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A Messy Life

6/28/2013

It was just one of those days. I had deadlines and to-do lists looming over me like Count Dracula. I could even hear his voice, "One deadline, ha ha ha....two deadlines, ha ha ha....three deadlines, ha ha ha." And it seemed like each time I sat down in front of my computer and the words started to flow with any sort of creative sense my little girl would crawl up to my chair and start to cry.

I would grit my teeth together and clench my hands, feeling like a time-bomb ready to explode, the stress building up in me, toxic and deadly. Any second and I would either burst into tears or run around like a crazy woman screaming.

But there was no time for tears or craziness so I hacked away at my problems as my baby continued in her loud grumpy activities and I attempted to write while my creative juices were being sapped away by my on-edge nerves.

Then, lunch time came around, and that meant I should drop everything and heat up the squash and veggies and feed that grumpy baby. Maybe if I fed her she would become quiet and tranquil again. I hadn't heard her laugh all day.

I set up my little munchkin in her high chair, prepped her food, and made a sandwich. Then, like any good multitasking mom I attempted to type up a story and eat my sandwich while feeding my baby and having 1-on-1 time with her. And, you guessed it, that just wasn't working. I'd feed the baby a bite, take a bite of my sandwich, turn back to my keyboard and my girl would start slapping the table and wanting more.

Seriously, I should have stopped there. I should have forgot about everything except the baby and her food. I should have even forgot the sandwich. But I kept trying to be superwoman, growing ever closer to tears as everything seemed impossibly crumbling around me. Then, when I had turned around in a vain attempt to type at least one stinking word on my silly little story I heard the sound that will aggravate every mom in the world...a squeal followed by a splatter, followed by a giggle.

My motions were slow as I turned back around to see that, oh yes, I'd left that bowl of mashed veggies too close to her and now they were EVERYWHERE. I blinked. I gulped back my tears and my baby froze, staring at me, knowing something momentous had occurred and it very likely had to do with the squash and mashed potatoes in her hair, down her shirt, smeared on the high chair, and slopped over the table.

And then, like sun cracking through the clouds, she smiled. Then I smiled. She giggled and something eased within my chest, the pressure being leaked out as I shook my head and laughed.

It took me an hour to recover from that mess. The baby still needed to be fed and then the disaster area and child both needed to be cleaned up. And my munchkin and I took a break from my deadlines and to-do lists and found true comfort in our laughter and love for one another. Strangely, the rest of the day was happy and quiet. The baby wasn't grumpy but then, I wasn't either anymore.

I think God gets frustrated when we try to shut out part of this world, especially the blessings He showers us with. In a moment of extreme stress I didn't want to focus on anything but my problems while God was trying to draw me away from my worries with the beauty of a child He blessed me with. Problems need to be taken care of and worries should be acknowledged, but never shut out joy.

You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence...

Psalm 16:11

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Their Walks of Faith

6/23/2013

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“You are the salt of the earth. ....You are the light of the world."
Matthew 5:13-14

With all the ugly things that happen in life, the struggles, the distractions, the hurt..I find it amazing that my walk in faith continues. But, you see, it isn't the words of the Bible that keep my head and heart turning to God. It is the people of my life that make those words come alive that keep me hungering for God's presence in my own soul.

Who are these amazing people? They've been there through my whole life. The people who have shook me out of complacency and made me drive my life towards God are people who never made it onto the 7 o'clock news or made millions from writing and selling their biographies. No, they were all people with humble hearts who doused my world with their love.

One lady, I'll call her Ruth, had eyes with the light of God shining out from her soul so strongly she just seemed to glow. About the same age as my grandma, Ruth had a face of unearthly grace and when I grow into my years of maturity I hope I have smile wrinkles like hers. She taught my Sunday School class off and on when I was really young and gently guided me to my salvation.

My high school years were blessed with some incredible teachers. They looked at me and saw more than I did and were never settled with second rate. They believed in the possibilities of my future and I know they prayed for me. Those teachers were always bigger than life to me, because they gave unselfishly so much of themselves. Guess what, it turned out that each and every one was a Christian, evidence given by the cross around their necks or hanging up from the rear-view mirror of their car--a small defiance to keeping God out of schools.

And the list goes on.

A mother of a school friend always opened her home to me and a stronger woman I've never met. I still keep the bookmark she made me with the Bible verse embroidered on it.

A girl I met in college amazes me with her ready smile and how at ease she is defending her faith, never ashamed of God's place in her life.

A close friend and sister gives her life unselfishly everyday for her growing family and anyone else she can lend a hand to. I think God speaks from her eyes and she is the easiest person to talk to.

I could go on and on with this forever, but I think it is best that I close with one last word.

The biggest and greatest testimony to God we can ever share is just by letting God show Himself through the lives we live.

We are the salt of the Earth. We are the light of the world.

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Under the Knife

6/19/2013

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I walked into the hospital clutching a brown paper bag of surgery supplies and trying to continue to breath. Next to me my husband held my hand and my mother-in-law chatted away about how excited she was to meet her first grandchild. But me...well, I was just trying not to dissolve into the weakness of a panic attack.

In my head I waged a war of battling fears. How many times had I already told myself that everything would be fine? So what if they had needed me to go buy my own anesthesia, gauze, etc and find my own blood donors? Yes, in the States that would never happen but here it was common practice. Babies still made it into the world...even in this hospital that didn't have soap in the bathrooms. Breath. It was ok. God was with me. But my emotions were being held together by threads as wispy as spider webs.

Oh, God! I breathed those two words over and over. Oh, God, Oh God.

Most of all, I needed to keep my mind off the horrors. In the tiny hospital of a Patagonia town I was going to go under the knife as an over-worked gynecologist brought my daughter into the world. The million and a half things that could go wrong danced inside my head like naughty little demons.

I could feel the terror building up inside me as the nurse came to take me away. My husband gave me a kiss and Mamá hugged me, but they couldn't travel into the surgery ward with me. I was alone. The nurse talked away in Spanish and the words got all scrambled up in my head. I could feel my breath coming short and shallow and begged myself to stay calm. This will all be over soon. Everything is going to be fine. Just fine. I'll be holding my little girl before I know it.

Another surgery was underway and I was ushered into a room with a TV. The nurse started me on an IV drip of something and I had no idea what was coming into me through the tube. Whatever it was, it did nothing to calm me down and I could only stare blankly at the remote in my hand. A jittery chuckle blasted from my trembling lips as I looked at it...nothing playing on TV could possibly help right now. I closed my eyes and begged the fear away, feeling my strength beginning to crumble with my terror.

God, please, please, please. Get me through this. Let me stay strong and do whatever I need to do to help this go well. Be with my daughter. Be with the doctor.

Something eased within my chest...a completely unearthly feeling.. like a strange detachment and serenity came over me. The anesthesiologist came in and smiled at me. I smiled back. When he spoke I was surprised that the Spanish words were no longer scrambled and bizarre. He was talking to me about a cousin of his who had been to the United States. It wasn't everyday an American woman opted to have her child in their small seaside town. I asked him about the IV drip, thinking they must have started me on drugs since I felt so peaceful. He laughed and said it was only nutrients since I had been fasting. He was going to administer the epidural for the surgery.

I didn't hardly feel the needle when he gave me the epidural but eventually I felt the medicine take over and I was wheeled to the surgery room. Everything happened so fast. A sheet went up. A nurse reminded me not to talk. And I laid there peacefully wondering at the calmness that had begun long before I had came into the room.

Then I heard the most exciting sound in the world. A little cry, one unhappy little whimper, and then a grumpy newborn with pudgy cheeks and black hair was nestled next to me. I broke the rules and spoke. How could I not? "Hello. Wow, you're so beautiful. Hello, love. Hello." I begged the nurse to tell me if she was ok and the lady laughed. My daughter was perfect. Oh, God, Thank you!

But I must not speak more, the doctor was still finishing the surgery.

That peace stayed with me even after they took my baby away, and finished the surgery. It wasn't until I got back to my husband and saw the bundle in his arms that any tears came from my eyes. The great waves of fear and anxiety washed over me in a gentle crest of emotion. God had held back that storm.

"She's beautiful, Honey." My husband said. I nodded, but couldn't stop crying for a while. Finally I took a deep breath and took up that precious child in my arms. Every baby brought into this world is a miracle and my daughter was no exception. And I'll never forget that experience as God walked with me through my nightmares and held my hand until I was back in the light.

"And surely I am with you always..."
Matthew 28:20

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The Love of a Father

6/16/2013

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Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.
1 John 4:8

I love this day--Father’s Day. I love my dad. He is completely, totally, and beyond a doubt amazing. Dads (and moms) bring the deep and constant love of a parent into a child's life. And some of us need that example to understand God's love for His children.

Our relationship with God is that of a child and a Father.

That has always been my favorite aspect of Christianity—knowing that my God is my Father up in Heaven and I have loved and understood this well since I was very small, because of my incredible parents.

“Jesus told us that when we pray we are to address God as our Heavenly Father,” my Sunday school teacher said and my childish mind immediately pictured my dad in my head.

God must be really nice, I thought. Just like my dad.

That moment has reoccurred in my thoughts many times over the years.

Mortals couldn’t possibly grasp the great depth of God’s love, but we can surely see a glimpse of it in the love of our earthly fathers (and mothers). My dad is always there to listen. He is always there to wipe my tears away and give sympathy to my woes no matter if they are big, small, earth-shattering, or silly. My dad has unselfishly dedicated his life to the nurturing, protection, and caring of his family. Watching his life work has strengthened my faith in God's goodness more than anything else I have ever encountered.

God is our Father. He wants only the very best for His children, that they will come to know Him, and that they will come home to Him in the end.

Thank you, to every dad who loves and cherishes their children with undying perseverance. You show us all what the love of a father is like. Happy Father’s Day!

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Argentine Roses

6/12/2013

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“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well."
Luke 12:27-31

                I was going to run away. How? I didn’t know. We were living in the middle of Patagonia. Spring had finally announced itself. The weather was fair and the land was alive. But looking out my window I could only see the barren vastness of ground stretching before me like a dreary future. Everything that was wrong with my life teased and taunted the dreams I’d had before I’d come to Argentina.

                Leaving the United States and getting on a plane headed for the Southern Hemisphere I had imagined I was going to be Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone, taking off to South American and writing a legendary novel. Of course, I was leaving my sister, not going to save her; and my Michael Douglas was expecting me, had already did his best to make the ranch house cozy for his little wife.   The adventure was exciting at first—new people, new language, and new places. But then reality set in and painted the landscape gray. I saw people maybe once week and had trouble relating to all of them. My Spanish that I was so proud of turned out to be pretty embarrassing and made normal conversation difficult at best. And while we’d seen some beautiful land, I felt that I’d seen it all and now was ready to go home.

                My husband was busy those days. He had land that needed extreme TLC before it could hold livestock and he was there only in the evenings and mornings, his mind always on the fences he was going to build and the cattle he was going to buy. I was desperate. We didn’t even have Internet or a phone so whining to my friends and beloved family was out of the question. Even if had been a possibility, I didn’t want them worrying. In one word…I felt abandoned. I didn’t even have the heart to pray about it.

                Sunday came around and I broke out my Bible and tucked the chair next to the wood stove in my lonely weekly ritual. But I couldn’t focus on anything except the sadness and despair that filled me. Would I ever make friends? Could I actually write the novel that had wormed its way into my heart? And goodness, was I EVER going to have children? Those nasty worries had grew into terrifying fears for me.

                I heard the truck pull up and put down the Bible. Strangely, my man was home early. Time to plaster on a smile and pretend I was doing just swell. He came in with a grin and said, “Hey, you want to go for a drive?”

                I wanted to yell back, no. I don’t want to go for a drive. I want to crawl into a corner and mope. I want to be left alone. But I answered instead, “Sure.”

                He then gathered up a couple jars and my kitchen shears and I was too annoyed to ask him why. I got in the truck and he started driving down one of the dirt roads. We came over a hill and what I saw made me gasp.

                A glorious rose bush spread out like a massive hill next to the road. It looked extraordinary in the rocky, stubby countryside which was so dry that there was hardly any grass. My husband pulled over and smugly asked me if I was surprised. I was. I really was. As we gathered the roses for the jars, he told me what the neighbors had said about the bush. Apparently it had been planted about a hundred years ago at the original site for the ranch house, but when that house had been abandoned and had crumbled away to nothingness, the rosebush had thrived, alone, for over thirty years.

                And then it hit me. Who cared for all those glorious golden blooms? God did. I heard again the words written in the bible almost as if Someone gently whispered them in my ears. “Consider how the wild flowers grow…not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, …how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith!”

                I felt shamed by my lack of gratitude for God’s gentle protection of my daily life. I felt exultant that all I needed to do was turn and ask him to care for me. If he nurtured these roses, on this nearly deserted road, in a land that was only sparsely populated…couldn’t I trust him to care for me too?

                Hope bloomed within me and I felt a surge of peace blow the blues triumphantly away. It was a turning point for me—a huge one in my life that I will never forget. I hope someone somewhere sees those golden flowers and recognizes the magnificence of our Gentle Protector, our loving God.

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Faith in the Impossible, Part II

6/2/2013

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              The doctors had warned them that they only had minutes with their newborn daughter and David didn’t want to leave her side. The families came and went, each person wanting to see their precious miracle at least once before she was taken away from them. The minutes stretched into hours and then into days. As David returned to work, his prayers grew with hope. Liliana was eating and sleeping almost like a normal baby. The staff at the hospital eventually allowed her to come home with them but a hospice nurse was also stationed to care for her. They expected Liliana’s little life to end quickly.

                While their prayers became habitual, they never lost fervency and an amazing faith grew strong within David’s family. They had come to grip with the fact that all things were best left in the hands of their Heavenly Father. David thought back on his life the way it was only a few months before and shook his head. He had left behind a world of senseless living that had hurt his wife and family. He had thought then that life was about making money and doing whatever pleased him. But, in the wake of his transformation he had more strength and peace than he had ever felt before. It was a great gift to come home to his wife each day, kiss her, and hug his two precious daughters. The older girl, Diana, was so patient with their new family member even through all usual drama that accompanied the life of a newborn. The hospice nurse eventually gave up and left them after Liliana turned two months old.

                Liliana was a beautiful baby. She looked around at the world with her soft brown eyes and smiled with melting sweetness when she looked up at her parents. They had long since decided that their little girl would be given all the love they possessed for as long as God willed them to have her. But, as Liliana drew near to completing four months, he and his wife hoped they would get to keep her much longer than the doctors predicted.

                David and Elena decided to get away to the lake with family for the day. It was nice to get out into the sunshine and the sweetness of caring friends and family. But, when they left Liliana’s side and in the care of another, something happened. Liliana hadn’t been away from her mother and father hardly at all, and not having them near threw her into a frenzy of crying. When the crying wouldn’t stop they took her to the emergency room. This time the doctor that looked her over told them that they couldn’t let her cry. Her body was having too much trouble getting oxygen to her brain. There wasn’t a way to repair it. As a parting remark the doctor told them, “You knew you wouldn’t have her for long. Considering her developmental problems it is amazing that she has lived to this age.”

        They doubled our efforts. Liliana wasn’t given an opportunity to cry. Diana was a vigilant older sister, always doing her best to entertain the little baby and her parents soaked their little girl with love. Fourth of July came and Liliana was eight months old. Their little miracle baby hadn’t given up on life. They thanked God for his goodness and marveled at the way their family was growing. Not only did they now have two beautiful daughters, but their family was stronger and their marriage happy. Looking around at friends and other families around them, they felt truly blessed. The fireworks they watched at the family gathering made Liliana smile and laugh, but later that night she started crying frantically. By the time Elena had Liliana in her arms again it seemed to be too late. Her face was turning purple. Something horrible was happening to their little girl and they couldn’t stop it. By the time the ambulance arrived she had stopped breathing. Even after they resuscitated her the EMTs were worried about her oxygen levels. They knew something wasn’t right with the little baby and decided to fly her to Amarillo.

                It was the longest drive of David’s life. There was only room on the helicopter for one, so Elena climbed in and David took Diana in the truck. About half-way down the road Elena got a hold of David on the cell phone and told him that Liliana was stabilized and that they doctors were looking at her. As soon as he got to the hospital he was asked to sign forms giving permission for surgery. There was a massive build-up of fluid around her brain. They might be able to save her with a shunt, a small tube placed so that the liquid would drain safely into her stomach.

                The surgery worked. Another miracle had happened. Their baby which was not supposed to have lived at all, had survived major surgery. And for a while life with Lilianna returned to ordinary. The swelling around her head went down and her eyes looked normal. They took extra care with her, doing their best to prevent a self-inflicted injury or infection. They knew their baby wasn’t made as all other babies were. But they also knew that God had crafted her life for a special purpose and they could already see the impact of it on their home and family. The shunt worked fine for six months until the infection set in.

                There was vomiting and bleeding. The shunt started to come through the skin. Even with morphine the pain continued and their little baby couldn’t stop crying. Eventually the trauma of it all did its awful work and Liliana could be kept alive no longer. “We could keep her alive artificially,” one doctor told them. But David and Elena knew that it would not be a real life for their little one, so torn by her infirmities. They held each other close, watching monitors give off the signs that they were losing her fast. “We need to let Diana say goodbye.”

                Through it all they never stopped praying. Though they prayed for another miracle, they thanked God for every second that they had already enjoyed their beautiful child. They cried. Diana wasn’t ready. Her prayers weren’t quiet, but said out loud as she pleaded, “God, please save Liliana. Please keep my baby sister alive. I’ll take care of her. I don’t care if her head isn’t ok. I’ll take care of my baby sister.” Her words were those of a child with complete faith in her Heavenly Father and as she came into Liliana's room the monitors changed dramatically.

                Liliana was coming back to them.

                Doctors and nurses streamed into the room and the family was ushered outside. The change in her vitals was amazing and sent them into frenzy as they took on another fight to save her. When the nurse came to get them, she was smiling. Liliana had been stabilized to everyone’s amazement. She had died for the second time in her short little life and came back to them yet again. God’s angels had her safe in their arms.

                It took two weeks of hospital care for Liliana to recover from the infection and another surgery to replace the shunt. Liliana celebrated her first birthday as a miracle child. Therapists come to see her, full of hope as they work to help her develop her mind and body. David thanks God each night. His Heavenly Father has given him so much.

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Miracles Happen Everyday

A Messy Life

Their Walks of Faith

Under the Knife

The Love of a Father

Argentine Roses

Faith in the Impossible, Part II

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