A Happy Surprise: Awaiting Baby #6

In October, our family got a happy surprise. Though we were (and still are) actively waiting to adopt again, I'm pregnant! (Due early July.) We weren't trying for a pregnancy -- no medications, no timetables -- rather, we've just been extraordinarily blessed once again. After years of infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss, this new pregnancy came as an absolute shock. In fact, I still feel stunned, unprepared, and completely undeserving of such a blessing a large majority of the time. I am so very grateful.

We made it through the first trimester without any significant upsets. There were a couple of precarious appointments initially, primarily related to those early first sonograms looking for the heart beat, but the issues we had were related to necessary date adjustments and not to any poor development of the baby. My initial due date was adjusted by eight days, and now baby and I are measuring right on target.

Me at 18 weeks pregnant

Another fun tidbit: this baby is a boy! After a run of little ladies, it's finally time for a little more testosterone. A misread sonogram and a misread genetic test initially led us to believe this tiny one was another little lady, but my Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialist both reread the genetic test ("Y chromosome indicated") and provided us with several clear ultrasonic images of baby boy parts. There's no denying it, and James and Bub couldn't be more thrilled! Now, if we could only decide on a name...

Waving Hello

It's a Boy!

L'esprit de Corps

My mom passed away fourteen very long, incredibly fast weeks ago. She died very early in the morning on Tuesday, July 31, 2012, to be exact. Ultimately, it was the metastasis into her spinal fluid -- Leptomeningeal Carcinomatosis -- that did her in. She made the decision one Tuesday to have me call in a hospice agency to help care for her, and by the following Tuesday, she was gone. In the middle of a milky midnight, she parted with her mortal body and made her way Heavenward. What a brave soul.

I saw a friend a few weeks back, one I see primarily at baby showers and birthday parties, and she asked me if I was grieving well. "I don't know, I guess so," I said. In many ways, I think I might still be in shock, even these fourteen weeks later. I'm still waiting on Mom to call me, to ask about the mundane details of my day, to tell me about TV shows and catch me up on the latest gossip, to pick at me, to argue with me. Something. Anything. Being in full control of my faculties, I know the call isn't coming.

I just long for it.

She is especially absent here at the onset of the holiday season -- the savory, sweet days of autumn; the wonderful, wonder-filled days of joy and celebration -- they're different without her. Left behind is a tangible and painful void. No one bothered to inquire about kid Halloween costumes. Thanksgiving traditions for my children will be the ones James and I create on our own or with my in-laws. No longer will there be anyone needing a lecture about the possibility of being too generous at Christmas -- the lecture that Mom's heard and allowed to go in one ear and out the other for as long as I've had children.

Mom was missing from our recent Colorado vacation. After having traveled with us a number of times, it was odd to not even have to take her into consideration. It was also difficult to return to a location where I'd been with her just two years earlier. She was so healthy and ornery on that trip -- we had no idea that cancer was on the radar. We certainly had no idea she'd be dead a mere twenty-eight months later. I imagined all the ways we might have altered things had we known. It was bittersweet to build beautiful, new memories with my family while balancing the what-ifs of a while ago.

We weren't perfect, Mom and I, but despite the strain our individual brokenness often put on our relationship, we were always ultimately there for one another. I miss my champion, and I miss championing for her. I just pray that the days and the ways in which I served her were as much of a blessing to her as they were to me. Above all, I hope I served her in a way that pleases the Lord.

(Mom with her children 41 hours before she died...)

"Honor widows who are truly widows.
But if a widow has children or grandchildren,
let them first learn to show godliness to their own household
and to make some return to their parents,
for this is pleasing in the sight of God.
I Timothy 5:3-4

"Honor your father and your mother,
that your days may be long in the land
that the Lord your God is giving you."
Exodus 20:12

Brystol is Three!!

Our sweet Brystol turned three-years-old on Monday. It was a bittersweet day for me because my mom's health and strength had declined to the point that I had to cancel her playgroup party to take my Mom to see her specialty neurologist in Houston. Our friends were understanding, of course, but all day long I struggled with hard feelings -- happy to be available for and present with my mom, but sad that we'd gotten to that point so quickly and sad to miss my baby's big day.

Fortunately, we were able to make it back to the Metroplex in time to blow out some birthday candles (even if they were on a storebought cake) and to open a few gifts. The best thing about having a big family -- instant birthday party! Brystol had fun, but she did notice when we tucked her in for bedtime that her playgroup friends never came by. We'll reschedule that celebration for a less hectic time.

Cake and Presents

Instant Birthday Party

Special Time with Nanny

Changes

My mom moved in with us a little under a month ago. She drove herself here, she walked in on her own, and she's been rapidly declining since. We've been aware of a steady decline, but we thought she was just really tired. She went out of town the weekend before she moved in. When she returned to the Metroplex, she expended all of her energy packing and preparing to move. Then she moved, and while she didn't personally do any lifting, she'd reached the point physically that doing too much of anything was taxing. Even though she was directing her moving helpers, doing that all day long was exhausting for her. Then, instead of spending the rest of her weekend hours resting, she did some unpacking. The following Monday, she had chemotherapy -- additionally exhausting -- then spent all of the next week working with her house helper to get the rest of the boxes emptied.

When all was said and done, she was absolutely worn out, and we thought that fatigue explained the changes we were seeing in her. We don't go out and do too much these days anyway, but in an effort to help her recover, we made it a point to stay close to home, but even with rest, she's continued to decline. Two weekends ago, we were able to leave her here at the house for a couple of hours while James and I took the kids to do some grocery shopping, and she was ornery enough to argue with me about something silly. By this past weekend, she'd reached a shocking level of immobility and couldn't be left alone at the house at all, the volume of her voice has decreased dramatically, and her speech is so unclear that it sounds like she's chewing on a bag of marbles. Yesterday morning, she could drink from a straw. This morning, she couldn't. By today, Wednesday, she can hardly be left to walk from room to room without a strong adult physically assisting her, keeping her and her walker from taking a spill. Even with constant companionship, she's fallen so hard and fast so many times today (and over the last few days), if she doesn't break something soon, I'll be shocked.

We knew that she would change here. We all knew she would die here, she would go through the process of dying here. It's not a surprise that she's changing, but it is a surprise just how quickly things are moving, especially since the scan she had a month ago seemed so good. She's so very different this month than she was when we went to Disneyworld in April. She's in such bad shape, there's no way we could take that trip now. The rapid pace of things make things so, so difficult. All the changes we've seen in this short amount of time is honestly stunning.

It's hard to be one of the "sandwich generation," simultaneously caring for both parent and child. Today, I had to make calls about homeschool co-op and home health care. I spoke to both an orthodontist nurse and an oncology nurse. I had to assist both my toddler and my mother in the restroom. I gathered my mother up off the ground after a fall just as I gathered up my little ones. It's difficult personally to both observe and adjust to the changes in Mom. It's challenging to walk my children through the changes, explaining to them what's going on with Nanny's health when I don't even understand. It's heartbreaking to sit with my still young mother and hold her hand as I explain to her that there is likely little that can be done now, this is probably the way things are going to be from here on, and that there's a very good chance we'll have to hire that hospice care agency pretty soon. It's hard to do it all alone.

Today, as I spent yet another hour talking to the insurance company about medical equipment, Mom made her way into the restroom without calling for me to help keep her upright. (She's fiercely hanging on to her independence, even if it means she's putting herself in danger.) I'd just been debating needs vs. coverage with the insurance liaison, explaining the physical changes observed in this short time, and defending a new request for hospital tables and portable ramps. I explained to the liason that she's falling now with some degree of regularity, several times a day now, and right in the middle of our conversation, we both heard a loud crash. Mom's leg muscles failed, and she fell so hard and fast, she destroyed the metal toilet paper holder before crashing to the hard tile floor and becoming trapped between the wall and the toilet. I tossed the phone to the side, lifted her out of her prison, and helped her finish her business before getting her safely back to her bed. It's difficult to watch her decline, to watch her struggle, to watch her hurt herself. In her heart, she's so strong and brave, but I know she's heartbroken having to rely so heavily on me. There's a certain sad look in her eyes every time I pick her up off the ground. And she apologizes so frequently, no matter how many times I tell her it is my honor and joy to serve her in this way.

By the time I got back to the liaison, I was in tears from the whole experience. When I picked the phone up again, she asked me, "Who helps you? Do you have family helping you?" Nope, no I don't. My mom's friend Cheryl is our biggest support, but other than that, it's really just us. All of our relatives live elsewhere, and they all have their own lives to live. It's cool, though. There's no obligation to show up here and to help out. Even if they were interested in helping, a few of my family members would come with so much of their own personal drama that it's a relief to me that they're far away. I'll lift Mom off the ground all by myself a hundred times a day just to avoid dealing with that brand of nonsense. I think what troubles me the most is that it seems so many of her friends (coworkers, church pals, CR sponsees, etc.) and relatives -- people she's always considered herself close to, people she's sacrificed for -- are so consumed with their lives that they don't even attempt to bother with brief visit or a short phone call. They're all just gone, not willing to deal with her dying, and that's what bothers me the most. It's that sort of thoughtless, careless, selfish behavior that I find myself having to check my heart about. Every part of this experience is work, and as in most hard situations, most of the works seems to be internal.

Though her isolation is frustrating, it's not entirely unexpected. I read On Death and Dying and Leaning Into Sharp Points before she moved in with us, and both authors prepare caregivers for this kind of isolation. The surprise again is just that it happened so fast. Writer Paul Kalina quoting hospice documentary filmmaker Jen Peedom writes, "'By and large, Western culture doesn't have processes for dealing with death... There's a funeral and then... after a month, friends expect you to get on with it and then avoid you [if you don't]. I think that we are afraid of death; it makes us feel uncomfortable and confronted and we're not given the support and structure.'" It would just be nice if there were more opportunities for respite and support. It would be even nicer if she didn't have cancer and we didn't have to deal with this at all. Alas, she does, and this is now our combined journey.

I'm taking comfort in God's word, knowing our family has taken on His charge to care for my Mom as her time on this Earth comes to a close. As we continue walking in obedience, I know He will continue to provide us with all we need whether it be supernatural strength, abundant grace, or durable medical equipment. Above all, may we honor Him as we continue to show mercy to one another here.

"And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, 'Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?' [Jesus] said to him, 'What is written in the Law? How do you read it?' And he answered, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.' And he said to him, 'You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.' But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, 'And who is my neighbor?' Jesus replied, 'A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?' He said, 'The one who showed him mercy.' And Jesus said to him, 'You go, and do likewise.'" -- Parable of the Good Samaritan, Luke 10:25-37 ESV

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world. My brothers, show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory. For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, and if you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, 'You sit here in a good place,' while you say to the poor man, 'You stand over there,' or, 'Sit down at my feet,' have you not then made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom, which he has promised to those who love him? But you have dishonored the poor man. Are not the rich the ones who oppress you, and the ones who drag you into court? Are they not the ones who blaspheme the honorable name by which you were called? If you really fulfill the royal law according to the Scripture, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself,' you are doing well. But if you show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors. For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become accountable for all of it." -- James 1:27, 2:1-10

Accidental Artificial Twinning: Our Experience with Pseudo-Twins

We recently invited some friends of ours to come share their adoption story at FAM, the Foster/Adoption Ministry James and I lead at our church. Jon and Christi told their story of adopting daughters by way of both a private domestic agency adoption and an adoption through the foster care system. They had a biological son, then a short time later, they decided to adopt one more child. They wanted to adopt a male infant from Ethiopia, but after God did a work on their hearts, they decided to adopt a sibling group of four older children.

As they told their story, they shared some of the inhibitions their social worker had before walking them through their international adoption. There was an issue with birth order being disrupted. There were also concerns about "artificial twinning," a term I'd not heard until they spoke of it.

"Artificial twinning, false twinning, virtual twinning, and pseudo-twinning are synonymous terms coined to describe... genetically unrelated children born very close in age (less than eight months apart) to different birthparents being raised as siblings by the same social/legal parent(s)" [Perspectives Press]. Alternately defined, artificial twinning is "an expression used to describe unrelated children in a family whose birthdates are less than nine months apart. These can be a combination of biological and adopted siblings, adopted only, step or foster siblings" [Adoption.org].

Accidental Artificial Twins
Richard Van Deelen, Executive Director of Adoption Associates, Inc., addresses "the problem" of pseudo-twinning. "First, the adjustment demands of both children happening simultaneously may overwhelm the capacities of the parents to cope and adjust themselves. Even in normal twin birth situations, the demands of providing for both babies can be exhausting and may require the help of friends and family." He contends that in an effort "to do the best planning possible for children" and "[to protect] children by facilitating healthy placements," artificial twinning should be avoided.

Artificial twinning seems to be more common in international arrangements, in older child adoptions, and in the placement of sibling groups, but it's a phenomenon that's typically frowned upon by "responsible" adoption professionals, particularly those dealing with domestic infant adoption situations. Adoptive parents who end up with like-twins are often deemed irresponsible and selfish. Adoption professional Patricia Irwin Johnston puts it this way, "pseudo-twinning is usually not a carefully thought through goal and it comes from self-centered thinking rather than baby-centered thinking. Most of the time it reflects parents’ nearly desperate need to regain control over their family planning and to 'get' a child. Would-be parents who have 'failed' in so many ways during [infertility] treatment are often unable to believe in their potential for success in becoming parents to an extent that allows them to think in the baby-centered way that is the heart of effective parenting. They simply don’t know about or understand the need for emotional and practical preparation through a psychological pregnancy unless adoption professionals take extra, careful time to explain the concept and its benefits to them." She continues, "parents of exceptionally close-in-age babies who protest that they didn’t do this on purpose (and many take this position) are kidding themselves. Adoption doesn’t happen accidentally in the way that birth control fails."

My Little Elleigh-Bean
We have a set of pseudo-twins in Elleigh and Piper, and while we didn't purposefully seek to establish a set of artificial twins, I suppose some would say it didn't happen by accident. We felt pressed by the Lord to adopt another child, and nearly as soon as we submitted to that idea and submitted our application, we miraculously conceived another.

My Chunky Monkey, Piper
Because we didn't halt our adoption, and because I neither miscarried nor aborted the baby in my womb, we purposefully created the like-twins we're raising. In Jon and Christi's situation, they felt the Lord leading them to intentionally embrace adoptions that would both disrupt birth order and create multiple sets of artificial twins. Before their adoptions, they were well-educated by their social worker about the challenges they might face, but ultimately, they moved forward holding fast to God's peace in their hearts. James and I sincerely weighed out all the scenarios we could imagine, and still, we didn't feel compelled to halt our adoption, despite our blossoming pregnancy. Both of our families sought instruction from God's word which reads, "The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God," and for both of our families, God's promise came to pass: "Then you will experience God's peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:5b-6 ESV, Philippians 4:7 NLT).


But what about sensibility? Aren't the experts experts for a reason, what with all their expertise? Sure, they are. Shouldn't we listen to them, then? Sure, we should. It is fair to say that adoption experts and child advocates honestly care for their charges and really want what's best for the children they come in contact with. They have history and experience, they know their stuff. I'm not saying we shouldn't consider what others have to say about our situations, particularly those with some sort of authority on the matter at hand, but I am saying as Christ followers, we are not to base our decisions strictly on human authority or opinion.


Matthew 6:33 tells us to seek first God's kingdom, so do that -- go first to God's Word, ponder His character, think about what would bring glory to His kingdom, consider His heart for children and families. The Bible says, "pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you" (James 1:27 NLT). In the Psalms, it explains, "Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain... Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate" (Psalm 127:1, 3-5 ESV). In these scriptures and throughout the Word, it is clear that God is all for children and families and adoption. God is in the business of building homes and families. Rest in that as you continue seeking His plan for your life specifically.

If you're considering an adoption scenario that experts might disagree with, follow the instructions in Philippians and start praying. Before entirely embracing expertise associated with human experience, pray and still your heart to discern how the Lord would lead you. The central theme to both of our stories is that we knew that God was calling us to move outside of our comfort zones, to pursue situations that defied logic and superseded cultural reasoning. Sure, some aspects of these decisions are complicated. Jon and Christi would tell you that their everyday is not easy, and neither is ours, but I swear to you, I would not change one thing. We did what we felt compelled by Christ to do, and even on the days when we feel pulled a thousand directions, we can recall that tranquility and take comfort.


If you're considering an adoption scenario that experts might frown upon, ask others to pray for you, specifically that you might be filled with the knowledge of God's will. Colossians 1:9-12 describes believers praying for other believers as it reads, "And so, from the day we heard, we have not ceased to pray for you, asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of his will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God. May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light." Having a support system of praying believers is a blessing anytime, but it's vital if you're planning to adopt, especially if your adoption might be complicated or non-conventional.


Because of the specific circumstances she was born into, had her birthmother not made an adoption plan, our baby very probably would have ended up in foster care. The whole situation is very complex, though none of us knew the extent of it at the time or relinquishment and placement. Because we were motivated by the peace in our hearts and not circumstances, we knew that this baby was meant for us. We loved her from the moment we laid eyes on her. We wanted to bring her home, to care for her, to protect her. It all felt very baby-centered, not egocentric as some experts might assume. But what if our primary motivation had been all of the extenuating circumstances, or what if the opinions of experts moved us instead of God's Word? Though I was eight weeks pregnant when we got the call for newborn Elleigh, would it have been preferential to ignore the peace in my heart, that supernatural knowing that this was my daughter, and allow her to slip into a state system of care just because she might one day feel the need to compete with a sister mere months younger than her? Or what about Jon and Christi's kids -- is the risk of competition so severe that it's better for them to languish in an Ethiopian orphanage than to live with a family that loves and cares for them? Personally, I don't think so. To me, that doesn't seem sensible.


I acknowledge that as children are going through developmental experiences simultaneously, there could be some issues, and these issues may be harder for some families to manage than others. In our home, diapers blowing out simultaneously is the worst thing that we've experienced thus far. Because we do have staggering nap times, we've adjusted our lifestyle a bit, but adjustments come with every new child whether they're spaced months apart or years apart. I personally think it's better for us that we're doing all the baby things at one time instead of letting one child move entirely away from naps and diapers, only to start completely over again. An even bigger change for our family is the fact that we went from being an average-sized family with one tiny child to a large family with three little ladies at once. It seems like more of the adjustments we're making relate to having five children than to having two so close in age, and our experience is common. Many people who aren't "experts," but who are living similar lives in similar families say the same thing -- artificial twinning isn't a big deal, despite the warnings to the contrary, and children often adjust and thrive, even with a same age sibling.

We've been warned it will get worse, that the baby phase is the honeymoon. "Just wait until they all hit puberty/start dating/get married," say the naysayers. We've considered those things, but we're not worried. The Bible says, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?' For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble" (Matthew 6:25-34 ESV).

Will our like-twins resent us one day for their close spacing? I don't know. Today and everyday, I plan to point my children to Jesus as I care for and give each of them what I believe they need. Today and everyday, I will be thankful for the blessing they each are to our family as a whole. Today and everyday, I choose not to trouble myself with what may or may not happen tomorrow, resting in the confidence that God is in control both now and then.


Our like-twins are little babies right now, and though there are days that feel utterly exhausting, I genuinely love the way our story was written. Despite his aversion to like-twins, Van Deelen states, "On the positive side, a wise simultaneous placement will provide sibling companionship. There are also legitimate considerations like cost savings, reduced travel time losses, maximized time off from work for the primary caregiver, etc." There have been many advantages to having similarly-aged little sweethearts in our home, and I would not choose to do any portion of this life differently.




Linking To: Raising Arrows, Growing Home, A Wise Woman Builds Her Home, Far Above Rubies, Teaching What is Good, The Better Mom, Monday Musings, Works for Me Wednesday, Women Living Well, Big Family Friday, Heart 4 Home, Time Warp Wife, Encourage One Another, Gratituesday, Raising Homemakers

On Suffering

Today, my friend Amy linked to a podcast of our pastor's wife, Lauren Chandler, sharing her thoughts on God in the midst of suffering. Our pastor, Matt Chandler, was diagnosed with a brain tumor three years ago, and Lauren relays how prior experiences (miscarriages, in particular) prepared her heart for hardship and helped her personally and intimately know how she could rely on God during the storm.

I've often thought the same thing -- how our season of deep suffering prepared us for our current struggles. Dealing with terminal illness and being in "the valley of the shadow of death" is difficult still, to be sure, but I'm not afraid because I know -- I really, really know -- that God is with me, comforting me (Psalm 23). Actively, presently, right here by my side comforting me. How? Through His Word -- particularly His promises, chronicles of His character, stories of other saints that He's carried through dark and difficult times -- through personal prayer and worship, and by the loving actions and prayers of those walking this road with us.

The cancer in my mom's body is seemingly unyielding, but in Matt and Lauren's situation, the cancer is gone. Author Jeannie Allen interviewing Lauren asked, "How do you not live in fear [that is will come back]? What does it look like for you to take every thought captive and not go to the worst place?" Lauren replied, "[By] just being grateful for today, being focused on today, and realizing that the Lord has given me grace for today. Not getting ahead of myself, and not getting years down the road or coming up with a Plan B, but just trusting Him for each day because who knows what tomorrow is going to hold for any of us. We make plans like we did before and we just hold them very loosely."

Again, I relate to much of this. Though Mom's cancer is still present, though it seems to be moving to the point of chemo-resistance, and though hospice care is on the horizon, I have what I need, the grace I need, to get through right now and all of each day. When my sweet little Gracie collapsed on me recently, crying, asking why our lives couldn't be "normal," this was my response to her. This is our normal, and God is present here, giving us manna for this day and this day alone. When we get to tomorrow or to a month from now or to that dark night of the soul, there He'll be with what we need for that time, too.

I'm not saying that this journey isn't hard because God is with me. I'm sure Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego felt the heat of the flames they were in, though the Lord was present with them (Daniel 3). I've felt the pressure of being sandwiched between many children and a dying mother. I've been sad and weary, I've felt frustrated, I've lost my cool, I've shed plenty of tears, and I've applied thirty pounds of chocolate straight to my waistline over these last fifteen months. I'm absolutely, 100% not some kind of spiritual giant who has it all together, but though I'm human and I've faltered and struggled, "I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate [me] from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39).

Lauren continued by discussing God's sovereignty even in suffering. Though we may not understand why we're suffering, she reiterates the fact that there is such a peace in understanding that God is in control of all things, even the suffering we're experiencing (Job 1). She personally recognizes the limits of her understanding, of all of our understanding, and focuses on the character of God, reiterating that He is good (Psalm 136:1) and does what's best.

This is where our rest is -- knowing God the Father, really knowing Him. Looking to His word to know who He is and what He's all about rather than relying on what the world would say about Him. Looking to Jesus specifically to know the Father (John 10:22-30), understanding His character and mannerisms to understand the Father. No matter what we're facing, God is a kind and loving Father, present with us always. No matter what we're facing, "let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God" (Hebrews 12:1b-2).

Forever Reign by Hillsong

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In the Gloaming

I remember lying in front of our console TV as a small child, absentmindedly watching old shows with my mom. She'd have me tune in to programs like Perry Mason or The Waltons as she'd do her sitting-down chores -- folding the laundry, for example. I was the little blonde-haired knob turner back before we owned our first remote control.

Personally, I rarely watch TV. I watch American Idol when in season, and I occasionally watch shows on Netflix or on demand when I absolutely have nothing else going on. I rarely ever watch anything in real time, not even Downton Abbey, a show I found on Netflix and would watch in real time -- if I bothered to discover when it actually airs instead of just setting the DVR to record it. The point here: TV viewing matters very little to me. However, like my mother, I prefer to fold the laundry while tuned in to something mindless, something I don't have to focus deeply on, but something entertaining enough to distract me somewhat from the awful, horrible, terrible, neverending task at hand.

During laundry time last week, I tuned to The Waltons just as my mother had me do all those years ago. Warm towel in hand, I paused on a twilight scene of children scampering about in a clearing while the adults lazed on a long farmhouse porch, resting after a hard day's work. The imagery was captivating, and I took special note when the grandfather referred to that slipping away of the day as being "in the gloaming." More clearly defined, the phrase describes the period of decreasing daylight from late afternoon until nightfall.

One year ago, my mom was diagnosed with Oat Cell Carcinoma, an aggressive, minimally treatable form of small cell lung cancer. The rounding oncologist at the hospital where she was diagnosed essentially told her to pack it in -- she'd have just a few weeks of life left, at best. I promptly gave that oncologist a stern talking-to, then researched and connected my mom with another hospital group and a more positive, more aggressive oncologist. A year later, she's still living.

In November, my mom began undergoing prophylactic brain radiation. Studies have shown the progression of this cancer to the brain will slow if the patient radiates in advance. Once the cancer has metastasized to the brain, there are no available treatments, treatments elsewhere in the body make no sense, and the patient is really in a period of waiting for the end. So, she began having the scary, risky brain radiation, and after her second treatment, she lost her mind. One minute, we were having a normal, lucid conversation; the next moment, she was hallucinating and trying to eject herself from my rapidly moving vehicle. While rushing her back to the hospital, I called a few people to say their final goodbyes before her mind was entirely gone, then I spent the evening demanding doctors hear me and treat her.

Hours alone with my waning mother and my nursing baby were trying. Woman at the end of life, baby at the beginning, and me, stuck in the middle of the press. I had to give orders for scary treatments that were necessary to ensure her physical existence, even if she was already gone mentally. As I tried to explain to my frantic, lost-within-herself mother all the painful things her care team was doing to her, the little blonde-haired knob turner within me reeled. Then, even after those hard choices, more than once her body responded as if it had had enough. Unconsciousness overtook her. I was certain she wouldn't last through the night. When she was finally physically stable enough to be wheeled from the ER to the ICU for more invasive care, I couldn't go with her -- nursing babies weren't allowed on the floor. I left the hospital certain I'd seen my mother alive for the final time. Fortunately, I was wrong.

Those hours with my mom that November night were some of the longest, loneliest of my life. James was with me at the hospital for as long as possible, but he had to leave to care for our children at home. All of our other relatives live elsewhere, but even if we were geographically closer, the reality is only two or three people would be bothered to come to the hospital and sit with me while my mom slips into eternity. Though she pulled through that particular experience physically and regained her complete mental capacity, it occurred to me just how quickly the end could (and likely will) come, how hard managing it all will be, and how my comfort even in this must come from Christ alone.

The first days after diagnosis were very overwhelming, just as all the days since have been. All of our conversations are peppered with final thoughts and final plans. Not once in this year has there been a day spent together that was just innocent and not full of intentional moments, and while intentional moments are good, they are intense. Every experience might be the last of its kind. We are in the gloaming, waiting for night to fall.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas (Audio)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


"I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore."

Psalm 121:1-8 ESV


Photos courtesy of Jen Hair at Wild Hair Photography

The Hard on This Side of the Hard

One year ago yesterday, Valentine's Day, we had a home study done in the hopes that we'd be chosen to adopt one day, someday. I remember that day, how stressful it was, how we anticipated just the most awful experience of our very worst skeletons tumbling out of our closets. I remember wanting to make a pact with James promising to be honest, just not too honest, about who we are as parents, because man, we need grace. But in the end, I think that might have been our answer to "What kind of parents are you?" The kind that needs lots and lots of grace. Now, let me tell you about Jesus.

Four weeks later, we had a new baby. Six months later, we had another.

Over the holidays, we spent a weekend with my dearest friend, Marcie. We hosted a little get-together for her and her family in celebration of their new home. During the party, a friend of hers asked why we didn't consider adopting an older child. She knows our hearts are open to adopt again, and the gap in our family is glaring. (Our second child is a very mature nine-year-old, and our third child is as two as two can be.) For me, there is weight there, there was waiting there, there is no vacancy in that gap. It's full of babies. Full.of.babies. And it's full of the grace I needed to survive, and get off the couch, and breathe in and out, and care for the children I'd already been given, and take vacations, and have birthday parties, and try again and again and again for more babies. That gap led to a particular authority with which I can say, "Now, let me tell you about Jesus."

Yesterday, as the kids anxiously anticipated chocolates from their cupid Daddy, I just kept thinking of how our whole world has been turned upside down in the course of one year, how Love took the love that we had and multiplied it beyond our wildest dreams. When I took the kids to a homeschool Valentine's Day party and every.single.adult commented on how full my hands were, what a production it must be for me to leave my home, and how amazing it is that one person can carry that many diaper bags at once, I'd reply sweetly, but I just kept thinking, "I know! I know! Can you even believe it?! Now, let me tell you about Jesus."

This house, my arms, they are full of babies. Full.of.babies. Never-ending laundry piles cover my couch. Three sizes of diapers overflow the basket they're stored in. There are toys and books everywhere. Somebody pooped in my bed. I am exhausted, and hours after bedtime my ears continue ringing from the constant noise. Every day, I need that same grace to survive, and get off the couch, and breathe in and out, and care for the children I've been given, and take vacations, and have birthday parties.

But long division finally clicked. A symphony of armpit farts is one of the funniest things. Raspberries are a silly sign of discontent. Somebody else pooped in the potty -- finally. Maybe because of that weighty, grace-filled gap, I well know how blessed I am, even though it's hard on this side of the hard. And that grace -- it is constantly available. Thank you, Jesus.

"I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.
I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound.
In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret
of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.
I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

-- Philippians 4:11-13 ESV

Because You Can't Backdate a Baby (A Wrap-up of Sorts)

I'm notorious for backdating posts, setting aside my very busy life for a while to catch the blog up with all our goings-on. But you can't backdate a baby, or the finalization of an adoption, or the progression of terminal cancer, or the decision to begin homeschooling again, or Christmas. So, I won't. I'll allow the space in this blog to remain to mark the overwhelming spiral that has been my life of late, and here at the very end of 2011, I'll look ahead and plan to stay more in touch with the blogosphere, documenting our nonsense for all who care to keep track.

2011 has been a doozy of a year. James and I were discussing recently that this year our friends have taken it upon their sweet selves to bring us meals on five different occasions for entirely different needs. For someone who doesn't like to ask for nor receive help from other people, that might indicate just how overwhelming our year has been. For a solid week, I've been dedicating daily time to this post -- this one right here -- trying to bullet point all our year, but a week later, I was only able to list our year through June, so I ditched that effort in favor of this very quick update.

Our year was busy and overwhelming. We decided to adopt, we got pregnant, we were matched with a newborn seven weeks after our initial application, my mom got cancer and underwent six rounds of chemotherapy, I traveled to New York City with my friend Marcie, my pregnancy progressed and I indulged my insane nesting compulsions, I attended school full-time, I finished my degree with concentrations in English Literature and Sociology, we enclosed part of our game room to make way for baby, we spent a week in Florida with our friends Marcie and Tobey, we drove from Texas to Iowa to buy a Dodge Sprinter (a van large enough for our growing family), I continued to help lead the infertility/pregnancy loss support ministry at my church, we finalized Elleigh's adoption, we had a baby (hello, Piper!), we celebrated birthdays and holidays, we used season passes to a nearby water park, We traveled to Oklahoma and throughout Texas a number of times, I assisted my sister-in-law as she labored with my newest little nephew, my mom underwent prophylactic brain radiation and had an awful reaction to it (spending a touch-and-go week in the ICU), we traveled to speak on a parent panel at our adoption agency, we were invited to lead the Foster/Adoption ministry at our church, I began homeschooling Bub again, and then we celebrated Christmas. Whew. I know I'm leaving some stuff out, and even this is just the big stuff. This doesn't even begin to cover the neverending laundry pile that five children generate.

And that's the other thing: FIVE CHILDREN. Our Christmas card last year featured our little family of five. Five total. Now, we have five children! Our family has grown so much in one year's time that I couldn't even bring myself to go buy stamps for this year's cards. I chuckle thinking back to my 2011 resolution post, the one I posted right after a "failed" adoption. I wrote, "All along, though, as we've discussed and prayed about this specific opportunity for adoption, we've prayed for God's perfect will to be done. That is still our prayer. We're trusting her decision to parent is His plan, and in that, He has a better plan to satisfy the longing that remains in our hearts. We were sure hopeful, though, that a little set of sweet baby twins was part of His plan to redeem the years of heartache and loss... I'm hopeful 2011 will prove to be a year of growth and blessing in the family way." Clearly, I had NO IDEA what God had in store.

I still don't.

I feel hopeful here at the beginning of 2012. Though I'm in survival mode right now, still nursing constantly, still not sleeping through the night, I feel like there are good things on the horizon. Of course, there are those not-so-good things, too -- there always are -- but regardless of what's coming my way -- good or bad -- I know the Lord is constant and in control. We're open to more family growth, but we're very likely not pursuing another child this year at all. I need some sleep! We are hoping to sell our current house in favor of a "forever" house, but with the market as it is, that will take some serious miracles. Then, with regards to my mom, she still has cancer, and it's still considered terminal, but she's feeling healthy and her most current scans look really good. I'm hopeful she'll live through all of 2012.

Whatever the year holds for us, I pray your year is amazing,
full of all manner of good things.


Blessings to you and yours...

Painting Pumpkins

With our newest Lil' Pumpkin around, I have neither the energy nor the desire to carve an actual pumpkin this year. Instead, the kids painted the little pumpkins they picked up on our last trip to the Patch. Spooky enough, I suppose...

Sisters

To my sister:

Remember every day,
no matter what I've said,
here's what i want to say --

I will always love you,
be with you till the end,
when no one else is around
I'll be your friend.

-- Author Unknown

A Couple of Nuts

Sister to sister we will always be,
A couple of nuts off the family tree.

--Author Unknown

Poppa John and the Great Train Expo

Poppa John loves model trains. He collects all things Lionel and would convert a large part of his home to make room for track space if it wouldn't negatively affect future resale value. Part of the reason he picked this weekend for a visit was so that he could take the kids to The Great Train Expo at the Fort Worth Convention Center.

At the show, there were a number of model train displays in varying sizes that had been built and assembled by train clubs in the area. Poppa John and Bub were both partial to the HO size as a collectible, but Bub and Gracie really enjoyed watching the large models on the rails. The details on the trains, the tracks, and all the little parts with which to accessorize were unbelievable, and as a detail-oriented kid, Bub really enjoyed examining all the pieces. He'd love to build a track, and I have a feeling with a little more exposure, we'll have to consider a home conversion as well.

The In-Laws: A Photo Essay

Our little family (James, Amanda, Bub and Gracie), Poppa John, Jerald and Hayley, Aunt Liz and Uncle Harry, Cousin Randy, Second-Cousin Shannon and her very quiet new husband who never told me his name.

It's the Blog That Suffers the Most

It seems like since I became pregnant, this blog is lucky to get some attention once a week. Though I have reduced my number of commitments and outings, I'm still doing blog-worthy things from time to time -- yet, I struggle to find make the time to blog about them. I hate to still blame the baby growing inside of me, but honestly, it's all her fault. I'm either constantly sleeping or sleepwalking, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing I can do about it. Unfortunately, it's the blog that suffers the most.

To recap the last several days:

On Friday, I joined my friend Amy for two-day Sally Clarkson Whole Hearted Mother Conference. I was a little leery of the conference content considering I've never attended before, but I was pleasantly surprised to be both challenged and encouraged in my role as a mother. Really, so encouraged that I'm considering adding four or five more kids to our brood (but don't tell James).

On Saturday, when the conference ended, Amy and I met our wonderful husbands for dinner and a concert. As a Christmas gift, James gave me four tickets for the sold out Chris Tomlin Hello Love concert (with Israel Houghton and surprise guest Christy Nockels). We invited Amy and Corey long before I made the connection that the conference was the same weekend, and it all worked out smashingly. The concert, the music, unbelievable! I love Chris Tomlin, and he couldn't have chosen better tour mates. Such a great time! What was not great was the fact that I left the car lights on and returned to a dead battery. Fortunately, our friends rescued us -- late though it was -- and our crummy car battery lives on another day.

Very, very early Sunday morning, we left home for East Texas. James' grandmother died earlier in the month, and her memorial service was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. We wondered how the service would play out since James' family lives in a tiny little town and two of his family members (along with their family members) would not be able to make it to the service. We were concerned for James' dad that the memorial service would have a limited number of attendees. Instead, we were pleasantly surprised to see a full little chapel with friends and family that hadn't been seen in years. Even Gigi's students came to share kind words about her -- students she taught in pre-K who are now grown men and women. We were impacted by the life she led, and we were honored by the respect shown to Gigi and to James' dad.

We spent Sunday night in a hotel in Nacogdoches, and it was probably the one hotel in an entire chain of hotels that did not have an indoor pool. Not good when you have two kids who've been made to sit still and be quiet nearly all day long. They were upset and frustrated, but I think I was even more upset and frustrated. It was too cold and too dark to go hunting for a park, so we just made do until they wiggled themselves to sleep.

On Monday, we came home again and life returned to "normal" (a term used loosely around here), what with the schooling and cleaning and living life in general.

Yesterday, we went on a field trip to The Bureau of Printing and Engraving, one of only two facilities that prints U.S. paper currency (the other is in Washington D.C.). The tour was totally free, and was so interesting and informative. We learned about early forms of currency. We learned about the engraving and printing process. We got to see the machines at work and easily hundreds of thousands of (non-monetized) dollars just lying around. Did you know the money printed at the Fort Worth location has a tiny "FW" in the top right corner? (The money printed in Washington D.C. does not.)

Today, I'm doing a mad dash around the house finishing the laundry and cleaning frantically before my father-in-law comes for a weekend visit. He's coming to bring some things of Gigi's he thinks I may want, and staying for last basketball games and first soccer games. We're also hoping to squeeze in The Great Train Expo so Poppa John can introduce his love of miniature trains to Bub and Gracie.

So, I'm doing lots of things -- lots of blog-worthy things -- but unfortunately, they're slow in making it to the blog. I'd like to promise once again that I'll be more diligent, but reality is that this is my life right now. This sleepwalking, just-getting-by, gestating reality is mine and I couldn't be happier for it, even if the blog suffers.

Goodbye, Gigi...

Friday night, after coming home intoxicated by the carbs from the bread and oil and Penne Cardinale at Buca di Beppo, we got a call from James' dad that his grandmother had suddenly passed away. Such sad and unexpected news. Around Thanksgiving, her health made a turn for the worst and she couldn't come for the holidays this year, so we told her we'd come for a visit this month -- when my first trimester was over and I could travel again. She died before we made the trip, and that made us feel terrible and exacerbated the sadness.

Gigi went downhill fairly rapidly. She was very self-reliant and working all the way into her eighties. She went from full-time to part-time as a pre-K teacher, then retired just three or four years ago. In the years following her retirement, her health deteriorated. She had several joint replacements, but really struggled with mobility afterward. Gigi went from working and being very independent to being at stuck at home with nursing care. In November, her physician suggested she be put in a care facility so her insurance would pay for the rehabilitation needed to increase her mobility (they wouldn't pay for a rehab nurse to come to her home). At that point, she was on the decline. She began having minor health issues which turned into major ones. Lately, she had some heart trouble and was experiencing some memory loss and dementia. Friday, without warning, she died.

We were sad that we didn't take the opportunity to get down there to say our goodbyes, but we were also sad for James' dad. Gigi has lived with him now for about 20 years, ever since James' mom passed away. We were so concerned for Poppa John, for the loneliness he would feel, and were ready to go right away to spend a few days with him. When we told him we were coming, he insisted we wait until later in the month. He said he was fine, and surprisingly, he really sounded that way. Nearly relieved, actually.

Poppa John and Gigi live in a very small town in the piney woods of East Texas. Every basic need requires a road trip. Poppa John has been alone in caring for his ailing mother, and the struggle he had was dealing with her immobility and lack of care. He couldn't leave her alone, and he could no longer take her with him. Only in these last months has her insurance allowed nursing care, giving him brief moments for the opportunity to take care of the rest of their lives.

When she was placed in the care center, he was able to come and go a bit more. We spent time with Poppa John away from his home twice in November, then he came here for Christmas. Still, his ability to travel was limited and he had to stay close to Gigi in the care center much of the time. I know he will miss her, but I think the difficulties they were both suffering now coming to an end brings relief.

On Friday night, after several phone calls back and forth, we felt comfortable to stay home for the night. On Saturday morning, we were back up and on the phone, and after he continued to insist that we come and spend time later, we were home through the weekend. So much time has been spent over these last three days discussing arrangements, and he's already begun making plans to pass along or donate many of her belongings. It's nearly like Poppa John has begun to reclaim a bit of himself.

As for us, we're sad. James will miss his grandmother, and he still worries for his dad. We see the relief now, but we're concerned about those anniversaries and milestones long term and the sorrow that comes along. I'm sad because I can see clearly all the opportunities I missed with her, and I'm sad to watch James hurt for his family. When we told the kids about Gigi's passing, Bub had a couple of questions, but wasn't really too immediately affected. Gracie, on the other hand, cried and cried. She cried for Gigi, but I think she also cried because of all the loss she's suffered in her short life. In less than four years, she's lost another great-grandmother, her grandfather, her great-aunt Pappy (who was like a grandmother) and has suffered our pregnancy losses along with us. At six years old, she's well acquainted with death, and the burden of that grief was hard to watch.

We comforted her as she mourned and reminded her of the suffering Gigi has had to endure lately. We answered her questions and we prayed for her and with her. By Saturday, she was much better. Today, we made condolence cards and mailed them to Poppa John and to his sisters. We'll see what the memorial service brings. The memorial service will be held later this month. James' aunt lives in Alaska and must fly down. Gigi wish was to be cremated, and that wish allows for a delayed service. As you pray, please remember James, his family, and our Gracie most of all.

Sleeping Breaths

My mom was released from the hospital this morning yesterday morning (I don't even know what day it is!), and is spending the night at our house. Who knew the day would come that I would be up in the middle of the night counting her sleeping breaths just as I count my children's?

photo credit: Emii_Gee

The Bright Spot in an a Very Bad Day

My mom's medical scare orchestrated a very sweet meeting as my brother and his beautiful family rushed down for the night. Rae Lynn's early arrival (she's still not due!) coupled with our family vacation and very full returning schedule has thus far prevented us from making our way towards Oklahoma. Seeing my precious loved ones and meeting that tiny miracle was a beautiful bright spot in an otherwise overwhelming day.

How wonderful it was to have a squirmy little snugglebug spend the night! Rae Lynn is a sweet, peaceful baby. Such a blessing to us all...

Meeting for the first time


Daddy's Girl


A Cousin's Gotta Eat


Saying hello to Nanny
(...who looks like she's just been through labor!)


Beautiful Baby


Sleepy Girl


Daddy's Hands
This gives you an idea of her size.
At three weeks old, she's only now 5 pounds, 8 ounces!


Tiny Tummy


Tiny Toes


"An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair..."
-- Abraham Cowley, Davideis (bk. II, l. 803)


"For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well..."
-- Psalm 119:13-14



Contented Child