An open letter to my child in heaven...

Its been some time since I blogged but yesterday words began to pour like the great flood and I have found them healing me as the came. So, I'm gonna write as it comes and I hope that you can find some healing in this too..For whatever ails you in this short life. 

Yesterday I wrote some hard honest letters to people that I have lost along this road. My last letter was to the child I miscarried in September 2012. I wrote that child one letter when I first found I was pregnant, and one more when the bleeding started. I begged them to stay within me...But we know that was pointless. The aimless cries of a mother in agony. So I wrote a final letter (because I'm not going to be one of those people who goes kuku by writing letters to deceased people all the time). 

I share it with you because we have all lost something and have all grieved deeply for someone or something. As I did in my first post, I recommit to being as real as I can. My love to you all!

Dear Child of Mine,

I’d like to believe you were a boy but odds are you weren’t. But I’m naming you Zeal (hopefully your dad will agree…He did!). I think it’s a perfect name either way and hopefully all your heavenly friends will think it’s pretty sharp. You rocked my world and changed me in weeks the way waters carve lines in the rocks over hundreds of years. You were radical and I needed (need) that change. I would never have chosen it but I needed it. 

My grief has been like a seed. It falls in the soil of your heart without your permission. When the bad thing happens a flower in the field of your heart dies and it drops its seeds. Some blow away with the winds of time. But some take root. Your silent tears water them and before you know it, you have an underground system of roots belonging to grief. In most respects I am very in touch with myself. But no one wants to be angry or sad so I had rejected them. I had said, “Go away from me!” and dusted them from my shoulders like an old cobweb. It was silliness and futile but I tried. Did I mention grief is like a nasty stain??? You can’t merely dust it off. You must wash it repeatedly and possibly use some oxy-clean. Unfortunately there is no spiritual oxy-clean so there you have it. Life goes on and with each situation you find that over time the grief stain lessens. That is if you dealt with it. But remember I didn’t.

So, here I am with a grief tree growing in my heart. You can call an apple tree a pear tree or an orange tree. But really, it is still an apple tree. So it is with a grief tree. You can call it whatever you like or nothing at all. It doesn’t matter. It’s there.

Sweet child, you were the beginning of my grief tree. And just because of that I think it’s lovely because it grew from you. Grief is not a bad thing. Well at least not to me. Depression is the evil twin of grief…but grief itself is normal and natural. So I tell myself.  (I shall call it my Zeal Tree). And the reason I think grief to be good and not bad for me is that it has drawn me closer to our Maker. To the one who breathes life into all my leaves and waters me when I’m thirsty so that I grow and thrive.

And I do grow and thrive even in the midst of this time. His words say that better is the unborn baby. And in the past months I will say that you haven’t missed out on too much when it comes to what others undergone. For that reason only am I thankful you are there and not here.

Now, onto something completely unrelated. The idea that I would have no Abaleen if you hadn’t gone. I can’t conceive that because she is all I know in the flesh. I can’t think “I’m glad I have her and not you”. Or  “I wish I had you and never her”. That’s absurdity. So, I cherish every moment with her because that is a moment I have with her that I never had with you. And I thank God that He gave me her even though I lost you. I thank him that this life is a breath and even now in His mind we are all together in an eternity of something I can’t comprehend…But I know you’ll be there and I’ll be there and our Maker.

One day I’ll “hold” you… and I will be able to love you in that moment without any grief because thankfully there is an end to this madness. And passing from life to LIFE uproots all the trees in my heart and lays down a new forest of only Goodness and Joy and Peace. I don’t know what your Home is like. Can you see me? Do you watch us? Do you laugh when I’m silly? Do you watch me worship and know that it’s only the tip of the iceberg? You know so many mysteries I can’t fathom.

It’s not fair that a mother should nurture a child even for a day that she would never be able to hold and nuzzle and smell and kiss. It’s not fair that I didn’t receive your first smile or glean from you your first giggle. It’s torture that I don’t know if you were my one true son. It’s crazy that I must wait to know if you were the one who took after your Daddy. (Who, by the way, is the most amazing man I know).

In my last letter to you I begged you not to go. But in this letter, I leave you in better spirits Zeal. You are in way better hands than mine. (After four children I realize children living past age 5 is a sheer miracle in and of itself.) I give myself fully to the shade of this grief tree. In it I find the comfort of my Maker in ways I would have never known otherwise. Your life was not a waste. It has been used for my good over and over and over… And therefore the good my children and my husband and our church and my grandchildren and so on. Your tiny formless body has had a great impact. The fruit of your life grows with in mine.

Zeal, you have all my love. 

Things I gotta say...

There have been many times when I have felt guilty over the fact that my fertility resembles that of a rabbit. I know so many precious couples who long for a child and here we are popping them out like gumballs from a machine. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I do. I've often pondered between me and God: why did you choose us for this easy path and others for a hard one? I have even envied the perspective that people who have had to wait have gained from their experiences. I'll be honest. I've not always had the best attitude upon first finding out about a child growing with in me. Don't get me wrong, I love (LOVE) our girls. But there were days when I know I don't fully appreciate what I have, because the stress of life pushes away perspective. And I have to fight for it sometimes. I guess we are all guilty of that, but it still bothers me about myself.

When I got pregnant with Irie, Jeremiah and I had been married 2 weeks. I was shell shocked. Yes, we knew where babies came from, but didn't expect that we'd accomplish it so quickly. With Scarlet, I was happy. With Clara, I was in denial. With sweet baby #4, I was at peace. But that child didn't thrive and was gone in the proverbial "blink of an eye". I grieved and experienced a sadness I would never wish on anyone. And, if I hadn't gotten pregnant again immediately then I know I'd still be swimming in a pool of despair on some level.

So, here I am, carrying our precious baby #5 (which for obvious purposes will always be referred to as our 4th child). I would love to lie and say that after a miscarriage I've had a wonderful positive attitude about everything I've experienced in this first trimester. I try not to lie so I'll just say that I still struggle for perspective. The past 3 months have been incredibly trying and emotional and just plain crazy sometimes. I know that a miscarriage is not from God. However, I know God and I know He promises to use everything for my good...Even the horrible things that Satan would use to destroy me. And that is just what God has done. He met me in my sadness and I felt Him near to me. He changed my heart and made me more like Him. He gave me another child (and there was a part of my heart that feared I wouldn't have another). He has given me grace after grace after grace to live and not just merely be alive. I am thankful that God doesn't just have healing for us, but also has Himself for us.

I am 11 weeks and 3 days pregnant with this baby. We would like a boy :) 

Grey Hairs and Wheel Chairs...

So, for awhile now I've been wanting to start branching out in my personal ministries. Which can be rather hard considering the mommy demand in my home is at an all time high. But, I don't believe children are meant to be an excuse so I have finally gone forward with something God has put on my heart for many years...And this is done with many thanks to my husband, who, in addition to starting 3 new jobs at one time, is taking Tuesday mornings off to watch our girls so I can live out the Gospel in a new way that God has put on my heart. (I love my Jeremiah.)

Today was my first day as a volunteer at a local nursing home, Ross Memorial Heath Care Center! My basic duties are to help wheel the residents from their rooms to the activity room, sit with them while the take part, or visit other residents in their rooms, and then help wheel them out. Originally I was supposed to do Friday mornings until I realized I had double booked myself. Praise God that He loves to show up in the details...Guess what the activity is every Tuesday when I'm there?? It's called "Sounds of Praise". A pianist comes in and plays and sings old hymns and an elderly man brings some God centered stories and devotions. As you all should know, singing old hymns to a piano is right up my southern Baptist-raised alley :) I got to sing, and loudly at that (hehe). The sweet woman, Annie, next to me was my own personal fan club and whenever a break presented itself she exclaimed "my, aren't you good...can you come home with me and sing to my Mommy and Daddy?". Though, she is obviously suffering from dementia, she was sincere all the same.

So, this is what I get to do every Tuesday morning. I get to serve these sweet people, and smile at them. Hold their hands and listen to them. Sing for them. It really is amazing how cool our God is! I knew I'd enjoy, but now I'm going to love it. And eventually I'll probably get to lead a devotion and do a musical "special" :) And as a side note, usually I am nervous about starting something new just because it is foreign...But I wasn't this morning. It was real nice. And as an additional side note, this is something I can bring Irie (my 3.5 year old) along with me to. She will love showing off her dance skills for them.

What has God been putting on your heart that you've been putting off for a million different reasons??? Perhaps, its just not time yet. But...maybe it is! Hey, if I can fit it in, maybe you can too :)

Dreams are a wish our hearts make...

I've been thinking about dreams. Not the kind you have when you sleep (though I've plenty enough strange ones to devote a whole blog to). I've been thinking about dreams, as in the things we desire most in life, the things we aspire to do and become, the things we dare to think of though we know it may never happen. The reason that this is noteworthy is because by nature, I am not much of a dreamer. I tend to err on the side of being a realist, and a realist isn't one for dreaming much. However. since I've been married to a magnificent dreamer for four years now, I think he's having an effect on me. I know this to be true because I've been dreaming some magnificent dreams myself. When I'm lying in bed at night, my mind wanders far from me...And when I wake up in the morning to nurse Clara I have trouble falling back asleep thinking on such dreams. I don't know why I've never been a dreamer, because despite the lack of sleep its causing me, it's quite the thrill! I suppose it has seemed so easy to see dreams may never come to be, than to take the time to imagine if they did. I was on the way to church this morning and heard this line in a song "I've heard of dreams that move the mountains"...And then I was thinking on our beloved Martin Luther King, Jr., who, as we all know, had a dream. I've been pondering that if more people were dreamers, then maybe we'd have a greater impact on the world. Because, as for me, the more I think about my dreams the more I start to realize they aren't so far fetched...Especially since I serve such a mighty God!

So, this may not come as much of a surprise, but there is really only one thing I spend most of my time dreaming of (though I do dream of other things as well).... I dream of moving to Jamaica and planting a church. Oh my, every time I think I'm going to get it out of my system, I don't. Lately, I can close my eyes and picture Jeremiah and I ministering together. I can picture myself walking with the girls down the road to visit people. I can see the sunrises and sunsets and I can smell the freedom and excitement in the air as people start walking with God. It makes my heart beat faster and my eyes tear up. I dream of it so intensely. Usually I dream and then the realist within starts talking to me...It reminds me that my husband is not quite on board with all that, and that you need money, and that though life is simpler there, you are not afforded many of the conveniences you are here. And of the dangers to my children and that I'd leave my family behind. But lately, I've listened to the realist with wisdom and acknowledge these obstacles. I realize that my dream may never happen. God may call someone else's family to go there and they may plant a church. God may only use my prayers instead of my body. If that's the case then I'll just have to wonder why I was given this passion from afar, but I'll be okay. But, what if it is me and my family that gets to go!? What if my whole destiny depends on my ability to keep dreaming? To dream and keep my passion burning deep so that when the time comes I'm ready?

I think on Martin Luther King, Jr. and wonder where our nation would be if he had stopped dreaming? He changed a NATION for crying out loud! His dream was impossibly big and huge and hard, but it was the heart of God inspiring it with in him! I dream of changing a nation and pray that I could be devoted to my dream as he was his.

So I challenge you with this...let yourself dream! Dream of freedoms won, and nations released. Dream of your children following God to the ends of our earth and your children's children after them. Dream of your marriage causing envy in all those around you because the love that you share is so tangible. Dream of your families being reconciled and those that are unreachable being reached. Dream big dreams and small dreams...Outrageous dreams and down right silly dreams. Dream with faith that God CAN do it, even if He never chooses to. As Beth Moore so boldy puts it: "If I err, let it be on the side of faith!"

I see now, in our own way, we are all called to dream. We dream God's dreams and in pursuing them bring the Kingdom on earth.

Magic Mirror on the Wall...

Let me start this with a boring random fact...I use to think the mirror in Snow White was addressed as "mirror mirror on the wall", when in fact, it is "magic mirror on the wall". Hhhhmmmm. Pointless, I know :)

But on to my real thoughts. Last week I reposted a blog from last year titled "Beauty is Fleeting". Never in my life have I struggled so much with my physical image as I have the past few months. So, I had to go back and reread what God spoke to me last year...and reread and reread. Well, you get the point, I read it about 5 or 6 times. And guess what? It ministered to me! And guess what else?! I'm still struggling.

I'm struggling with my image and wasting my precious thoughts on how my body looks. And I'm frustrated that I'm struggling. And I'm frustrated that I'm frustrated. Eh.

I've been contemplating why I'm struggling and I've come to a few conclusions:

1. I've never been a looker, but I've always been completely at home with the way my body looks. Even after the first two children. Even back when I was flat as a board and skinny as a pole. Even when I gained a little weight my senior year. And especially when I was an in-shape hot momma before our wedding :) That is, I've always been until now. I've never even remotely disliked the way I look until now.

2. I've never had to work out to look good. Since I've always been comfortable in my own skin, I've always just worked out for the sake of it and because I enjoy it. I don't know if I have the diligence to work out with a goal. And for what? Because for all I know six months from now I might be pregnant again! (Not that that is my goal, but we all know my track record is bit shady in the not being pregnant area.)

3. My body has changed a lot in the past 4 years. And especially since my much desired VBAC. I'm like a freaking bear that keeps going in and out of hibernation. I don't know if that makes sense to you but it does to me. Not only have I much "milk fat" (that is what I have termed the additional weight women put on to later on give back to their baby via nursing)...I have these hips that won't even unwiden and a body that has endured 3 pregnancies. Stretch marks, saggy parts, a "plump" tush, and thighs that chafe in this wonderful Georgia heat. A head of hair that is bound to start molting any day now. A knee that wouldn't allow me to run it all off, and an Achilles tendon is acting up.

4. I have changed A LOT in the past four years. I can barely remember I life post kids. Getting married changed me. And every time I get pregnant I change. And every time I give birth I change. The church next to our house had a meeting advertised on its sign for "borderline personality disorders". I thought maybe I should go because its seems I'm always on the borderline or becoming someone else!

So to sum it all up. I don't look in the mirror and recognize myself. I don't look inside myself and recognize myself. I know that what I see hasn't a thing to do with my insides, and vice verse.

I'd like to tell you and myself that the mirror doesn't matter to me, but it does. Frankly, I don't give a rip what other people look at me and see (well, might give a small rip), but I care what I see. I want to be happy with the person I see. And I wish it weren't so hard to get from the place I'm at now to where I want to be.

Here I am, learning to relove the body I'm in. To love it because it is the way it is because I have been blessed with 3 amazing little booger heads. To love it because I am able to bear life. To love it because I bear the marks of motherhood. To love it because if I don't I'm vain and shallow and without perspective and those are three things I never want to be.

Changing this world...

Jeremiah and I are watching this documentary called "The Human Experience". It's really cool. It got me thinking about my first visit to Jamaica when I was 15. We went to a handicapped orphanage up in the mountains called Westhaven. When I say handicapped you might think of someone in a wheel chair or someone with Down's Syndrome. There are children there with those conditions, but there are also children who are 18 years old but the size of a 1 year old... Children who are shriveled and stunted, molded into contortions from bones that are fused together. Children who are bedridden for life. They are there because their parents saw them at birth and rejected them. I think if many of them were born in America they could have been a lot better off due to available physical therapies and such. But then I also think that in America we have so many tests and technologies available to predict such conditions before children are born that if that child had been conceived here most parents would have aborted them before they were born. It makes me sigh. It makes me sigh a big, long, and deep sigh.

And then I remember their smiles. :) The first time I went I just cried uncontrollably. I cried and to this day I still don't quite understand why. Well for the obvious reasons that these children are so sweet and beautiful and their parents gave them up. But it was more than that. It was the horrible state of humanity and the sheltered lives we lead. It was holding a sweet girl names Janelle who was bed ridden and stuck in one shape and seeing her smile at me. It was the joy they gave me, a joy that rattled my world. And I was the one who was there to minister to them!

I can trace a shift in my world view back to that first trip, back to that orphanage. God changed my life on that trip. He opened my eyes and stirred my soul for someone other than me. And this was done through children that were the scum of the earth, children that couldn't walk or talk or feed themselves.

So, I'm watching this documentary yesterday thinking about how those sweet kids changed me. And I'm left with the dreadful truth: that most of us (including myself) aren't living up to our potential. If those kids could be used to alter my life, how much more should I be altering lives? Not because I'm better than them because I'm not handicapped. But because I'm NOT handicapped. Because I can talk and walk and speak and say deep things and go places. Not to mention all the other gifts I've been given in abundance. I've nothing limiting me.

That's all.

Life Is a Treadmill

Life is a Treadmill.

And it is on a high speed.

I.E. If you are not moving your feet forward, then you are flying backwards!

Have you ever watched a video where someone was distracted on a treadmill and FLEW backwards off into a wall? I have. And this image is precisely what God reminded me of when I was thinking about how I have been slacking off in a few areas. What a wake up call! Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that if I slack a little, it is equivalent to me just standing still, taking a break, catching my breath. In reality, my choices are making me backtrack (the Baptist in me is tempted to say "backslide" but that sounds too dramatic!).


Let's be honest, I have a lot of good excuses for dropping the ball. But excuses is all they are. What I need are actual reasons for dropping the ball in order to justify my behavior and I've found, upon self examination, that all my reasons are selfish.

So, here's to picking myself and my pride up off the floor, hoping no one saw me fly off the treadmill, and praying I am not injured so I can jump back on and keep going! ...Metaphorically speaking of course! :)