Educating our boys

 In about five years our kids will be done with K-12 school. I’ve been having a lot of thoughts lately about our choices in education. 

I feel strongly that schooling for our kids is a very person choice and I have deep respect for the choices I’ve seen people around me making for their kids. I see Instagram stories of mamas who are absolutely slaying the homeschool scene and honoring the choices they are led to make. I see amazing private schools helping raise up this generation in great ways. 

I was homeschooled K-12. Dave went to Public school. We prayed and talked at length when we were deciding how our kids would get their education. Part of my brain had a hard time registering that I was sending them to public school, since my schooling was so different than that. Every year we consider each of our boys unique learning situation,  emotional/spiritual well being, and the circumstances surrounding them and we pray over if any changes need to be made. 

We have felt a very clear direction so far each year that having them at western schools is exactly where they are supposed to be; where they are supposed to influence,  bring light,  and learn. While we are wide open to that changing, even mid school year,  so far it has not. 

I am so proud of our boys for being a light in their school. They will not graduate unaffected by the environment and some of the more negative aspects of this choice. I have had individuals in my life who subscribe to an anti public school thought process who will point out the above statement. And I will say that yes,  this is true. 

Here’s what I’m saying though. We, as humans on this earth will not “graduate” from this broken environment unaffected. Grace enters the equation and teaches us about God in our heart break and failures. But on our way through we will hopefully be grasping for any and all who will hear about the One who took our broken and fixes it daily. That brings light to the corner where we are. 

I know I don’t have to defend my position - because all who know our hearts know we are deeply nurturing and we continue to be protective of the boys’ young hearts in their vulnerabilities. 

But now -  I just tear up when I hear about the fruit we are seeing now. Noah straight up shared the gospel in his ap prep English a couple of weeks ago and I believe there’s a light shift in that building. I hear story after story,  and I know many go unseen and unheard, of each of the boys being willing to sit with/befriend/reach out to those who need friendship and light. I pray revival over that building every time I’m there or simply drive by. I’m also sending the Holy Spirit into that building as he works and lives and breathes through my sons. 

Of course there are times they fail as they are learning and forming their world view and figuring out life. They aren't always the light, But the God within them never fails and is always light; can only be light and the darkness can never extinguish it (John 1:4-5).

We’re setting them up for life here and then bolstering them and building them up for the life to come. I don’t believe this particular way of parenting and schooling would go well without our village. And so we have many pouring into them,  on the public school campus and off. Every chance we get we and others pour truth and life and love into them,  and then we send them to do the same. 

What they don't tell you

 There's this widely read book series that starts with a book called "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and the follow up, "What to Expect the First Year",  and "What to Expect the Toddler Years". These were helpful for me when I had a bunch of little boys running around my house. 

But do you know what I wasn't told? I wasn't really prepared for this fairly life changing transition into the teen years. Here I was in those days of fog and tired, little people needing me almost every moment.  I could barely see past the next time I would need to feed everyone. I tried to get rest when I could, but between feeding one with a g-tube, who wasn't able to walk on his own, and the three consecutive littles we added every couple of years - I was in deep.  So many were dependent on me. For their very lives. No baby which emerged from my womb took bottles. Every 2 hours they needed me. I was exhausted, but I was *needed*. There truly is a sense of purpose there.  And while plenty of people told me it wouldn't always be that way, I wasn't really told about this normal, healthy pulling away that happens with mamas and boys. 

They needed so much of me. Arguably at times, to myself of 12 years ago, too much.  I knew they would become independent. I had a goal of always being close to them.  I saw it as a bad sign if there was a point where they pulled away. And then life continued to happen and the years just rushed on. And through tears I saw this beautiful thing. You do your work. You put it in as a mama who does everything with her whole heart. And they need less and less from you, from a physical standpoint. I had this crisis of identity a few months back because pouring myself out physically was all I knew for so many years. 

I cut the meat up tiny

and tied the shoes

changed the diapers 

grabbed the sippy cup, made sure it was  clean, again, filled it up, poured into it - just like all of the little lives around me

got up in the night, again, assured and reassured after the bad dream/tummy ache/inability to sleep

made the food, and the second breakfast, and the snack

put all the things in the diaper bag(s) to make every little trip anywhere, and bring the tiny potty, and all the snacks, and load the wheelchair 

I smile when I look back at the young mama that I was. I thought I got it wrong so many times, but I see God there now. When I did screw up - he made up for it. It was so consuming. I enjoyed it in the way you enjoy a stunning view through rich fog out your window, when you haven't had sleep for 5 days. 

Sweet, 

beautiful,

vaguely inspiring, 

blurred,

hard to recall. 

And then one day they tied their own shoes and the training wheels came off their bikes.

And my world changed. Because from that moment (if you know, you know) it was only one more moment before they were behind the wheel of an actual car. 

And one morning I woke up and it just hit me - what's my purpose now? They started going to dad more, because he's amazing and full of wisdom. And a guy to talk guy-to-guy stuff with.  I could not be more thankful, while simultaneously I couldn't find my footing here. In some ways there is a rhythm of turn taking in this journey. Dave couldn't spend much more than 2 hours with them alone as babies. I was their food source and they would make his life miserable until I was near. There were several years of that. He loved and cared for them dearly, but I was front and center. I was life for them. 

And now I step back.  My sweet boys who showed me my selfishness, my nurturing heart, my love, my rock bottom. All of it - they showed me. I step back now. 

Not out. I do not step out. When I questioned my purpose, Dave, my boys themselves, and mostly God showed me clearly; it's very significant still. It's just different. 

I am not front and center 

and I am not life 

and I am not everything

I am mama. 

To four boys on the verge of young adulthood. You don't feel like it will ever come when you are entrenched into pouring in everything you've got (and then some), but there is a point where you have given much and then step back a bit and you see what you've given. You see fruit and you no longer pour so much in physically. You transition to pouring in prayerfully. And you lead by example. My new role is living my life to be seen by four young men to the glory of God. I am here, of course. Always here to give a hug still and listen to all their things (my favorite). But it looks very different than it did. 

On Mother's Day this year my 14 year old wrote these words into his handmade card 

"If you weren't a part of my life, I would not be where I am today. You have taught me so much through both your words and the way you live every day. You forgive, extend grace, and put up with so much. When you mess up, you openly ask for forgiveness."

How you live every day. 

May we never, ever underestimate how we live out our every day moments in front of our (emerging adult) children. They watch everything. And there comes a point where that is the main thing. We have done the other things and they are no longer needed. This becomes our role. Being a role model.  

There's never a time, as we live out our short earthly life, where transitioning from a sweet season doesn't carry a little sadness. It's part of this whole package. But I'm choosing now to embrace, even appreciate, this new role. For me it is the bit of a break that I prayed for, needed and wasn't sure would ever happen. As I lay down some of the intense physical demands I am leaning down to now pick up a quieter role. A powerful role. Showing them more than telling them or doing for them. 

Showing them. 

A broken woman reaching for the hem of Jesus' robe. Embracing redemption daily and loving a world in front of me the best I can. Showing grace. Showing failure and forgiveness.  All of it. This is what I do now. It's what I've always done, but now it's in a different way.  

Psalm 127:4 says, "like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one's youth."

We don't really cuddle arrows and keep them with us, do we? Arrows are made to be shot out. Out into this hurting, broken world. Our prayer from the time these boys were kicking up a storm inside of me was that they would affect the world for Christ. We are starting to pull back on this bow a bit. And it's hard. It hurts a little, knowing what's coming as we pull back on it. If I'm being honest, I didn't even have the strength the pull back all the way on our cross bow. But in an allegorical sense, I know God is slowly giving me the strength for this launching. These arrows could go far. Or land near. Either way - they aren't ours. They are part of a much bigger picture than we can see. These arrows will go out from us and land at a point that I am confident will be better for them landing there. I am so proud of our boys. We have our days, of course, where it feels like failure and conflict and brokenness. But my joy in what they are becoming burns bright regardless. I see the arrows that they are as brightly lit arrows - piercing into pain and darkness. They will fail and they will need strength. But they have it. I am confident that each one of them is equipped for this road ahead. They won't always use the tools they have to their highest potential, but they will learn and they will grow and eventually they will surrender more and more into that Great power they have each chosen and been given. The Spirit of God himself live in my arrows.

 His arrows. 

And then 18 years passed

 I can't believe I made it.  

I made it through your entire childhood.

In two weeks we will celebrate 18 years since you and your brother's untimely entrance into the world. You two would very likely be completely hilarious together.  We will forever think of you as we celebrate Caleb's milestones. Eighteen whole years! 

Of course, at the time I could not even begin to imagine making it through 18 entire years. 

I didn't even think I would be able to open my eyes again, let alone breathe. 

The light felt like it would shatter my eyes. 

I couldn't imagine feeling anything but numb at first. I didn't think it would ever end. 

I willed the tears to come, and they just would not. 

Until they did. At the most inopportune times.  And then they wouldn't stop. 

And then I couldn't imagine a time that seeing other people laugh wouldn't cause an immediate anger reaction. 

One foot in front of the other - seemed the only thing I could do. 

I felt the hardness in my heart. One of the strongest temptations towards cowardice. 

Let it harden you.  

Death and shock and disappointment in my life. It would've been too easy to let this thick darkness slither its way around my heart. I felt it in a tangible way.  

This is how I know there is a God and He loves me.  

He gave me a way out. 

 I had to take it - reaching out a limp and shaking hand to take hold of real living.   

I could never forget the horror of what it feels like to hold a body without a soul. It's engrained on me in a way that can not be removed. You branded me and scarred me with love. 

And now I live softer.  18 years of choosing soft. Not a weak soft, although often it sure can feel that way, but a soft open heart.  Open hands. 

I'm not whole, but I know I will be - someday.  I can still feel poison swirling around me and within me.  I am a broken human. But the prominent presence surging within me is not me at all, but the presence of God. He indwells me with everything that is good.  I feel shrapnel residing in my heart. But it shares space with hope. 

I'm honored to have space in my heart just for you.  I have spent every bit of this 18 years loving you intensely.  And letting that love compel me to be better.  I fought for that. 

I never thought I would find the seeds of creativity within me again. 

I never thought I would feel delight in anything.

I never thought a sweet fresh from heaven baby would completely claim my love again.

I never thought I would see beauty in the mundane.

I never thought I would find great satisfaction in a hundred other things in life. 

I never thought the sunset would set my heart on fire again.

I never thought the sacredness of music would move me.

I never thought the loveliness of holidays and milestones would bring surges of joy.

But those are things God placed within me when he created me.  They don't go away unless my soul leaves my body. They may have been dormant for a while.  But in choosing life, I choose to nurture them again.  Warm winds of change blew across my soul.  Deep waters of staying close to God and his Living and Active Word poured into the trenches of disappointment.  And the things that I love bloomed every year - a little more and more. 

By the grace of God I am not at a place where I deeply grieve the fact that I missed all but 10 days of your childhood.  I see you as a true stepping stone in my life.  In these 18 years the fear, distrust, trauma, and anxiety poured in. That is some of the shrapnel.  These elements still remain, somewhat.  They will show their ugliness, from time to time in greater measure than others. But the growth came when I looked them square in the eye, named them, and told them they didn't have control of me.  

No, they're not gone.  But I choose love.  I choose God.  I choose joy. I choose believing in all the good I sometimes can not see. 

I choose to love you with every bit of my mama heart and not let losing you make me hard. 

{Pearls}

"Oysters make pearls in response to an irritant, such as a grain of sand or another object. When any irritant makes its way between the mollusk's shell and mantle, the creature produces nacre, a protective coating that helps reduce irritation.  Nacre is also referred to as mother-of-pearl; it's made of microscopic crystals of calcium carbonate, and it also lines the interior of a mollusk's shell.

Layers of nacre coat the irritant, eventually forming an iridescent gem (the pearl).

The only difference between naturally developed pearls and cultured pearls is that a pearl farmer embeds an irritant between the shell and the mantle by cutting into the mollusk's tissues.  With freshwater pearls, irritants do not need to be introduced; simply cutting the oyster's soft tissues is enough to begin the pearl-making process.

Some pearls can develop in a period of six months. Larger pearls can take up to four years to develop."

Americanpearl.com

Have you ever really sat and thought about this? I mean, yeah - it seems pretty much as cliche as it gets. I can just hear some  responsible leader figure type, spouting off the significance of irritations helping us to grow...

But really, let's think about this for a minute.  No one really tells an oyster what's going to happen in this process, or that this is even a thing.  Mama oyster isn't like, "Ok, so we have this thing - where every now and then something irritating may get lodged into our shell....but something beautiful is created in the process.  Trust the process,  just stick it out!"  - I mean, this just happens,  right?  It's another amazing thing we can credit our Creator for.  This process of pain and beauty.  It's his thing.  He really excels at that. 

Guess what?  I have irritations in my life. ;)  Oh man.  I know I've been kind of silent on here lately, but life is full and beautiful and boy can it be irritating too. It's hard, you guys.  Every single one you can attest to that.  

I've just really been camped out here on this pearl thought lately though.  I want to filter the hard in my life through this thought process.  That God is making beauty form from my irritations - if/when I handle them well, trust him with the process, don't fight it, don't try to fling the irritation out.  You know my default instinct, right? Pain -Bad! Get it out! Make it go away! -  What would we miss out on if oysters did that?  A pearl seems so unique,  so pure,  so priceless.  To think, that all starts with an irritation!  Something that "gets under our skin". 

I believe that there are times God sees our potential and our endurance, through His own strength,  so much more clearly than we do and he may even cause a freshwater pearl experience to manufacture beauty we didn't know we contained. His beauty.  {cutting back soft tissue, or even introducing an irritant to begin the pearl making process}


What do we do with this kind of thinking?  Do we serve a God who would get kicks out of irritating us?  Is it a game?  

No and No.  First of all -  this life?  It's not about us.  We were created to bring honor and glory to God, and for his pleasure!  He knows the beginning  He knows the process we must go through to bring beauty from ashes, He knows the glorious end result.  

In my life it's coming down to this simple truth.  Believe Him.  

Believe that He is good, that He sees what I can't see.  Believe that He would NOT introduce or allow any irritation, any pain, any kind of discomfort just to see us struggle.  Because he is good,  he allows things for OUR good, and the ultimate good of His Kingdom.  

When you aren't living your life just for yourself you can glimpse it.  Glimpse the beauty of the pearl.  The beauty of trusting the process.  The beauty of letting go and allowing God's plan to play out in your life.  

I'm breathing deeply and letting this sink in.  Friends, it's my goal to trust God when tough stuff embeds itself in my life.  *Exhale* 

Let it lay there.


Let it be.

No panic.

No digging at it to fling it out.

Let

            it
                           lie there.


{Some pearls can develop in a period of six months. Larger pearls can take up to four years to develop}


Ouch.  My fingers tap the keyboard and anxiety creeps in just forming the words.  Of letting pain lie.  Leaving it.  Trusting the process.  Not running from it frantically.  Not cramming a million other things in to drown it out. 

But just *be* with the pain. 

{the creature produces nacre, a protective coating that helps reduce irritation.  Nacre is also referred to as mother-of-pearl; it's made of microscopic crystals of calcium carbonate, and it also lines the interior of a mollusk's shell.

Layers of nacre coat the irritant, eventually forming an iridescent gem (the pearl)}

Don't fling it out - let the natural process happen.  There is a "protective coating" - even as the irritant stays there.  How cool is that?  The protective coating eases the pain.  It's *part* of the formation of the pearl.  

I want to produce beauty in this life.  I want to be an example to my precious boys of enduring, of sticking with the process, of trusting God, believing Him in what he allows.  

{Break Me to Better}

I remember when I was a child I felt strange to be around people who were "different".  Physical limitations didn't really make me uncomfortable, but I wasn't sure how to respond to those who had mental issues.  I had a cousin whom culture would label "different".  He was a child-like young adult.  Mostly he was fun, but every now and then I just felt unsure of myself around him, so it seemed easier to just not deal with those emotions and stay away.

When I became a mom in a rather scary way, 3 months before I was "supposed to",  I was immediately thrust into a life that consisted of medical information overload.

The boys were micro preemies.  They were dangerously early.  The list of things that could go wrong with them was extensive.  I tried to take it all in and adjust expectations of the life I thought I would have.   That's kind of too much to do in a few days time....  But oh my little quivering heart tried to stand tall and do just that.

I knew immature lungs were at the top of the major concerns. So I was trying to wrap my mind around ventilators, trachs, surfactant, and oxygen saturation.  In addition to that we knew that fine motor and gross motor skills were greatly compromised by the boys' muscles missing out on the growth and building that needs to happen in the last 3 months of pregnancy.

Having a child that may have breathing struggles for the rest of his life and possibly never walk or be able to ride a bike were very real possibilities.

And I thought I could probably do this.  Yes.  We would study up on how to help as much as possible, and get used to what that would look like for us.

Yeah - we could do this.

And then K had a brain bleed. And a whole new world of medical professionals and scary possibilities entered our life.

I remember sitting in a neurologists office with my tiny baby.  Just a few months old.  He was cute and cuddly.  Doing surprisingly well for all he had already been through.  While he was on a low flow of oxygen, his lungs were doing incredibly well.  We had started occupational therapy for fine motor skills and Physical therapy for gross motor skills.  While he was responding well to all of this,  neurological questions which no one could answer were creeping in.

Would he recognize us? Would he speak?  Would he be able to form any kind of intellectual skill sets?

To these and so many more questions the resounding answer was "wait and see".

I didn't want to admit to anyone that these were the issues that were like kindling to the  fear fire smoldering deep inside of me.

I would sit in these offices of various brain doctors and observe a lot around me.  I would see other babies like mine. 

"I bet they are hearing a lot of "just wait and see" too.." 

We would exchange little smiles and grasp any solidarity we could find in our tired selves. 

But then I would see some older kids.  Some teens.  Kids in wheel chairs - some drooling or moaning.      There wasn't solidarity because this was something I didn't know at all.  Something that scared me.  A foggy possibility that loomed in my future.  I felt something in the region of the fear fire.  I didn't know how to identify it.  Subtle waves of cultural influence would blow on the embers of that fire - and the flames would sometimes just rage.  But I couldn't really talk about it. 

"How do I do this?" 

"I don't know how to parent like this." 

"I'm lost.  I'm afraid.  I never asked for this."

And then there would be guilt.

I know my God sees our potential.  He sees our hearts.  He sees our biggest fears and hesitations as potential places for sin to settle into.  So he swoops down and rescues us - sometimes by pulling those fears up and making them our reality.  He does this in order to  make them impossible to harbor that which He knows is not for our best.  

Selfishness. 

Judgment.

Fear.

He knew I could do better. 

So he gave me a child with mental, emotional, intellectual, and physical struggles.  

And he called me blessed. 

Everything was different when he was a baby.  Cute and little.  Potential untapped.  "Wait and see".  

While wait and see may still always be a bit of a mantra when it comes to our K, he is now 13.  We see.  Maturity will take place, and changes will continue to happen.  But we see  - him.  

See my eyes? My face?  I believe my feeble heart, held in the hands of my all powerful God, shows there.  I am parenting some of my deepest fears.  And this young man has forced me to be braver than I thought I could be. 

I know my parents desire was to raise me in a counter cultural way.  They knew "culture" was devious, fickle, and a lie.   But it still sneaks in.  It whispers its way in like a tangled web of something unrecognizable -  that soon begins to resemble truth. 

I'm fairly certain I would have succumbed to several of those lies if I were not K's mom.   While I have always considered myself pro-life I'm not sure I valued every.single.life as a beautiful creation formed by a God who makes no mistakes. 

What a privilege.  What a privilege to start each day needy and desperate.  To peak behind the curtain of culture into the realm of eternity and truth.  

This guy shows me.  He teaches me.  He keeps me grounded and humble.  He shows me my limitations and God's power.  

And as he grows and learns more about his own struggles he keeps my heart soft and broken.  - And I am learning that is not all bad.  In fact a soft heart - willing to be shattered for purposes beyond my own agenda has begun to be a hesitant but bold prayer of mine.  

He prefers things very structured and clings to routine.  When things happen that are out of his control - and this happens regularly in a family of 6 - he melts.  It's the only way I can explain it.  I watch my sweet boy just melt away in a puddle in front of me and he goes to a place where he can not be reached.  It literally breaks me.  And that's ok. 

Brokenness has value.  - Just one more thing he's taught me. 

It is during those meltdowns that his realities pour out.  He isn't one to talk a whole lot about how he feels about things during day to day life.  He's getting a lot better about asking for help when he needs it and advocating for himself, but we never quite get a glimpse into his head and heart like we do when he has a melt down.  

"I can't do anything!"

"I am invisible!"

"I'm never going to be okay!"

"I'm afraid."

"I can't do anything for myself!"

And so much more.   So much that has helped me to see, really see, what it is like to be someone who does not have all of the advantages that I have.  

And I need to see that.  

I need to feel that.  

It is so hard to feel that.  And oh do I ever need to.  We all need to.  

I sit and hold him and I cry with him.  I wrap him in a blanket.  I feel helpless next to him.  And I cry out to God on his behalf.  

Among all of his diagnosis {which really mean less and less each year...} is autism. It hasn't changed a whole lot. But it has helped us figure out a few of his responses and form some helpful ways to deal with those responses.  Saturday was national autism awareness day and I gave myself a special "jamicure" in honor of the way our family dynamic has been shaped by autism.  

Puzzle pieces.  

Pieces of my heart.  Pieces that don't exactly fit together in any logical way.  

When I look at my hands I smile.  My boy has my heart.  I'm so glad.  I'm so glad that he has personified some of my fears and shown me an immensely bigger picture.  

I am helped

We know doctors.  I have not known parenting without doctors.  Gobs of them.  Pediatricians, therapists, and medical specialists of all kinds.  We have been incredibly blessed to have many knowledgable and caring doctors as part of our lives.  In simple ways and in life saving ways the influence of medical personnel has greatly impacted our family.

Sometimes there is a feeling of, "this is their job".  They do it well.  They do it with knowledge that is exemplary.  But it's just a job.  Because I was thrown into a world involving so many medical professionals when I became a mom 12 years ago I find myself taking a subconscious inventory upon an initial meeting.

Is it simply their job?  Is it their passion?  Are they calculating how many more patients they can get through their door in the next 5, 6, 7, 8 hours?  How do they view the life in front of them?  What are their perceptions of those they treat?  Are we a name?  A case?  A number? -  Mind you, this all happens in my brain within a matter of seconds.  It isn't necessarily a negative assessment,  simply a habitual analysis.

I'm always wary of switching doctors - cautious when meeting new ones.  Some of it is just the hoops to jump through and All The Things involved with getting into a new doctor.  Some of it is all of the explanations needed to get to a place where someone actually *knowns* K.  Who he is, what he needs, where he's at.  It's a process for sure, and can be intimidating at times.  It's so much more comfortable to just continue with the doctors who have been with him since birth.  They not only know him now, they were a part of the very miracle that his birth was and life is.  No explanation needed.  They knew the wonder and the fear and the crazy tight rope of those early months.  It feels comfortable and comforting to have them on our team.  They know. 

This month we closed a chapter on K's story.  We left the last doctor that has known him since birth.   Or he left us.  Or something. ;)  Actually, he left the hospital where he was practicing pediatric neurology,  which is really the only thing that could have convinced me to switch K's neuro care.  I had to. 

We spent months trying to get records switched,  talking to insurance providers,  and making phone calls to the office of the new neuro we were trying to get him into.  While these things are not my forte,  I can see where God has nurtured much patience in me through them. :)

Last Thursday I drove K to The U of M hospital to {finally} meet the pediatric neurologists who would be taking over his care.  He loves our "solo time" road tripping,  and hanging out,  even if it is to see doctors. ;)

I'm used to alot of waiting,  and was prepared for that.  It doesn't really bother me,  especially in the bigger hospitals.  It's just a thing.  We do what we need to.  But this time we got back about 3 minutes after appointment time.  Subconscious checklist takes note. 

K did his thing. From office staff, to the nurse who took his blood pressure and weight, to the team of doctors - he charmed them all. It's crazy to watch this process.

It goes something like this:

Check name tag, memorize name.

use name multiple times in endearing ways, ie -  "Jenn, what are you going to do? 
 Is it going to hurt me at all? 
 What are you going to do when you get home? 
 I really like music, Jenn.  Do you like Music?" 
 Pauses to give a big enveloping, clinging hug to Jenn.

And then, sometimes,  "Hey Jenn, do you happen to have any iTunes cards or anything like that?"

At which time the One Big Mistake,  that one well-meaning nurse once made,  surfaces once again.  An iTunes gift card was once given during a hospital stay for Mr. K.  Oops. 

Usually somewhere around this point the web of charm has been spun so magnificently that Jenn is doing everything in her power to get an Itunes card sent up to room 203...

And mama stands by and watches, torn between awe and embarrassment.  "Uh...yep, that's my kid."

We spent significant amounts of time with two specific pediatric neurologists last Thursday.  We will be meeting more of the team as time goes by.  Never once did they have their hand on the door while they engaged in a memorized spiel.  -Not that anyone would ever do that or anything, but they didn't. 

As amazed as I was at my own child's fast moving vice of charm, I was even more impressed by the quick and pointed questions the docs asked me and K to make a fair assessment of who he was.

Subconscious checklist marks down that they know their stuff. 

"You keep talking about the Little Einstein's.  Who are they?"

Grabs Ipad, tries to fire up an episode.

"No,  I don't want you to show them to me.  Who are they?"

"ANNIE,  QUINCY,  LEO,  AND  JUNE!"

"Ok.  Are they real"?

"YES!"

"Hmmm. Are they little or big?"

"BIG!"

"Then why are they called *Little* Einstein's?"

"Little, I mean they are little... "

- And so on.

They quickly and methodically,  through a serious of conversational yet very specific questions,  assessed my boy.   They hear his extensive vocabulary and peak into his intelligence,  but also seem to grasp his misdirected reality,  emotional immaturity,  and social awkwardness.  And I think they nailed it. 

And I'm impressed.

To state that it "takes alot to impress me" sounds kind of prideful and perhaps as if I am holding myself to a knowledge of All Things Medical, that I simply do not posses. So hear my heart: I have been to many,  many doctors and have not often seen this quick and knowledgeable method being used while still feeling very heard and treated with the utmost of respect.

Even more significant than myself being treated respectfully by this group of doctors was the fact that K was spoken to,  handled,  and interacted with in a way that oozed respect.  They looked in his eyes when they spoke to him.  No big deal?  Think again. 

I can not tell you the amount of times that doctors have spoken as if he wasn't even there. They ask me things that he could easily answer. -There are definitely situations in which parental input is needed,  and I get that,  but there are times that is just not the case.  And I know the difference.  I would be so bold as to say,  so does he.  

While his hearing is impaired on one side,  he can actually hear very well.

While his vision will never be 20/20,  he sees in a way that impresses anyone who has examined him.

While he has processing delays,  and yes - his brain is damaged - he processes deeply and with an intelligence that still shocks this mama.

So,  when you talk to him like he's a person {gasp} - my Conscious Checklist will take note and my heart will thank you deeply. 

You guys, they spent an hour and a half with us! I have experienced appointments with my K that have taken that long, and longer, but they have almost always involved long wait times.

After thorough conversations and examinations of K, I was getting my stuff around and preparing to leave.  And that's when the primary neurologist pulled a chair up to my chair and looked me in the eye.

What, WHAT? I mean - All The Patients. And the hand on the door knob thing - when's that going to happen? I'm kind of fidgeting in my chair, because I'm not really sure what else needs attention.

He's a bit past middle age, maybe. A fatherly type. This isn't just his job. He's not just passing us through and crossing off our name/number. And he won me over.

I didn't realize the burden I walked in with until he pulled his chair up to mine,  moved a bit to level with me,  maintained eye contact, and said,  "You love him very much.  It's obvious.  He loves you too.  Goodness, you are his world!  But being his mom is hard. It's alot. You do alot."

I almost wept.  Because it is.  It's alot and it's hard and I need help.  And to have someone of his caliber acknowledge this was kind of like a rescue breath to my gasping soul. Thank you Jesus.

"What do you need? How can I help you? How can I come along side of you, as K's mom, and support you in the big thing that you are doing."

Deep cleaning breath.

Can you feel it?

Do you get what this was for me?

Honestly I was surprised at the depth of emotion.


Relief,  hope,  comfort,  affirmation.

I didn't even know. I didn't realize the heavy load of responsibility, and some of the helplessness that had crept in.

But I know I left feeling lighter. Feeling supported and  so much more ready to engage back into this parenting gig.

I didn't weep. I didn't throw myself into their arms.  I didn't say, "can we keep you forever and ever?!" - Like he was some kind of a cute little puppy or something.

I took a minute  - just to myself - to acknowledge the burden and the help being offered. I whispered a prayer of thanks, and I honestly opened my heart and expressed my needs.

We have some new team members now. We are continuing some conversations. We have some plans in place for different scenarios.


I feel helped. I needed help and struggle to ask, but He knows. He just always knows.



"The LORD is my strength and my shield; My heart trusts in Him, and I am helped; Therefore my heart exults, And with my song I shall thank Him." 

On redemption and blue frosting

{When the dying's over 


When the last tear falls

 
When the empty wells overflow 


To fill us all…}

Always - a separation felt deep. How does one harmonize the joy of life, miracles, and stuff that dreams are made of…

…with dark and foggy memories that cause a knot inside?

{…Redemption 


We'll see it with our very own eyes

 
Very own eyes 

and we'll realize 


We're alive for the very first time 


The very first time…}

{…Burdens we have carried 


Melt away like snow 


Loved ones gone before us

 
Welcome us home…}

So, we celebrate

we throw ourselves fully into now

we know this is us,

woven into the fabric of every single one of our earthly Januaries. 

Written into the Story of Our Life.

This is our life.

{…Redemption 


We'll see it with our very own eyes 


Very own eyes 

and we'll realize 
We're alive

 for the very first time 


The very first time…}

This is January. 

This is our ebb and flow. 

This is our story.

There is an unbidden familiarity about it now. 

{…Someday we will remember how to fly

 
Then we will rise like embers burning bright

 
Everything broken will be whole again…}

{…We are the ransomed


We are the redeemed

We are the bride 


And shall forever be


Loved from the start without end 


It will not end…}

{…Redemption

 
We'll see it with our very 

own eyes 
Very own eyes…} 

{…and we'll realize

 
We're alive for the very first time 


The very first…} 

 We rejoice (really, really deep thanks) over what each candle means to us,

 we giggle over Caleb-isms…

and we grin over this fun little fact: blue + frosting = blue teeth.

{Redemption

 
We'll see it with our very own eyes 


Very own eyes 

and we'll realize 
We're alive for the very first time 


The very first time.}

Happy 11th birthday, K {Born prematurely into this world at 10:36 pm on January second, two thousand three, and thriving…}

And always, always in this mama's heart - we love you J.D. 

{Born prematurely into this world at 10:30 pm on January second, two thousand three.

Alive for the very first time in heaven at 9:00 pm on January twelfth, two thousand three.}

"Redemption" - By JJ Heller

Some 'splainin

You know that feeling of going through motions and doing, doing, doing?

And then you start to feel weird and realize you are kind of on auto pilot and you don't really "feel" a whole lot? But you keep doing, and you are efficient, somewhat organized, and getting things done?

 But still, just doing. Doing, doing, doing. It can be like a sickness sometimes.  Know that feeling? Maybe you do and maybe you do not.      

Maybe you have had to diagnose yourself with being exhausted, overbooked, and doing too much _ some of it for all the wrong reasons.

Maybe you haven't 

Last year I was doing alot. And I did most of it fairly well. So many things we accepted onto our plates. It looked kind of impossible and many people gave me cautionary advice.
"Watch it,
be careful,
these are all good things,
but don't
                do
                         too
                                      much…."

And I honestly told them that everything I was involved in had been prayed over and I had much peace about. It was pretty supernatural really.

Inspired.

Last year was.

I did it, I was supposed to do it, and I did it with energy and passion.

This year is not last year. 


Bam!  …and ouch.


I know. You were right. Hello friends. 

The kind of energy and passion with which I carried out what I was called to do last year was not the kind that could be sustained long term.

Apparently. 

My pride is taking a pretty enormous beating. But this is good. I know it is; The Admitting that I am very, very human.

I don't know. I guess I thought The Doing, and The Energy, and The Efficiency was my new way of life.
Hmmmph. 

I added a couple of very small things to my life this fall. I honestly did not think adding a couple of things would change anything. I thought that adding things and being able to do them well, in addition to All The Other Stuff was like a new Spiritual gift or something.

I know.

I know. 

I'm loopier than a box of fruit loops.

So, this is me in process of paring back. It's both refreshing and painful. It's a relief and kind of like cutting off an arm. So, yeah - that makes a ton of sense. 

I'm praying over my schedule, my commitments, my ministries, my passions, and really my whole life.

I've been asking God what needs to go, and the places he is pointing to are actually really surprising to me. I'm listening though. I'm really listening to Him. Previous to this revelation of Too Much I'm afraid I wasn't listening very closely, or at least I wasn't heeding what my heart knew He was saying.

For instance, last year Dave and I heard very clearly that it was our "year of yes". We dove in. He gave green lights all over the place. As the year wound down we saw some orange lights, and started to evaluate where we were at. After some prayer we felt as though God was giving us a new word.  No longer "yes", but "focus". The year of yes changed to our "year of focus". This would be the year we would find our handful of places to plug into ministry and focus on them.

Somehow my crazy mind started bending that concept and made it the yesfocus year.  Because, really, if I had done it for a year, surely it was just the way I was going to be able to function forever, so YES! I'll focus
             on
                      e v e r y t h i n g !!! Yes!

Only that crashed and burned last night on our front sidewalk in broken sobs telling Dave that I can't do it anymore.

Maybe some of it is hormones, maybe some of it is the fact that I'm getting over 3 weeks of bronchitis that really weakened me. Maybe it's the new fall time schedule and changes.

But mostly, just this…

Hi, my name is Wendi, and I can't do it all.

Four bowls of oatmeal

I lined four bowls up on my counter this morning. I methodically put a spoon in each one. We slept in, and this morning task was very relaxed. Our summer days have been packed full, but still retain an element of relaxation and freedom that is more welcomed than I can say.

In all honesty, each summer tends to give us a jolt into the reality of everyone being together and spending hours on end *trying* to get along. It definitely has required more of me, as I am often wanted and/or needed in roughly 4 different directions at any given time. :) I know this adjusting and higher level of neediness is far from unique to me. I know that many are pulled in more directions than 4, but this is me - and where God is leading and teaching.

I plopped a spoonful of oatmeal into each of the four mismatched bowls. Some mornings the complaints of how *starving* they are and how it is taking *too long* to come through for their wasting away stomachs frustrates the bajeebees out of me. 

This morning I paused. 

I have to change my thinking in order to be the woman I was meant to be.

I have to take charge of my perspectives if I am to love with the depth I am called to love.

With each plop of oatmeal I thought about the great privilege it is to be raising four, four, boys! It's so rarely quiet in my home. But, what would I do with the quiet if it were here? Would it be an aching quiet, reminding me of what wasn't to be? Would it be a deafening quiet, feeding longings of my heart?

I think it would. 

So I thought about the longings and the noise. 

The demands and those days that drain me of every ounce of… everything. 

I contemplated the sticky fingers and the hugs.

Lately I have been dealing with some tough fits of rage from K. He can be the sweetest little man at times, and then he doesn't get his way and there is this complete turn around. He has yet to master the skill of being able to control his disappointment and displeasure when things are not *exactly* as he thinks they should be. As he gets older it has been more and more of a challenge. Add to that the fact that most often it is in a public place where he is faced with these disappointments, and you can begin to grasp my challenge. 

I thought about the challenges of special needs parenting and the utter inadequacies I feel.

And as the final touches went into the oatmeal (That little shake-a-shake of the cinnamon and sugar…) I reminded myself of 

The privilege

The calling

The joy

The responsibility

Sunday morning in our Sunday school we had a time for prayer requests. I asked for prayer that I would make the most of these days with all of my boys home. That I would see all of the opportunities to lead these little hearts to Jesus. That I wouldn't miss it…..

 I think people have been praying- because my heart is in it more and more. Although challenges continue to abound (hello, life here on earth), I have found my ability to take that moment.

That moment to change my thinking.

That moment to see a heart not an inconvenience.

I'm writing it down because I forget so easily. :) 

When God hijacks your life

I keep getting this phrase stuck in my head from a book we read last year. I can't even remember the entire context of this phrase in the book, but the phrase is that "God hijacked our life". -And the thought behind it paints a picture of having all these plans, often quite temporal plans with skewed and earthly priorities, and God has this way of taking hearts that are willing and bringing us to places we never signed up to go.

A couple of weeks ago I was downtown, hands full of semi heavy photography gear, mind on a million things, when I caught a glimpse of a boy on a bike in the parking lot across from me.

A boy on a bike.

Simple, not really notable.

Except that it was to me in that moment. 

He had on a red shirt and glasses. He looked like he was about 10 years old. His hair was dark brown and cut short. I did not know him at all, but he looked very similar to my K. In fact, if you took away the braces on K's feet, the more narrow head with the bump on the left side that is his shunt - he would have looked almost exactly like this kid riding his bike in front of me.

And that's what got me. Stripped away of the things we didn't expect from our parenting adventure,
without the things that happened to K on account of his premature birth - this could have been him.

Of course these are the kinds of emotional moments you never plan for and that hit you in surprising ways. My tripod, soft box, and camera bag were taking a toll on my arms as I just stood there staring (bad manners…I know. Scary camera lady gawking at little people), but I didn't feel them at all.

I don't ever want to change my little man. But I can't lie and say that there are never moments that little thoughts don't flutter around my brain about what things would have been like if my first pregnancy would have gone full term.

I'm used to who he is, I love and accept who he is, and I do not compare him. Because of that, I am often taken quite by surprise when I am around other 10 year olds.

This boy on his bike was riding as fast as he could, whipping around corners, laughing with a couple of friends. I finally disengaged myself from scary camera lady mode, and began to load my gear into my van. On the way home I made a mental list (because texting while driving would add to the driving record I started that same week) of all of the ways that K has made my life better. Most of the things on my list would not be there if he had been born full term.

It's like - if parenthood were an airplane, my ticket was for "full term sweet baby" and half way there I realized, with an icy cold fear in my heart, that I was headed straight for "micro preemie babies & lifelong special needs" and I panicked. I knew nothing of this place and "Could you please just turn the plane around?!"

But there in Micro-preemie-ville I found who I was created to be. Crazy, huh?

In so many other ways, I feel like we are back on a plane. This time God has once again changed the trajectory of our journey. Only this time we see the clouds out the window with no idea what we will see when the plane lands.

Do you know how we can just cozy up in our seats with smiles and enjoy the ride?? Because we see how He has never failed us before. Even when we wanted Him to turn the plane around and begged him not to hijack our happy plans. We look back on those things and we see His out-of-this-world goodness and we rejoice in His faithfulness.

Hijack away, God. You've got us.