Lucky Charms and Red Wine

My children’s eating habits drive me batty. And instead of being Mr. Helpful (like I expect him to be) Josh makes it more complicated. You know those moms who are always concerned about how many fresh veggies/fruits their kids are eating every day? Yeah, that’s not me. That’s Josh.

Problem is, Josh can’t cook; and ones inability to make dinner does not tame ones opinion or appetite.  In my humble opinion, it doesn’t matter what you eat, it just matters that you gather around your dinner table and spend some quality time together.

I would be perfectly fine with cereal and wine for dinner for 6 days a week. Maybe on the seventh day we’ll order some pizza; change it up a bit.

And who ever said Lucky Charms is not a well-balanced meal? They couldn’t sell it in the breakfast aisle if it weren’t, right? Mommy likes Lucky Charms. So should daddy.  I know the kids do.

And so, I cook; not without inner turmoil, but I cook. I am reminded that God calls me to love my husband (and it works best if I try to love him in his language, not my own) and I am called to respect my husband. As ridiculous as making dinner seems to me, it seems to mean something to my husband.  So tonight, we will have a warm dinner, together as a family. I will attempt to have a bag of steamed veggies and some sort of protein; not because it matters to me, but because it matters to him.

Christmas Interrupted

December of last year, 2012, looked like it was shaping up to be one of the best for our family in many years. After facing many tragedies that left our Christmas spirit fading, things were seemingly falling into place.

The house was decorated, we were beginning our 25 days ’til Christmas advent box, and picking out presents for our children. We were just so thankful for a year where we were going to have a “normal” Christmas.

But God had other plans.

On the morning of December 10th, my husband, Josh woke up to a huge pressure sore (side effects of quadriplegia). His nurse called me into our bedroom and after taking a peek, I knew this was not your average pressure sore.

We headed straight for the emergency room, afraid of what we were going to hear: bed rest, wound vacuums (a horrible contraption that seals around a pressure sore, runs on a battery making a disgusting sucking noise, and stores infectious fluids), antibiotics and many appointments to many doctors but ultimately- sent home.

I was wrong.

We were informed that Josh would be admitted that day and that we had a long road ahead of us.

The doctor sat next to Josh’s bed and explained the healing process, the numerous surgeries that would need to be performed, the mega amounts of antibiotics he would need to take intravenously, and very calmly said we were looking at approximately 3 months before Josh would be ready to come back home.

I believe I dropped an expletive.

I sat there in shock and flabbergasted. My only thought was, “There is no way I am going to be spending our holidays in a hospital.”

I had absolutely no desire to sit by my husband’s bedside, helping him, when our kids wanted us all home for Christmas.

Sometimes reality is ugly, but Jesus never is.

After surviving the death of a daughter, Josh’s accident, and infidelity in our marriage, Josh and I were still choosing to be together. God had blessed us through our ugly past and I knew He could (and would) bless this Christmas ~ I only needed to let Him.

When I stepped back, I had an opportunity to watch God work. People came around us and helped us financially, with child care and prayer. They prayed for Josh’s healing, for our hearts, and for our kids.

The holiday season was not the same. The stress seemed almost insurmountable at times, the heaviness I felt in my chest and heart was overwhelming, yet God was with us.

As difficult as it was to not wake up with our kids on Christmas morning, because I chose to stay with Josh at the hospital, it is one I will never forget.

Josh and I waited anxiously for our kids to arrive so we could celebrate together. We even drew a picture of a fireplace in the hospital room window because our youngest son was afraid Santa wouldn’t know where to leave the gifts!

When the kids arrived, we opened presents, quietly read the Christmas story then raucously watched Home Alone. Then the kids got antsy. Antsy children and a hospital floor do not go well together, so their grandparents took them home; we had to stay at the hospital.

It was then that I held Josh as he cried; cried that he couldn’t be home with his kids on the most meaningful day of the year or that he couldn’t be the dad he always imagined himself to be. Then Josh held me as I cried, worried that our children would always have terrible memories of this Christmas and that I wasn’t being the mom they needed right then.

Then came quiet grace and a gentle reminder that HE is my peace, my shalom, my quiet place even when the world around me continues to be chaotic. HE is my “go’el”, my Rescuer, the one who has saved me, rescued me from this pit of despair.

So this year I will remember and be consciously thankful for a time of normal. I will not take it for granted. I will be thankful for waking up together as a family of 5 on Christmas morning; to smiling faces, shouts of excitement, too much wrapping paper to pick up, too many toys to step on, time to just be together and ultimately remember the reason we celebrate…

This little Babe who was born in a manger, who came to save me, to save you, so that we may all live with Him someday.

Dr. Seuss

““A person’s a person, no matter how small.” ”

— --Dr. Seuss

For many of us mommies and daddies out there, we have lost babies- through miscarriage, abortion, stillbirth, and like our family, loss of an infant.  

We have found that people have a tendency to diminish our pain, either because it is difficult and awkward to deal with, because they do not understand the pain of losing a child, or just plain ignorance. These are usually people who are not extremely close to us, or did not know our sweet daughter. 

We lost our baby girl at 3 months of age. She was my daughter, my child, my flesh and blood, my family. Losing this is losing innocence. This innocence cannot ever be found again. We have found peace, joy, appreciation for the small things in life, but innocence, no.  

A few months after Ava's death, one of my aunts was commenting on how few family members we had lost in our family (we come from a large family). She commented on losing her mom and dad, my grandparents, and then said that we had lost no other members. I sat there incredulously. I had just buried my baby girl a short 4 months ago. Ignorance. And ignorance hurts. Just because my Ava had such a short life does not diminish who she is or was as a person. She is a person, no matter how small. 

She changed my life, her daddy's life, her grandparents and aunts and uncles life in a swift instant. She continues to change with sister and brothers lives as time moves on. She will always be a part of our family, who we are, and who she has made us. She has made me understand my Heavenly Father's love for me in a way I never would have understood. He loves me unconditionally, no matter my pain, my sin, or the bad choices I make. This little girl, no matter how small, was still a person, is still a person. She continues to shape me, as a mom, as a supporter of others experiencing loss, as a daughter of the King needing saving. HE is good, no matter the pain we experience.

6 Years

Today is 6 years since we lost our precious Ava. 2 months 27 days was not long enough. Not enough time to capture a lifetime of memories.

I remember her scent, her painted pink toenails and her brother and sister calling her Baby Aba because neither of them could say their "v" sounds. I remember Noah biting her toes. I remember her belly laugh. What I wouldn't give to hear that sound again, coming from my sweet, baby girl.

But after six years, life has continued, even when I begged God for it it stop, when I begged for Him to take me too. After 6 years, the urgency is not always present or prevalent. There is a lot of the time where I feel pretty "normal".

But come the months of May to August and I feel like losing her was only a breath ago. I feel my heart race, my chest tighten, and my stomach begin to feel nauseous. Soon after Ava dying, I remember being desperate for mothers who had lost children to tell me how long the suffering lasts; how long will I feel this total emptiness? Little did I know then what a long road it would be. Little did I know I would treasure the heartache when it comes because it makes her feel close, real.

To say that Ava's death was only really about Ava would be misleading. Ava and God go hand in hand. I rarely think about one without thinking about the other. It's sort of like a marriage, this joining of two people, and after a time, you're just one. Somehow, Ava and God are so connected, interwoven together that it is just natural to talk about God when I speak of or remember Ava?

How could I not see God's mercy when I look into the face of my four year old? His sweet sweaty face, hair clinging to his forehead, so engrossed in living the life God has given him, the little boy who never would have been if his big sister did not go to heaven so early. How clearly I have been shown His peace, even amidst the tears. That big God, who can do all that stuff loves me. I am a child of the King, and so is my Ava. We're coming baby!!!