Growing a Boy: I "just" want to be his mom.

As you can imagine, this school year started with many complexities. My plate is crowded with obligations and responsibilities. Does my son have a disability? Yes. Does he need different scholastic accommodations than traditional students? Yes. Does he require therapy within and outside of the school day? Yes! Do I have other children, a job, and a household to run? Yes. However, there needs to be a surrender in the middle of the chaos.  As our family falls into somewhat of a rhythm of the school year, I find myself anxious. I am asking myself questions like:

o   Am I pushing too hard for supports/accommodations?

o   Is it worth disrupting my son's school day for therapy? (and all the make-up work!)

o   When are too many resources/therapies just that…too many?

o   Do I let him grow “as is” or intervene?

 

I find that my phone is tethered to my side during the school day, “just in case” the school calls to tell me that my son had a seizure or something even more catastrophic. Is this a healthy way to live? No.

 

What if I am "just" his mom? What if I fully surrendered my son to the Lord? I realize that my thoughts and feelings are based on fear and worry. When I live here, life and joy are taken from me.  How, then, do you reconcile the practical everyday questions with the life of surrender and trust? 

In all honesty, I don't want to mess this up...for my son or for myself. I don't want to be so wrecked that I walk around with a perpetual lump in my throat, a pit in my stomach, and a doom cloud floating over my head. Sadly, this is how the days have felt recently. God, just take my anxious thoughts. Allow me to surrender. Can I "just" be my son's mom? Can I stop being an advocate for him? 

In this, I pray for wisdom. I pray for healing. The trauma of his birth just keeps seeping in. I can't help but remember our son fighting for his little life at just days old...the pumps, the tubes, the medications...the many unknowns. I do not want to live a life dictated by the past. My son is alive. That should be enough, right? But the wounds are deep. Life is fragile. The mind is fickle. Help me, Lord. Take control over my heart, mind, and soul. You be the one that fills me, Lord. You be the one to answer the many questions I have. You grow him because today.... today, I "just" want to be his mom.

 

Growing a boy: Triumph

It has been 24-hours since our sweet youngest experienced his "epic" day in hospital-land, 45 minutes away. He enjoyed the special "just with Dad" time and the one-on-one attention from multiple providers (playing peek-a-boo with them as the providers discussed his progress). The day was filled with shuffling from this appointment to this meeting to that scan. It went seamlessly. Our family continues to be impressed with the level of care, attention to detail, honest discussions, and the integration of services we receive on behalf of our son.

So, here is the news:

• Chest x-ray----- CLEAR
• Echocardiogram ---- CLEAR
• Lung Capacity ---- GROWING
• Surgical site ---- UNCHANGED
• Overall development ---- ON TARGET

The team of providers was BEYOND thrilled with our boy, almost surprised at how well he is doing considering his experiences in that first month of life and the two new diagnoses in February. We are thrilled too.

I thank the Lord for the work HE has done in Oliver. God has been faithful to direct us as parents and we willingly submit and obey-- PT--YES....OT---OK! "Special" Preschool--- SURE! Because of God's wisdom and our many "yeses," our son is thriving. Yet, we do not take this for granted. We know that this sweet boy belongs to the Lord. We pray for and will accept God's will for our son.

We will be reunited with the team of amazing providers again (minus the echocardiogram) in 18-months. Praying for another amazing report.

Thank you for joining us in prayer and rejoicing with us.

Growing a boy: I'm not celebrating

I am not celebrating! I have given myself permission.

After all the definition of celebrating is "acknowledging a significant or happy day or event with a social gathering or enjoyable activity."

But do all "significant" days really need to be remembered, celebrated?

No, they do not.

I am coming to terms with this.

Over the last two years with Oliver, we have had many significant events and happy moments (and a few not so happy moments). Many of these significant days, happy days even, are joined with hard moments, tough decisions and feelings of loss.

Initial, I wanted to celebrate ALL of them...the day he was transferred to Seattle Children's, his surgery day, the first day I kissed him, the first day I held him, the day his breathing tube was removed, the first holiday we were all together, his transfer day (back to Tacoma), and his homecoming day (just to name a few).  The last two April's I have remembered and recounted every detail from my initial hospitalization to everything listed above to his "fight" today. I realized that I don't need to hold on to these things, these "icky" emotions of these milestones.

I need to take the reminders off my calendar. I need to let go and be present with him and our family. For me, it is unhealthy to dwell on the hardships of his birth and months thereafter. Dwelling on these hardships did not promote healing but rather the opposite. It became my focus, shifting my mood to sadness and anxiety. It closed my eyes to the glories right in front of me (and what glories they are!).

I am not saying that it is wrong to remember...that is why I have about 3-4 Shutterfly books outlining the entire story of our boy. Isn't that enough? The timeline is outlined in such detail. Almost every day of the first two months of his life are recorded. Pictures of his first year of life are thoughtfully arranged. Because of this, my mind no longer needs to dwell on these things. I do not need to keep this information in the forefront of my mind any more (because it is already recorded!).

"Why" is the question that kept popping up in my mind...why did I feel the need to keep these moments, these milestones so close to my heart? Then I realized, putting the puzzle pieces together of my own life. When I was an infant, I had a few surgeries too: one for my back to remove some type of abnormal growth and another which enabled me to see. That is all I know. I don't know many of the details of the things that happened to my body. The technology was different when I was born too.  With many family moves, I am sure these records were lost along the way. I have lingering questions about the surgeries I had as a child. In some ways I think I have been overcompensating for the lack of knowledge of my past by trying to capture every fact, every moment and every "level"of our sweet son. Will he care about these details? I have no idea. That shouldn't be the point. As his mom, I have tried (too hard) to remember these details for him...this is a burden that I shouldn't carry anymore. The documentation is there. I have stacks of his medical records. I have a box full of important artifacts, all labeled in case he is curious and the ample supply of digital scrapbooks.

And that. is. that.

I am releasing myself from the drive to remember, this desire to want to celebrate. Instead, I CHOOSE to live NOW...to see him as he is and not how he was (despite his on going therapy). His birth should not define me or him.

It has taken two years to come to this point. It has taken many conversations, some counseling sessions, blogging and even "celebrations" to come to terms with this. It feels good. As a family, we have decided to have "family day" around the day of his surgery -- not to celebrate his surgery but to celebrate the fact that we are a family of five. We are healthy and we are together (and that is enough!).

Grief, loss and tragedy are "funny" things...no one can tell you, really, how to handle them (even if you ask, everyone has an opinion). The best thing to do is to allow yourself to go through the process, seek help, talk about it and trust your instinct on what feels right to "celebrate" and what does not. It is okay to give yourself permission not to talk about it too (not in a "I don't want to deal with it" way but rather in a "I have moved on and don't need to keep bringing it up" way). So....I **think** this concludes my blog series "Growing a boy." That is not to say, I won't every talk about this super-huge and traumatic life event again, but it is to say that I am moving on. I am healing. I have discovered new things about myself through this process. I have learned new things about God. I have learned new things about how to better serve my community because of this experience. I have a deeper understanding and sensitivity with others who have also dealt (or are dealing) with challenging events with children or family members. For all of these reasons, I am grateful for this experience. Our sweet son has allowed me to learn so much about myself and those around me and now....and now I move forward.

Thank you all for your love and support during this long, hard two year (and ongoing) adventure of parenting a preemie baby (who is now a VERY active and fierce toddler). Thank you for listening, for your words of encouragement and your practical support. Praise be to God for all He has done in our midst. A chapter closed...finally. Looking forward to the many more to come.

Maranatha. 

Growing a boy: Two Years Later

Almost two years have passed since that fated day of our youngest child's birth. This time of year, March leading into April, still holds many emotions for me. I am told that the strong emotions from such a tragic event will ease with each passing year but to-date it still feels fresh.

My mind is flooded with the physical pain my body endured two-years ago (the water-balloon in my tummy that held my sick little boy). I remember the contractions, the weight of the fluid, waddling because of the weight, hardly being able to stand. I remember being admitted to the hospital for the first time: prepping my spring quarter classes from the hospital bed and the relief from the jetted bathtub in the room. I remember being discharged after receiving steroid shots for my unborn baby's lungs and the medication that was suppose to stop my heavy contractions. I remember still not knowing what was wrong with my boy.

Laying on the couch back home, coming to terms with that fact that I would most likely deliver a "NICU baby." The worst though, was the re-admission into the hospital...being told I would not leave until my baby was born (and the separation this would cause between me and my other two children). The words, "Your son has some type of birth defect but we just don't know what it is" still burn in my mind. The nurses who would have to "sit cozy" with me for an hour at a time just to get a heart reading on my son and the final decision....the words, "your son has 50/50 percent of survival." Seriously, what do you do with those words? They still effect me today. I won't even go into the emotions of when his cord was cut and his chances of survive dropped to 1% or less...oh, yeah...and the unplanned trip 45-mintues North my son took (with daddy) via ambulance while I had to stay put and the decision to cut open my son's chest at day 5 as a "last ditch effort to save him." I just can't go there right now.

Nothing about that time two years ago was easy. Yes, I now have a healthy, thriving boy, but his birth still haunts me. The moments of being torn between my son in Seattle and our two other 45-min south in our hometown. To this day I question if I "did it right" leaving one child to be with the other two OR leaving the two to be with the one child. We did the best we could do.

I fight the thoughts/fears that I was not "nice" to our friends or appreciative of them. Was I really a bad friend? Was I ungrateful? Did I express my appreciation enough? Ask forgiveness enough? Push people away or expected too much? Keep everyone in the loop enough? A lot of "icky" feelings surround this period of my life...feeling like I failed-- that I just did not do it "right" (whatever that really means).

It has been two years of healing. Up until his 15-month milestone, our boy still required so much of us medically, emotionally and physically. It really has just been in the past 8 months that he has been a "normal" little boy. EIGHT MONTHS! Not very long, actually (for the first time, right now, I did this math...eight months). What a fight it has been. I still struggle losing my baby weight (which I beat myself up for on a daily basis). I struggle to recognize that I truly did the best I could during this season of life (& whether my best was really good enough).  I struggle trying to parent three children so close in age with the added task of continuing home physical therapy "games" and activities to help our youngest use his right side (hand & foot) consistently.

Life is hard. I know we all have seasons that are difficult and painful events that happen. This season for just happens to be my trigger. I am thankful the Lord is always with me and that HE speaks truth to my heart and soul. Without Him, I would be completely lost. I thank God almost daily for what he did on April 2 and the days leading up to and the days following. It is a memorial stone for me to reflect back on His grace and mercy in my life...how close I felt to Him during that time and how He spoke so clearly to me on the OR table, "Brandi, I giveth & taketh away. You have to be okay with that, okay?" God's words spoken directly to my heart help me have a new view on the life I live. Thank you Jesus that you are my Healer and with each passing year you heal my soul just a little more. Praise be YOUR name forever.  Amen

Growing a boy: The (un)donated dress

With the amazing weather and three growing kids, it was time to purge excessive toys no longer played with and clothes that no longer fit. It is a joy to raise our kids in a community of friends who have children around the same ages as our three. As such, I sent out a group text to a few of my other "mom" friends, inquiring if they were interested in some pretty party-type dresses our almost 4-year daughter has recently outgrown. I love being able to pass along the blessing of clothes as so many have passed clothes along to us.

I snapped a few pictures and off went the text. No big deal.

The day came to deliver the dresses to my friend who lives just down the street. I folded them nicely, wrapped them thoughtfully, like a present, and put them in the car to drive them over.

A few minutes into my short drive, stopped at a red light, I glanced down at the three dresses carefully and lovingly placed in the passenger seat next to me. Without permission, my body got cold my hands clammy and my breathe shortened. The light was now green. I proceed forward in the direction of my destination with a feeling of panic, overwhelming trepidation and unaccounted for discontentment.

What in the world was going on?!

At the next red light, I peered down once again at that floral party dress. In a brief moment, pictures and memories flooded back into my mind...our daughter wore this dress--the exact dress that was in the passenger seat--when are family was joined together for the first time (all 5 of us), on Easter when our preemie son was just 14-days old and still in the NICU at the children's hospital 45-minutes North of our home.

In such a short time the overwhelming events of our son's early birth nearly 14-months ago and near death during the first hour(s) and weeks of his life flooded my memory.

Pulling into my friends driveway, I put the car in park and just sat there, thinking, processing, remembering. Within minutes I had hopped out of our silver car, delivered two of the three party dresses and climbed back into my vehicle. I immediately texted my friend, who had joined my family in prayer and struggle during our son's early days, telling her that I was struggling to get rid of this particular dress. She was nothing but supportive and kind in her response back (THANK YOU FOR YOUR PRAYERS, FRIEND!!).

A few deep breathes later, I was reversing out of the long driveway towards Target to pick up a few household necessities. Parking the car, I felt these overpowering emotions again. I stuffed them down so I could complete my short shopping list. Two stores later, I found myself sitting in Payless Shoes in the back of the store about ready to have a tear-fest. Really?! Here? Now?

This experience reminded me that grief comes and goes. Its onset comes from unexpected places (a floral party dress) at very unexpected times (at a red light). It reminds me that, although our 14-month-old son is now very healthy, he almost did not survive on more than one occasion in those early first few days of life. It reminded me to have grace towards myself as I navigate this new season of life--having a healthy (almost toddler) in comparison to the uncertain outcome of his life at birth. It reminded me that it is okay to stop, cry, live in the moment by recognizing it and then move on (although this one is lingering a little more that I expected). It reminded me that when I am weak, HE (Christ) is strong. In my weakness, I can allow God to overtake the hard circumstance and just rest...like a babe in his mother's arms. I feel like I did that today in Payless (of all places), sitting on the stool in the back of the store, closing my eyes, taking deep breathes and inviting God to take over...to help me process...to help me accept (once again) the hardships endured at my son's birth. HE reminded me that His promises are always right and always true. HE reminded me that I am in the clutch of His palm, protected, safe, secure, seen, recognized. HE gave me peace. I am still emotional...not necessarily about the dress...but over the events the dress reminded me of...the very first time our family of five was united.

So, I will keep the dress as a memorial stone. I will remember the joy of having my three kids together for the first time on one of my favorite holidays, Easter. I will remember the first egg hunt our big kids did at their cousin's house before we brought our family together in the hospital. I will remember how of first son was so tired after the Easter events that he was fitfully strapped into the double stroller in his baby brother's NICU room. I will remember putting on silly bunny ears and bunny glasses for our first family picture...all 5 of us. This dress is significant. It reminds me of a time of joy and a time of heartache. It reminds me of God's victory in our suffering.

I have a feeling that I will be dealing with our son's unexpected early birth for the rest of my life in varying degrees. And that is okay. I am thankful to our close friends and family who join us in this journey and those who pray for us. Parenthood is never easy. Grief is never easy. We bond together, one day at a time trusting that each day will provide new insight, healing and deep restoration.

Shalom.

Growing a Boy: just a "simple" x-ray

In less than a week our house will be ransacked by a one year old, two year old and three 1/2 year old. To say we are busy is an understatement. Our almost 1-year old learned how to crawl this week (using the splits... of all ways to learn how to crawl. It is HILARIOUS!). Our two year old learned how to climb out of his crib this week too, resulting in the crib bolted to the wall and the mattress placed directly on the floor. Our three and 1/2 year old is growing which means she is never full and is sleeping a lot (or just a little cranky when she doesn't get enough sleep). Yet-- our hearts are full. We are BLESSED beyond all measures.

Around this time a year ago, I was admitted to the hospital with the unknown condition of our third child. At 32 weeks gestation, the medical world could not determine what was causing all of my medical complications. It was a scary time. We are so thankful to my parents who took our oldest two without a blink so that I could be hospitalized. In the last few weeks of the month of March, the memories of this time often flood back into my mind (without permission!) and take me back to the physical pain I felt as well as the emotional stress.

Fast-forward to present, our world is much different. Our "little" preemie is now 25 pounds and moving like crazy. He is not yet meeting ANY of his adjusted-age milestone (according to the medical world) but to me HE IS PERFECT! To be honest, he really is acting like an 8-month old...something most people don't understand. I feel like I have to constantly justify why my 12-month old can't feed himself, why he can't figure out a sippy cup or why his is not yet pulling to a stand or starting to practice walking. It is a tough world that, thankfully, most people have never had to deal with.

Today marks another milestone: his one-year surgical follow-up and x-ray. For some reason, tears just flooded my eyes as I typed that. This appointment will determine if the tumor that was in his right lung at birth has grown back or is (hopefully) gone forever. There have been many times this past year I have cried, worried and wondered if there is a tumor growing in my sweet precious Ollie...again something, thankfully, most people have never had to deal with. In a matter of hours we will hop into our car and make the dreaded 45-minutes North to the hospital where our son spent his first 16-days of life. It is all too clear---that unknown time of "Will our son live or will our son die?" We will walk in today, stroll past the check-in desk, past the Starbucks (where we found a little reprieve during his stay), towards the elevators that will take us to the NICU floor...where we said goodbye to our son on a few different occasions. Yet today instead of the NICU we will visit radiology for an x-ray and then wait to see the surgeon face-to-face to hear him speak the words that will determine the next steps for our son.

Today has many implications. 

I am more emotional than I thought I would be. Regardless, today WILL be a good day! I am thankful that Jesus walks before us in all things as well as walks with us! So...please join us today in great anticipation of such a simple x-ray that could change the medical treatment of our son.

Growing a boy: Hearing the Word "NICU"

My miracle baby is almost 10-months old yet at the sound of the word "NICU" I am taken back to some of the toughest moments of my life and begin to cry.

The word send me back...to the smells, the sounds, the stress, the dry hands from the hospital soap, the labor-intensive pumping sessions, the overnight stays at the hospital, the hospital food, the desire to hold my newborn or dress him or hear him cry, the shuffling of our older two kids to make arrangements to be in Seattle.

It reminds me of the stress being back in the Tacoma hospital and the frustrations of trying to nurse...of the painful recovery from a c-section, the sight of volunteer "rockers" rocking my crying preemie because I could not be there all of the time.

The word "NICU" reminds me of the dozens and dozens of people who served not only our son but us as well...their love, compassion, hugs and tissues.

I am reminded of the community that supported us so well by providing meals and practical acts of service.

I remember standing in our son's nursery at home, crying because my son was not home, in his crib, where I imagined him to be.

My mind wanders to the trip back to the hospital once he was initially released...back to the hospital after the victory of the initial discharge was celebrated...watching him stop breathing at home--turning slightly blue, the addition of medication, learning my breastmilk which contained milk could be part of the cause, the addition of rice cereal into his formula.

The word NICU reminds me of all the other struggling parents I encountered whose babies were sicker than mine...those sweet precious ones that passes away from being born too early or had too many medical complications. My heart and mind go there.

I cry thinking about the support from Seattle Children...not knowing how to grasp their level of support and love and care....using every resource possible to save our son.

Maybe I am experiencing post-traumatic stress from these occurrences. But a day does not go by that I don't think about some aspect of our son's journey.

We will celebrate his first birthday in just a few short months and I am beside myself. It is an incredible journey! It is a party of celebration and a thank-you party for all of those who have joined us in this battle! We seriously can never thank you enough.

Growing a boy: Turning 6-Months

A few weeks ago, our sweet Oliver turned 6-months old. To be honest, it was a milestone we were unsure he would make. To my great surprise this has been an emotional past few weeks. In some ways it reminds me of the weeks we spent once he came home from the NICU at 28-days. Our schedule has been full of appointments: physical therapy, occupational therapy, pulmonology, meeting with dieticians, general pediatrics.  We also "celebrated" Oliver's first ear infection with yet another trip to the doctor's office.

It is overwhelming. Information. Milestones. Eating adjustments. New formula. New medications. Different floor exercises. The list goes on and on.

What do you do with all of this information? I cry.

Since his birth, Tyler and I have often recounted the days leading up to Oliver's delivery and especially the uncertain days after his birth. It is a story that we process over and over again. Grieving in some ways and rejoicing in others. Yet no matter how many times I tell the story, I still cannot believe what has happened to me. To Tyler. To Oliver. I am amazed.

I often ask myself, "How did we get through that?" But the reality and true is that we haven't. We are still in the midst of it. We might no longer be at the bedside of a infant near death. We might be past the apnic stages in which Oliver would stop breathing at home. Yet we have no certainty of what the future holds for this little boy. The surgeons are confident that the edges of the tumor were removed at day 5 of life but at the same time no one really knows what the tumor was. For all I know, there could be some forgein growth reemerging in my son's lung and we probably won't know about it until his 1-year lung x-ray...waiting another 6-months.

I do not live my life worrying but as a mother, your heart is always with your child...fighting, advocating and ensuring every possible stone is un-turned. The days are long...oh, are they long. Our near 25 pound 6-month old wants to be carried ALL OF THE TIME... not an easy feat for many reason but two of those "reasons" are 3 years old and 21-months old. :) The nights are endless and mirror the activities that occur during the day. Some how we manage to fit in two full-time jobs, church activities, relationships with friends and family on a limited 4-6 hours of sleep per night. Despite the chaos of our life, in the midst of all of this I grieve. I process. I spend a few extra minutes parked in my driveway (either alone or with sleeping or screaming babies in the backseat) to allow myself to feel the deep emotions of what this past 6-7 months has allowed our family to journey through.

I don't know if I will ever "get over it" or fully process through what this season has given us. Maybe it is still too fresh. Maybe I never allowed myself to feel the emotions these past 6-months yet either way, I am still in awe of what God-Creator molded in my womb and allowed to be delivered into this broken world and preserved! The words God spoke to me around the time of Oliver's birth were, "I giveth and I taketh away. You have to be okay with that." It is strange now how much comfort those words gave me during one of the most challenging and emotionally taxing times of my life. Six-months later I reflect on those words knowing that in God all things are held together for His good and my benefit.

In the days when emotions are high and Oliver is screaming endlessly, I choose to pull him in a little closer, breath in his sweet hair as I run my fingers through it. I gently pat his back while I repeatedly bounce him up and down. I gently wipe the tears from his eyes and look deeply into them trying to hold on to every.single.piece of who he is. I take more pictures than I probably "should." I talk about him probably more than people want to hear. He is a miracle. Sweet Oliver is a miracle. He reminds me every day of God's goodness, faithfulness and His ability to answer prayers in ways I would have never imagined. I am overwhelmed.

So, please forgive me. If you see me crying...if I start talking and have to pause...if I change the subject...if I talk too much about what I have experienced. Turning 6-months is a huge cause to celebrate. And I am overwhelmed. From a less than 1% chance of survival to thriving...how could anyone ever process such heartache and such joy! In God, I am overwhelmed. My sweet son turned 6-months old. Hallelujah!

Growing a boy: I am wrecked

I am wrecked. My son's body is broken. Our family is separated once again... yet I offer this:

Here is my broken hallelujah. 

God desires us to press deeper into him. As we cry out to him, he looks down in as much pain as I feel. Every emotion I can feel as a parent, it gives me me a deeper understanding about God's love and also the pain he feels when we are in pain. 

We live in a broken and a sinful world. 

Through all of these trials created by the newest member of our family, I have never asked why me. Instead I have asked God, "why not me?!"

It has been an emotional and physical battle since even before our premature son was born. Yet my faith is deepen. It is strengthened by this trial. I pray that our faith has increased the faith of others as well, knowing that God works all together for His good and glory...no matter the outcome.

It does not make this trial any easier or reduce the amount of pain or fear we are currently enduring. It doesn't mean that we don't cry or worry and fuss over our son (while worrying and fussing over our other two children). It doesn't mean we have figured it out. It feels like we are (and have been) in a state of survival.  But, having said all of that, it does give light and hope for our eternal life with no brokenness. 

Many people say that becoming a parent increases your understanding of who God is… I believe this whole heartedly. Nothing about this season of life is easy, but it is incredible to see time and time again God's promise proving to be real, true, and consistent! So we press into him deeper and deeper relying on his strength not our own. Our own strength fails us. Our emotions sometimes rage. Sometimes we are complete and utter wrecks! But we know that God is always near. He walks behind us, and front of us, beside us, and in us. The Holy Spirit envelops our very being by revealing God's love to us moment by moment. In our pain we give praise.

So in our pain, hurt, anguish (and every other emotion imaginable), we offer this:

Our broken hallelujah!

Growing a boy: Back at the hospital

Monday (May 15) our now full-term son (born 7-weeks early) began to have trouble eating. At first we didn't think too much of it but as a precaution we took him in to see a pediatrician on Tuesday. His reflux was the culprit, the pediatrician thought, so we added an antacid to our son's diet: twice a day -- morning and night. The first day it seemed to be working but a few days of the meds on board and it seemed like he was doing worse.

Last night was the worst of all! He stopped breathing twice...so much so that the Owlet foot alarm blared to warn us of his condition, oxygen dipping below 80. Racing into his nursery to stimulate him--rubbing and patting his back-- he finally took a breath. In addition, he was in so much pain he literally had to be held all night. My husband and I took turns throughout the night consoling him. Laying him down for 30 seconds or less would send him into a fit of rage. Poor thing. We couldn't figure out why he was in so much pain, why he wasn't eating and why he had stopped breathing. At about 5am we were getting desperate...again troubleshooting why our son would appear to the sucking on the bottle but not consuming any milk. We decided to try the preemie bottle nipple (he hadn't used this in over 3 weeks). Success! He "downed" 2 ounces...still a fraction of what we was eating before all of this occurred but more than he had eaten since the day before.

Of course we were concerned. The husband decided to take him to the hospital first thing this morning to get evaluated. I later joined him once our nanny arrived at 11am.  After a quick evaluation, he was admitted for a 24-hour observation. To our relief, Ollie had gained weight since Tuesday instead of losing (upwards of 9 pounds now!)...great considering he hadn't had very much at all to eat from 7p Friday night until 7a Saturday morning. Yet there were still many questions:

• Did he have virus?
• Was he being affected due to his partial lung removal?
• Is it something I am consuming and passing to him via breastmilk?
• Does he have such severe reflux that his esophagus has been compromised?

We were hoping to get answers. 

Shortly after arriving to the hospital, Ollie and I went with the nurse to the x-ray room in the ER. I sat on the stretcher holding Ollie, who was attached to an oxygen & heart monitor. My sweet son slept the whole ride. When we arrived, he was stripped down to a diaper and placed in this mid-evil torture looking device which would keep him still for the tummy and lung x-rays. It was horrifying to see my son----- sitting upright, strapped into this device, arms stretched overhead, head held by a leather band that was strapped to the plastic "body" holding device thing-----screaming as the x-ray techs worked as fast as they could to get the films so they could remove him. Wow.

The x-rays were good and showed that his lung looked good and a tummy full of......GAS! Yup! Gas! In addition to the reflux he has severe gas which he cannot pass...poor guy! Thankfully, Ollie calmed down quickly in my arms and within less than a minute he was fast asleep as we rode back up to his hospital room.

About an hour later the doctor came and shared with us that his x-rays looked normal aside from the gas. His esophagus is most likely stinging due the high amount of reflux. She changed his reflux meds and increased the dose as well as added IV fluids to ensure he was hydrated.  She also suggested that I should cut out dairy from my diet...surprisingly something I started 3 days ago!

So once again, our family is separated. My husband is at the hospital with our youngest and I am home with this bigs. We are still unsure of the outcome...they say he should grow out of the reflux (maybe around 3-5 months old?); his esophagus should heal quick-ish which would allow him to eat more (plus adding some rice-cereal to thicken the milk and better coat his throat); the elimination of dairy in my diet should (hopefully) reduce the reflux Ollie is experiencing. It is a waiting game coupled with trial and error. We are patiently enduring, trying to embrace every moment of this crazy thing called parenthood.

Growing a boy: Reset & Reboot

Tomorrow is the Sabbath. A day that should be set aside to reboot and reset before another week begins. A day to give thanks to God. A day of reflection. It sounds peaceful, serene. In today's culture some of the world stops...closes for the day. Shuts down. Rests. When it does it gives us an excuse, a reason, to take things a little slower.

For example, no mail can be sent or delivered. No face-to-face banking transactions can be made. It is as if it is a "free space" while playing BINGO...one more day to rest.

Longing.

My heart longs for this type of rest. This type of peace. Just one moment when I can reboot my soul...reset my settings. Take a breath without worry of missing out on the things that are most important to me: my relationship with God, husband, kids, family and friends.

Reflection comes in the short drive from my house to the hospital. It comes when I have a moment to go to the bathroom or when I finally take time to eat a meal or drink some water. My mind gets clouded by the list of things that needs to get done...should get done...or haven't gotten done.

My once focused heart has turned to survival in the midst of the challenging days I encounter. I'm thankful for music that stirs my heart back to the Creator...random Bible verse I see as a scroll through the pages of Facebook. The friends who visit me in the hospital...simply to visit with ME...not to see my preemie son or get the latest medical update...just to see (and recognize) me. It is refreshing.

Life in the throws of challenges is more deeply intertwined with every aspect of my life. I never imagined that I would be so effected physically and emotionally as I have been. As much as I want a reset, a reboot, I am thankful for my current sufferings.

James 1:2-5

² Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, ³ because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. ⁴ Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. ⁵ If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.

It is with this perspective I have done so well. I have my moments of tears yet through those tears I see God's grace and tender mercies towards me as I look into the face of the 6 pound infant HE decided to save. I am eternally grateful to the Father of Life for allowing us these days with our third child. Although the verse above promises that I will be mature and complete...lacking nothing...I still have a ways to go. It is a life journey of living the Sabbath everyday. Taking moments every day to reset, reboot, refocus, reflect and fix my eyes on the Creator who gives life.

What a miracle it is to be seen by Him, used by Him, and preserved by His gracious hand.

Growing a boy: Being a NICU mom sucks

Okay, I am not going to lie.

Being a NICU mom sucks! After being in the hospital all day, I walked out to a beautiful spring day...I missed it.

In the confines of the hospital walls I interacted with other not-so-nice NICU moms, a son who decided to turn blue and almost stop breathing 3x today and a barrage of hospital personnel entering our room at what felt like 45 minute intervals.

I am exhausted.

In stark contrast, I came home to a sweet 15/mo son and little girl eagerly awaiting her momma's arrival and who insisted, "stay there momma...I'm coming to get you." This was followed by a huge hug, smile and lots of laughs. We enjoyed a wonderfully prepared meal by our friends and then a family dance party to Celtic and Hip-Hip Christian music (what a combo, I know).

Although most of the moments of my day are tough, taxing, overwhelming...there is always sunshine (mostly figuratively speaking given the spring rainy season we are in). All three of my kids bring me joy in different ways.

My oldest loves to read, cuddle, and take me by the hand to lead me to her next adventure. My second child loves to smile, clap his hands together and follow me around the house. When our youngest looks me in the eyes, I just melt.

Today was certainly better than yesterday, emotionally speaking, but it was still a long tough day. I feel like I sit around and wait in the hospital for my youngest son's feeding times (9, 12, 3, 6) ...this is followed by kicks, screams, attempts at breastfeeding, some frustration and poopy diapers..with little success of actually accomplishing the primary goal of a full nursing session. Yes, it is a process. Yes, if I look objectively there are small advances in the area of nursing....but THEN physical therapy shows up, pointing out yet more things that we need to work on.

Again, it is overwhelming the amount of tiny little things that I need to remember and "work" on. How can I possibly 1) remember them all and 2) implement then all at the same time!??!

I know the job of each of these hospital persons is to help us and our sweet youngest, but where is the encouragement? Am I doing anything right? It gets frustrating having professionals looking down over you or directly taking your baby from your arms or the constant "no, try it this way...no, do this instead....no, that won't work that way."

Being a NICU mom sucks. There is no way around it.

My day is schedule around pumping, attempts at breastfeeding and keeping track of medical appointments/paperwork that still needs to be turned in or completed. How can I possibly find time for anything else?! It is all consuming. Even though my baby is not home yet, I still have to wake 1-3x per night to pump. I still have to "take it easy" to heal from my c-section just 19 days ago. I still have to grow my relationship with my husband and two other kids.

All I really want to do is get my hair colored. I want to soak in a clean bathtub. I want to be healed from my c-section pain so that I can pick up my kids, walk them to the park or play hard with them in the backyard.

I want my old "normal" life back in which I had the energy to keep up our household, plan gatherings for our friends or simply have a few moments of not feeling torn between two places...having my family separated.

We hope to have our sweetie boy will be home in a few weeks from now if things keep going the way they are. Then I will no longer be a NICU mom, but then I will be a mother with three kids trying to survive while trying not to favor the preemie because he just "seems more delicate and needs more attention."

It will be a hard transition to say the least but at least there is hope that I will not be a NICU mom forever.  We are excited about the homecoming of our youngest when the time is right.

Growing a boy: My Raw Emotions

The emotions have finally hit.

Up to this point, I feel like I have dealt with the struggle of our preemie growing boy pretty well...taking each new surprise and challenge in stride. But now it is where it gets tough.

Yes, it is wonderful to have our youngest closer to home yet at the same time it pulls at my heart even harder to have to leave him. Maybe because he is more alert, maybe because I know that he is only 12 minutes from my house and I can just pick up and drive down there with minimal planning. I feel like the relationship with my other two kids has been compromised...focusing more on when/how I can make it down the road rather than enjoying time with my other two.

The big challenge...the road block that needs to be removed before coming home... breastfeeding. Honestly, I did better emotionally when they told me that the surgeons were going to cut open my son's chest to remove a mass/portion of his lung then I am with teaching my preemie how to breastfeed.

My milk production is not the issue. Me knowing how to nurse is not the issue. It is my son's lack of skill that needs to be learned. I know this in my head but my heart aches that he is just not getting it. (Knowing also he is just 36-weeks gestation and this skill will take time to learn).

My mind wonders, "It has to be me." "Maybe he just doesn't like me." "Maybe I am too loud." "Maybe I really don't know what I am doing."

I get emotional. I cry. I secretly get frustrated at myself (thankfully not at my son).

"I must be doing something wrong."

Although the last few days have been great having him closer to home, it has also separated me and my husband...taking shifts to be with him after our other two go to bed. In many ways this is good...the one who is home gets alone time and the other gets to snuggle and stimulate our son (who would otherwise just be laying in a silent hospital room by himself).

This part of the journey for me is the toughest. I was not expecting that. I feel more exhausted (or maybe is it the last 18+ days catching up to me). I feel more worn. I feel less able to deal with the household things that need to be done. I am overwhelmed.

I know it is just a season. I know that whether my son has to be fed my breastmilk via a bottle or by my breast (or even by formula), he will survive. He is a fighter. The ultimate goal is to breastfeed him but the "ultimate ultimate" goal is to get him home...whether that means bottle or breastfeeding.

So...there you have it...my ugly raw emotions in type.

Please pray for us, our marriage and our kids during this challenging time. Yes- it is just a season. Yes- this too shall pass. Yet standing in the middle of it, it feels like sinking sand.

Much love.

Growing a boy: It is just beginning

Well, sweet Ollie boy has made it to 16-days of life. In that short (but looooong 16 days) we have said goodbye to him at least 2 or three times, witness answered prayers, and have experienced the love of a community we never realized we had. We have been humbled, asking and accepting help for everyday, normal tasks that just seemed too overwhelming to deal with like buying milk or bananas at the grocery store.  It has been a roller coaster of emotions as we sorted through the many challenges this little boy has brought us. It certainly has brought my husband and I closer and has taught us about the fragility of life.

Now that our youngest is in a NICU closer to home, it feels like we are missing out on his life even more. He is more alert now (making is so difficult to leave him at the hospital when he is starring straight at me or crying!). It heightens the stress of trying to teach him how to nurse (one of the skills he has to learn before coming home). It makes the reality of his homecoming so present.

Then I think..what then?!?!

Up to this point we have been so blessed with support such as dinners, lawn mows, etc. but what will happen when he comes home? I am terrified that he will stop breathing (something I witnessed today...his little preemie face turning blue and his heart rate dipping to 65 bpm). I am terrified of not being able to keep up with our laundry and cooking meals for 4 people on top of nursing. I am terrified for the adjustment our two oldest will have to make...having mommy's attention divided. I am terrified to see all the medical bills start to come in not only for Ollie but for my 1-week hospital stay & operation.

This is just the beginning.

Yes, we have been through a lot starting 1-week before his delivery but really, it is just the beginning. Being born 7-weeks early and having a portion of a lung removed on top of chest tubes, x-rays, pricks and pokes, it is no doubt that he will be a fighter. However, we have to watch for developmental delays (especially since he did not receive oxygen for almost 7 minutes after birth). There is no clear understanding about what the large tumor-like mass, removed from his tiny body, is and the long-term care plan to ensure it does not come back or does not cause any problems as he grows.

So what is my point in writing all of this? First I am exhausted. It has been an emotional day, transferring our son to a NICU closer to home (and riding in the ambulance). And secondly, to be honest, I really don't know. Maybe just to express my fears for the future and our ongoing need for love and encouragement in real and practical ways. We are a divided family of 5 with three children who need very different things. We are strong in our faith yet exhausted from balancing all that life has given us. We cannot effectively meet everyone's needs all the time...our sweet oldest does not quiet understand this.

So, will all that being said: We are beyond grateful and beyond appreciate for all of the love, prayers, and encouragements we have received. I know that this is just the beginning.

Growing a boy: Separation

Monday, April 3, 2017: Day One of Separation

Today was the first full day of being physically separated from my family. Oliver and Tyler are in Seattle at Children's hospital. My other two kids are with my parents. I am in the hospital in Tacoma, recovering from my invasive abdominal surgery.

I wish I had more words to describe my emotions right now. A part of me is relieved to have a few moments of silence today, no one needing or wanting me. No one asking questions or expecting answers. It was nice that Siobhan spent the night last night and was with me in the morning. It was wonderful to have my sister stop for a visit (with coffee!!) and to have her help on my first "epic" loop walk down the halls of the hospital.

I guess I just feel detached from every thing. My two oldest kids are getting great attention and love from their grandparents...something I cannot give them right now (physically or emotionally). My youngest son has about 8 doctors and 10-15 other providers caring for him around the clock. My husband has taken over the medical decision-making for our son (at least for now) as I recover in the hospital. I feel like my story stopped the moment my preemie son was whisked away via ambulance to Seattle. My body was just simply used as a vessel to create this little boy and bring him into the world...and that is it. I know in my head this is not true but my heart is confused, hurting, and overwhelmed.

The good news is that the feeling of loneliness is certainly not there. I have been so incredibly blessed by cards, letters, scriptures, texts, and messages. A friend brought me a journal today filled with all of the things mentioned above. It was put together at our women's retreat that occurred over the weekend. As I flipped through it, I cried, feeling His presence and peace. I could feel the love of the community in which we are apart of. Also, someone I don't even know sent me a handwritten letter to the hospital. Beyond touched! I was so encouraged. This has probably the one tangible thing that has kept me grounds so please feel free to send us these tangible encouragements!! I need them.

Tomorrow I will be discharged and will be able to see Oliver in person for the second time. I am worried about the long drive up there, how my body will physically do with all the points of transfer, and my emotions. If I cry (or cough or laugh) my incision hurts. I am praying it will be a great day and that much progress will be made.

I cannot believe my son is now one and a half days old! Although I have only touched him for 5 minutes or so, my heart is wrapped around him in so many ways. All of the doctors, mine and his, say that we made the right decision on taking him out when we did. This is reassuring to me and confirms that we made the right decision as his parents. It was a tough call to make.

I struggle with not knowing the outcome of all of this. The journey ahead is long. We are just taking our first steps in it. In his first day of life, Oliver went from 100% oxygen on the ventilation to somewhere around the low 50% (like 53 or something)! Amazing progress; however, this was followed by increased CO2 levels putting him back into a critical state. This was corrected about about an hour+ of messing with the machine settings. He is still not stable. He is unable to get a CT scan which would reveal to us more about his condition. Honestly, we still have no real idea about what is wrong with him. We know one lung is compromised. We know there are some issues with his working lung. Is a lung transplant needed in his future? Gosh! So much to take in...so many "what if" scenarios right now.

My heart hurts thinking about this.

Oliver is in the best place he can be right now: 1) in the hands of Jesus 2) surrounded by our family of believers who are constantly praying for him and 3) with a whole team of doctors who are fighting along side of him for his survival.

We still have no idea if Oliver will make it through all of this. But I pray with every ounce of everything that I have and every tear I can produce and every thought that I capture that he will. He IS a fighter! We believe he will continue to be strong and courageous. We believe that he will make progress moment by moment. We believe he hears the tender whispers of Jesus speaking to him. We believe the Holy Spirit is resting upon him and his medical team. We believe in the power of healing in the name of God the Father, God the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Will you believe with us and continue to lift him up in prayer?

Growing a boy: Happy Birthday Son

Sunday, April 2, 2017: Bed Rest Day 6
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SON!! 
(33 weeks/2 days gestation)


The night was horrible. I was never able to really get to bed. My right leg hurt so bad that I couldn't even move it on my own. It felt like a 100 pound brick. My belly was so big that it prevented me from being able to get a full cough or full breath. The pressure from the increased fluid made it impossible to urinate. Contractions were peaking to the point of feeling like I was in full labor resulting in a 1 cm dilation (totaling 4 cm and 75% effaced). As my body processed all of these rather quick changes I began to shake uncontrollably. Finally, around 4:30am the torture was put to ease. The first pain med did not even touch the pain. They gave me a 1/2 dose of another, much stronger, pain med. This mildly eased the pain until they completed with a full dose.  My body was finally able to rest.

We had the nurse call our doctor at two points during the night to consult and the on-call doc gladly came in to access the situation. I had made some progression but not enough that warranted a c-section at 5 in the morning. At this point, I was healthy and the baby was healthy. I slept for about 2 hours.

By 7am I was woken up by our nurse saying that our 12:30pm ultrasound got bumped up to 7am but only if we could leave immediately. Of course, we did. Our 1-hour appointment would be telling of our next course of action. It was a blessing and miracle that we could get this done first thing in the morning so that we could revise our game plan if needed.

The ultrasound tech measured my fluid levels...I was back up to 53 AFI (Thursday I was 40 and the day before 57...what the heck is going on?). Anyway, one of the major things the ultrasound would reveal is baby's respiratory function. For a 30-min window they needed to see him "breath" on his own. They were unable to see this. This is common or could have simply been missed.We were given a few new images of our sweet baby boy and then taken back up to our room.

I was super hungry at this point, roughly 8am. The last time I ate was "dinner" at 6pm which consisted of a few bites of fruit and a coffee from the hospital lobby. While they were trying to reach my doctor to determine if I could eat, the baby was put back on the monitor to measure his heart. With the excess fluid, it is difficult to keep him on the monitor because he has a big swimming pool to float around in. When he slowed down for a little while the nurses noticed that his heart was not accelerating the way it should. It was staying at his baseline but that was all.

I was getting a little anxious to hear the official ultrasound results, to further understand this "issue" with his heart and his breathing; and I was lightheaded because I needed food. Despite all of this, we waited patiently in our room until around 10:30am when the NICU doctor, Dr. Flood, and our OB/GYN Dr. Stearman appeared in our room to discuss all that was discovered and all that had changed (again) in the last 24-hours.

Per the the recommendation of both the NICU doc and my OB/GNY, around 11am, Tyler and I decided it was best for our family to have a baby today. It was a relatively ease decision as we reflected back on this whole week's set of events, risks vs. benefits as well was what was best for me and baby (especially in light of the night I had and the test results from baby). I was not anticipating a c-section until Friday yet it appeared that baby was doing just "ok" and not showing any signs of improving in the womb. Trying to push us both to make the 34-week mark would be of no benefit. It actually may have made things worse.

Shortly after this decision, the room cleared and it was just Tyler, me and my OB/GYN. She patiently and lovingly answered all of our questions. She even had tears in her eyes as she watched us process through the emotions of what was going to happen in the next hour or so. Going into this surgery to retrieve our son, we knew there was still a 50/50 chance of survival. I remember saying though tears and labored breathing, "But I just love our son so much already and I haven't even met him. I don't want to lose him," Tyler asked if our doctor would be okay if he prayed over me. She got a little smile on her face and joined us! As I laid on the bed, Tyler held my hand and our doctor laid hands on my belly and prayed over us. She prayed that this baby would be a fighter; she prayed for steady hands and wisdom; she prayed that I would do okay with the surgery. It was amazing. We said our amens' looking at each other with tears in our eyes, not knowing the fate of this baby boy.

Moments later things started happening rapidly. I was cleaned and changed for surgery. Still having pain, I was given a slight dose of pain meds (thank goodness! This helped with the pain and calmed my nerves). Tyler put on scrubs and within 20 minutes we were back in the OR. I was asked to sit on the OR table and hunch over my belly...yea, easier said than done!... so the epidural could be placed. I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing and squeezed Tyler's hands all while praying over our son and the traumatic events that my son and I would go through.

The OR was joined be another through clear glass doors. I remember sitting on the OR table and seeing the clock, 11:47am, as the NICU team started to appear and set up the OR next to mine for my unborn son. I was quickly lowered onto the table since the epidural was starting to kick in. Things from there were kinda a blur. I was a little loopy from the pain meds given prior to the surgery and the other IV meds began to really effect me as well. It was kinda a drunk/out-of-it feeling. As the surgeons began to cut I could feel no pain and I could feel the weight of the fluid coming off. It was an amazing sensation! It literally sounded like a shop vac in there as they suctioned all the fluids. I felt minimal tugging and pulling because my uterus was so stretched out. He came out very quickly and easily at 12:19pm. I vaguely remember seeing someone walking from my OR to my sons'...just steps away, but I didn't get to see him or hear any cries (which was expected). From that moment forward, Tyler was doing the best he could to be there for me as well as our son. I told him to just enjoy being with our son, especially since we had no idea what his condition was really like. Tyler took a few pictures of our son and walked back over to show me as they prepared to close my incision. That was the first time I got to "see" our son. I looked back up at the clock, 12:23pm. By 12:40 the NICU team and Tyler left their OR and I remained as they wrapped things up. As the rolled me down the hallway to the recovery, I ended up throwing up a bit. An unpleasant side effect of the epidural medication. Tyler and I FaceTimed while I was in recovery so I could get a better look at baby. During this conversation I learned that our son, not more than an hour old, would need to be transferred up to Seattle Children's Hospital.

I was so sad that I would not even get to see him or touch him for days since I just had a major surgery myself and was in recovery "lock down" for 2-hours post-op. I knew he needed to catch a ride to Seattle as soon as possible so I settled in mind that it would be at least two or three days before I would see him. Well, my wonderful dream-team of nurses "snuck" me up to the NICU at TG so that I could lock eye on him and touch his precious little feet. It literally felt like Christmas, only 1000x more exciting. I seriously was jumping out of my gurney with excitement to see him. I was wheeled into the room backwards and immediately began to cry tears of joy. All the physical pain I was feeling suddenly went away as I gently stroked his feet and called him by his name. I was the very first person to call him by name, OLIVER SINCLAIR!

When I began talking to him and saying his name, although intubated, his little tongue started to move backwards and forwards. He would do this only for me. HE KNEW HIS MOMMA! My heart melted. It was as if he was telling me that he was ready to fight. That he was strong. And that the battle was won in Jesus. I was overwhelmed by this moment! It was incredibly sad to be rolled out of the room with only getting such a short amount of time with him. My heart was breaking...what if he was in Seattle and took a turn for the worst and I wasn't there? I tried not to think on that too much...but instead tried to rest God's promises and scripture.

My friend Siobhan stayed with me every moment from being rolled out of the OR until the next day. It was a huge comfort to have someone who would pray over me, help me adjust my pillows, listen to my struggles or simply just sit in silence as I processed the whirlwind of a day. The day ended not nearly as dramatically as it started; however, it was strange that on my son's birthday I was without a son and without a husband. It was hard to realize that my body felt like I just gave birth but my baby was no where to be seen. I struggled with wanting to know what was happening at each moment with him to being so exhausted I fought to keep my eyes open.

We still have a LONG road ahead, counting each day we have with him a blessing and covering him with so much prayer that it is almost unfathomable. We do not know what will happen in front of us but we do know that God has given sweet Oliver Sinclair to us for today...in this moment. So we will soak it in. Enjoy this sweet personality and lean on Jesus even more!

Happy Birthday, our son, Oliver Sinclair.

Growing a boy: Thankfulness from a dad's perspective

Thankfulness

By Tyler Harrington

What does God mean in scripture to be thankful?  Why should I be thankful when my son is fighting for his life and hasn’t even been born?  Why should I be thankful that my wife’s abdomen is so stretched she can’t even walk, sleep, or even roll over? She is in intense pain, battling the anxious thought that our son could die inside of her or shortly after giving birth.  We are so helpless, why be thankful?

These were questions that were running through my head a few days ago.  I sat in the hospital bed, lackadaisical, just wasting time watching Netflix.  Then I heard the news, Ollie had fluid in his belly where it shouldn’t be.  From what I remember from medical school that mean he only had about a 25% chance of survival.  For the first time, I hit my knees in prayer.  It saddened me at that moment, that it took the very real thought of loosing him for me to actually turn to God.  Every time the Doctor said “This is looking pretty bleak,”  God kept saying “It is my face you should seek.”  The survival odds got better with each negative test, and I was reassured by my wife saying “God has knit this child together in my womb just the way he wanted him to be.”  God comforted me with the revelation that He doesn’t operate under the limitations of odds ratios and bleak outlooks.  I was starting to see something to be thankful for.

Having left for the hospital in a hurry, I did not bring my bible.  Now in the midst of a war I was craving God’s word more then ever.  When I asked our friend, she lent me her Bible without hesitation.  As I turned through the pages, I was able to see the many ways God had worked in her life and lessons she had been taught.  It was her personal bible that she had spent years highlighting and reading. It was so encouraging to see that God knows us each individually and meets each of us where we are at.  He is big enough to do that.  I flipped through the pages and started reading one of my daughter’s favorite passages, Dan 6, Daniel and the Lion’s Den.  The Lord showed me something in 6:10.  After the King had made the edict if anyone worships someone other then the king, that person shall be thrown into the lion’s den.  Daniels response:

When Daniel knew that the document had been signed, he went to his house where he had windows in his upper room open toward Jerusalem.  He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously. Dan 6:10

Did you catch that, a law came down that would surely sentence him to being kitty food and he gave God thanks.  His faith in God was not changed by the trial, he did what he always did.  Daniel went to speak with his Father, he gave thanks in the midst of the trial.  I am reminded of Romans 8:28:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

If you look at the end of Daniel 6, the king, having seen God’s power in action and Daniel’s faith, makes a new declaration:

26 “I make a decree, that in all my royal dominion people are to tremble before the God of Daniel, for he is the living God, enduring forever;

his kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion shall be to the end.

27 He delivers and rescues;

he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth,

he who has saved Daniel from the power of the lions.”

So I echo that statement to myself and all who are reading this.  As we trust God, as we press forth into the unknown, as we continually lift up Ollie and Brandi to only one who can save them.  He delivers and rescues; he works signs and wonders in heaven and on earth, Amen!

Thank you for joining us in this battle.  I look forward to the testimony that God is building in us and through us, no matter the outcome.  And most of all…  I look forward to introducing you to our son.