Dear Maggie and Moses

Last summer I drove about two hours from home to a place of solitude. I needed solitude. Everyone does, and no one really has to go anywhere special for it, but I had felt a strong pull toward truly getting away to be with God for some time. I found a wonderful little place where I had my own tiny cottage for two nights, and Casey's full support made it possible for me to have this time away guilt-free.

While there, I spoke about twice each day with the lady who essentially ran the place. Clare is her name. I told her my very long story, going back to when Miles was born and getting to the place of grief I was currently in, the place where our dreams of more children had not been realized. I had been journaling during my solitude, and on the second day Clare suggested I write a letter in my journal to the children who had never come to be. I knew instantly that I didn't want to do that, and so it meant to me that I needed to do that. But it was going to be one of the hardest things I would write.

It just so happened that Casey and I, over the course of our four failed in vitro cycles, had each come up with a name we liked if we ever had a boy or a girl. He had a girl's name in mind, I had decided on a boy's name. We had talked about them through each cycle, dreaming that one or both of them might be ours one day. The names had come to mean so much that I decided to address my letter to these two specific children. Keep in mind that this was June of last year...we weren't even at a place of knowing if we would try in vitro ever again.

With all of that said, I feel as though tonight is the perfect time to share this letter, so here goes.

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Dear Maggie and Moses,

     I find it so very difficult to begin this letter. My fear is that I will cling to the hope of you even more, and that hope has been discarded and trampled over and over again for more than three years.

     Instead of sitting here writing a letter to children who don't exist, I should be holding you in my arms. I should be listening to your laughter as your big brother Miles is his usual, funny self. I thought that one or both of you might be here by now. None of that has come about as I dreamed...it's only been one more heartache after another.

     How do I miss a child that never was? But I do -- have seen you in my dreams, have imagined you coming home, have wondered what you would look like.

     For so long, it has felt as if you were waiting for me at the end of this long journey; it was like I could see you as that light at the end of a torturous tunnel.

     But now...now something I was sure would happen in time might never happen at all. Will I never know you? I struggle mightily to let you go.

     If you are not to be, I need God to change the desires of my heart, because I cannot do it myself. This longing seems almost more than I can bear at times.

     But oh, how you would be loved! And every day that you are not a reality makes me want to hold Miles that much closer. As much as I hope for you...well, he is here and you are not. God gave me such an amazing, beautiful boy in Miles Kendrick. I am desperate for him not to suffer because of my own grief. He is loved, he is precious, he is pure -- HE IS HERE. My love and delight need to be reserved for him, and not for a child that isn't.

     I'm sorry, Maggie and Moses. Please come if you can. But if you can't, God will take care of us. I hate to say goodbye to you, but I need to lay the dream of you at Jesus' feet. He will know what to do.

     I still want you...I do. But if my holding to the idea of you is futile, I am only doing a disservice to Casey and Miles. They need me, my heart and my nurturing. They are my boys.

     If you come someday, you will know what I mean. The love you will find in our little family is precious. It is waiting here if God's will is for you to be.

Love forever,

Mama

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Even now, that is a very hard letter for me to read. I don't feel the sadness as much, but I remember it. But my sorrow was turned to joy on January 19 this year when we found out our fifth cycle was a success. And then again a week later, the joy grew as we found out we were having twins! Then came April 9, the day we learned we were having a boy and a girl...our Maggie and Moses.

Tomorrow is the end of a long chapter and the beginning of another, because our sweet little ones will arrive in this world. We only just learned that this afternoon, since Moses' growth had dropped down a bit, so the safest and best thing to do is to get them outside my body as soon as possible so he doesn't lose any more nourishment. Having carried these two miracles for 36 weeks and 6 days by the time they're born, I am so relieved to be where we are. I am so blessed. Praise God for new beginnings!

The 'someday' questions

Tonight is the second night in less than a week that I've overheard Miles and Casey talking about heaven and/or the 'new heaven and new earth.' These conversations seem to bring about every question Miles can possibly ask in the least amount of time, with Casey just trying to keep up. It's heartwarming, and a bit heart-aching too. I love that Miles is still so unaware of the pain that comes with losing a loved one. He knows that after death we get to be with God, see God, live with God...he just hasn't connected the loss the rest feel on earth. I'm so glad his heart is still untouched by that pain.

Part of tonight's questioning had to do with what our bodies would be like, how old we would be and where we would live (last time it had to do with his toys and our cats and if they'd be with us in heaven too). Based on answers he was getting from his daddy tonight, I heard Miles blurt out at one point, "So we'll just be walking around with no house? Just walking-walking-walking?"

10 years...just a drop in the bucket, baby

My husband has dark, beautiful hair. I thought it was black for, I don't know, a long time until he pointed out that in the sunlight it is a rich, chestnut brown. No matter...I've always loved it, been jealous of the body it has and the fact that he never has to use any product to make it do what it should. But if you're standing close enough, you'll see that this beautiful hair of Casey's is becoming speckled with little white hairs. These were not around ten years ago when I married my 24-year-old groom. My conclusion is that mostly I put them there, what with all the hospital craziness (as I have termed it) and...maybe sometimes just being me. I guess I'll share a few with Miles and the campus ministry.

When Casey and I first fell in love, I would tell him he was 'perfect'. Ever humble, he would add, '...for you.' And yes, over the years I've realized my husband is definitely not perfect, but in fact perfect for me. I always say that my best decision ever was to accept Jesus as my Savior, and my second best was to choose Casey to be my love for life. He is my best friend, the one I want to share everything with first, the other half of my heart. I adore Miles and little Maggie and Moses, but they would not be had it not been for this precious man who I love more every day.

Ten years is a long time. But then, it's not. Casey and I have packed a lot of life experience into the past decade. We have ridden storms and I'm sure we'll ride many more. I don't think either of us planned that we would be expecting our second and third child at this point in our lives, much less at the same time! But that is part of what makes our story our story. And thank God that He is at the center of it all.

Happy First 10 Years, Case. You are definitely the most perfect man...for me. xoxo

Thank You, God, For These Blessings!

So here it is, a day I thought might never come. Even though we've known for about four weeks, Casey and I are still catching ourselves smiling at each other and realizing that this is real. We are so blessed to be adding to our little family this fall...two precious babies. Our Miles will get to be a big brother twice over.

The short of it, in case there are questions: Yes, this was the result of an in vitro cycle. They are fraternal (unidentical) twins, meaning they could be any combination: boy/girl, boy/boy, or girl/girl. We won't know that for quite a bit longer, but we do plan on finding out before they're here!

I'm only one day past eight weeks today, so it's still early. We found out three weeks ago that there were two, but there wasn't much to see yet. A week after that we could see their hearts beating, and yesterday we saw them again and it was just as much if not more glorious than the first time. The fatigue started hitting me at least two weeks ago and is increasing by the day it seems, and I think the morning (or all-day) sickness is working its way in.

I'm ready to take whatever comes our way -- this is what I've been asking God for all along! All the pains, the hormones, the crazy ups and downs of emotions...they are a blessing that I gladly bear. I have imagined sharing this kind of news for nearly four years. God has grown me in such unique and unexpected ways during that time. I still hurt a bit for that Tracey and maybe will for a little while more. But from where I'm standing now, it was all worth the wait. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I'll end with a fun video we made last night when we told our Thursday night 'The Office' students. I wish more could have been there but it was a great time anyway. We had told them we were taking a group picture to give to someone, but they didn't know I was actually taking video the whole time to capture their reactions...which they delivered nicely.

Happy CO Day!

The story I'm going to share here today is, as I see it, pretty strange. But when I think about events surrounding my life -- i.e., medical and hospital events -- it doesn't rank all that high on the weird meter.

Occasionally I'll revisit this particular day in my mind, but often it's easily forgotten until something triggers my memory. This morning it was just a matter of walking past our wall calendar and noting that today's date is February 13. Dates and numbers have easily stuck in my brain since I was very young. I remember visiting a different classroom in fourth grade and seeing an August birthday calendar on the wall. My eyes went to the 31st and the name of the boy whose birthday was that day. I still know that kid's birthday, even though I haven't seen him since I was 10 years old.

Back to the story. Why did February 13 jump out from the calendar this morning? Fifteen years ago today I was living with my friend Becky...so many, many great stories about Becky but this is by far the strangest we share. We were both juniors in college, and it was the day before one of our school's biggest events of the year: Sing Song. Becky was one of just six (or eight?) host/hostesses, meaning that between social club and class acts she would be out there singing and performing dozens of different songs. We're talking costume changes, solos, duets, etc. in front of a huge audience. I was involved in my social club's performance and was barely as busy as Becky had to be that week what with all of the rehearsals.

But this was Thursday, the day before 'opening night' as it were. That night would be a ginormous final rehearsal for everyone. It was always insanity during Sing Song. Becky had gone to bed at a reasonable hour on Wednesday evening, and I was doing my usual falling-asleep-in-front-of-the-TV routine. But like any responsible college student, I had at least brought my alarm clock into the living room and had it next to my head. It was set for somewhere around 6:45 or 7 a.m. I can't be sure of that detail now.

I think it was around 6:15 a.m., something like that, when I felt someone shaking my shoulder. I looked up, and Becky was next to me on all fours. It sounds funny now, but her words were "Tracey...it's Becky." When I really got a good look at her, I could tell she didn't seem like herself. She was groggy and her eyes were half-closed. It's like we both knew something was wrong, but we didn't know what it was. Becky had basically crawled over to me because she couldn't stand up straight, and when I tried I couldn't stand up straight either. It felt like my brain was very cloudy and neither it nor my body would work like I wanted them to work.

So now Becky and I were trying to decide what was wrong. For some reason we both thought there was a gas leak and proceeded not to leave the house but instead to look up a hotline in the phone book. Thankfully we made the decision not to stay in the house, but as it was February and very cold outside, we each went to our closets to find warmer clothing. I remember thinking that I needed a jacket, but my brain couldn't decipher what that was or how to find it amongst all those hanging clothes.

Outside in the driveway, breathing clean air, Becky and I were still out of it. We were first sitting in one of our cars and both beginning to develop splitting headaches. All we could do was describe how bad the headaches were. When the gas hotline man came out of the house, I think at that point we were sitting on the driveway. "You don't have a gas leak. You have carbon monoxide poisoning. I measured it at 700ppm (parts per million) in there." And thankfully he had the sense to call an ambulance to our house at that point.

Meanwhile, an older neighbor was walking by and noticed us sitting (Becky might have been lying down) on the driveway. She talked to the man and then directed us to come to her house and wait for the ambulance. In my mind, being a 21-year-old girl who thought she was invincible, this was all a bit silly. An ambulance? The neighbor feeling like she needed to watch over us? Please. But now I just shake my head at that girl's ignorance and misdirected confidence in her own strength.

The ambulance arrived and the EMT taking most care of us was a woman who, over and over, just shook her head and kept talking about how carbon monoxide is the 'silent killer'. At this point Becky and I were both wearing oxygen masks and were still pretty groggy. All I could think was that this ride would cost too much, my parents would be mad...and no kidding, I actually tried to convince the EMT's that I could drive myself to the hospital. Yeah.

We were set up in a small room together, both still on the oxygen masks. Nobody had told us this -- not sure if it would have mattered -- but when your brain is deprived of oxygen and starts getting it back, it can cause a sort of 'high' effect. The doctor came in to talk to us about what had happened and what needed to happen, but unfortunately for him Becky and I were in that 'high' phase and would break into fits of laughter at nearly everything he said. I am so embarrassed thinking of it now, but I'm sure he understood. Maybe he thought it was funny, but I don't remember him smiling at the time.

What we learned, eventually, was that the level of carbon monoxide in a non-smoker's body is 0. The level in a smoker's body is about 1. The levels in my body were 15.6, and in Becky's...23. She had been sleeping up on a bunk whereas I was on the floor, so that was probably why her levels were higher. The very scary part was finding out that a level of 30 is fatal.

It was explained to us that, though using the oxygen masks would be helpful, what would force the carbon monoxide out of our bodies more quickly was a hyperbaric chamber. The hospital had two, and I don't think they'd had them very long. Becky and I were changed and each put into a chamber, which were long glass tubes. There were 'rules' for the hyperbaric chamber, like being aware of the pressure changes (like taking off and landing in a plane) and having to take 'air breaks' because breathing 100% pure oxygen can itself be fatal. But let me tell you...I have never before or since breathed air so clean. It was amazing.

Each of us also had someone sitting outside the chamber to monitor our progress. The entire process took two hours, which really wasn't bad. There was a TV outside the chamber, and the woman sitting with me switched channels until I settled on 'America's Funniest Videos.' I remember this because after one of the videos the woman with me clicked on the intercom to my chamber and said, "That would be so embarrassing." I wanted to laugh, because, really? I was lying in a hyperbaric chamber and she was making comments on a home video? I guess she was just trying to keep me company, which was nice.

Becky and I were able to meet up again later, fully alert, and share the details of the morning. What I hadn't known before was that the only reason she had woken up was because she had to go to the bathroom. When she got down from her bunk, she immediately fell on the floor and realized something was wrong. That's when she crawled into the living room to wake me up.

When we arrived home, I wrote 'Thank you, Becky's bladder' on a Post-It and stuck it to the bathroom mirror, where it stayed for months. Of course, both Becky and I were thanking God rather than her bladder. We found humor in the story, but it was still very sobering how close we came to never waking again. So I share the humorous parts of this story, but every time it comes to my mind I'm so thankful that God spared us both.

Love you, Becky...Happy CO Day!

A New Name

Last week I downloaded a free app called 'Child's Prayer' in order to make bedtime traditions with Miles more special. What I like about this app is that it not only gives a Bible verse for that day, but you flip the card over and there is a question so that you and your child can engage in simple discussion as well.

Tuesday night's verse was Isaiah 9:6..."He will be called, 'Wonderful Counselor,' 'Mighty God,' 'Eternal Father,' 'Prince of Peace.'" Miles touched the screen to flip over the card and the question was, 'Which names would you call Jesus by?' My thinking was that Miles would choose one of the names he had just heard. But oh...that little boy surprises me so many times.

"King of the Life!" was his confident answer, and it almost took my breath away. I mean, how many names are there written for Jesus in the Bible? And yet this was one I had not heard. He wanted to know our answers too, and we gave them, although I personally could have been happy closing the evening with the answer Miles had given.

Thank you, King of the Life, for the unblemished heart of my sweet little boy.

Good. Grief.

When I used to hear the word 'grief,' my immediate thoughts were of someone having lost a person close to them. It meant someone had died, and it was not a word I wanted to know personally. There was also the 'Oh, good grief, Charlie Brown!' thing...but never before would I put 'good' and 'grief' together in a serious way. And I always assumed that grieving was something that happened to someone after something very bad had happened. I didn't see it as a process that one partakes in, that one must partake in at times in their life in order to move forward. I also used to assume that grief was linear, but no longer.

I was ignorant about grief years ago. My life wasn't easy, but it wasn't hard. And then in February 2001 I started going to the doctor for unexplained symptoms, and this went on until he diagnosed me with an auto-immune disorder more than a year later. Four days before my wedding. Casey and I thought, 'Well, if we can get through all of that hospital craziness (one week) and this diagnosis...we can get through anything!' I thought this was my grief. My valley.

Miles was born in April 2006. I was finally rid of the hospital on July 19. Celebration. Recovery. I thought I was moving on. It wasn't until September, when Miles was five months old, that I began to realize all that I had missed in his life. I remember breaking down in the shower one evening, sobbing uncontrollably because I hadn't been able to celebrate my first Mother's Day, hadn't carried him home for the first time, hadn't been able to breastfeed like I'd wanted, hadn't even taken one picture of him until he was four months old. I had dreamed of taking photos of him as a tiny, newborn baby. I had missed that.

Still ignorant about how my grief was working and how I had to be a part of it instead of just waiting for it to 'happen,' I thought that with full physical recovery would come full emotional healing. But the joy I felt after my final surgery in July 2007 was short-lived. Grief was upon me again, and I was just starting to get it. No one had warned me that the emotional pain can long outlive the physical pain. I thought that kind of pain only came with 'real' loss. I was still just beginning to grasp how much I'd lost, and I didn't even know the half of it until we started trying to have another baby in March 2008.

Fast forward to the present day. Grief is not linear. There can be ten steps forward and one hundred steps back. There can be two steps up and four steps down. There can be a valley after a valley -- it's not always valley-mountain-valley-mountain. Your pain is your pain, and it can be a lonely place if you let it -- sometimes even if you don't.

I have handled my grief in both good and bad ways. I don't know that anyone handles it perfectly. It frustrates me greatly sometimes that I can't press a pause button on life so I can have time to grieve and then be caught up with everyone else. I am almost always 'stuck' behind and I don't know that I will ever be able to catch up, but I am learning to accept that.

One thing I've learned, sometimes grudgingly, is that I will never be the exact same person I used to be. Life looks different to me now, but I believe that there are better parts of me that might not have been if I hadn't gone through what I did. And my joys...they are sweeter and dearer because of my sorrows. My pain is deep, but I hold the tiniest moments close to my heart. I don't think I would have done that had things been easier.

I write about all of this because of something that sounds extremely simple, but for me has been a thing of dread. And instead of continuing to avoid it, I decided to walk through my pain because I knew that there would be a bit of healing on the other side. Grief is not a friend of mine, but lately I'm seeing that I have to sit with it in order to heal. There is no other way. I could try to avoid it my entire life, but what kind of life would that be? I am tired of pain, and I know I will grieve certain things until I die, but the deep sadness is something I must be with so that I can move on.

Now, the simple thing I mentioned? I have recently decided to go through every bit of Miles' clothing since he was born in order to sell what I can at consignment next month. That's five years of my little boy's clothes. There were many pieces I set aside, unable to part with them either right now or ever. Ask me about that again next year. But that still left a lot of clothes that have to be washed, sorted, priced and tagged. Today I began washing the clothes and hanging them up until I can price them. But before washing them, I would inspect each piece of clothing to see if they had any kind of stain that needed treating.

I knew it would be tough. It had been emotional just going through them the first time. But today, holding up each onesie or tiny shirt or pair of pants, I felt my anxiety building. And building. And by the time I had started the first load of laundry, my heart was racing and I was finding it hard to breathe. There I stood in the laundry room, crying and asking God to be with me. When I recounted all of this to Casey later on, I cried even more, and as I sit here typing I am still not finished with washing those many tiny clothes.

But guess what? As painful as it has been, and as many memories as it has brought up (both good and bad), I have decided to let grief in my door today...and though I am not at the end of it, I have at least moved in a positive direction. Let's face it: when we're in the middle of it, grief is not where we want to be, right? But if we figure out that there is something good on the other side and we can walk through it, life doesn't seem as scary anymore. At least not to me.

That is good grief.

Heart Stickers

Nearly one week ago, my blog turned seven years old. Seven! Back then, I think it was sometimes called a 'weblog.' Yikes. Sounds like the dark ages, huh?

While I'm thankful for this outlet for my creative writing and a way to connect to a lot of fascinating people (and lifelong blog friends!), I am thankful for much, more more. Of course I am talking about Casey and Miles. Being the only girl in the house -- unless you count Junebug the cat -- I get to feel pretty special most of the time. But my two boys are so much sweeter than anything I could deserve. I'll give you an example.

For the past several days I've been struggling with a slight cold, but worse than that is the ear infection along with it. My ear aches most in the mornings and evenings, and it's become frustrating (especially with the difficulty of hearing). So I'm sniffling, coughing, aching...all the usual that comes along with a cold. Not feeling great, obviously, so I was resting my head for just a bit before fixing dinner this evening.

I walked into the kitchen, and the first thing Miles said was, "Mama...we have something for you!" and I could see a white folded 'thank you' card in his hand. I'm not sure whose idea it was to give me a card -- it could have been either one of them -- but it didn't matter. I opened it up to find the inside covered with little heart stickers and Casey's handwriting. Miles had asked him to write these words:

Dear Mama,

We'll give you two hearts. Love you Mama. We kiss and hug you forever and ever.

I don't know about you...but my heart was pretty much filled from the beginning of that note. In that moment there were no colds, no earaches, no sniffles that could contend with such love. I went on to cook a meal for my family without complaint after that.

Does my ear still hurt? Yes. Do I still feel achy? Sure. When I glance over and look at that heart-filled card, does it really matter? No way.

Thank you, God. Thank you for two of the best blessings you have ever given me, and ones that I deserved the least. Thank you for Casey and Miles.

Dibs on Being Me

For the third night in a row, I'm having trouble going to sleep. I think it has something to do with a certain campus minister husband leaving the country with a team of students to visit and help orphans in Haiti. But I could be wrong.

I had originally pulled up my blog tonight after seeing a commercial about women who have just had a baby 'suffering from unsightly stretch marks' and was going to comment on it in a snarky way...something along the lines of, "Suffering? Really? Because I -- and I'm sure thousands of women living with infertility -- would take that kind of suffering in a heartbeat."

See? Snarky. I apologize...sort of. Just hard to hear things like that and not have a reaction.

Anyway, I got on the blog and became engrossed in many of my old posts. Some about my former wound, some about wanting another baby, and many about how much I adore my husband and son. And in some of those posts, I sound so strong and sure of myself. I sound happy. I want to go back and ask that woman to hold on to what she has, because there are days when it seems I've lost that forever.

No, I know I haven't. It's just that I'm...different than I was back then. I didn't know I was headed into this world of longing for another child and not seeing that dream realized. The experience has placed a shadow over my heart, and I fight for the sunlight but it's a battle I lose on many occasions. I know I need to work on my relationship with God. I love him, I trust him, I won't leave him...but are we super-close all the time? I have to say no. And part of me hates admitting that, but I've come to learn that I am human and I am weak, and God knows all of this. He knows me better than I know myself. Scary but true.

This is one post that I have to leave unresolved. I'm not living in a sitcom world (but oh, how I wish I could for just a day!) where, after about 20 minutes of silliness and conflicts, the music swells and all the pieces come together. There are things I wish were different, but I would never trade my life for another. This one, with all of its love and yes, broken pieces, is mine...dibs.

Haiti Bound

Casey and a group of our students will be traveling to Haiti in less than a week. Great things have happened within this campus ministry since last fall. Milton Jones, president of Christian Relief Fund, came to give a talk to the students in October. That same evening, church members and Rebels for Christ raised enough money to sponsor three children for a year! Their pictures hang framed in our student center. Two of them live in Haiti, one in Africa.

But Casey and the RFCs went one step further by deciding to take a trip to Haiti and help install water filtration systems. Money has been raised for two of those systems -- praise God! -- and also to send this group over for about ten days. Along with installing the systems, they will get to meet two of the three children that we are sponsoring. How awesome is that?

There was a time a few months ago when I considered joining the group and traveling to Haiti as well. Being a mom to a young child, however, caused me to hesitate. For one, it would be both of his parents flying out of the country...and I can't guarantee that something won't happen. Besides that, they will be gone for about ten days. I could not see myself leaving Miles for that long. We've left him for a week at a time, going on anniversary trips. This is so different, though.

I have told Casey how much I want to be taking photos in Haiti, documenting the whole experience. But I would choose being with Miles over that any day, and there will hopefully be more trips to Haiti in the future, ones that might involve Miles accompanying us when he's old enough. I have struggled with the thought of Casey going on this trip, and I think most of it is due to the depression and anxiety. But I've gotten better each week, and the meds are helping greatly with that. I will also spend a few days with my in-laws, giving me some help and Miles a fun time with his grandparents.

But it would be great to know that Casey and this group of students have some prayer warriors in their corner for the next few weeks. I'll have my concerns about the trip, naturally, but I am so very proud of them for the work they'll be doing to God's glory.

Solitude and Survivor

I'm sorry. For those friends or family to whom I have not given much of myself lately, those are the best words I can think to say at the moment. I am here, and yet I'm not. My brain, my heart...they are filled with noise and pain that I yearn to quiet and ease.

Back in March I posted this link after our fourth in vitro attempt failed. We got the negative test results on the 16th of that month, and at the moment of 'the phone call' with the IVF coordinator (whose job I do not envy) I remember my body going numb and cold. One week later I was having trouble remembering big and small details of the previous days. I knew I had bought some shirts, but had to ask Casey where we'd gone to get them. I knew we'd visited his parents for a weekend night, but didn't remember the drive there or much of the visit itself. I was actually shocked at how big the gaps were in my memory.

Turns out I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD was no stranger to me, because the events of 2006 following Miles' birth had greatly affected me. But this time the symptoms were much more acute, and because I was in better health I noticed them more quickly. In my mind, there are so many worse things that can happen in life which might cause post-traumatic stress. I almost felt silly  thinking that this was what had taken place for me. Yes, the news for us was bad and came after three years of our struggles. Still...it seemed like a big reaction for me to experience.

I have thankfully had the opportunity to see a counselor who Casey and I trust greatly -- had sessions with him last year, and Casey has joined me for sessions this year. In counseling we are looking for tools in coping with my emotional 'stuck-ness' (for lack of a much better word), and tools that will help us listen to one another in the midst of grief. Our marriage is a strong one and we don't intend letting it go by the wayside. Casey and I have always agreed on being proactive in this.

And as much as I don't want to be tied to daily meds, I began taking anti-depressants almost immediately. I know that for me it is a tremendous help. Side effects? Yes...and I don't like them. But while I struggle to function in daily life, they are something I must endure for a while. I feel as though I must take them, not just for myself, but for my husband and my son. As much as my heart wants to skip those large looming clouds on the road of grieving, I would never choose to miss out on those small sparks of joy I still experience from day to day. Yes, sparks of joy, because with Casey to hold me and Miles to fill my heart with his laughter, there is no denying that joy is going to get through the cracks in my sadness.

I don't know how many of you watch the show Survivor, but this latest season included a twist where the person voted off doesn't immediately go home but instead goes to 'Redemption Island.' They stay there and wait (three days?) for the next eliminated player, and the two duel it out to see who stays on the island for a chance to get back in the game at some point, while the loser goes home for good. As of now, Matt -- self-proclaimed Christian -- has spent about three weeks on Redemption Island. Three weeks. That's more than half the game, and nearly all of that time alone.

I always find it interesting when a Christian is on these reality shows. Well, not so much that they're on the show, more when they start talking about it in terms of what God's will is for them on that show. Can they hear themselves talking? Recently I found myself so irritated with a statement like that I said to the TV, "He doesn't care that you're on the show!" I mean, of course God cares about the person and loves them. But is God really putting effort into the outcome of a reality show? Really? My guess is that he has more important issues on his mind.

But I digress. The aforementioned Matt now has my attention. Here he is, this nice, young Christian guy...I never found him disagreeable, just a bit unfocused on what he was saying. The intentions to 'honor his God' as he put it were definitely there, I only had trouble with believing that the best way for him to do so was in the run for one million dollars. On an island. Alone. I'm by no means this great Christian example, but even I know that there are better ways to honor God than trying to win a bunch of money in a game where most people excel by lying and backstabbing.

What the producers unwittingly did in creating this 'Redemption Island' twist, however, was to force a sincere Christian kid into more solitude than he ever wanted, and in last week's episode the effects of it were clearly showing. Up until then, Matt seemed strong and confident and was winning every single duel that came his way. He gave the glory to God, and I would scoff in my usual way that God didn't really care. Yeah, I liked the kid and was cheering him on...but I wanted there to be more. And now the solitude had all but broken Matt. He was crying on camera, saying that God had been carrying him for the past few days. But the best part? Now he said he was done with the game. That was it! That was what I'd been waiting for! Matt had used his time of forced solitude to be with his God, and he had had a breakthrough: the game didn't matter. At the next duel he faced, Matt looked broken and maybe a bit wiser. He somehow pulled out yet another win and said something like, "I guess God still wants me here." Well of course that bugged me, but not as much this time. And the woman who he beat in the duel mentioned before she left that because of Matt's example she was going home and getting involved in a church. That, in my mind, is the closest reason to God wanting Matt on that show.

I digress once again. Why, you might be asking, would I interrupt my talk of PTSD and depression to discuss an episode of Survivor? I promise it fits. When we were watching Matt breaking down and breaking through because of his solitude, all I could think was, "I wish I could do that!" And maybe that sounds like an unusual thing to wish, but I am in an unusual place in my life. Counseling and meds can help, no doubt -- but at this point I still need something more. And so Casey and I have decided that I will take a weekend in the next couple of months and spend it in solitude with God. There are ways I could find some moments of solitude where I am right now, but I believe what will truly help me grow is being in another place all alone for a good stretch of time. I've found one place online that is very appealing: it has little cabins specifically for spiritual meditation and solitude. And I know this is what my heart needs because I normally wouldn't want to do this, and yet I can't stop thinking about it.

Eleven years ago I was in search of solitude. I found a horse ranch two hours from my home and spent a night there in the bunkhouse. Sitting under the stars on the tiny balcony, reading my Bible and journaling about the experience, I could feel my soul being renewed. I remember how it felt and I long for that again. Just me and God, tending to the wounds in my heart.

Five is Here. Heart, Don't Break.

Dear Miles,

Three days ago you turned five years old, something I have been slightly dreading for a while. Each birthday has gotten just a little more difficult for me, but five means more change than your mama is ready to embrace.

I begged you joked with you several times before the big day about remaining a four-year-old. Finally you got quite serious with me and said in a firm but kind voice, "I have to get bigger, you know that." You are so very ready to be taller and older, and yet you are still somehow sensitive to how I am dealing with it.

One of those changes I mentioned at the beginning is the fact that you will start attending school in the fall...no, not even the fall, because it begins on the fourth day of August! Can't I just have one more month with you? But no. And when we registered you for school recently I made myself swallow those feelings down, because this is a big deal for you and you need to know that I am going to be okay. Of course I'll have my little crying moments away from you, but I'm also going to be so proud to see my Miles head off on a new adventure.

Learning to write letters and to count

There have been so many more 'firsts' this past year. You played your first (and second) season of soccer and went from crying on the field to scoring your first goal! You really got into dressing up for Halloween, and sometimes when it wasn't Halloween you still wanted to be Batman. For Christmas you received your first 'big' bike...good thing too, that tricycle was getting a bit small for you. And even though we have had our cat Junebug since before you were born, the arrival of new kitty Oz has been a big first in your life. He just has no idea how much you adore him, and I think he's very lucky to have you for a friend.

Showing his soccer form

Enjoying Halloween treats at the library

Bike ride in the park

Miles and Oz: best buddies

This past winter, you made very clear something that has seemed clear for a good while now: you love the cold. In fact, you made that statement to me so much that I almost knew when you would say it. But even in that spirit you cannot ignore how much more you love each different season. It's as if it's in your blood, and must be, because your daddy is the same: loves the cold, but can't get enough of those changing seasons.

Looking cool while washing the car on a summer day

The perfect pumpkin

Snowball fight with Daddy in the nine-inch snowfall

Spring snails found on the porch

Miles and Daddy...what can I say? The blessings I receive from you both on a given day could keep my heart afloat for years to come. You are both more sweet to me than I deserve, and nothing makes me smile more than seeing you interact and share that daddy-son affection I know is so important. Miles, when you get older I hope to see you appreciate what an incredible man your daddy is. I know that right now he is your hero in that 'my daddy is the strongest man in the world' type of way...someday you'll learn that he is very strong, and giving his life in service to God shows that strength every day.

Daddy, Miles and Uncle Corey on the U of A campus

How tall are we, Mama?

 Falling asleep while waiting for Daddy to play

We've seen your sense of humor emerging more this past year. It's so much fun seeing you understand more subtle humor, but you're still mostly about the physical comedy. Nothing wrong with that! Some of the greats have been revered for their slapstick. I'm just glad you still think I'm funny, and hopefully our dinnertime giggles will last a long time.

I learn so much from you, Miles. You already see beauty in the small things, you take joy from the simple things, and you charge ahead with the tough things. Life is still so new and amazing for you, but you are teaching me. I have a feeling it will always be that way.

That purity, that innocence about you, I am holding on to that for as long as I can. When I write your next birthday letter, you will almost be through with your first year of school. How much will you have grown? How much will you have changed? I want you to grow in love and goodness always, and keep that joy in your heart as you go on your way. But I am here whenever you need me to lean on.

Love,

Mama

23rd Psalm

The Lord is my shepherd;

I have everything I need.

He lets me rest in green meadows;

he leads me beside peaceful streams.

He renews my strength.

He guides me along right paths,

bringing honor to his name.

Even when I walk

through the dark valley of death,

I will not be afraid,

for you are close beside me.

You prepare a feast for me

in the presence of my enemies.

You welcome me as a guest,

anointing my head with oil.

My cup overflows with blessings.

Surely your goodness and unfailing love

will pursue me

all the days of my life,

and I will live in the house of the Lord

forever.

Who crushed a Red Nail and is now on the Roster? This guy!

When you're proud of a family member...you just gotta show it. Remember in my last post when you saw my brother Trevor crushing that Red Nail? He's on the official Red Nail Roster now -- first one in 2011!

IronMind, who made the certification, also posted a short article featuring Trevor. I love the picture of him -- he is standing in front of a Rhodesian flag. Too cool.

Watch my brother get his Red Nail Certification!

For those of you you might remember, I posted back in July '09 about my (haha) nail-bending abilities. The coolest part of the post was getting to talk about my brother Trevor and his red nail bending abilities.

There exists a 'Red Nail Roster' on which Trevor's name will appear in the next few days. He certified this past Saturday at 10 a.m. in Fort Worth, TX on his first attempt in less than 30 seconds. The person attempting is given one minute and up to three attempts. Nope, first time and in half the time for Trev.

Here is a picture of a Red Nail (piece of Cold Rolled Steel which measures 5/16" in diameter and is 7" long. It takes 500 lbs. of force to bend this piece of steel (this is not the nail Trev used):

Trevor is the 65th person in the world to certify in this feat of strength.

Here is the official video that his friend Malachi made:

I also wanted to share something that Trev emailed to me just three days before his certification. It will give you an insight into what he does...more than just a 'feat of strength' but something related to his faith in God:

There are many things that have inspired me to bend the Red Nail.  One of those reasons are all those people in the world who would never even have the opportunity.  So many people suffer from physical pain, injury, disease, sickness – even if they wanted to make that roster with all their might, they would have no chance.  And here I am, healthy and able to push myself with no restraint…I’ve often reminded myself that I am partly doing this for them.  Why should I sit on my couch and waste the opportunity? Many of those people would at least be happy to see someone rise up to the challenge out of the masses and conquer the impossible.  I want to give them something to celebrate.  I have endured many aches and pains and am actually in tremendous pain...I remember teaching the college class about claiming things in faith and how you cannot speak against what you claim by faith, no matter how long or difficult the path may seem.  Many if not all of them have now long forgotten what I claimed about the Red Nail.  But I haven’t and God hasn’t.  And when I certify, I will remind them that mountains can indeed be moved.  I never gave up.  And I had many odds stacked against me.  But my God is bigger than any mountain.  We have to learn to stop telling God how big our mountains are and start telling our mountains how big or God is!  I actually speak to each Red Nail now, I say, “Red Nail, you will bend to under 2 inches in under 30 seconds in Jesus’ name.”  And they do.  That’s bending by faith.  Jesus said, “If you say to this mountain, ‘move’, and believe with all your heart and do not doubt, then what you say will happen and nothing will be impossible for you.”

"What happens after dying?"

The other night Miles began talking with me about dying.

"What happens after dying?" was his out-of-left-field question.

"Who were you talking with about dying?" I asked, to which he told me Daddy (who was conveniently no where in sight).

Still, these are the conversations I love. I long to hear what is inside my little boy's mind, what he thinks about when he's not focused on Wii games, wrestling, Oz the kitten or -- the most important thing -- FOOD.

"What happens after dying? Do we come back?" A thought of reincarnation flashed through my mind.

"Well, if we love God and do what he says, we get to go and live with him forever," I answered as best I could.

"Do we get to see him?"

"Yes!"

"That's cool!"

I don't remember how the conversation went from there, but it seemed to be all Miles wanted to know for now. Left me with a warm feeling from the glimpse I had into my baby's heart.

Rebels for Christ: GCG '11

In case you missed me posting it everywhere else, here is the slide show I put together from our trip to Panama City Beach, FL for Gulfcoast Getaway 2011! It was a great time -- a tiring time, but a great time nonetheless. The worship time was so incredible, I can't say enough good about that, and so many wonderful things happened over that weekend that brought glory to God!

A Promise is a Promise

In my last post I promised that I would share the reason(s) why my posting had slowed so much. And so I will.

It's been nearly a year since I mentioned those three letters here on the blog that have greatly impacted our lives: IVF. Back then I had decided that I wouldn't share more on the subject until I had something good to share about it. I honestly didn't think I would have to wait very long, but as far as any baby news goes I am still waiting.

When I met with my doctor last October after our first cycle didn't work, we discussed the option of a salpingectomy, which is basically the removal of the fallopian tubes. When there is a hydrosalpinx, a tube that has fluid in it, the outcome of IVF can be affected because there is the possibility of inflammation in the tube(s) and that can cause the embryo(s) not to implant. It is still possible to get pregnant when you have a hydrosalpinx, but generally after one failed attempt the option for the salpingectomy is on the table. I was definitely open to this and as with all surgical decisions, once I've made up my mind I'm ready now. That was not possible this time, which was frustrating but I was willing to wait.

The day of the surgery was November 19, and it would take place in a hospital three hours from home. Our doctor actually brought in another surgeon to assist him, one who was going to try and make this a laparoscopic procedure (which it normally is) rather than having to, for a fourth time, open my abdominal scar. They were even going to see if they could untwist the left tube and give us any chance possible at natural pregnancy, but I was well aware going in that I might come out of this with no tubes and a reopened incision, and unfortunately that is what happened. The tubes were beyond saving, but now we had a new start with IVF. I was excited at first, but this surgery, for many reasons, was by far the most emotionally difficult one I'd had. I knew that if the next cycle didn't work it would be much harder to take, and I didn't know how I'd handle a bad outcome what with all we'd put on the line.

Because of the recovery time and circumstantial things, Casey and I weren't able to begin our second cycle of IVF until February of this year. I was eight days into the injections, which is a good deal into the process because everything starts a few weeks before that, when on March 8 I got the call that they were canceling the cycle. I remember the day well because I learned of our friends having just had their second child within minutes of that, and as happy as I was for them I was devastated for us. My body wasn't responding well to the meds, so we had no choice but to stop and wait to start all over again.

The third cycle, which I actually consider the second since the previous one wasn't completed, began in mid-April. I had been doing a lot of exercising since December (training to walk a half-marathon) and probably felt the best that I had in a long time. I was ready, and I just knew this would be our time. We were anxious but joyful to make it to the embryo transfer and have two 'gorgeous' embryos, as the doctor put it. We even had the option of transferring a third embryo, but there was such a fear in us of having all three implant that Casey and I looked at one another and said, "No, that's okay." I go back to that moment every now and then and have my 'what might have been' thoughts.

As had happened the first time around, we had no embryos make it to freeze. That is, none of the remaining few embryos did not progress far into the blastocyst stage, which would have made it possible to cryopreserve them for another cycle. The phone call with this news always comes during the nine days between the embryo transfer and the pregnancy test. In other words, The Longest Wait Ever. I've said many times that those nine days are more difficult than the tests, procedures, injections (close to 50 of them in less than two weeks, all done by me)...yeah, the waiting is the hardest part.

On May 20, I went in for my blood test and made the long drive home (the fertility clinic we visit is three hours away). It was an anxious time, full of uncontrollable foot-tapping and tear-filled prayers. I was literally one street away from home when the call came: the test was positive. We were pregnant! At first I was speechless, but couldn't stop smiling. I had waited more than two years for this news, had gone through two major surgeries and two in vitro cycles to hear what we'd been longing to hear and it was all worth it.

The next few days were surreal. Every hour, every moment, I was trying to grasp our new reality: this dream was coming true. Not only did I say to Casey more than once, "We're pregnant!" I would look at Miles and then say quietly, "He's going to be a big brother!" and I tried to picture it all. We quietly told family and a few friends. There were tears, celebrations, thanks to God...and yet we knew we needed to wait for that second blood test and first ultrasound to share our joy with the world. I couldn't wait -- and not just to tell people that I was pregnant, but to praise God in their presence for this blessing.

This is the hardest part to share. My heart actually hurts with each beat as I type this...even five months later it feels like yesterday down into my very bones. I went in for the second blood test on May 27, one week after the first test. Keep in mind that a week is a long time to be allowing happiness over a realized dream sink into your heart. I remember being on that final elevator ride up to the doctor's office: it's inside a large hospital, and you can't walk down the halls of this area of it without seeing several pregnant women. I think I recently counted 10 of them in just a few minutes.

I was on the elevator with four or five pregnant women, but in my mind I was thinking, "But they don't know there is one more pregnant woman here," and I smiled quietly at the silliness of myself. I arrived at my floor and -- this part will forever be etched in my mind -- I saw a woman leaving the doctor's office with who I'm assuming was her mother, and the woman was sobbing uncontrollably. It was no quiet grief, but open and raw, and it drew me in to the point that I wished I could go to her and comfort her. My only guess was that something had gone very wrong with her IVF cycle...possibly she'd had a miscarriage. My heart went out to her, and I felt a twinge of guilt at now being the woman in whom she would find no comfort.

The second blood test, I should explain, is like the first in that it is quantitative rather than qualitative. The qualitative blood test gives you a 'yes' or 'no' whereas the quantitative test measures the level of hcg (the 'pregnancy hormone') in a woman's blood. The general rule is that any number higher than five means there is a pregnancy, although four weeks into pregnancy it's good to have a higher number than that for it to remain viable. The number on my first blood test was 40 -- not a bad number, but not the best number. The doctor hadn't been too worried about it, just wanted to wait until that second test to make sure the numbers were doubling like they should.

The call came later that afternoon when I was at home. I felt a shock and a numbness as the nurse explained that my number had dropped and was below five. She said the words 'chemical pregnancy' and that she was very sorry, but I just kept nodding and answering and saying 'thank you' to her words until the conversation was over. It was at that point that I felt myself crumbling, falling apart. I was sobbing and calling Casey, who had been out on a walk but was on his way back, and I told him that I needed him to come home without telling him why. He arrived to find me crying on the floor, and I told him it was over...it was all over.

Though we could grasp that a chemical pregnancy is a very early miscarriage -- the embryo attempts but fails to implant, so the body begins producing the hormone that gives you a positive blood test -- our hearts were utterly confused. My first reaction, that night in fact, was to try talking Casey into diving back in to another IVF attempt right now. Well, of course that was a bad idea given my emotions and what I'd just been through physically, but I didn't care. Casey and our doctor did, though, and after talking with both of them and waiting a few days I realized that they were right. I didn't want to hear it, but I knew that a few months off was best, and for a little while I decided that taking an anti-depressant would be a wise choice for me as well.

There is still more to share. Casey and I spent a wonderful few days on a much-needed anniversary vacation in August, and by the middle of the month began a third in vitro attempt. With nearly a year having passed since our first try, I was blown away at how much had happened...and still no baby. One cycle, then major surgery, then a canceled cycle, then a chemical pregnancy. This one had to be it. Right? Just over a year before this, I was so averse to the idea of IVF and now here we were actually going for attempt number three.

So much was different this time, even too much to get into. A major difference was how well my body was responding to the meds, so well that I was told to back off on the injections. I only made two visits to the doctor's office before they said we were ready for the procedures. Our embryo numbers were slightly higher, giving us a better chance at having some make it to freeze. It was hard not to feel like this really could be it -- how could it not? But we'd thought that before, hadn't we, and then had been disappointed. Still...so many things pointed to this being our time. Finally.

The third time was far from charming, and when I got the call just five weeks ago yesterday I was of course crushed. Knowing that it was easier to take than having the rug pulled out from under us like it was in May didn't take much sting out of the disappointment, but I was relieved at not having to go through the highs and lows of that moment again. Still, there we were, grieving once again. And I do mean 'we' because Casey is in this just as much as me -- maybe not physically but certainly emotionally, and we were both crying out to God and sharing our anger with him at our deep disappointment.

I've learned so much, and each time I've learned something different. To be honest, I'd much rather have an easier way of learning...but I know that's usually not how God works. He does his best work in our brokenness. It's unfortunate that I've been so stubborn at times as to not allow his lessons into my heart, but I strive to be better and always will.

Now, there might be those of you who will want to bring up the subject of adoption. Let me assure you that I am well aware of that option. I have friends who were adopted, I have friends who have adopted and it is a most awesome thing in my opinion. But before you share with me your wonderful stories, please consider the idea that my heart might not be there. Wanting another baby does not necessarily mean that Casey and I are ready for adoption. We've certainly discussed it, I've researched it and asked questions...but I cannot force myself to do something I don't feel ready for. Just like deciding to have a baby of your own, adopting a baby is a huge and very personal decision. I won't say never, that would be foolish of me. But I do want to make others aware that just because something is good doesn't mean it would be everyone's choice.

I don't know why now, why today is the time I chose to share all of this. When it feels time to share, that's when I share. I have held back so much in the past year, but I did it partly to protect myself. Now I feel a bit stronger, and now I am ready for everyone to know what's been going on. I think it helps me to help everyone understand, which goes back to what I've said before: we all want to be understood. You have your own experiences, and part of the healing comes from those around you simply understanding where you've been. If you are able to take from this some kind of new understanding of our lives, then I've done what I set out to do.