Fibular Hemimeila - Children are an heritage of the Lord!

God has been, as of late, sending me a lot of mothering messages.  Isn't is good of Him to think of me?

Many, O LORD my God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts which are to us-ward: they cannot be reckoned up in order unto thee: if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered. -Psalm 40:5

 How much more my thoughts should be toward Him --and not toward meaninglessness.  

When I graduated from college, I graduated with more than a bachelor's degree in English; I also obtained my degree in "Liberal Studies."  My "Liberal Studies" degree was quite influential, as I had learned that many of my small town, "Sunday school" ideas were simply outdated and the result of ignorance and a secluded mountain life.  My new degree had taught me to believe, among other things, that I was an independent woman who had the right to work outside the home and to not do so, especially after having obtained the "real" degree in English, would be quite absurd and certainly a waste of  four long years of work.  Though I still clung to the Bible, I learned to do so with a bit of animosity toward writers such as Paul who would, for example, suggest that I was to submit to my husband or be mindful of my place in the church.

Fast forward a mere two years, when this cotton haired little bundle was placed in my arms, and no degree could prepare me for the transformation that was to come to my life.  All the worldly philosophy about career and ambition simply faded and was quickly replaced with an overpowering instinct to love and to nurture.

Are you teaching your girls to be wives and a mothers?  Are you teaching them that there is no greater joy?  Are you teaching them that they do not have to "do it all"?  Are you teaching them that mothering is ALL, is enough, is stimulating, is challenging, is exhausting, is the greatest gift God will ever give them?  Are you teaching them to pray, when it doesn't feel like "enough," for God to give them strength, resolution, perseverance?

No, I'm not idolizing motherhood to the point of making it worthy of worship, but it is worthy of RESPECT.

When Josh was born, all 4lbs and 15oz of him, I planned to return to work after 12 weeks, but my heart couldn't bear it.  Eighteen month later, with depleted finances, my heart still couldn't bear it, and I trudged on to my first teaching position quite torn to say the least. What I hope to teach Emily is that if God grants her the privilege of motherhood, (and I do acknowledge that God's plan for every women doesn't include being a wife or mother) then prepare in advance by saving instead of spending, budgeting instead of living beyond her means.  Give her children what they need most:  their mother.

Now, before I get hate mail from all the working mothers out there, I speak quite hypocritically because I am one of those working mothers.  I have often wondered why things have turned out as they have ---why our financial situation has not afforded me the ability to stay home.  Questioning such things most often leaves me feeling as if I have somehow failed or missed a right path somewhere, yet God's plans prevail --and I have been so blessed to be a teacher.  One hundred and eighty days at school equals one hundred and eighty-five days at home --and that gives me peace.  Is it God's plan for all women to stay at home with their children?  I don't know.  I don't pretend to know God's plan for anyone's life. I do think that Chip Ingram said it best when he said that if a woman can keep God first, take care of her husband and her children and home, then she should work as little or as much as she wants. Of course there are always circumstances:  single moms, husbands who either can't or won't work, financial burdens ... the list seems unending. Our culture, in fact, seems intent on keeping women from their children.  Our culture entices us with the lie that we should give our children nicer things than we had growing up.  I can't think of a nicer thing that I had than my mom waiting for me every day when I got off of the bus.  In fact, it made her sad to recall that when she did go to work, when I was a teenager, I'd look for her car when the bus rounded the corner, hoping that she hadn't been called into the hospital (she was a nurse).  Her presence meant so much to me that even at sixteen, I still wanted her home.

What happened to June Cleaver?  What happened to moms cooking dinner and picking up toys?  What happened to children hitting baseballs in the yard and playing tag until dark?  As a society, we've decided that we want more --bigger, better --more education, more electronics, more activities.  And what we've collectively settled for is less.  Less time at home, less time with family, less time for God.  It has satan written all over it.  You've convinced us, as you so cleverly did Eve, that we can't be content with all of the "fruit" that we have --we need just one more "tree" to be happy.  Those outdated notions of wife and mother --they don't bring happiness.  You've convinced us, in fact, that such menial positions degrade us.  And we've fallen for it --and our children --and our society --are falling because of it. 

What's a woman to do, then?  Remain ignorant and uneducated and hope for a godly husband to show up on a white horse?  Nah, that's not the point.  I will encourage Emily to learn --to work in her studies as unto the Lord.  But, I pray each night, too, that God send her a man who loves Him and her (and hopefully her mom!) and that she be able to recognize him, not by the car that he drives, but by the God that he serves shining from the life song that he sings.

As a woman, I want to hear the voice of God, to yield to His instruction, to stop falling for lies and deception.  I also want, as Jesus did, to enjoy the ones I love.  I have spent too much time feeling guilty for situations that I cannot change and too little time looking for God's grace in all things.  Today, my baby girl is with my momma --who means so much to me.  She gets to enjoy morning kisses, library school, and McDonald's lunches, and I get to enjoy evening hugs, bath times, and bedtime stories.  Some days I am jealous, but most days, I am grateful.  Grateful that God saw fit for her to retire before Emily starts kindergarten next year and early enough in her diagnosis of pulmonary hypertension that she can still push her on backyard swings and curl her hair with pink sponge rollers.  Oh, we don't know the plan like He does --we don't know what's best.  We can only seek Him and trust Him --and Praise Him -- whether we are at home with newborn babies, making the most of school day afternoons with little ones growing too big too fast, or getting ready to watch little cotton haired bundles make their way to high school in only a few short months.  We can only pray that He help us in our mothering, that He fill our children with His spirit, that He be glorified by their lives --and by ours!

 Ephesians 5:15-17:  See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is.

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Funny things --uncanny thing --God things happen every day. 
Today, after blogging, I read this on "My Utmost for His Highest":

We have no right to decide where we should be placed, or to have preconceived ideas as to what God is preparing us to do. God engineers everything; and wherever He places us, our one supreme goal should be to pour out our lives in wholehearted devotion to Him in that particular work. “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might . . .” (Ecclesiastes 9:10).

Isn't it nice that He's still thinking of me? Oh, He makes me cry! and smile at the same time!

Spirit Walk

 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.-Gal. 5:25

I've been asked to speak at a women's retreat at my church, and at first I sought God as to what He would have me teach.  What He has pressed upon me, however, is not the what but the who --who I should be as a teacher, as His child, as His earthly example.

Sometimes, I get caught ... caught in the world's idea of "ideal."  I'm striving hard to lose those last 10 pounds and striving hard to pay off debt so that I can go back into debt to renovate my house.  Vanity.  Isn't it?  What is it that I hope to achieve with these goals?  Who is it that I'll be when they're achieved?  I'll be more accepted by a world that rejects my Savior ... and that really hurts to type.

A couple of weeks ago, during Spring Break at my school, I walked early in the morning at a local park (you know to achieve the 10 pound goal), and as I walked, I began to pray.  With a husband, three kids, and a full time job teaching, plus the all time consuming, albeit entertaining, Little League, life is so busy.  Not busy with sinful things, but busy with things that distract from the one GOOD thing (need I remind you of Mary and Martha?).  Prayer sometimes ends up at the bottom of a pile of good intentions --first thing in the morning --or after the kids are in the bed --having fallen through the cracks of tiredness and selfishness.  This morning, however, it was just me and my Savior --and the few men on the clean-up crew working on the debris from a day or two of heavy rain.  As I walked, pouring out my brokenness and confusion, my failings and my fears, I began to cry, sob actually.  Sobbing soon lead to praising, as the result of true repentance always does.  I can only imagine the thoughts of the clean-up crew, probably thinking I was so out of shape that I was wiping sweat from my face and raising my arms to increase my oxygen level. Not the most flattering image I admit. 

God is so good.  As I continued to walk, I started laughing at the realization of something quite profound:  this Spirit Walk --this broken, sobbing, hand lifted mess --was all that I had to be to meet His approval.  At that moment I had achieved something:  I was "ideal."  Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't perfect, I was just YIELDED.  And I want to be every day.

Why do we have yield signs?  So that we don't plow into oncoming traffic, believing that we have the right of way.  When we yield to the Holy Spirit, we avoid as much destruction in our lives as we do when we yield to the tractor trailer barreling down the interstate.  I want to learn to give Him the right of way, to slow down to that still, soft voice --to really hear Him and to really obey.

I want my definition of ideal beauty to match His:
1.  I want to put Him first.  I want Him to have the first fruits of my time and my energy, my worship and my obedience.
2.  I want to honor my husband.  I want to honor him with my words and my actions, with the way that I dress and speak, with the way that I prioritize my time. 
3.  I want to efface myself --to get out of the way so that others see Jesus before they see me.  This means that I cannot wear things that draw attention to myself, to my body in a way that isn't glorifying to my God.  It doesn't mean that I can't be feminine or attractive, but it does mean that I have to be subtle and modest.  I do not want to be a stumbling block to another woman's husband --and ladies please don't be a stumbling block to mine!  I want my words to be glorying and not full or gossip or slander or anything that isn't for the edification of another (Eph 4:29).
4.  I want to mother my children.  I want to shower them with love and affection and REAL attention and TIME.  I want to teach them every day, in every way, about their Heavenly Father, about unconditional love, and about respect and obedience, and laughter and beauty.
5.  Oh the list could go on and on ... I want to please Him ... to hear Him say, "Well done."  I want to be a useful vessel, a clay pot worthy of the sacrifice with which I have been bought. And when I fail, I want to HANG on to GRACE, to weep at the unjustness of the One who died for such a one as I.

Will you Spirit Walk with me?  

Will you pray that each day, I fight sleepiness and selfishness and worldliness 

and 

simply

 YIELD?

One Thousand Gifts -Fibular Hemimelia

I've been awed and inspired by this woman's words and her book, One Thousand Gifts.  I encourage you to read it and marvel at the ability God is giving her to see grace in ALL things.  Godly disciplines are learned, not merely stumbled upon, and I am submitting myself as an eager, though struggling, student.

Grace is freely given, and we stand ready to be lavished when grace comes in the form of  free flowing blood from a cross we could never bear, or a well spring of forgiveness to blot out our shame. Yet grace often remains an unwanted gift.  Instead of opening our hands to receive God's graciousness, we stubbornly hide knotted fingers behind our backs, wanting grace in a different package than the one offered, arguing that the gift is, in fact, not grace at all.

What does grace look like exactly?  Is it packaged neatly in brightly colored paper, trimmed with ribbon poised and curled?  Sometimes.  Often, though, its wrapped in sorrow, bound tightly with difficulty.  Lonely in its appearance.  Uninviting and Austere. 

If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him? -Matthew 7:11

Can you uncurl knotted fingers long enough to accept His gifts?  Can you look past your circumstance and see your way through to Him?  Ask Him to hold your hand?

If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? Or if he shall ask an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him? -Luke 11:11-13

Last night I dreamed of Ethan running, abandoned and free --the way children run when they forget parents are watching.  His face upturned to the sky, his legs free of scars and pain.  It was one of those dreams that you don't remember when you awaken.  Instead, it washes over you unexpected, details falling into remembrance.  It met me early this morning, harsh and unfair.  Where's Grace to be found in crooked limb, in painful step, in watching sister dance and brother run?  In dreams yet unrealized?

 Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book? -Psalm 56:8

Tears have a way, a Grace-like way, of bringing me running to my Father.  "Help him; heal him, " I managed to say.  "Make your Grace sufficient for him --for me."

 At school today, I recount the dream.  "Ah, you dreamed of hope," Joy Mac says.


And there it was:  GRACE.

Isn't it all Grace?  The pain that sends us to our knees.  The promises of healing.  The slow fading of scars.


By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name. -Hebrews 13:15

(Titling the blog, I, at first, purposefully omitted the words "Fibular Hemimelia" that have donned every page.  "That's not what this one's about," I thought.  That still, small voice, however, told me instead:  "That's exactly what this is about, Sindy." Grace.)

Fibular Hemimelia: Cast On/Cast Off

 For those of you following the leg lengthening journey take heart!  Casting is quite easy --especially in comparison to the fixator!  Ethan spent 27 weeks with the external fixator --13 of which were spent turning and 14 of which were spent allowing the bone to consolidate. 

The morning of fixator removal, we saw Dr. Standard only briefly and Ethan was swept off to the OR  I got to accompany him, once again, into the OR until he was under anesthesia.  The procedure took less than 2 hours --and we were soon able to visit him in the recovery room.  He was a bit groggy and complained that his leg "hurt," but the pain must have subsided quickly because after we left the hospital, he didn't need even a single dose of pain medication.  He was released from the recovery room --with instructions to keep the cast dry and no physical therapy until after we returned in a month.  By the time we made in over to the Hackerman Patz house, via his wheelchair, he was ready to attempt walking.  In fact, with his walker, he was perfectly fine walking the evening of the surgery and had very little complaints.  He was a bit shaky and unbalanced --and the walker became a necessity again for a couple of weeks.

 

Ethan kept grabbing the oxygen mask, acting like he was hyperventilating.  They let him bring it home~

 

 

 

 

His first few steps were shaky, but exciting!

 Ethan's cast came up to the top of his thigh --and was quite an orange looking monster.  It make bathing hard --we opted mainly for sponge baths as opposed to trying garbage bags in the shower --and walking a bit cumbersome and awkward, but overall, he did great!  I was most afraid of the pin sites underneath the cast causing some sort of nasty infection, but that did not happen.  What did happen, though, was that the first night following surgery, he bled through the bottom of the cast --at his heel --just a few dark blotches showed on the cast and a few drops on the bedsheets.  Dr. Standard assured us that this was normal, and this didn't happen at any other instance.

Everyone seemed excited to sign Ethan's cast --and among the signatures were a few Ravens' cheerleaders!  Yep, that's right, cheerleaders.  We met these "cheerful" purple and black clad gals on Saturday night following his surgery at a local eatery.  Although we thought such signatures were at least pretty "cool,"  Ethan was none too impressed and opted not to have a picture taken with cheerleaders!  He was quite happy, though, to oblige the Mascot!  I was quite happy myself until the cheerleaders began handing out autographed bikini shots --which I soon confiscated much to the chagrin of my thirteen- year- old who thought they'd look awesome in his locker!

Our cast experience couldn't have been better timing --thank you Lord (even though I was sure anxious to get that fixator off when I thought was best)!  Ethan had two weeks of Christmas vacation before he had to return to school and attempt the classroom and hallways.  It took a week or so for him to learn to balance and ambulate without the walker.  We were super happy that "real" clothes fit again --at least wind suits and carpenter jeans!   And we were blessed with snow which cut out about 3 days of school.  All in all, he was only in the cast for 6 school days before we made the trip back to Baltimore.

If you look closely at the cast removal shots, you can see pure terror in Ethan's eyes.  You can't hold a miniature saw blade in hand and tell a seven- year- old, "It won't hurt a bit."  Freddie and I were super anxious to see what that leg would look like --and it was actually much less gruesome than we expected.  Now, it certainly looks war torn or at least battle scarred (much befitting a soldier of Christ), but much better than clad in a metal fixator or heavy cast!  The nurse simply cut the cast down the front in two places, put in new lining, and attached velcro straps.  Voila --removable cast!

First peek at what was underneath!

 

Dr. Standards's instructions were to resume therapy and continue 2-3 days a week for the next six weeks until we return yet again for another follow up.  Ethan was more than happy to get into the shower that first night --free from fixators and casts --but I will admit that rubbing my hands over what is essentially small holes or divots in the skin turned my stomach a bit!  The old pin sites have to be rubbed out --basically when the pins are inserted into the bones, they take skin with them, and this skin can permanently adhere to the bone.  So, we're busy rubbing lotion --to help with the itching that came as soon as the cast was lifted off his leg --and to help break up the scar tissue.  We've been home only six days and things are progressing.  He is understandably reluctant to walk on his leg, but is being brave and taking steps throughout the house.  He has restarted therapy at school and at home --most of which consists of exercises to regain range of motion in his leg and ankle and to simply build back lost muscle.  His favorite thing so far ... a nice, hot tub bath ... with no parents lingering near to help wash!  I didn't think we'd coax him out the first night (after all, it had been 7 months).  The last procedure (we think) will happen this summer when the 8-plate is removed from the knee.  Hopefully, it will do its job and straighten out his leg --as far as his knock kneed problem goes.

You can see that the left tibia is now straight, but the leg is veering in the wrong direction from the knee!

I'm sure there's lots more lessons to learn and trials to come, but we're enjoying what we hope is the last few weeks of this one.  Ethan's perseverance and general attitude remains a blessing to me.  I'm looking forward to the simple things now ...  seeing him curl up on the couch, holding him tightly in my lap, watching him run...  

Fibular Hemimelia - Portrait of a "Real" Man

One day it occurred to me that in all the blogs, he hasn't had much space.

 

 He will probably more than likely kill me for the above picture, but I think it's pretty great.

Chip Ingram has a lecture series called "House or Home" in which he paints a picture of what a "real" man looks like as opposed to the not so flattering ... not so responsible ... not so godly images of men plastered in the media. I suppose it's hard to be a man ... especially in 2012.  Today, a man is defined less by his morality and more by his check book ... not to mention his appearance, his golf swing, or his female conquests.  What's a man to do?  Well, my man (I know you're grinning by now) uses the Bible as his mirror and not the world --and the result is a pretty good lookin' guy!

When he married me in 2003 after quite a fabulous, albeit whirlwind courtship, I'm not so sure he knew what he was in for!  Now don't get me wrong, he was a gentleman to be sure.  On our second date, which happened to be my birthday, he asked, "The sky's the limit; where shall we go?"  Seeing as it was my 29th birthday and I had already begun the list of things to do before old age set in (you know, 30!), I picked something from my list!  I responded, "I want to see the Mississippi River --and my only catch:  you've gotta have me home in time for Sunday School!"  After an eight hour drive to Nashville, I could just make out the River through the darkness.  What could I see for sure?  This guy in his faded baseball cap and shined up pick up truck was sweeping me right off my feet!  Four months later ... we ran away, Vegas style, and just got hitched!  (Oh, and by the way, he got me home in time for church.)

(Can you see that big grin --and the fact that he's peeking during the prayer --now that's a real man!)

Fresh from the plane and the Excalibur Wedding Chapel, life got complicated.  The Mississippi man became step-dad --and this little guy:

 

who was busy taking care of his Momma:  

came with a list of challenges from the start.

Most people, I don't image, expect the kind of  challenges we faced that first year of married life!  God knows what we can handle with Him --and what we need to experience in order to grow in His likeness --and that year certainly provided much opportunity to grow!  Six weeks after the wedding, Josh was diagnosed with a brain mass; five months after the wedding, I found out we were expecting Ethan; and eight months after the wedding, Freddie was diagnosed with the exact same brain mass as Josh.  Yep, two brain surgeries and a baby (who we would soon find out came along with quite a few challenges of his own, too)!

Now, do I think it's pretty crazy that Freddie and Josh would, within six months, both be diagnosed with a cavernous angioma?  Yes, that's an understatement and what the doctors called pretty astronomical odds.  It certainly put life into perspective and my love and need of them both was (and is) overwhelming.  More than anything, however, this time in my life was the beginning of my dependency on the Lord --and my realization that His plans, despite my finite understanding of them, are always best!

When real men get married, they do it for life; they allow those vows to resonate.  Because sometimes it's not health, it's brain tumors or fibular hemimelia; and more often than not, it's poorer rather than richer --at least in terms of finances. We have made what God calls a covenant --an unbreakable promise --like the one Christ made to return for His church --and it simply can't be broken.  I can read some of your thoughts --that's quite a risky thing to say in print --on the Internet --that's kinda like writing with a Sharpie.  Well, our marriage is written in permanent ink because that man of mine --he's first of all, a child of His --the one who established marriage, who knew it wasn't good for us to be alone.  And every day when He loves us and He forgives us, He reminds us of the definition of UNCONDITIONAL love --and He gives us the strength and courage and perseverance to love each other despite ourselves --because it's not about ourselves --it's about HIM!

It doesn't take real men long to fall in love, not only with their wives, but with their children, too.  Suddenly, improving his golf swing became replaced with improving his T-ball swing instead.

Oh, and when that little girl came along ... all that was left of his heart was simply surrendered!  Admittedly, he has the ability to take her from this little princess:

 To this tough little football fan (How 'bout them Cowboys!):

A real man has muscle --and my man has used his mightily this year.  Not only has he carried a little boy in a fixator and now in a cast, but he has certainly carried me.  He has carried me through doubt and fear and sadness and joy and never once complained of an aching back. Over the last 8 years, I have watched him carry the weight of a youth ministry at church --and at home. I've listened to him read the Bible to our children and other people's children too many times to count and heard countless prayers in a youth filled church classroom and in our children's small bedrooms, too.   That's right --real men pray; real men study; real men repent; real men recognize their need for help from the only One who can fill them with strength so that they, in turn, can strengthen their wives and children, too!

If you haven't figured it out yet, I love this man.  I prayed for him specifically --for a man who would first love God and then love me and Josh (we were a package deal)!   He has been with me from this:

  

to this:

to this today:

(I need to remind him of the grin from the wedding picture!)

 If you are blessed enough to have a real man, thank God for him, encourage your sons to be like him, stop nagging him and start supporting him through submission, pray for him --for he will stand before God one day to give an account of the way he's directed your family.  Chip Ingram said that when he was a child, his heroes were firemen and policemen and doctors --men who did heroic deeds and saved lives.  Today, our boys idolize rock stars and basketball players --men who've figured out how to get paid for playing well.  My boys, however, have a hero in the house --and it's not on the television.  He's God's Warrior, a husband, a father, a son, a son-in-law, a brother, an uncle, a teacher, a friend, a REAL MAN! (now be careful ladies, he's mine!)

Fibular Hemimelia: It's all about Perspective

PERSPECTIVE -
 n.

1.

a. A view or vista.

b. A mental view or outlook: "It is useful occasionally to look at the past to gain a perspective on the present" (Fabian Linden).

2. The appearance of objects in depth as perceived by normal binocular vision.

3.

a. The relationship of aspects of a subject to each other and to a whole: a perspective of history; a need to view the problem in the proper perspective.

b. Subjective evaluation of relative significance; a point of view: the perspective of the displaced homemaker.

c. The ability to perceive things in their actual interrelations or comparative importance: tried to keep my perspective throughout the crisis.

4. The technique of representing three-dimensional objects and depth relationships on a two-dimensional surface

Let's stick with 1 b.  today, shall we?

The nice thing about a blog is that it is also a chronicle.  That is, today I reread entries from before the lengthening surgery and am amazed at how quickly time has passed and how the events of this year have helped shaped my perspective on life.

Expecting parents typically respond to the question, "Do you want a boy or a girl?" with this answer:  "I don't care, as long as it's healthy."  Well, what if the baby you deliver is a perfectly beautiful baby boy with ten fingers and nine toes?  You change your perspective.  You realize that the answer to the question probably should be that you want God's will ... along with His strength to handle His will!  Of course we all want healthy children, that's not what I'm saying at all, but more than that, I want to learn what He has to teach me through my children, and I want them to learn what He has to teach them through the circumstances that he allows.

Yesterday, Emily knocked a pretty hefty glass bowl off of a china cabinet and onto her leg, slicing her skin just at the knee.  Needless to say, she was hysterical.  The more hysterical child, however, was the little boy in the thigh high orange cast, lying face down on the coach, screaming in tears at the sight of his sister hurt.  Now, from my perspective, I didn't know what to cry about more... Emily's bleeding leg or Ethan's bleeding heart!  This little boy couldn't have handled watching his sister endure what he has endured for the last six months, and I'm sure the Lord took that into consideration when He perfectly formed these babies in my womb.

My perspective in August, when school started and therapy was quite painful for Ethan and watching his friends play on the playground without him was even more painful for both of us, was one of wishing we had never started this process!  Those feelings come, I guess, when we "lose" perspective.  What does that mean exactly?  I suppose it means that we focus on the "now" -- today, and lose sight of the bigger picture.  That's what happens when we buy Christmas presents that we cannot afford and our children really never asked for, when we fuss at our husbands about their balled up socks on the floor, when we cry that we're never going to lose those last 10 pounds.  We forget that Christmas is about Christ, marriage is about sacrifice, and our bodies are holy temples, intricately and perfectly designed.

This past year, the Lord has helped me maintain a long range perspective ... He has kept me wondering what plans He has for Ethan.  How these months of perseverance will serve him later on ... how these months of perseverance will serve me ... and Freddie, and Josh, and Emily as well.  I don't know that answer, but one day I will.  Someone once described our lives as a tapestry .... what we see is the back of the artwork, tangles of string and color.  What He sees is the flip-side -- a beautiful, complete picture.  One day we will see that, too.  Sometimes, he allows us to see glimpses of  His glory, His working out pieces in the design, His delicate weaving of threads.  How beautifully He crafts our lives!  What we need is perspective ... and patience ... as He works.

The picture below is my favorite of all the "fixator/surgery" pictures.  And, it wasn't taken by me.  It was taken by Ethan ... and showcases what he has seen for the last several months ... life from his perspective.  When I found this in the pictures file on my phone, I was speechless for a few moments because no matter how much we love someone, we cannot truly know what they are experiencing.

The next picture leaves me speechless as well ... simply because He does know exactly what we all experience.  This difficult glimpse at those few moments that changed history ... including me ... puts all things into perspective.  When I surrendered at the cross, I also surrendered my rights to doubt His love for me ... to doubt His timing ... to doubt His mercy ... to doubt His plan.  Oh Lord Jesus, keep molding me to be more like you, use my circumstance, my children ... to complete this work You have begun in me.

Fibular Hemimelia -Miracles and Thanksgiving

With it being November and all and reading all the Facebook thankful lists, I thought I'd try my hand at a thankful blog.  The problem is that once I started naming my blessings one by one, I have a tendency to get carried away; therefore, I'm limiting my list.  Be patient ... this should be a good post!


 After Josh was born by C-section, six weeks earlier than expected ... and breech, I quickly added his middle name ... Caleb ... in honor of the two biblical brothers who made it through the wilderness to see the Promised Land.  I knew there was "fight" in that 4 lb, 12 oz cotton haired boy ... and I was right.  Eight years ago, when I drove him to the E.R. to find out why his head would not quit hurting, expecting to hear that he had a virus or another ear infection (he had tubes in his ears 5 times!), nothing could have prepared me for the words uttered by the physician on call.  "Good thing we did a CT scan, " she said, a bit too triumphantly. "He has a mass on his brain."  My mom says she'll never forget that phone call. The one I made from the parking lot screaming in tears, repeating the words I had just heard.  ... After meeting with a neurosurgeon that night at midnight and quickly scheduling brain surgery, I was left in shock and fear.  "Where was my God," I questioned.  "Why did he pick my child?"  He showed up soon enough ... even before the operation began.  The morning of surgery, the anesthesiologists at the hospital refused to aid in the surgery.  Apparently, brain surgery on a child had never been performed at that hospital ... or at least not in the last 10 years.  Their refusal lead us on to a different, much more equipped hospital, where Josh had surgery and emerged unscathed without any residual effects. Oh, how my heart sings in praise of my God.  Why did He intervene?  Why did He extend such mercy and grace?  What must He have in store for my now 13 year old blonde headed boy? Oh how I thank Him.

After giving birth to two boys, how thankful I was for a pink nursery, a pink receiving blanket, a little pink pacifier, and a 6 lb, 15 oz  baby girl!  Emily's birth story is no less miraculous than Josh's.  Like her much older brother, Emily was breech; therefore, a C-section was scheduled.  Unfortunately, I went into labor before the scheduled date.  After checking into the hospital, I waited in a room for a delivery OR to open.  I waited too long.  By the time the OR was ready and a nurse finally returned to check on me, my labor had progressed rapidly.  In fact, I was at a 10 (meaning ready to deliver), screaming in pain, thinking I would vomit because of the intensity of the contractions.  Without as much as a Tylenol (the nurses insisted I wait until I got to the OR for an epidural), I lie in that hospital bed as my uterus tore down both sides. After the C-section was finally performed, my mom watched as blood was suctioned from Emily's mouth.  Had she been in utero much longer, she could have died, for as my uterus was filling with blood, so was her tiny body.  After much suturing and two blood transfusions, my uterus was salvaged, but my mind was left in need of a great deal of healing.  I'm not sure where the greater miracle occurred ... my life being saved from such a great loss of blood, Emily's first breath from clear lungs, or God pulling me from the darkness that consumed my heart for months following the delivery.  Oh, how my heart sings in praise of my God.  Why did He intervene?  Why did He extend such mercy and grace?  Oh how I am thankful to the One who gave me my beautiful girl to mother here on earth ... and gave me back my life after losing it in the dismal regions of my mind.  What must He have in store for my now 5 year old blonde haired girl ... and her mother?

 What can I say about Ethan's story that hasn't already been said?  I hope my thankfulness for God's provision exudes from the pages of the blog, but there is an untold story ... so read on.  Many days in Baltimore, I felt hopeless only to come home from therapy and check the little Blue's Clues Mailbox waiting by the stairs.  More often than not, a card would be waiting.  I tear up now at the thought.  A verse would be inside the card ... perhaps something about perseverance or God's watchful hand ... and I would smile again.  Sometimes, a coloring book or stickers greeted Ethan and Emily and made a difficult day a brighter one.  Their favorite gift?  Five dollar McDonald's cards they could swipe at the register all by themselves.  Some days, Joy Mac or my bff would post a comment to the blog and I would feel heard and loved.  Ethan's greatest well wisher at the church we attended was an elderly lady who eased up the aisle with the aide of a walker much like Ethan's.  Each Sunday she never failed to ask Ethan to race her 70 year old self to the door on our way out.  In good fun, she presented him with a horn for his walker ... to match the one on hers!  Before he graduated to the walker, the quilting ladies from the church gave him a beautiful, patriotic themed quilt for use in his wheelchair.  And those same ladies were the first to Praise God the first morning he walked in on his own two feet!  May God teach us all the power of a simple word or gift of kindness!  When we returned from Baltimore the cards stopped, the blog posts slowed, and life returned to a sense of normalcy.  I craved the kindness.  One day Ethan came home from first grade with a multicolored afghan given to him by a fellow classmate.  "She said it was a prayer cloth," Ethan said.  "And when I asked her what that was, she said that her grandmother had make it for me and that her church had prayed over it for me."  Kindness returned.  Now, do I believe that this small afghan holds power? No, but I do believe in the power of the One this grandmother and her church petitioned on behalf of my son.  What greater gift can you receive than the gift of prayer -especially the gift of prayer for your child.  The miracle continues ... At school, I shared Ethan's prayer shawl story with my friend Joy Mac who had endured difficulties of her own this past year.  I shared my concern that this family may never know how they had touched my heart.  How my heart sang to my God who had laid my child on their hearts.  The following Sunday at her church, Joy Mac, too received a prayer shawl, given prayerfully in love that she might enjoy the fruits of a healthy pregnancy.  Joy relay Ethan's story to the gift giver and how my heart was touched as was her own.  The gift giver's eyes began to fill with tears, for her family had made not only Joy's quilt, but Ethan's as well.  This family heard my heart felt thanks that morning ... even though I have yet to meet them face to face.  This grandmother who crocheted Ethan's blanket was going through her own battle.  In fact, she had fallen and injured her foot and ankle so badly that she was wheelchair bound.  As she began to question why God allowed this to happen, perhaps her granddaughter thought of the little boy in her first grade class who sat in his wheelchair, desiring to run and play with his classmates, and learning to accept life's challenges and God's will.  Please remember that I cried when Ethan was moved to this first grade classroom away from most of his little friends.  Ethan's best buddy in this class, Noah, is a little boy who struggles with Charge Syndrome ... who has hearing difficulties and cannot speak because of a trachea.  I commented to his mother that if Jesus came back their classroom is where I wanted to be.  I want to see the lame walk, the deaf hear, and the closed mouth speak!Oh God, how you knew Noah needed Ethan to be his friend ... to see another face challenges like him each day.  How you knew this grandmother would need to hear about Ethan's struggles! From her wheelchair she is serving the Lord, and her service to my son gave me the chance to glory in His greatness, in his Omnipotence!  What a mighty God!  Oh how my heart sings in praise of my God.  Why did He intervene?  Why did He extend such mercy and grace?  What must he have in story for my now 7 year old beautiful boy ... and for Noah ... and this grandmother? Oh, how I thank Him.

One of my newest, favorite songs:  "Someone Worth Dying For" ... includes these lyrics:

I wanna believe that
I'm not just some wandering soul
That you don't see and you don't know
Yeah I wanna believe, Jesus help me believe that I
Am someone worth dying for..

Oh, how most of all, I'm thankful that I'm not a wondering soul ... that my God sees me ... and that most of all, He considered me worth dying for.