trembling chest.  More and more…they just keep coming, calling out orders and stats.

I am terrified and the sobs push out of my lips.

I stumble out into the hallway into the waiting arms of my sister in law, who came rushing when she heard the code.

She holds me and says “I’m sorry” as I fall apart.

I know she knows this feeling and I am so grateful for her presence in this moment.

He knew that I would need her tonight and her son is surprisingly, blessedly, fast asleep down one floor in his room.

Steadfast love.

We return to the ICU and I am so grateful.  The carefully monitored room feels familiar and safe after the last 24 hours.

Answers come and we nod in understanding as they explain.

Knowledge gives grip to confidence and I advocate for my son, feeling strong and sure in the normalcy of knowing what is best for him.

Steadfast love.

It’s painful to watch him grasp for strength and my heart staggers under the weight of discouragement.

She knows me well and despite my efforts her arms bring the tears flowing.  It feels better than I thought to let the fear out and fall apart.

Steadfast love.

He meets us on the street corner with the kindest and gentlest of words.

“Don’t worry,” he tells my husband, and we see he really means it.  He gives generously and my eyes fill once again with gratitude for this man who has continually blessed our family again and again and again.

I am humbled and so grateful.

Steadfast love.

The waited on words are offered casually and its anticlimactic as we cautiously grasp hope.

No cancer.

No further treatments needed.

“I see no reason he should not have a full recovery.”

Really?!

Steadfast love.

A weight falls off our shoulders and breath comes easier.

For the first time in days I see light.

I wake up to the video and I smile the biggest smile.  It’s my little boy grinning his crooked little smile and high fiving Daddy with his right hand!  The side that’s been weakened since surgery.

Steadfast love.

So much joy with one small milestone!

They keep coming and coming.

First kick,

first reach,

first grasp of my finger,

first step,

first bite.

So many reasons to be grateful.

Steadfast love.

I talk to them on the phone and they are bubbling over with happiness and news.

“I miss you, Mommy.”

“I miss you, too.”

And then she goes on with what Nana said, what Papa did, what happened at school…

I smile the biggest smile as I listen to her happy voice.

They are safe and happy, even though they are so far from me.

They have found their people and they know who they belong with right now.

How do we deserve to be loved so unconditionally and fully?

Steadfast love.

It’s our first weekend home!

We get a pass!

I am ecstatic and my heart actually skips a beat as we drive into our small town.

It’s so beautiful and green everywhere!

We’ve been gone a month and so much has changed.

Life everywhere.

I drink in the green trees, the breeze on my face as it blows off the bay, the sight of my children all playing together in the back yard.

Steadfast love.

Life has changed, and I miss the way it used to be.

But in it all, I am so grateful.

And I know…

In the journey there is beauty,

growth,

redemption,

and always…

Steadfast love.

-AF

 

The Gift

So after 11 months of our house sitting forlorn and unnoticed on the real estate market, during which time we lost three potential houses that were “ours upon the sale of our home”…

OUR HOUSE SOLD!

Just like that.

Boom.

All of a sudden God smiled down on us and said,

“You weren’t sure I would come through for you, were you?  But I had much, much better vision than you did and…it’s time!”

So in a matter of a couple weeks we went from thinking we would be pulling out of the game and staying here for quite some time to…

our house selling out from under our startled feet and a new one dropping down within our price range!

In eleven days we will be moving our family of “five-dreaming-of-more” into a beautiful, spacious, efficient house.

It is more than we had dared dream of.

It is such an incredible gift.

Adding to the beauty is the fact that the people we are buying from are brothers and sisters in Christ and the parents of a beautiful baby girl born in their hearts.  They have been praying for a family to buy their home who will continue to use it as a ministry.

It sent shivers down my spine and tears rolling down my cheeks when she told me.

We never could have orchestrated this story.

We are overwhelmed with gratitude and humbled by the goodness of God to us right now.

 It’s more than just a house to us.

With dreams of expanding our family and continuing to use our home to minister to children through foster care and adoption and kingdom building, it feels like an affirmation as well.

All I can hear in my heart right now are the words,

“I see you.

I know you better than you’ll ever know yourself.

I will always provide you with enough to fulfill the purposes I have for you.

Surge forward!  

Be strong and courageous.

I am with you.”

I never want to forget this feeling of gratitude or the clarity that this is

A GIFT

given for a little while

FOR A PURPOSE

that only He can fully know.

Thank you Jesus!

 

 

 

 

Gratitude

For months now I’ve been trying to find my way to words.

Words to share the feelings that have been pulsing through my veins and the journey that’s been reorienting my heart.

Try as I might I couldn’t find the clarity to scrawl it out.

Then this morning…

blonde ponytail flopping as she trotted along behind me,

it came.

And I hear it, clear as a bell.

We were cleaning, because we have a house showing at noon.  Oh and how that’s been woven through this story as well…our home, our little love nest, for sale.  Where we’ve laughed, where we’ve cried, where we’ve become a family.  Evidence of calloused hands’ careful work all around me.  Memories written…sometimes literally…on the bright, oh so bright, walls.

She’s singing as she tidies books, folds the big orange Daddy shirts, sucks up all the little rocks with the vacuum.

Show us, show us your glory, Lord!

I pause.

To breathe.

To take it in,

the sight of my Little busy with her helping hands to make Mommy smile while she warbles out the worship song she heard earlier.

Show us, show us your glory, Lord!

She sings it over and over again.

I hear her now, still, as she’s putting on her shoes and running out to play.

Show us, show us your glory, Lord!

And I realize…

He has.

He has shown me his glory.

He has come to this messy life of mine and shown me the glory that He wants me to see.  In Him, in this life, and yes, even in me.

Through the frustrating, disappointing real estate ventures.  The complete exhaustion of the dreary winter months as I tread water desperately to stay afloat.  Homeschooling, night feedings, dishes and laundry piles and always always the hands and hearts grasping for my time and attention.

Through the disillusionment, despair and drowning weight of sin.  Written all over my heart, my family, my home and my words.  Oh, my words.  Biting, begging, sharp as nails words that cut us all apart and leave the blood marks.

Through the silence, the unknown, the black hours of waiting and wondering and hoping.

Show us, show us your glory, Lord!

Begging, pleading I came to Him.  Show me your glory, Lord!

And He did.

He really did.

As we studied a book on gratitude at church with the women’s group,

as I picked up Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts

as I opened up my heart to vulnerability and trust and faith.

Faith.

The glory shone in.

And now, I’m seeing it and breathing it and smiling it each day.

Choosing gratitude as I follow Ann’s lead and start my list of 1000 Gifts.

Chubby baby cheeks, smooth and soft.  

Quiet Time – my sweet reprieve.

Bagels with cream cheese and butter melting on my tongue.

Early Spring tree buds – bright green and fresh

Birds singing before dawn

Rainy mornings

Clean, white sheets – peaceful and cool on my skin

A change of plans

A gentle finger, tucking stray hair behind my ear.  My girl made all of care.

A chance encounter

My husband’s smile – melting me to my soul

Fresh eggs

Lilacs in full bloom

Sleepy morning eyes coming down the stairs and shuffling slipper feet

Free education

New pajama pants

Worship music in the morning

Novels

An encouraging, fun home school group

Two becoming one flesh

A truly remarkable social worker

Sparkling eyes that brim joy contagious

Steady baby milestone achievements

Backyard BBQ’s

My sweet neighbour in her pajamas in the early morning dew

Suddenly, I can see.

And His glory is all around us.

And she’s still singing.

Show us, show us your glory, Lord!

I realize how great and vast He is and I have to bow and adore.

So much glory, in all the mundane.

So much beauty in all the sacrifice.

Gratitude.

AF