There is a Time for Everything Under the Sun

Our third child didn’t get a baby shower.  Not because historically it’s improper in the book of manners, but because I just didn’t think my heart could handle it.  The last time I had been pregnant with a boy, my friends gathered around me as we ate chocolate and vegetables and artichoke dip, all the while cooing over adorable blue polka dot blankets and all things tender and tiny.  It had been almost four years since I had first become a mom, and with that bit of experience, this time around was a bit sweeter and much more relaxing.  With almost four years of practice under my belt, this was going to be a lot easier, a piece of cake.  I more or less knew how to prepare and what to expect.

I had let my guard down and was burned.  That wasn’t going to happen this time.

My friend recently posted how she had taken almost 1000 pictures of her nephew’s birth, and prior to that, she shared pictures of the shower she hosted for her sister, a celebration of the anticipation of their third child.

I am not one to weep over regrets, but my heart sunk a little.  Why hadn’t I allowed the many who offered to host me a baby shower just do what their hearts wanted to do?  Receiving help is difficult for me.  Pride gets in the way of receiving, because I am a damn strong woman and can do a hell of a lot on my own.  However, I’ve found over time how strength is beautiful in numbers, how relying on God and others is not weakness shown but rather confidence revealed.  Real trust, to the core…an ability to recognize most great masterpieces are made up of more than one color, a brick is solely a brick on its own, and a tree will never grow if the seed isn’t ever planted.

No orchestra is made up on solely one instrument.

And only now, after just having loosely celebrated Ryan’s 3rd birthday (Em was sick, he didn’t know it was his birthday or what that meant, really, and Jason and I were just home from Spain), am I able to understand it wasn’t out of guilt or feeling sorry for me that my friends, old and new, wanted to host me a shower. 

I realize now that a shower is to celebrate the anticipation of the little life about to enter the world, an opportunity to celebrate the woman carrying that life, the waiting parents, and a space for everyone to rejoice.  

There is a time for everything under the sun.  Pregnancy and the anticipation of a child is a time of celebration.  Only when news otherwise is relayed should the celebration turn into mourning.

There is a time for everything under the sun.

We don’t skip bridal showers because we think the poor couple won’t last past the infamous 7-year itch.  We don’t forgo weddings for the same reason.  There is no guarantee, on any given day, we will all make it to the 89 year old mark, so should we all skip cake and ice cream, all the years leading up to our day?   There is no guarantee, only hope and hard work, if our marriages will, indeed, continue happily ever after.  Just because a woman is pregnant does not mean the baby inside of her is meant for this side of Heaven.

And just because my heart was raw, carrying another son in my womb, unsure of the days to come, jaded a bit from loving and losing, doesn’t mean I should have denied my family and friends the opportunity to anticipate and celebrate the life growing in me and the arrival of our newest family member.

I’m not saying it was right or wrong to deny my friends and family a chance to host a shower for me years ago.  What I am saying is, in my selfish attempt to protect my heart from further heartache and disappointment, I shut down and didn’t even allow those who loved me to show their love faithfully as they had in the past.  They had celebrated with us, and also mourned when it was time.  

Birthdays, showers, anniversaries, holidays.  All of these celebrations, though marked with loss and memories, no matter how distant, are indeed, celebrations.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this 4 years from when my friends offered to throw me a shower, but I felt strongly to share my heart.  Maybe you are fearful to celebrate the anticipation of a child on the way, perhaps you have had adoptions fall through and it's scary to let your head and heart go there again.  Maybe fear is gripping you as you allow your heart to fall deeply in love again after the loss of a spouse?  I don't know.

I do know for several months I was fearful Ryan would die, just like his big brother.  And I had really, really, really, really, really fallen in love with Noah.  But I knew Noah was dying, and at the same time, I knew he deserved all my love and I loved him with all of my mommy heart.  I don't live in fear anymore that Ryan is going to die like his brother.  He will die.  I don't know when.  God knows the number of our days.  I do know this, however...I have jumped in with both feet in loving Ryan.  The ache and grief of losing his brother does not hang over me as I flip his curls through my fingers, rub noses, snuggle in our favorite chair while reading, and play choo-choo's in the basement.  I'm in love and it feels really amazing.

Every Single Day is a celebration of the lives around us, even our very own.  Is there someone in your life who needs celebrating today?

The only loss in loving is to look back and realize we never gave it our all.

On Any Given Day

"We're not keeping quiet, not on your life!  Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace.  There's far more here than meets the eye.  The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow.  But the things we can't see now will last forever."  - Scripture remix, The Message, 2Cor4

Perspective.

My earliest memory of "different" is of playing down the road at my friend Michael's house.  His house had a 6-car garage, each filled with a shiny Corvette.  His house had many rooms.  His basement had a temperature regulated air-hockey room, as well as a pool table and mini-bar.  His dad was rarely home and his mom seemed sad and lonely.

My house was pretty and happy and normal.  I had my own room, a football shaped soap-on-a-rope and a Barbie record player with a microphone.  My sister and I used to make forts in the woods behind our house, pick strawberries, and explore for hours before our much-needed nightly baths, in which I used my soap-on-a-rope, courtesy of the door-to-door Avon lady.  My parents kissed a lot and laughed, we ate dinner as a family, and they took us to the park and to get ice cream cones once in a while.

And yet, America thinks the bigger house in scenario one with the 6-car garage is the goal.

We have some serious First World Problems.

Because, on any given day, what matters is that I grew up loved and by growing up in a loving home, I, in turn, learned how to love, or at least was shown love is what matters.  Sure, there have been times where a granite topped mini-bar in the basement sounded like a good idea, but then, well, then I put it into perspective.  Life does that to you when something real happens.  When something happens over which you have no control...when you did everything you knew to do, yet the outcome wasn't what you wanted or dreamed of.

On any given day, 25,000 children under the age of 5 pass away.  On any given day, somewhere in the world, a husband or a wife live out the words, "Til death do us part."  Accidents, natural disasters, sickness, and natural aging all lead to death, on any given day.  And the tragic thing is, as humans we contribute to this heartache by creating scenarios where more sadness is fostered, through wars and abuse and murder and hatred, comparison, bullying, whatever...because there isn't enough devastation in the world?!

Over the course of the last few months, on any given day, these are just a few of the things about which I talk to God, not understanding, not being able to control or manipulate it, but just going before Him, trusting He sees "The Other 90%" and that He is good and has a plan, despite my limited perspective:

• A friend who has suffered years of emotional abuse in her marriage
• A friend who is a single mom, working so hard to support herself and her kid
• A friend who had to take her mom off life-support
• A friend who lost her husband and is now raising their kids on her own
• A friend who has cancer
• A friend who has gone through a divorce and is starting life new after 20 years
• A friend whose husband lost his job
• A friend whose husband is unfaithful
• Friends who have kids with special needs
• Friends trying not to grieve while their sick baby is still with them
• Friends who have lost children
• All the single mom's I know whose ex's are slackers
• The people I know who are totally jaded by American Christianity, asking God to somehow use messed-up me to show them His love
• The friend with the terminal illness
• The one who is struggling with addiction but is afraid to share
• Friends who are missionaries, living far away from loved ones
• Friends recovering from bankruptcy
• Friends struggling with depression
• My mom who's going through chemo, again, because the cancer has returned

And these are just a few.  Add to it all the things on your heart and the people in your life and then add to that things that take place in our communities, our countries, and all around the world, and I'd say there is a lot of stuff with which we could feel overwhelmed.

I'm grateful I can take actions to encourage others, though I know I can't fix it all.  At the same time, I'm also very grateful I don't run the Universe, but I trust in the One who does, and even though I hate pain and suffering, on any given day He promises to be near to those whose hearts are wrecked...and from experience, He's not a liar.

*What's on your prayer list?  Are you overwhelmed by it or is it something you are able to trust God with, on any given day?

SAHM Ships Her Pants in the Big City

Yesterday I woke up sure I was dying of colon cancer.

I actually had all the signs according to the NIH.
 
The last month has proved to be a loose operation around here...and by "around here" specifically I mean me, my toilet, and I.  Almost a month ago I decided to do a Daniel Fast to pray about some specific things in my life and a lot of people in my life, and also to clean up my body a bit.  God put certain people on my heart and my times of study were really rich.  It's always easier for me to fast while Jason is out of town and since he was headed to India for a week and a half I chose that time frame.  In true anal (huh) fashion, I typed up a schedule of my Daniel Fast, what foods were allowed, pretty much just veggies, and also wanted to be smart and take certain supplements to be sure I was cleaning out impurities as they released over the course of the week and a half.  All I know is, after a few days and some research and re-calculating, I "discovered" (since the evidence wasn't enough?) that I was ingesting enough fiber for me and my family of 4...and probably your family of 4, as well.

photo courtesy of 4unews.com

Those are times I'm grateful my husband is out of town...I kid you not, I could barely breathe in bed every night.  And I'm not talking about sinus congestion.

Jason got home from India bringing some sort of foreign guest along in his colon.  Poor guy was way more worse off than I was, speaking of "loose operations" and all.  He finally got some meds and he was back in regular business after a couple of days.

Anyway, with him home, once he was able to eat again, I re-introduced fish and a little more lean protein to my "fast".  And, since he got home prior to the weekend and we had a birthday party and I had been solo with the kids for 10 1/2 straight days and I'd eaten clean all that time and lifted, did Yoga, and hit the treadmill each day, I had a glass of wine on date night.  And some popcorn.  And split a gluten free dessert after dinner, but I was writing a "Trip Advisor" review, so that was important because, of course, no one cares and I'm not getting paid for it...but I was going to go back to clean the next morning.

And I got back to pretty clean/balanced eating but none of my "deposits" had gone back to "normal."  In fact, at night my liver was hurting so I'd wake up and flip onto my left side to get back to sleep.  This, of course, put Jason in a trapped state, but since he sleeps through most things, I mean, what can you do? 

And then there are a few details I'll leave out...

Finally I decided to back off my protein powder supplement laden with fiber, as well as my other fibrous supplements, and just let the regular fiber in my veggies do the trick to get me back to a regular pooping kind of girl...not to mention, I was headed to New York City for the upcoming weekend and didn't want to become familiar, like some old person, with all the restrooms in the City.

This plan worked well.  Over the course of the weekend, walking miles and miles, hanging out with friends, hitting gluten-free foodie restaurants and strolling the tulip lined streets all over the City, I realized my bowels and I were, again, at one with the Universe.  Except for on Sunday evening when I looked and felt 7 months pregnant, without exaggeration, and could not for the life of me figure out what the culprit was because even though I had indulged a little in the City, I still didn't eat my allergens.  I went to bed that night, sleeping on my left side, holding my baby belly, hoping all would be well in the morning.

The next morning was our day to leave.  We hit a local diner for breakfast and shared blueberries and an omelet.  I don't eat eggs.  I haven't had eggs in probably a year and a half because my blood work shows it to be my most extreme allergen.  But I thought, "Eh, it won't be that big of a deal...it's cleaner than me eating something like a straight up donut or piece of cheesecake or something..."

We got to the airport, seated on the plane, I fell fast asleep after take off with one of those horrifying open-mouthed plane deep sleeps we've all experienced.  All was well with my little world.  About a half an hour prior to landing I woke up because I was 7 months pregnant again.  My baby was raging mad...kicking...wanting out.

I wasn't quite ready to "deliver" on the plane.

We de-planed and headed to the ladies room, but I guess it was just premature labor.

After a 45 minute drive home, I walked in the door and, let's just say, it wasn't pretty...at all...for four days straight.  The first night, in what is shy only a month of 20 years, Jason had to hit the couch for the first time because I was in and out of bed every 4 minutes.  "Hi, I'm home!  I'm sure you are so happy to have me home from NYC, huh?!"

Anyway, thankfully my sister was here during this time and was so very helpful with the kiddos while Jason was at work and I was "in my office."  He said, "I bet you got food poisoning or something."  I kept thinking, "I split meals with my friends and none of them are sick so it must just be some hidden allergen." 

When things slowed a bit I started doing a little research about bowels and guts.  I researched the Mayo's site, several natural health and infectious disease sites, read a few books on Crohn's and colitis and inflammatory bowel disease.  I researched the causes, the symptoms, the underlying factors.

Jason said I probably got what he had when he got home from India.

I reminded him of my already tender digestive tract prior to my trip and told him it was more likely a sudden onset of Crohn's...but deep down, I knew it was colon cancer and I was sad because I had heard two stories of people finding out they had cancer only two weeks prior and they left their families prematurely and my grandma had several inches of her colon removed and my parents have gut stuff and so do my sisters and with all my "fasting and cleansing" and eating clean and chocolate and wine binges, I'd probably jacked up my whole system and I was weeping because I wanted to watch Emily and Ryan grow up to love God and live boldly for Him and I had so much I needed to write down so they would know how much I love them and what kind of people they should marry and that they could be whatever they wanted to be if God was at the center of their lives being honored in it, and I wanted to renew my vows with Jason on our 20th, but now we weren't going to Spain until August and would I make it until then and had I really left the world a better place than I found it or had I just wasted space and time and talents and there was so much to do if I was going to die, even though I wasn't afraid of it...

Jason said, "Sweetheart, please just make an appointment with Dr. Snook and Dr. Julie and they can do some tests.  You probably just have a virus or something, but you won't ever know until you go.  And you need to stop doing research on the Internet for a while.  Like, take a 5 day break or something...I mean it."  He prayed for me in the kitchen and headed out the door for an overnight to Florida for work.

I got the kids in the car, did carpool, and headed up during rush hour traffic to a last minute appointment my friend had available.  The back pain was worse.  The cancer has spread.  And now nausea.  Last stages.  I was no longer seven months pregnant but rather, skinny from my week of steady trips to the loo.  My doctor friend (who I have known for 10 years and we are very, very close and she knows me all too well) said, "Hey, you look great!  What are you doing?"  I said, "I've been shitting in my pants all week non-stop...I'm not sure there's a secret to it...you just loose weight?!*&%$#"  

She said, "What's going on?"

I said, "I'm a mess! (*Insert BAWLING...)  I think I have colon cancer or Crohn's or something..."

She checked me out, did a couple tests and said, "You have a virus..."

And then she said, "You need to take this because this will help, but I'm pulling out the Big Guns..."

And then she prayed for me.  Not just for my guts but for my mind and my train of thought and my heart and some of the details I can't share here yet and God gave me His peace.

Life is short and I do need to write a few things down for both Emily and Ryan.  But I also need to live right here.  Right now, with INTENTION.

And I don't know when my life here on Earth is meant to come to an end because I'm not in charge of that but I trust the One who has my days numbered in His grand plan.  I'm taking a break from digestive research even though it's fascinating and I know from self-experimentation and documented research the benefits of clean eating on disease and health.

But for now, I will live with INTENTION.

My thoughts had become cancerous, not my bowels. 

I will not allow my head and heart to run on rabbit trails, but when and if I do, I know the One, my loving, steadfast Savior, who remains faithful even when I go darting off.

I guess I just needed the reminder:  It's the slow and steady tortoise who wins in the end.

*Ever had a crazy "end of the world" kind of day?  You can leave it in the comment section so I don't feel like the only one, or you can NOT and that's okay, too...either way, it felt good to write it out...

Have a good weekend!

The "Golden" Years

Santa Fe was good for me.  I drove down by myself because Jason was there for a week and I couldn't get away that long.  At the library with a napless Ryan in tow,  I randomly chose Billy Graham's book on CD, "Nearing Home", "Heaven is for Real" by Burpo, and some Spanish lessons.  (*We're headed to Spain this summer for our 20th and I need to polish up on my conversational skills.)

On the way down I only listened to Billy's book.  My grandpa is "nearing home" presently at 96 and 113 lbs.  Reverend Graham said something to the tune of, "it would be dishonest and misleading to say that getting old is 'golden' but rather difficult and painful and sometimes lonely."  The way my gramps has said it is, "The 90's aren't all they're cracked up to be."  No.  I imagine the 90's aren't "all they are cracked up to be."  I'll post more on that another day.*

*(The above two paragraphs I wrote yesterday.  This morning my gramps weighed in at 110 and my mom called to tell me he wasn't bouncing back as he has in the past.)

Before bed last night I told Jason that after Em got off school we'd head over and hang out with my gramps for a bit.  This morning when I came down to the kitchen, this picture caught my eye.

My Aunt, Gramps, and Mom...60-some years ago

I've looked at it so many times, but my gaze took in how handsome my gramps was in his younger years.  He was 55 when I was born, so clearly he didn't look like that guy with the two cuties.  The picture above was taken some time over 60 years ago...that would put my gramps in his 30's.  He was dapper.  I mean, check out his pocket watch in the mid 1930's below:

Courting my grandma back in the 1930's

Though, this is how my gramps is mostly stuck in my head:

Lou and Dot, late 1990's

That is, until my drive home from Santa Fe, after listening to Billy Graham and his thoughts on "nearing home" and then listening to the little Burpo kid's comments about heaven and seeing his dad's "Pop" while he was in heaven.  And the more I see the picture of my gramps with my mom and aunt at the beach, young, healthy, and strong, even though I never knew him then, I'm able to see beyond the wrinkles which have set deep with time, the white crown of hair that's adorned his head since I was a baby, and the veins and knuckles that mostly make up his hands, and see the man who will welcome me at The Gates one day.  I mean, who really knows?  I haven't been there...I don't know exactly how it works...

Don't get me wrong, I don't know if everything the little Burpo kid says is spot on, but I have a nephew his age (the age he was when he went to heaven) and there's no freaking way he could know eternal, heavenly, supernaturally discerning things like that without coming face to face with Jesus.

Taken a little over a week ago, specifically on March 13

Because I read the post the mom wrote about not avoiding pictures just because you look like crap....

Grateful my kids have gotten to know my gramps, even if just a little...

I'm not sure the point of this post.  I just need to write.  This morning my gramps was mostly napping, not opening his eyes, and it seemed as if he was dreaming.  I snuggled into his ear for a big kiss and whisper, "Hi Handsome!", as I always do, and told him things he and I and Jesus know.  His eyes fluttered.  Then, I hoisted my 30 lb toddler over "Grampa You-ie," as Ry calls him, for a hovering kiss, always on the lips because that's just Ry's style, and a "I yuv you, Grampa You-ie" close to his ear.  My gramps opened his eyes, smiled, and puckered for Ryan's kiss.

I guess I'm the death blogger.  I mean, I've written a little about it here over the years.  And, since dying is the leading cause of death in the world, it may be a subject I continue to cover until my last breath...seeing as how we all have it in common and all.

Anyway.

It's just that he's my last grandparent.  And we have always been close.  And his hugs have always been my favorite.  And he taught me how to dance for my wedding in his kitchen.  I love him.  And I'll miss him.

He may not have felt "golden" in his latter years, but my life has been golden knowing him.

Grieving With Others

You know, I was never a fan of funerals and potato salad or dying people or dead ones or death or pretty much anything that had to do with end of life.  As a kid, from grade 3 and then throughout junior high and high school, a friend, classmate, relative, or pet, died, each year.  Super fun, YEAH!

When I was really little, like preschool age, the guy across the street backed over his son.  My mom was gardening and heard him yelling at his big brother (only 4 at the time) that he was supposed to be watching his little brother.  Messed up...

After my friends and I walked home from the bus stop one day, about a half hour later I heard emergency sirens and a helicopter.  My friend, John, who Stacey and Marc and I were just walking with, was in that life chopper, hooked up to machines, on his way to his last breath.  I didn't go to the funeral.

The first funeral I even remember was my own Grandpa's.  Enough people had died in my life by then that to actually have to face it and attend a funeral, at age 16, made me nauseous.  I was FREAKED out!  Likely this was due to my own deceitfulness and sneaking I had done in junior high watching "R" Rated horror films while my parents were gone.

What the hell was I thinking?  You name it, my friends and I snuck and saw it.  Children of the Corn, Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street, who knows what else...

Jacked up.  Like, totally, completely, utterly EFFFFFF-ed up!

Wow.  To think Hollywood makes money off glorifying death and dying and the underworld.  It's the unknown that fascinates, but to horrify it?  Dear Lord.

And now I've tasted death.  In fact, not only have I soaked my dead son with my tears, but I've grieved with others who have done the same.

I've kissed death.  It's bitter.  What if Eve had picked fruit from "The Tree of Life" instead of the tree of the "Knowledge and Evil?"  We never would have tasted the salty bitter emptiness that comes to those of us left this side of Heaven.  We never would have experienced separation from God...

EVE!!!!  #$%^&*(

This month my friend, Carly Marie Dudley in Australia, is hosting "Capture Your Grief" for Pregnancy and Infant Loss.  She's created a Facebook page for people to share their stories according to the topic of the day.  I headed over there just to check it out.  You know, since it's been 5+ years since I held Noah, I was just going over to the site to encourage others, probably new moms and losses.  And then I started reading, and just saying, "I'm so sorry for your loss!" and looking at the beautiful lives affected by death and temporary separation, yet heartache, nonetheless.

And then I posted a picture.  Because it was a call for "Pre-Loss" pictures.  And that was easy, because I posted this:

 
It's a picture of Noah, in my belly, safe and sound.  And it's utter pregnancy joy on my face, looking at myself for the first time in my life and thinking, "Wow!  I'm beautiful!"  And it's a gift to my heart because I didn't know.  All I knew was I would have a son, and I was already in love with him.

Being over at Carly's Facebook page with all those stories is difficult.  It's not cupcakes and tequila.  It wrecks me to know other families hearts will know the same pain mine has known.  I knew when Noah was sick, and after he died, that we weren't the first and wouldn't be the last.  But there's still a hope and a wish it could have ended with *us*.

When I saw my Grandpa, lying there in his coffin, hands folded, handsome, eyes closed, with a little too much make up, a peace I had not yet known in my life swept over me.  I remember thinking, "Huh.  That's not my Gramps.  That's just his body.  He is with God.  He is at rest."

Today the call on "Capture the Grief" was to post about a treasured item.

If you've read here long, you know I'm not attached to things.  Remember my purge fests?  Anyway, I realized, though, my most treasured item is my Bible.  It's my most treasured item because, well, it's my Bible.  Duh.  But, also because the night before we said goodbye to Noah, his nurses brought me ink sheets so we could stamp his feet.  I searched for a clean page in my (at the time) 20 year old Bible.  The only page I could find was opposite the last page.

Revelation 22:20 and "Footprints"

Revelation 22:20  "He who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.'"

AMEN.  COME, LORD JESUS!

I treasure this for the promise that it is, as well...that life here on Earth is literally but a vapor!

Thoughts on Dying and Living

As I sat across my davenport from a friend, a fellow bereaved mum, I listened to her heart and shared her tears as she told the stories of losing 3 of her grown children.  I will not share her story because it is hers to share...

One thing we talked about, though, was the "How?"

Yesterday as Emily and Ryan and I left a store, there were several emergency vehicles in the next parking row, helping whomever it was who needed help.  There were employees of the store directing traffic in the opposite direction of the situation.  We headed to our car, and as we walked, we prayed for the person laying on the ground.  We also prayed for the rescue team as they cared for the person in need.

As we backed out of our spot and headed up the row I literally had to wait for a woman steering her cart serpentine like down the center of the driving lane, craning her neck, not watching where she was going, but trying to see what was going on in the other parking row.

Really?  Really?

I know the woman was curious as to the "What?" in the situation, like what happened? or how did this happen?  We are curious people.  And we are not bad or wrong for wanting to know.

Heck, when Noah was in the hospital, I asked the question, "But WHY?" for 5+ months.  Not "Why?" like, why me?  why my son?  but, "Ok, so his test results are inconclusive...he is dying...his DNA is normal...but again, he's dying...why?"

Remember "Speed" and the vanilla flavored acting of Keanu Reeves?  The people were all on the bus yelling, "We're all gonna die!  We're all gonna die!"

I think of this scene, and many like it being played out in real life around the world under different circumstances, and I do wonder if this is the first realization a person in the scenario has had that they, indeed, are going to die.  

Everyone.  Is.  Going.  To.  Die.

But it's the "How?" that often catches us off guard, sweeps our legs, and leaves us feeling as if it came out of nowhere.  Because we weren't ready for it?

And it's the "When?", too.  My friend said she asked God about the timing of her children's deaths.  One in his 20's, the other two teenagers.  My son was 7 months old.  My friend's dad was 61.  My friend's daughter 1 hour.  My friend's mom in her early 40's.  My Grandmas in their 90's.  My father-in-law, 49.  My friend's husband, 34.

When we read "90" in the obituaries, we don't really ask why?  We may ask how? but, for the most part, their death isn't the result of a skiing accident, though anything is possible.

The nature of us, though, wants to know the how? and why? when we read the other ages.

And we are taken aback.  Struck with disbelief in some cases.  Sorting feelings of unfairness and pounding our fists about timing.  "A life cut short."  "Such a tragedy!"  "They had so much more life to live..."

If God really is Who He says He is, and He really does know the number of our days here on Earth, and He designed us with beauty in mind, and a purpose, and for a display of His splendor...well, this causes me to believe He isn't taken aback by the how? or the when?

Please understand, I am NOT saying He is the instigator of the how?  Please read Job for further insight here.  I personally believe God left the book of Job in the Bible on purpose so we could see just how sick and twisted the Devil really is at trying to tear our hearts away from the Unconditionally Loving God who created us.  (This will have to be another post entirely.)

What the heck is my point here?

Well, we can live the rest of our lives broken, torn, our hearts tragically ripped open because of our inability to fully ever comprehend the how? and the why? and the when?

Or, we can live the rest of our lives profoundly impacted by the beautiful people we once knew who have gone before us into everlasting life.

And we can carry their hearts, passions, gifts, character, and strengths in our lives as we choose to be better people because of them.

We can celebrate their heroics.  We can allow smiles to grace our faces, even in the midst of sorrow, as we remember something funny they once did, and not feel guilty about it.  We can rejoice that no matter the amount of time, whether in pregnancy or 50+ years later, we were once a "Mom" and will ALWAYS be a mom, no matter where our children dwell.  It will wear the title, "Bereaved, Grieved, Widowed," and it will have aches, pains, and heart wrenching yearning.

But what if we had never met them in the first place?

As a bereaved parent, a grieved friend, a person who has kissed death on the lips, I don't want to imagine my life never having known the people I loved who have died.

My life is richer because of them.  

And in pain and grief, there is healing knowing each person we meet on our way truly is a gift to us from the very hand of God, no matter how long they are called to walk the Earth.

*In memory of men I never knew:  Luke Sheets, Stephen Luth, Garrett Coble, and Austin Anderson
*In honor of Hannah Luce AND all the surviving families, friends, and loved ones:  we are constantly praying for you...He still has you here on purpose.  Never give up hope!

Around the World...

...in who knows how many days?

Em and I read a book during homeschool last year about a man in his hot air balloon who raced around the world, a race against the clock.  He wanted to beat a record.

What if there were no time frame?

What if the point was just to see God's creativity in His big green earth, learn new cultures, eat new foods, love on people, and take in the beauty in the faces of God's people to the ends of the earth?

I imagine the guy in the balloon who raced around the world missed out on the bigger picture.  Sure, he was the fastest, but did he get to truly experience the trip?

My love continues to grow for a sweet little handsome boy and his family.  They are on an adventure with an unclear time frame. 

Their dream as a family has been to see the world, which is why they named their youngest guy Trek Atlas...and they are living that dream presently in Nicaragua...but it's a bittersweet adventure because Trek has a fatal condition, and of course, they don't know the day he no longer will be on the journey this side of Heaven...

I want you to know I met Jarrett and Chelsea.  This isn't some Internet story for attention from people who don't really exist.  We ate bacon together.  They are as real as it gets :)

I held Trek's sweet little body in my arms on January 12, 2012.  He's a real boy, with captivating eyes, who brings so much joy to his family and anyone who is able to meet him.  And I'm not going to lie, I have a crush on him, for reals! 

Jason is headed to Bangladesh today for his dream job, "To help women and children in 3rd world countries..."  He works for Compassion International and is the ministry director of their Child Survival Program.  After receiving world class care for our son, his eyes were opened to health care throughout the rest of the world and he asked God how he could make a difference. 

However, the reality is even the best care in the world was not enough for our son.  And it isn't for many other children who have incurable diseases, in the first or third world.

Trek Atlas Ingram has one stamp on his passport, thus far.  I'm not sure he'll ever step foot on the soil of Bangladesh, but a Flat Trek will be headed there for the next week with Jason to bring smiles to cute kids and their moms. 

And the reason Jason will be there in the first place is because his own son, who only lived 7 months on this earth, changed his heart and perspective to what really matters:  Loving God without regrets, living life to the fullest, casting off all restraints...not a bucket list of selfish indulgence but a list of living life that has no beginning and is lived out fully until the end, whenever that may be, all for the Glory of God.

Want to help Trek get stamps on his passport?  You don't have to actually GO anywhere, but if you live anywhere other than Maui, Colorado, or Nicaragua, then Trek's never been to your neck of the woods. 

You can get your own Flat Trek with more information here.

You can encourage the family on their Facebook page or on their blogs, here, here, and here.

Thanks for letting me share here about this sweet little guy.  He has really touched my heart and I can't stop praying for him and his family because it's just all too familiar...

Trekking Around the World

Remember this?

It's been a while.  I wouldn't expect you to, but I sure do.  One night, 5 years ago last November, we had gotten some yummy Chinese take-out and were sitting in Noah's room at The Children's Hospital.  As we finished up and started cracking open our fortune cookies, I grabbed one and said, "This one's for Noah."  If you can see in the picture, that's medical tape, the kind that used to keep tubes and crap attached to my sweet boy.  We used it for other things, as you can see.

At the time I remember thinking, "Oh how great it would be if You would heal Noah, God, and we could go all over the world (a lifetime dream of mine) and tell everyone of Your faithfulness, love and power."  This was my initial response to reading, "You will step on the soil of many countries."

It's because I had seen myself with a grown son...remember?  And so I naturally thought it was Noah...since he was my only son at the time and all.  And Noah did step on the soil of many countries, so to speak, just not physically with his two sweet little feet.  His blog hit every continent before he died, but that wasn't quite what I had been thinking...

Well, fast forward 5 years.  This post isn't about Noah.  It's about how my heart leaps out of my chest every time I see pictures of a sweet mama and her boy, so very much in love, who are on a journey.  It's about how I can't get them out of my mind, not because I want to, but because God continues to put them on my heart, all throughout the day.

I have mentioned him here before, but I'm asking you not to turn away.  I KNOW reading about a kid that is dying is nothing less than gut-wrenching.  It's HARD.  It SUCKS.  It's a volume of books filled with descriptive words that can't really describe the heartache.  I freaking GET IT!  It's why hundreds stopped reading my blog after Noah died.  I understand.  It's not as fun as Pinterest or Facebook or a hundred million other things.

But I'm literally begging you to let your heart pray for Jarrett, Chelsea, Peyton, Conner and Trek, as they set off on a journey of living life to the fullest, one day at a time.

You see, someone close to them contacted me to pray for them...she had read Noah's blog and couldn't stop thinking about some of the similarities.


Here is where my heart is wrecked.  We never wanted Noah to be stuck in a hospital bed his whole freaking life.  That was never our dream for him...but because of a whole hellofalotta reasons, we were stuck.  There were days I dreamed of stealing him out of the hospital and taking him home...but we couldn't because we didn't have home health care at the time.  It was a big mess.  The closest I got to showing him the world was this...whoopdefreakingdo!


Anyway, Chelsea's heart is living out what I wished I could have done with Noah. 


Am I living vicariously through them?  Only the freedom part...I lived all the rest already.

Either way, my heart is crying out for them to RUN, PLAY, LAUGH, CRY, REST, STARE, LISTEN, SING, NUGGLE, SMOOCH, HOLD ON and LET GO all at once. 


I pray for God's love to fill every corner of their lives with such fullness that this time in their lives will ever be etched in their hearts.


I hate what they are going through but if I had it to do over, which I don't wish for, but if I could go back, I'd run like hell out of that hospital and live whatever amount of time I had with my boy, free from the beeps and meds and tubes and tests and pokes and drugs and smells and unknowns. 


I'd run.

I don't despise what we went through, I do have to say, because 5 years later, I'm grateful to at least have the perspective that life is short.  It's time to live, today, right now, to the fullest.  Time and the people in our lives are literally gifts from God for our joy. 


It's time you, or someone you know, stop holding back.


Hug tighter.


Kiss longer.


Stare at your children.


Laugh your ass off.


Play on the floor with your kids.


Tell your husband you love him.

Tell him you are sorry.


Hold hands.


Turn off your freaking television.  Hell, throw the damn thing away.


Forgive.

Stop caring what others think of you.

Trust God sees the bigger picture.  Relinquish the control you think you need to have.


Smile.

Listen.

Play.

Dream.


Live in wonder.

Baby Trek Atlas may not physically touch the soil of many countries in his short life time, but the way he's living with his big brothers and mommy and daddy who adore him...well, he's experiencing more love than many do in a lifetime.  And, if you spend some time reading his mama's blog, I would venture to guess he'll have you looking around, wondering what matters, and making a few changes and tweaks to what is important. 

That's Trek, a 9.5 month old, teaching us a thing or two.  That's him stepping on the soil of many countries...

Life is short.  How will you spend it?

Saying Goodbye

It's not something you ever really get used to.  Specifically I mean, saying "Goodbye" for good.  And by "for good" I mean until we meet again in God's presence, but who knows when that might be?

I get emails from friends, friends of friends, family, strangers, many different people who share a link to either a story, blog or email about a little kid who is sick or dying.  I knew when Noah was in the hospital that he most certainly wasn't the first sick kid on earth and unfortunately would not be the last.  And I don't mind receiving these emails at all!  Though my heart breaks for them, knowing I can pray for the families helps me even on my own journey.

Weeks leading up to our decision to take him off life support and offer him as a gift to God, I was also made aware that we weren't the first parents, nor were we the last, to be placed in such a situation.

But, it's not something you ever really get used to, even if it's something with which you are familiar.

I have a girlfriend who has a non-profit organization, offering perinatal hospice care and support to families who have received a fatal diagnosis for their sweet baby.  Because of support she had leading up to the delivery, moments together, and tender time of saying "Goodbye" when her daughter was born, she is able to encourage others on their journey...but, it's not something you ever really get used to just because you have experienced it.

Today I received an email about a little boy who was removed from his ventilator earlier this afternoon.  His parents are brave.  They are strong.  And at the same time they are holding onto that last moment for a miraculous intervention this side of Heaven.  And, all at the same time, their hearts are juggling a million emotions of peace in knowing their boy won't suffer any longer, grief because life didn't turn out the way they had hoped, dreamed or planned, anger because if they had control of the Universe they'd most certainly change the outcome of their biggest nightmare.

At least I am guessing that's what's going on in their hearts, among other things.  I don't know because I am not them, and even though I've walked a very similar road, saying "Goodbye" is not something you ever really get used to...

Prayers for his family and for their hearts to know that even though his footprint on earth was small and too short for our liking, it's his heartprint that will last a lifetime.  Either way, whether we can see the hope in it or not, it doesn't mean it doesn't suck and that it's ever easier to say "Goodbye."

Saying "Goodbye" isn't something any of us should ever get used to. 

I'm not so sure, though, that there's anything we should ever get too used to...because when we do, even though there's a level of comfort, it can teeter between "familiar" and "taken for granted."

My point is this:  life is precious, the first breaths, the final moments, and every day in between. 

Jealousy

Have you ever been jealous of someones life? Maybe their circumstances, their title, bank account, seemingly problem-free family life?

I just received a text from one of my best friends telling me that her sweet Grandma was now with Jesus.

I'm not trying to sound overly spiritual, because actually, my initial response surprised me even a little, but I immediately felt jealousy. Not because my friend's heart is hurting. That would just be weird. Not because she and her family are grieving the loss of a beloved woman.

A different kind of jealousy.

I had just tucked Ryan in for his morning nap, taking in his cuteness, soaking in his little head snuggled into my shoulder, in awe of God and the gift of being able to hold his chubby feet in the palm of my hand. As I always do, I prayed over him and his time of rest, that the Lord would bless his dreams with dreams only He could instill in my son's heart. I prayed God would put a deep desire in Ryan all the days of his life to pursue God and serve Him always, to be used for His Kingdom and to be a man who longed for Jesus' return. And I thanked God, as I smooched Ryan's sweet, soft cheeks, that He loved him more than I ever could and, in His goodness, had a plan from the beginning of time to save the baby I love bigger than the Universe from death because of sin in the world.

I had to leave his room (because he wouldn't fall asleep if I stayed there staring at him, obviously, and because I was so choked up, thankful that God is so in love with His creation that He'd do what He did for crummy old us...).

And then I got my friend's text.

My phone was on the kitchen counter where Jeremy Riddle was belting out "What Joy is Found" and, at that moment, I was overcome with jealousy...

...a different jealousy than the kind that leaves a sick, dissatisfied feeling in our hearts. Instead, the kind that instills a passionate pursuit and longing for the very thing we were created to do. Like when you just feel this intense drive or motivation to do something with all your heart!

Like worship at the feet of the All-loving Father, the One True God, King of kings and Lord of lords, Creator, Divine, Everlasting, Good, Holy, Healer, Redeemer, Savior, Majestic, Pure, Beautiful, Wise God.

We weren't made for here. We were made to live in His presence.

Do you long for it or does the thought scare the tar out of you? Or is it the furthest thing from your mind because the busyness of life has set in?

I'm not going to lie and say it's the thought at the forefront of my heart every. single. moment.

But at that moment, when I learned that my friend's Gramma was with Jesus, it was...

Trivial pursuit...

After Noah died I could never imagine myself thinking or acting on anything that didn't have eternal value or a world changing after effect.

Engaging in the day to day was a difficult task, not only physically but emotionally and mentally. I had difficulty having trite conversations or giving a rip about petty pursuits...yet at the same time, because I live on earth, I would have to embrace those pursuits like laundry, grocery shopping, filling the car with gas, even dusting gigantic creatures out from behind long neglected furniture or caring about the PTA.

I hated it! I resented that day to day existence didn't have more of a "POW" or "PUNCH!" I still had to make dinner and my kid was still dead.

Continuing on, not "moving on" or "getting over it", but continuing on is one of the most difficult steps of grief. I'm no grief expert, but I sure as hell know what I'm talking about when it comes to my own grief. Sometimes, in order to get through another day without the person you loved, you just have to not care what the heck anyone else thinks and allow your heart and mind to be somewhere else...somewhere trivial...somewhere not centered on loss and despair...because that will always be there.

Going there may cause feelings of guilt, but there is no ONE WAY to grieve...and I personally advocate escapism when it comes to grief...and I could sure use a dose.

Grief sucks because as long as we've lost someone we loved, we'll always grieve. We will never NOT grieve. Even with time, which for me personally has helped bring some healing, we will still miss those people...wondering.

No, I won't and don't spend every single day missing Noah. But there hasn't been a day in 4 years that I have not thought about him. Days and dates come and go that hold significance for the short 7 months he spent on this earth...

One day in particular was the day Noah was admitted to the hospital...for the rest of his life. It was August 2nd, 2006. Four years later, on August 2nd, Jason and I spent the day with friends we love like family...in a hospital here in Colorado, where we all said goodbye to someone we loved very much.

And yet, somehow in the days leading up to the guys' surgeries, we were living life just like the next guy...dropping Em off at camp, surprising her with a "TWEEN" room makeover, running here and there, nesting for "Baby Nacho".

And then life stopped. Literally. At least for a lot of people who loved Ryan.

And then the part that sucked is that life started to continue...but for us, just as it has affected our lives since Jason's dad's death, Noah's death and now Ryan's death, life will include some trivial, but it won't be trivial. There will be a "norm", but life will be anything but "normal".

Just like the tag line for the retreats my non-profit organization hosts states, we will "find the extraordinary in the normal".

Picking up Em from camp...she informed us it was the first and last time she'd be going there.
(So, it did not go quite as we expected...)

Em's favorite color is aqua...somehow I caved and decided to paint her room that color...she is completely OVER pink and so INTO aqua.

Above is a 200+ year old sleigh bed I slept in when I was a girl (less than 200 yrs ago, of course). I found "TWEEN" bedding that incorporated all the colors she's currently "into".

Em and Lady loved the room and she, at 8, now thinks she's pretty old and cool!

And, for whatever reason, this hideous thing made it into the room because she was given a dollar at a garage sale to buy whatever she wanted...I think when I was a girl I had glass swans with liquid in them and paper mache clowns from Mexico...sorry, Mom! What a decorating NIGHTMARE!

Lady loved the new look. She pretty much just loves Em and likes to snuggle her and follow her places.

For those who recall, I painted those glow in the dark rings and circles for her original pink little girl room. They still glow so I'm not touching those.

That's Em's little "vestibule" in her room where her mirror is now face height so she can apply clear lip gloss.

And those are 50-60 year old baseball mitts that were my dad's when he was a boy...they are a glimpse into the trivial I've been working on since, in the midst of all the last month has brought our way, we still have something very monumental and extraordinary on the horizon...and it's the anticipation of a sweet baby boy's arrival into this world. I'll let you see what I'm doing with them in another post.

TIME

The "Fall of Man" was for sure, by far, hand's down the crappiest day since the dawn of TIME.

I know there have been terrible, horrific, life-altering days throughout the history of the world that have affected more people than just the first two people loved wholeheartedly by the Creator of the Universe, but as far as changing the whole course of history...that day sucked, for sure!

I mean, really, right?! Oh, poor Adam and Eve! Yeah, they had it so rough, right?! I feel really sorry for them. God made them...in His own image...showed the vastness of His love by giving them every good thing He had just creatively made in The Garden, save ONE. We all know that genocide kills more people than Adam and Eve, and besides, they left The Garden with their lives!

Yes, they did leave The Garden alive...but now they would surely know the effects of death.

I know to the naked eye, the fact that Adam and Eve weren't zapped with a lightning bolt and fried to a crisp for their disobedience makes some think the effects of their choice were not all that grave...or that their consequences were simply felt by them...make no mistake, it was a grave decision...and we still feel the repercussions.

One repercussion of The Fall, I believe, is TIME.

We live in TIME. We measure it. We function within TIME. For us, those living here on Earth currently who can read this blog, TIME is all we know. Unless we've been to Heaven and returned, we cannot fathom the difference between life measured in ETERNITY and life lived out in TIME.

Part of The Fall is that we live in the tangible yet are expected to hope in a faith we cannot see but somehow are able feel.

Don't get me wrong, TIME can be great! The anticipation of an exciting event like a birth or marriage, a vacation or TIME spent with people you love...that kind of TIME can be so beautiful and fulfilling.

And then, of course, the passage of TIME can be trying sometimes, even excruciating. For instance WAITING for something you really want, like a kid waiting for their birthday or Christmas...the place where waiting and patience collide.

I've read in God's word that "life is but a breath". I have gathered from His word that God functions in a different realm of TIME than I can see or grasp. I have experienced that life is short, yet losing someone we love, regardless of how much TIME we did get to spend with them, as long as we live on this Earth, that amount of TIME will never be enough.

Whether it's 93 years, 49 years, 34 years, 20 years, 7 months, or an hour, because we live within the boundaries of TIME, it will always hurt for those of us left over.

It's no secret that since losing Noah my perspective on life and death has radically changed. The same is true about TIME. When Jesus said He'd be back "soon", I know He meant it...even though according to our measurement that was, like 2000 years ago! So, I have to allow my heart to trust that "soon" to God is measured differently than "soon" to us, here and now.

And one day, when we are able to see more clearly because we will be with God, I imagine we won't even have to measure TIME or look back and wonder why then, why so soon?

We will be in ETERNITY, free from the effects of The Fall and with all the TIME in the world.

...until then, even though we hope, we grieve in TIME.

Apparently...

Apparently...stress brings about contractions...or at least mega-Braxton Hicks.

Apparently...even though I have been trained throughout my life in different leadership settings to appear calm in extremely stressful situations, my body wasn't trained as well.

Apparently...the European pregnant ladies know a little something because a half a glass of wine (don't judge me...) during false labor shuts it right down...unless, of course, it's not false!

I don't have time to go early. I am 36 weeks and though I know that next week marks "full-term", I still have stuff to do...plus, Jason will be out of town...and holding Em's hand in the delivery room just isn't the vision I have for welcoming this new little man into our family.

I go in tomorrow for a routine appointment. Hopefully it will be underwhelming in its findings...

I still have a nursery to decorate along with a good, thorough cleaning of this pigsty we are currently calling "home"...oh, and I haven't packed my bag and I haven't bought newborn diapers in four and a half years!

But I don't want to do any of that. I want to sit and snuggle my kid and pat her little puppy, Lady, and cry because my heart is so sad.

You know, it would be nice to have material other than grief and death to blog about but, apparently, that's not my lot in blog world.

Death sucks. I'll say it again. Death sucks. It doesn't suck for the one that has died because knowing Christ and meeting the Creator of the Universe is epic and quite impossible to explain or conceive on earth. Death sucks for those left behind, or as I say, "It sucks for the leftovers."

I've said it more than once and I'll say it again. Life on earth outside of God's presence is not where we were originally designed to be. We all, though, only know this side of Heaven (at least if you are reading this and haven't been there and back lately...) so, of course we try to make this life great and make the most of it. The only problem is, we forget that living on earth is as close to Hell as we should ever want to be. Earth is a fallen world.

Experiencing love and laughter, joy and hope on this earth is a sweet, sweet thing. God would have that every one of His created could know those beautiful glimpses. That's what I need to hold onto...the reality that goodness here on earth is, quite possibly, a glimpse into life in God's physical presence, yet mine to enjoy here and now...a taste.

Separation in death from those we have known and loved is a glimpse of the Fall of Man. It absolutely should hurt and cause us great sorrow.

Though, in knowing Christ, somehow in His miraculous strength, unfathomable to us, we are also able to have hope...

"Hope, however, that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?" Romans 8:24

We hope for Heaven. We hope for the day that we will walk with Christ, tangibly, physically. We hope for the reunion of those who have gone before us.

I am just so grateful that I have hope in the midst of life on earth...and in the midst of grief.

I can't imagine my life without hope... or without hope in the One who has given us life.

(Now, for my appointment tomorrow...I hope this little man knows he's totally grounded if he thinks it's acceptable to arrive any earlier than is convenient for his mama!!!! Doesn't he know I have a lot going on?! #$%^&*)

Exemplary

Ry, I can't write now but I just want to thank you for your profound example of life and love you lived on this earth...

I can't begin to explain how much Jason and so many others will miss you...

You were a rock and a truly amazing man for your young years...

Thank you...we love you and miss you a ton already...

We promise, we will make this life count!

My opinion...not yours...(raw guts post!)

Recently I was interviewed for our local newspaper. The reporter and I talked for probably an hour and a half. After 15 minutes, however, his recorder died...he was obviously a good listener, though, because he was able to deliver the gist of the story.

At some point during the interview I was sharing how generous people were to us...total strangers...offering things to us we could never afford ourselves, including a generous family from Aspen that offered their private jet to fly us wherever in the world we needed to get Noah a stem cell transplant. He asked me if we had done that...taken the offer, that is...I said no. He asked me, "Why not?" Not in a way that was like, "Why the hell not?" but more like a curiosity question. I said, "Because...when is enough finally enough? What if that procedure hadn't worked, then what?" It's a question I never even considered until further into Noah's hospital quandary.

Fast forward to tonight...I just got done watching "My Sister's Keeper". As a mom of a child that was hospitalized without diagnosis, without any sort of treatment other than the palliative treatment that incurs from a body that slowly shuts down...there is a sense of feeling that the only acceptable answer is a cure. The only acceptable and reasonable treatment is total and complete healing...a miracle...the hope that everything will just go away and be perfect.

And, in my opinion, what happens is that at some point, likely the moment our sweeties are born, the only acceptable action on our part as a parent is to do everything we possibly can to help our children, to save our children, to protect them from harm. The problem is, the junction at which total healing or a cure and knowing that a parent has done everything in their power to save their child is a horrible place. It's horrible because, in my opinion, if the only acceptable answer for a parent is that their child is healed and saved from death, a natural process, what happens to that parent's heart when there is no cure...when doctor's don't have answers...when every rock has been overturned and the outcome isn't pigtails and picket fences and peewee football? It's horrible because it leaves a parent wondering..."Did I do enough?" "What if...?" "If only...blah, blah, blah..."

I hated that we had to choose to put Noah on life support, which, in my opinion, was invented as a temporary breathing aid. We chose it because we absolutely were not convinced that doctors or ourselves, had turned over every rock...I didn't hate life support, itself, but the reality that we were faced with removing him from it at a later date. Some people can live coherent healthy, beautiful lives on life support...Noah's entire body had shut down. He died within a minute...his entire existence depended upon that freaking machine...

People have asked me if I'd do it again. In my opinion, if we were faced with Noah all over again, I would enjoy each day I had with him...at home, in my arms. Hindsight is 20/20, so regarding his specific situation, I'd know what to do now, and likely save him, but say I didn't know...I am at a place in my walk with the Lord that I accept that life includes suffering, and no thanks to Adam and Eve, it includes death. I no longer fear it.

Fighting for a good life is one thing. Living your life to the fullest, in my opinion, is another. Everyone who worked on Noah's case did do everything they were trained and knew to do. The reality, though, is that obviously wasn't enough because medicine is ever-changing and new discoveries are found everyday. Or, was it enough? If "enough" is only measured by the truth that Noah wasn't healed, then, no, it wasn't enough. But, it was enough, because it was their best...it was our best...it was enough because, in my opinion, even though it wasn't the outcome any of us sought, his time was intended here on earth to be short and sweet.

In my freaking opinion, if all of us don't stop to realize that we will die one day, regardless of how, and it may not be when we think it's convenient and it may not be quite like we dream...in our sleep when we're still healthy and early 90's...we'll miss out on the life we've been given with the beautiful people with whom we are surrounded...and we'll miss out on the mountains and oceans, flowers and sunrises, laughter and stars, the beauty with which we've been blessed.

In my opinionated opinion, if we don't embrace death, we'll never fully embrace life and if we don't embrace life, we'll never fully embrace death. We cannot have one without the other. And beauty lies with both...

It is my opinion, though it may not be yours, that I did, along with my husband, everything we could to save Noah...and for us, that included the heart wrenching decision to remove him from life support. I have literally made the most difficult decision I will ever face on earth. I know we are not the only ones who have had to make such a decision and that we won't be the last...but, in my opinion, even that decision was still everything we could do for him.

It was in that moment, in my opinion, when the junction occurred between giving him to God and trusting that total healing happens in God's presence, outside of limited humanity, that I knew in my heart we had done everything...even though there were rocks unturned.

(*Disclaimer: This is my opinion. I am not judging other people who have loved ones on life support. I am also not offering my suggestions to others regarding this decision. I am simply sharing my opinion and my story...my heartache and my hope...and my peace.)

What? Who? When? How? Why?

I've neglected my blog for so long, Blogger made me log in! Listen Blogger, just because I want to hang out with my family and friends, go to the pool, ride bikes, watch the sunsets and snuggle with my kid doesn't mean *you* have to act like *you* don't know me!

Anyway, a lot has happened over the last few weeks. August is always overwhelming for me on an internal responsibility scale. Almost every relative or in-law of mine has an August birthday. My intention for timely cards is always good, but never met with my actions. Throw in several friends, along with wedding anniversaries, as well as remembering special people I loved that have died in August, and we pretty much cover every date of the month. Now August 17th is marked in my heart as the day my last living grandmother went to meet God face to face. My grandma's got along quite nicely on earth, so they are probably hanging out together enjoying God's radiance along with so many other beautiful family and friends. I miss her and am grateful God allowed me to be her granddaughter.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, death that is, and how whenever someone dies there are always questions. "Why" is always a popular question. It usually pertains to the passers age, or the untimeliness of their death. A lot of people have lost their faith over this question. "Why him?" "Why now?" "Why not so and so?" "If God is so good, why, why, why?"

It's no secret if you've read here long that I no longer fear death. I had for 30 years but sitting every day for 5.5 months in a hospital, staring at the most beautiful boy I had ever laid eyes on, who science would describe as 'living', and then one day literally kneeling on that hospital floor with his lifeless body in my arms, radically changed my view of death. I'm not sure I've been able to articulate it until now, and I'm still not so sure I will be able to, but I'll share some thoughts that have been running through my mind.

Instead of asking the question "Why?", I think what most people are truly struck by is the "How?" or "When?" I think it's fairly safe to say that most people are aware that we are all born and we all die. Some might argue their sweet child didn't have the chance to be born, but I would argue that the moment the sperm and egg became one, birth occurred, and however long you carried your child, there was life inside you. Anyway, this isn't a political post. My point here that I've been pondering is that faith crises often arise not from the fact that we all die, but "How?" or "At what age?"

If we all were assured that at age 96 years and 133 days and 17 hours and 54 minutes and 31 seconds we would die quietly in our sleep, that would be it, at least for most. We'd go about our days...living life to the fullest, but knowing that one day within our last year, it would be over. We would all be given the same amount of time, yet we would all choose to live our lives differently. Or would we? And, in true human fashion, most of us would still try to avoid that final day. Or maybe we'd accept it? Maybe if we knew when and how we were going to die, we'd be at peace with the whole concept of death? But we don't, and so many of us aren't. None of us knows when or how we will die, unless one takes their own life, but even at the beginning of their life, that person didn't know they would make that choice one day.

I personally think people rate death and death experiences, actually believing the lie that some deaths are better than others..."Oh, she died in her sleep. Such a peaceful way to go..." "He was hit by a car. So young! What a tragedy!" "He had been sick for so long. At least he isn't suffering anymore!" "She was in a plane crash, so scary but quick." Torture, famine, drowning, drive-by shooting, suffocation, chronic disease, SIDS...I could name a million diagnoses, a million different ways. Honestly, most people would raise their hand and say, "I'll have an order of old-age, please, hold the aches and suffering. Give me the 96 years, 133 days, 17 hours, 54 minutes, and 31 seconds, and not a minute less!" But that's not reality and that's not how it works. It could have very well worked that way had Adam and Eve not blown it in the Garden, thank you very much! But they blew it and so here we are...earth dwellers who have every right to be offended by death, but we are offended for the wrong reasons.

PEOPLE, GOD DID NOT INTEND FOR US TO DIE! And yet, when people are stuck on the "How?" it happened, they get mad at God. Some modern's have even taken the Enemy of our hearts right out of the equation because, according to them, Satan isn't real. The Devil doesn't exist and Hell isn't a real place. Don't get me started on this mumbo jumbo! Ironic how that is exactly what the Devil himself wants us to believe. That way God's the big meanie and our hearts grow bitter, angry, and eventually calloused towards Him, the very One who designed us to live in His presence. The One who is absolutely in love with us and obviously knows something more than we do that He would provide a way for eternal life through His Son, Jesus Christ, so that we, too, could overcome death. Yet, if we are living in fear of death or angry at God for "Why?" or "How?" or "When?", have we really overcome it?

I personally think it is a tragedy that most people avoid reading the story of Job in the Bible. I mean, yeah, it's a bit of a downer, but I believe God left it in there on purpose. Not to say, "Hey, look what you have to look forward to...life sucks and then you die!" but "You guys, I love you so much! Satan hates your guts and this book is evidence of how low he will go to turn your heart from me. You may not understand it all, but I love you! Just know that I love you and it won't always be like this!"

But "God allowed that horrible thing to happen! How can He be good?!" Yeah, you see the thing that sucks about living on earth is that Satan is real, whether we believe it or not, and because of what transpired in the Garden a heck of a long time ago, he still is working in the earth. HOWEVER, GUESS WHAT?! Something more beautiful happened in another Garden years later that changed death as we know it! You see, since God didn't design us to live outside of His physical presence, our bodies die. God provided a way, instead, through a sacrifice surrendered to in a Garden, literally over blood, sweat and tears, where His very own Son would remove from Satan the power over death. Jesus went on to die a most vivid and tortuous death, but that didn't mean Satan wouldn't try to pull that crap again with us. But it did really piss off the Devil and as a result, he hasn't changed his ways but continues to lie to us, coaxing us to believe that 'God isn't good because He let me have such and such a disease or so and so died at a young age or tragically or etc. etc'.

Jesus' whole message, His whole purpose, was all about life: to the full, eternal, abundant, everlasting. Recorded in Scripture, Jesus only said 'death' a couple of times, but 'life' is recorded throughout His ministry. Yet how many out there allow the idea of death to consume their thoughts and captivate their hearts? There was a reason Jesus said not to worry about tomorrow but to live one day at a time. There was a reason He said, "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life. I tell you the truth, a time is coming and has how come when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God and those who hear will live." John 5:24&25

See, abundant life isn't living in hopes you'll avoid death. Abundant life is living one day at a time to the fullest, enjoying the people around us, building memories, trusting that God is who He says He is, appreciating the little things and the big things, and graciously accepting that even though we don't understand the "How?" or "Why?", that physical death only looks final to the people still 'living' on earth...but in Heaven, it's just the beginning...and we win because He won and the Devil loses!