UGLY IS A MATTER OF PERSPECTIVE

The downside to 11-year-old slumber parties is clear – a very big mess, very little sleep and the very real danger of permanent hearing damage. If you have not experienced the extraordinary pitch and volume of excited pre-teen babble… well then, I’m happy for you.

On the upside, it’s a fascinating peek into the mind of children-becoming-women. I mostly hung out in the background at my daughter’s first sleepover party, as per her strict instructions. And if I happened to lurk in the hallway listening from time to time, who’s to know? After all, it is my house.

It’s a lot like I remember. A lot more OMG and iPod usage than I’d like, but the silliness and the shrieking and the inhuman levels of energy ring a bell. The enthusiasm of childhood intersecting with the concerns of growing up.

The birthday girl wanted a “fancy dinner,” so she and all her guests dressed up, then big sister played waitress and Mom played chef and somehow everyone got fed. There were candles and flowers and the good china and the good white tablecloth. It’s possible that more food ended up in the “wine” glasses than in their stomachs, but they weren’t complaining.

After cheesy party games, presents, a movie, pranking poor big sister and several hours of whispering (until Mean Mom made an appearance at 2:30 am), they managed to get a few hours of REM in.

Enough, apparently, that the next morning they found a few minutes to wax philosophical. They even asked me to weigh in on the conversation. I think the question had originally been asked in jest, but the discussion seemed pretty serious for pajama clad partiers.

If you had to choose,
one or the other for the rest of your life,
would you rather be pretty or smart?

On the surface, it’s a simple conversation starter. Like, what kind of superpower would you choose? Or where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world? Fluffy and unimportant. But in this day and age, for a group of young women just discovering who they are, it’s a serious question.

What’s most important to you? Who do you want to be? Why?

Of course, this is a rhetorical argument – we don’t have to choose, though it may seem like it sometimes (but that’s a blog for another day). And on some level, our physical appearance and natural intelligence is not within our control. We are who we are.

Accepting that is the first step to contentment. Still, we can nurture and enhance both our mind and our look. With limited resources, we tend to focus more on one or the other.

Our priorities and values, especially as women, can be largely determined by our devotion to either appearance or substance. It affects how we see ourselves and others. It affects our goals and our dreams and our sense of purpose. It affects how we spend our time and our money and our lives.

I gave the girls the “Mom Answer” they expected. Of course, I’d rather be smart. That’s what I was supposed to say.

Afterwards I wondered… is it really true? I mean, I definitely want to be pretty. I’d love to have movie-star good looks and wear size 2 and fend off drooling hoards of admirers. Who wouldn’t? But would I trade the power of my mind, the things I know and have experienced, my connection with God, my common sense, and my hard-won slivers of wisdom for that? Even just a little bit?

Never. Not for all the pretty in the world. I wouldn’t lessen myself that way.

Yet, women do that all the time. We live in a world that tells girls, in thousands of different ways, that their value lies in how they look and what they weigh and how well they can attract a man. Sometimes we even slap a “feminist” label on it and call that power. But real power isn’t being noticed or shaking your ass – real power is being confident, unique and strong in a way that is MORE than skin deep. The world doesn’t need more pretty women, it needs more smart ones.

Without time to prepare, I didn’t offer the eloquent, inspiring comments I would’ve liked. I said something about looks being temporary. That I need intelligence to understand and enjoy the world. That I want to do something good and important and make the world a better place, not just decorate it.

One little girl looked at me, then said, quite sadly,

“But then you’d be ugly.”

There was a pause then, before other conversations intruded and crepes wanted flipping and sleeping bags needed folding and the party carried on.

I carried that sad comment with me all day. And I wondered about the nature of ugly, about the world we live in and the world we’re making.

If a girl chooses smart. If she chooses substance. Could that, ever, be ugly?

So here’s my answer girls: don’t pick pretty. Pick smart. Even better, pick kind or brave or outstanding. Because there’s nothing uglier than a pretty face with nothing behind it.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

WHEN LIFE GOES INTO OVERLOAD

They call me the “One Trip Wonder.” A shopping bag hanging off of each finger and one wedged beneath my chin. Wrangling uncooperative bags with my hands while body checking the trunk closed. Beckham’s got nothing on me, as I dribble the extra-large package of (extra-large) pull-ups up the driveway with my feet. I bellow through the front door from someone to open up and give me a hand. Not to brag, but opera singers wish they had my lung capacity.

An overflowing cart of groceries carried into the house in ONE LOAD. That’s a crucial 47 seconds in valuable time saved! The crowd goes wild with applause! They’re amazed. They’re impressed. They wish they could be like me.

They’re the imaginary audience in my head.

The actual, real people in my life just shrug and ask if I remembered to get crunchy peanut butter this time. They sigh weary sighs when asked to carry the food into the kitchen. They gripe about the broken egg and the misshapen bread.

Nobody appreciates my genius.

I’m Queen of the Grocery Overload!

Unfortunately, I’m not quite as competent when it comes to handling an overloaded schedule.

Every once in a while we find ourselves facing a week of extras. Extra challenges. Extra events. Extra work.

Common sense dictates that this is the time to buckle down and plow through.

Deer-in-the-headlights, Overwhelmed, Procrastinating Perfectionist suggests curling up into a fetal ball and crying like a baby.

Guess which one I usually choose?

February has had a few days of overload (much like January, and December of course, oh and the whole year before that). We truck along quite happily until a few extras get thrown into the mix. And then it seems like too much. Of course, the worst part isn’t the actual workload. Or the unsettled children. Or the break in routine.

The worst part is the anticipation of busyness beforehand.

When push comes to shove, I take busy and make it my b…. aby. But the pre-show isn’t pretty. Instead of getting MORE done, because life is about to ramp up, I seem to accomplish less than ever. I moan and complain and sit around feeling overwhelmed.

But this year I have a secret weapon.

This year, I’m not responsible for tomorrow or all week long or the rest of the year or however many days I have left on God’s green earth. This year, I’m responsible for TODAY. And the rest I’m leaving in God’s hands.

The days I remember this, it makes all the difference.

So here’s me, and I’ve had a few Overwhelmed Fetal Ball episodes, but remembering my One Word has helped. And this week I am facing a midterm, a school project, a sick child, a visit from in-laws, a family outing, a trip to the States, several meetings, Glen working evenings, baking 6 dozen cupcakes and pulling off a large Gotcha party for our boy and 50+ of our closest friends… but I’m feeling pretty cool, because I can handle TODAY and TODAY alone.

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

STARTING OVER

I blame Chinese food. And Dairy Queen. And the bag of Christmas candy corn I found in my daughters toy box.

Because who can resist the siren song of stale, month-old candy?

Not me apparently. I devoured it like a junkie who happened upon a forgotten stash. It didn’t even taste good.

The only thing worse than stale, month-old Christmas candy corn is the guilt from eating stale, month-old Christmas candy corn.

So much for eating healthy this year.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all failure and embarrassing binges around here. Some days I win. But even then I have to watch myself. It’s stunning how quickly I can move from fatalistic self defeat to overconfident delusions of grandeur.

Case in point, the day I cleaned the house from top to bottom (withOUT eating anything I found along the way) and elypticalled myself to the moon and back. Feeling smug, I spent the rest of the day watching the Food Network while ignoring my children.

I don’t even like to cook.

So much for being a more attentive parent this year.

Soar or stumble – I can twist it into an excuse. To indulge. To give up. To sabotage myself. Time and again, it’s the one task at which I rarely fail.

This year I’m trying to change the game. I will focus only on TODAY.There is no tipping point. There is no pressure to be perfect. There is no tomorrow or next month or the rest of my life resting on what I do right now. There is only TODAY.

I seem to function better without the weight of all that still-to-come. I still fill in the calendar and keep track of “things to do” and make plans for our family. I’m still mindful of the things I need to do better. But I only hold myself responsible for what I can get done between “Mama… up” (boy-speak for: wake up and pay attention to my cuteness) and “…but I’m almost done this chapter” (preteen-speak for: none of my friends have a bedtime so lights out is lame and besides I’m not even tired yet).

Some days it works. Some days there are temptations and trials and I slip back into worry-pressure-procrastinate-medicate-with-food/tv/Internet-hate-myself-STRESS. But even that isn’t the end of the world.

Every day I am starting over.

It’s only been a few weeks. The jury’s still out on whether I’m doing better or worse at: eating healthy, staying active, decluttering, being spiritually mindful, attentive parenting or solving the problems of the universe via blogging. But I did clean out that one toy box…

What I can say for sure is that I’m enjoying the sweet, fleeting moments of life better. I’m enduring the tough stuff with less angst. And most of all, I’m liking Me a whole lot more.

This is what I chose to focus on for the creative writing DPChallenge on Starting Over.

I’m not Who-I-Was.

I’m not Who-I-Will-Be.

I’m not Who-I-Expected.

Or Who-I-Dreamed-I-Would-Be.

I’m Me.

With new insights, and new struggles, and new dreams.

With a best friend who loves Me (better yet, still likes Me) after all these years.

With a heart full of four little people who make Me crazy, and make Me laugh, and make Me a better Me.

Changing and growing and learning and becoming Me.

With a little extra Me around the edges.

And even though those parts are the hardest to accept,

They are part of Me too.

Whatever size or shape or new configuration, I’m still Me.

I’m not Martha Stewart. I’m not Hiedi Klum.

I’m not You. I’m not Who-You-Think-I-Should-Be.

I’m not perfect or easy and I’m not ready to concede.

I’m not finished yet.

But for now, TODAY, I’m content to be Me.

So here’s me. You know that rumor about bloggers being totally self-absorbed… ummm… ya…

CHRISTIE HOOS

So Here's Us

HOLIDAY PRESSURE CANCELED THIS YEAR

Ladies, this holiday season the pressure is OFF. 

I release myself (and you) from the need to cook the perfect turkey, be the most attentive hostess, buy the most creative presents, and decorate as if I was Martha Stewart’s inspiration. I am attempting to let all of this go wondering what Thanksgiving and Christmas could look like for me and my family if I move the focus from what is good to what is great.

Please understand that this proposal has humble origins. As I type, there are Christmas decorations fresh from the store sitting on my counter, and I have already had one planning session with my mom to prepare for the PERFECT Thanksgiving dinner. I am feeling the pressure to make sure my napkins and tablecloth match and my turkey is golden on the outside and juicy on the inside. Knowing this about myself, I am taking a moment to step back and consider who I want to look like over the next few months – Rachel Ray? Or Jesus?

As I continue to make my holiday plans, here are a few things I will take into consideration: 

• “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Romans 12:18 (Even those crazy relatives.)
• “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.” Romans 12:10 (Honor my husband when he needs a break from the parties and get-togethers.)
• “Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.” Philippians 4:8 (I will ENJOY time with my family and friends. I will express gratitude, happiness, peace.) 
• “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7 (If I burn the turkey, there will still be lots to eat.)
• “I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare.” –C.S. Lewis (Spend less on decorations so I can spend more on someone who needs it.)

And now I am off to test out these grand ideas with the hope and belief that Jesus will work in us and through us this season!

LINDSAY HALE

LINDSAY KAYE PHOTOGRAPHY

WHAT MY VITAMIX BLENDER HAS TAUGHT ME ABOUT LOVE

I have a new addiction in my life. It’s a Vitamix blender. On our recent trip to Texas, we picked one up and since we returned, I have been using it 2-3 times a day. It is truly a glorious thing. You can even make soup in it. Blend for 10 minutes, and it is steaming hot!

My daughter is wholly on board with the new toy too. Every morning, she says to me, “Can I have a smoothie for lunch?” Of course I say yes, because it gives me another opportunity to indulge in my addiction. That, and the fact that she now – very happily – skips off to school to eat a staggering conglomeration of fruits and veggies without a whimper of protest. The amount of spinach that child has consumed is nothing short of a miracle.

But here is what my Vitamix has taught me. One of my passions, one of my “causes” in life is healthy living. This stems back to the fact that I became a cancer orphan at 21, my aunt is a breast-cancer survivor, my sister has had pre-cancerous cells and my daughter was diagnosed with Severe Chronic Neutropenia at 13 months. Pretty grim.

However, I have also realized that my cause stems from a deep desire to love my family. As Bell Hooks says, “To begin by always thinking of love as an action rather than a feeling is one way in which anyone using the word in this manner automatically assumes accountability and responsibility.”

I crazy love my family. I truly believe my husband to be the most amazing man and my daughter to be the most fascinating girl on the face of the planet. But loving them entails taking care of myself. When I choose to put down the candy bar and replace it with an apple, it is not because I am trying to look like Jennifer Garner (although she is gorgeous and there are days when I would really like to look like her), but it is because what I put in my body is my act of love for Eric and Riley. It extends far beyond speaking love and becomes doing love.

It says, “I choose to do all I can do to make it to your wedding and to the birth of your children.”It says, “I choose to sacrifice that candy bar so that I have more energy for you.” It says, “I choose to eat well so that my brain functions better…and I am thereby more patient, kind and compassionate with you.” It says, “Even though I would really like to go on a binge, I choose you instead.”

Some days, I do better than others. But that’s ok. Because it not about expecting perfection of myself, it is about choosing the journey.

ERYN-FAYE FRANS, ® Canada's Passion Coach

Eryn Faye

SUMMER CHORE LIST

I like lists. Scratch that, I LOVE lists! When the world is spinning out of control and I’m feeling overwhelmed, a list makes everything better. Seriously, it’s better than Prozac.

I can’t think of a situation that can’t be improved with a list. I dare you – try to stump me!

Work piling up and you don’t know where to start? Make a list. Kids acting like orangutans? Make a list of goals and how to get there (even better when they are in on the discussion, something I like to facilitate with liberal amounts of ice cream). Worries keeping you up at all hours? Make a list of things to think about tomorrow.

If you are wondering what brought about this list making infomercial, it is this:

That’s my summer chore list… with not one single thing marked off. It’s a new low for me. Now I could give you plenty of valid excuses… ahem… REASONS why this is the case, but the truth is they don’t make me feel any less discouraged and depressed about it.

So, I’ve decided to resurrect an old habit. It’s something my sweetheart has enjoyed mocking me for over the years. I’m going to go back to that list and add things I’ve already done – then cross them off with great relish.

• Spend time with my kids – CHECK!
• Cuddle my new nephew and niece/god-daughter – CHECK!
• Figure out how to Skype my sister – CHECK!
• Go to Bard on the Beach – CHECK!
• Buy a cowboy hat the Calgary Stampede – CHECK!
• Sit on the beach with my feet in the sand and my nose in a book (and one eye on the kids) – CHECK!

It seems to me that there’s a whole lot about celebrating in the bible – whole chapters commanding festivals and holidays and dozens of poems with lists (YES, that’s right lists) of God’s blessings. Maybe I’ll add that to my list:

• Worshiping God by enjoying the life I’ve been given!

So here’s me – celebrating the life I live, instead of obsessing about everything still left to do.

GUEST BLOG by CHRISTIE HOOS

http://heresus.wordpress.com/

The Birth of My Boy: NO ORDINARY EVENT

Anker Josiah-wearing the gown I asked Jesus to fill

This is Part 4 of our story:  When life and belief collide.   

  Miracles are wrought by the Spirit of God, in them is seen the Finger of God–Unger

Our baby boy was born on this day, June 4.  He had a 9 out of 10 on his Apgar!  There were no blue lips as the doctor supposed, there was no need for an emergency team.  There was no cyst on the base of his neck.  He was breathing, crying, moving and beautiful.  He has Trisomy 21, and for this we are thankful as well!

“Miracles are out of the ordinary course of events.  They produce astonishment as being outside the ordinary operations of cause and effect”–Unger

We named him Anker Josiah.  Anker-the name of three godly men who came before him.  Josiah-the name chosen before his diagnosis of Fetal Hydrops. Josiah means Jehovah has healed!

Alleluia!!!

Our baby was still taken to Intensive Care.   I understand it is not a common sight to see a new father cheering joyfully as he follows his newborn son to ICU, but they saw it this day!

They began tests on our boy right away.  They checked his heart, and his lungs.  We asked them to check the fluid in and around his kidneys which the ultrasound revealed only a few days before.  All tests came back normal.  He stayed in ICU for 2 long bittersweet weeks.

As I sat in the rocking chair among all of the incubated babies, the nurse handed me my gem.  She said his ears are deformed and he cannot hear.  I held him closely and rocked, singing,

“Great is Thy Faithfulness, Great is Thy Faithfulness!”

I sang this song throughout the months of carrying my babe.  He knew my voice.

“Morning by morning new mercies I see”

His little head began turning toward me as he fought to open his baby blue eyes.  We locked eyes for the first time as I embraced his tiny living body and continued praising Jesus,

“All we have needed Thy hand has provided.  Great is Thy Faithfulness,

Lord unto me!”

I knew our baby could hear me.  I had no doubt.

I had to leave my newborn son and go home without him as the ICU continued to monitor him.  I barely slept a wink, waiting for the first waking hour they would allow me to visit.  I used a breast pump in order to bring in that precious gold called colostrum.

As I walked in the ICU holding my bottle of gold, I reached out to hand it to one of the nurses standing beside my boy’s bed.  That little bottle of gold was filled with my Mama- love.  It was the little bit I could do to nurture my hospitalized son.   The nurse mockingly asked me, “What’s this?” as she pulled it from my hand.

I realized I had interrupted the two nurses as they were talking in a hushed manner.  The second nurse abruptly said, “We heard you had an amnio”.  I confirmed the fact.  Her face shown the judgment of my choice.  “Then, why didn’t you-?”, she asked me harshly.  What she was asking was, “If you knew he had Down’s Syndrome, why didn’t you abort?” I was taken back for a moment as I gathered my surprise and my thoughts.

“Do you have children?”  I asked them both.  They both said yes.  “What would happen if your child was hit by a car and became brain-damaged?  Would you wish he never lived?  What if your child is the slowest kid in the class, or grows up to be an alcoholic?  Will you be ashamed and stop loving him?”  They stood silent.

I was dumbfounded by two intelligent women making a value statement about a child’s life. I was even more concerned that these were the women caring for my child when I could not take him home.  Everything within me wanted to rip the monitors off our boy and run with him.  I knew then, baby A.J.’s enemy was ignorance and narrow minds.  We would have to do something about that….

Our quiet little home was eagerly awaiting A.J.’s arrival.  No longer would the carpets be clean,  the sink remain empty or the evenings be silent.  Our home became filled with joy and baby barf and gratitude.

There’s a lot more to share with you about parenting our precious boy, but I’ll leave the rest for later.  Today, we celebrate 17 years of life.  God has gifted us a beautiful boy with special needs, and his two younger brothers who adore and enjoy him.

AJ loves to sing, write, read Disney stories, play with and care for his dog.  He enjoys swimming, Special Olympics Track, basketball and bowling.  He loves to go to school and he loves to go to church.

He loves to drink smoothies and fruit is his favorite snack.  He sings at the top of his lungs, asks his Daddy to read him a Bible story each night, and helps out with the dishes.

He tells knock-knock jokes and knows the directions to almost every store and restaurant in town.  He thinks almost everything he wants costs $2. He knows every word to the Veggie Tale songs.

He is hug-able, lovable, stubborn, sometimes grumpy, and very messy when he plays.

He is Anker Josiah, chosen and dearly loved.

WHEN LIFE AND FAITH COLLIDE: We Gave God The Chance To Show Up!

Our baby has lived 9 months in the womb!

This is Part 3 of our story.   

There we stood with our usual tear-filled eyes, looking out at the eyes of a group of tear-filled couples.  It may have only been our second time visiting this church and its young family class, when my husband uncharacteristically stood in front of strangers and gave them our prayer request.  These strangers enveloped us, laid their hands on us and prayed for our unborn child.

Men from this church began calling Anker and prayed with him over the phone.  They offered to meet him for lunch and give him support and encouragement.  The women visited me, sent me cards of encouragement and some even offered to sit beside me during my weekly appointments.   These people were no strangers, they were the body of Christ at work, and they were strengthening us.

You see, the Perinatologist and all the other specialists had no clue we recently moved hundreds of miles from our support system.  We moved from Southern California only weeks prior to becoming pregnant.   The specialist didn’t consider our emotional needs or offer resources of support in our decision-making process.   But our Abba Father knew what we needed.

News spread quickly across the miles and telephone wires.  Loving phone calls and letters of encouragement often overwhelmed us.  I kept a scrapbook of these meaningful thoughts from dear friends and family, or people who simply heard about our baby and were praying for us:

“At first I did not quite know how to pray, but want you to know we are praying for a miracle and that God will heal your baby.  If God wants to take this baby home, we are praying He does it soon and that you two and the baby don’t suffer too long.  We will continue to pray for the baby and two of you as long as is needed”  -V & S

“I haven’t met you, but hope you feel the love and support of fellow believers.  May you sense peace and comfort which only the Holy Spirit can delicately give” -M

“I will stand in the gap and pray when you can no longer pray”  -C

The Holy Spirit is not limited by man’s inventions.  He managed to put our names on the minds of faithful prayer warriors, without any means of Facebook or email.  Here is a portion of a letter I received from one who was quickened by God’s Spirit on our behalf:

“I cry for your burden of concern for your son.  What a strong little man he must be!  As I pray for the health and survival of A.J. and for my baby as well, I guess I can only rest in knowing that they are in a special communion with God as they are growing inside of us.

About a month ago I felt a real need to be praying for you on a daily basis.  That feeling started from a very vivid dream I had of you, Bonnie, trying to convey your emotions about the difficulties of conceiving to a room full of pregnant women.  I was taking you from room to room in search of another woman who could empathize.  A friend of mine turned to you and said that she understood.  You reached out and touched her stomach and said, “No, you don’t”.  The conversations were so incredibly clear that when I awoke from the dream I woke P.  up to tell him about it.  You were also a participant in subsequent dreams over the next couple of days.  I knew that I had better be praying for you two. …And now, I know that I’ve been praying for the 3 of you!  Isn’t our God Awesome and Caring!!  Praise to His active hand and His Holy Spirit for allowing us to be connected and active with Him!

May the eyes of the doctors see and understand the authority of Jehova-Rapha!  Knowing as I do that our great Creator loves our babies even more than we do.  As our Creator with a hand that touches all things, I pray that You God, will bring miraculous healing to A.J. and that You will receive all the glory and Praise.  Amen.” -T

Our baby was being flooded with prayer and we knew God was at work.  It was time to go back for my first ultrasound after the diagnosis.  The Perinatologist wanted to keep an eye on the fluid in our baby’s body.  Anker and I had great anticipation for this moment.

I lay on the table with my heart beating calmly…waiting to see how our precious baby was doing.  I had already asked if he was in any pain, and the doctors assured me he was not.  The technician turned the screen away from us.  She guided the cold wand slowly over my tummy.  We studied her face as she stopped and glared at the screen.  She turned and looked at the previous ultrasound picture in the file.  She glared back at the screen, then back at the file again—and dismissed herself.

What were we to think?  Long moments passed as we waited for her return.  Our hearts were  peaceful, we were bathed in prayer.  Finally, the Perinatologist walked into the room with the technician beside him.  He took over the wand and guided it across my tummy again.  He glared at the screen and compared it to the file.  Then he rolled his chair over to my face, “We don’t know what is going on, but the fluid is dissipating”.  He couldn’t explain why.  We were told to be “cautiously optimistic”.

God was at work!  It was up to God what He wanted to do with this little life, and who He wanted to speak to through His creation.  He didn’t promise me a baby, He didn’t promise me a perfect life, but God did promise me He would keep my heart and my mind quiet and at rest as I trust in Christ Jesus.  This was a sweet time.  To be at the mercy of trusting God for all our needs is a painful and a good thing.

I could tell you the tears stopped, but it wouldn’t be true.  Often times Anker came home to find me singing in a warm bath… “Day by day I’m growing stronger, day by day the victory’s won.  As I give my life to Jesus, day by day I overcome”.  The warm water and praise songs soothed my wandering mind.

My heart was growing closer and closer to my fragile little baby.  Being pregnant became a romantic-thing again; conversing and singing with my unborn baby as we trusted in the Almighty Creator.

Appointment after appointment, we continued to be “cautiously optimistic” as the fluid continued to mysteriously-No, miraculously-go away!  When we chose life, I don’t know if we realized we were giving God the opportunity to show up in our lives.  He was revealing Himself, His character, His faithfulness in new and incredible ways. The heart monitoring continued without any concern for the condition of his heart.  Our baby boy was actively kicking and moving.  “If this baby is born alive”, our doctor scratched his head and swore, “This will go down in the books.”

“I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! 

Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord!”  Psalm 27:13,14

We were now only weeks away from my due date.  Much of the fluid had gone away.  My O.B. began to discuss with me what the delivery room would look like.  He said if the baby is born alive, he would be discolored, lips blue, and they would need to resuscitate him.  He described all the extra personnel who would be in the room with us, while the emergency team would be waiting at the door of my delivery room.  Here we were-six months after a death sentence-discussing a birth plan.  The doctor repeated his mantra, “remain cautiously optimistic”.

The final ultrasound showed fluid left only in the kidneys.  Now it was time to speak with the Neonatologist: the specialist who would deal with a living, breathing baby.  He advised IF the baby is born alive and still has fluid, he could extract the fluid but it would only come back.

Our son was due June 21, but on the morning of June 4, my water broke.  It was time to deliver Anker Josiah.  Come back tomorrow for Part 4!!

P.S.  Each of our life stories of trial, loss and pain look so different from the other.  But God in His goodness remains the same.  He wants to show up in your life.  I hope you will be encouraged by my story and the video I have inserted as a gift…

BONNIE CHRISTENSEN

WomanGoneWise.Com

WE CHOSE LIFE!

This is Part 2 of our story. 

When life and belief collide:My life-altering decision

We were given a priority appointment with the Perinatologist.  Should we continue on in the pregnancy, he would monitor the fluid in our little babe.   We sat in his office surrounded by medical books and volumes of medical data, statistics,  human knowledge and theory. The bookshelves rose high up the walls and the doctor sat some distance from us.  I felt so small and helpless.

The Perinatologist  warmly told us how our child could likely end up in an institution, maybe wheelchair bound for life, if he ever lived at all.  We took notes, asked questions, and scheduled an Amniocentesis.  There was a glimmer of hope the results of the Amniocentesis would tell us the baby had RH Factor: a diagnosis we could actually do something about.

In the meantime, we sat through a lengthy session with the genetic counselor who worked alongside the Perinatologist.  She pulled out one of the thickest, ugliest  books I ever laid my eyes on.  It was filled with pictures of chromosomes and genetic disorders we never knew existed.  Our eyes glazed in fear as she slowly turned and explained many of the pages.  This is not a book you would enjoy reading, let me tell you!

I was amazed when we left the doctor’s office that day.  No one offered us counseling, no one asked us if we had the support of family.  No one asked if we needed clergy.  We were sent home with a burden of knowledge heaped upon our hearts.  I cried all the way home.

My husband was away on business when I finally received the diagnosis by phone call.  The genetic counselor was on the other end of the line.  Her voice was matter-of-fact as she told me our baby not only had Fetal Hydrops, but he also had a cyst on the back of his neck and Trisomy 21 (Down’s Syndrome).   Without taking a breath, without offering empathy or inviting discussion, she told me she would make an appointment for an abortion.

Instantly I told her there would be no abortion.  She reminded me in her ever-so-cold manner, “Your baby will surely die”.

The Mama-bear arose in me for the first of many times as I responded, “We believe the Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  We will bless the Name of the Lord”.  I hung up and fell prostrate across our cold kitchen floor.  My baby-bump pushed me away from the tile, reminding me of the life inside.  I lay there crying, wailing, spread out in humility for help from my Lord.

I clung to the promises of God.  If I ever believed in Him, then I must also believe in His Words.  I sang quietly in surrender,

“Great is Thy Faithfulness, Oh God my Father.

There is no shadow of turning with Thee.

Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not

as Thou hast been

Thou forever will be.”

Jesus quietly asked me, “Do you believe this about me, Bonnie?”  I said, “Yes, Lord”  and continued to softly cry and sing,

“Great is Thy Faithfulness

Great is Thy Faithfulness

Morning by morning new mercies I see

All I have needed Thy hand has provided

(Thank you, Jesus.  This is true.)

Great is Thy Faithfulness

(“Will you trust Me, Bonnie?”)

(Yes, Jesus)….Lord unto Me”

My schedule quickly became filled with doctor’s appointments.  We sat before our young O.B. and explained to him the value we place on this life.  A life that was given by God and could only be taken by God.  We needed to confirm his treatment would also place value on our child’s life.   He told us he had never encountered a case like ours or a couple like us, and he would respect and follow our lead.

Due to the labor Fetal Hydrops can put on a baby’s heart, they monitored his heart twice weekly.  God gave me a nurse who was also a believer.  She encouraged me in the faith.  She told me our doctor’s office didn’t know completely how to deal with me, “Why would a couple like that want a baby like that?” was the popular discussion when we left the office each week.

Those kind of comments didn’t really encourage me, they made me feel more alien-like.  But we knew the comment really was based upon watching a young couple trust and believe in God rather than their difficult circumstances.  This was good.

Previously serving as a social worker and volunteering with special needs children, I knew there were more hopeful scenarios then what had been presented to us.  I quickly learned “knowledge is power”, and I began a personal fight to find all of the knowledge I could.  It was difficult to find.  Seventeen years ago I did not have a home computer, access to the Internet, or blogs where I could find someone with a similar story to mine.  I walked the aisles of the bookstores looking for hope from someone who was given a death-sentence for their baby.  I needed to read how someone could still walk through the days of pregnancy.  It was not to be found.

It was crystal clear to me the choice for life was God’s desire for us.    HOW He wanted me to live with this choice was unclear!  I was an emotional mess most days.  One moment I would beg God to take our baby’s life sooner than later.  Moments later I would plead with God to do a miracle and heal our baby.

My husband remained a balanced rock while I called him throughout the day to clear my mind and get perspective.  HOW was I supposed to live each day-the next 6 months of pregnancy-without bonding to my growing baby who would “die”?

I don’t know how long it took me to realize I could ask God that question.  I bent to my knees beside my bed and said, “Jesus, I know what You want me to do.  I just don’t know how I am supposed to do it”.  He reminded me, “So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matthew 6:34)  Do not worry about tomorrow–those things I can’t control.  Don’t create and entertain fears and “what ifs” we may or may not face tomorrow.  Keep my mind on today.

Today–I had a living baby inside me.  Today–he was kicking and moving and growing.  Today–I was pregnant, I was a Mama.  In the midst of any other (normal) pregnancy I would be sewing, strolling through baby departments, knitting.  So I decided I would rejoice in Today!

I went to the fabric store and bought precious baby fabrics for my Anker Josiah.  I began sewing him a baby quilt.  He would play on it one day, or he would be swaddled in the quilt in a baby’s coffin.  Either way, I would make it with all the love and the joy I had for my son.

I bought him the most precious coming home gown I could find.  A Beatrix Potter gown.  It represented life and sweet hope for today.  I hung it from the dresser in our bedroom and I knelt below it often, “Jesus, please fill this gown with our living and breathing baby.  But You know the bigger picture, not my will but Yours be done”.  Sometimes I imagined being the woman touching Jesus’ gown-trusting in the Messiah’s ability to heal.

I began moving on through the hours with enough strength to live for the day.

“Fear not, for I am with you,

 be not dismayed, for I am your God.

 I will strengthen you,

I will help you,

I will uphold you with my Victorious Right Hand!”

Isaiah 41:10

Soon our story would begin to change.

I hope you’ll join me again  for Part 3.

BONNIE CHRISTENSEN

WomanGoneWise.com