A Different Kind of Pregnancy

Spring is always a time of remembrance for me. I start walking back through the timeline of the last 1/3 of my pregnancy. Bedrest in March, first at home, then in the hospital. The entire months of April & May were inpatient at Northside Hospital. The delivery in late May, the ICU for me for 1 week, 5 weeks of NICU...a July release.

All of this occurred 19 years ago, and yet the rhythm and timing today is strangely similar. Waiting with anticipation for college decisions here in March. Hopeful, concerned, and trying to make sense of bad news mixed with good. Instead of weekly ultrasounds on Tuesdays, we have decisions in portals on Fridays. Information that will shape and change our lives, but yet we have no real control over what is happening internally. We simply wait to be told.

We deliver in May--then into the world as infants and now as baby adults.

So here in March I start to feel the contractions. The babies are getting crowded. There is the urge to push--but questions linger about their readiness. Anxiety lurks about how radically all our lives will change.  The difference? My ability to be present and wide awake in it now. I am not ill and on the sidelines, honestly concerned I may not survive to see them grow up. Those prayers were answered. Praise the Lord, for that.

There is a perspective I lacked before. God is sovereign. He can be trusted. His Will be done. I couldn't help but think about Romans 8. I particularly love the plain-speak of the Message translation.

^19-21 Everything in creation is being more or less held back. God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens.

^22-25 All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.

^26-28 Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

^29-30 God knew what he was doing from the very beginning. He decided from the outset to shape the lives of those who love him along the same lines as the life of his Son. The Son stands first in the line of humanity he restored. We see the original and intended shape of our lives there in him. After God made that decision of what his children should be like, he followed it up by calling people by name. After he called them by name, he set them on a solid basis with himself. And then, after getting them established, he stayed with them to the end, gloriously completing what he had begun.

Three versions of delivery--2004, 2023, and God's eternal way--and in all three, my heart is very much involved. 

The Power of...

I graduated from high school 30 years ago, a spunky teenager who frequently had more energy than sense. Although I checked the boxes of a 'good girl,' I drove like a maniac and my mouth sometimes got me in trouble. (Both things are true to a lesser degree at 47.)  

My career aspiration from the age of 12-19 was to be behind the desk on television reporting the news. I was heading to the University of Alabama as a Telecommunications and Film major having shadowed people at our local news station. My friend Jill and I were even the morning co-anchors for our school's Channel One daily announcements broadcast.

Somewhere in that experience, I got out of bounds. I have racked my brain (and even asked Jill) for the story. Neither of us can remember the specifics, but nonetheless, I abused my position in a way that landed me in the Principal's Office. And even though I don't recall the details I absolutely remember my punishment--a lengthy essay on "The Power of the Microphone."

In the last few years of social media craziness, I have reflected on the difference it might have made for everyone to be assigned that essay. But it was a powerful punishment for someone like me who loves to communicate--and was pursuing that field as a career. Even after switching gears professionally and wearing many hats since, the lesson about harnessing my tongue and the power of influence remains. 

Thirty years later, as a parent of teenagers, what I am now struck by is what happened after I was disciplined. 

At our high school graduation, our principal Dr. F bestowed his award--the "True Viking" Principal's Award. As he spoke of the recipient, my ears perked when he emphasized "the power of the microphone." I could not believe it when he called my name. I was stunned to be honored after being 'in trouble,' but Dr. F. wasn't rewarding perfection. He chose to award a young person willing to learn and grow.

I wasn't canceled for a mistake, I was disciplined. There were consequences, but all were done in an instructive and restorative way. As a result, I don't think back on that experience with shame--I don't even remember what I did! Three decades later, I see it as it was, a powerful building block for the places God was going to place me and use me in the future. 

So while many of the certificates and statues handed out annually in May are discarded or tucked away in boxes--the lesson from mine was so powerful that it has gone with me into adulthood and parenting. 

Today my physical award (a clock) sits high on a shelf in my study, but I have been thinking a lot about how to apply the principles to the way I view the inevitable stumbles of the young adults in my sphere of influence--especially as we embark on the increased freedom and responsibility 18-year-olds bear. I needed to reflect on this as I prepare for the stage to come. Grace is more powerful than shame. Instructive can be more beneficial than punitive.

And of course, I wanted to share because I believe in the power of the microphone (and grace).

Week Five: A New Normal

We are entering our fifth week of social distancing. 

For posterity's sake, here's glimpse into daily life. I try to make just one trip to the grocery store each week for produce, milk, and other essentials. People are now encouraged to wear masks and stay six feet apart. The stores are strangely quiet and I have realized it is the absence of children and social chatter. I have tried a couple of different grocery delivery options, but prefer to make my own trips. 

But for driving me on these essential errands (where they stay in the car) or trips to our farm property 8 miles across town, our kids do not leave home. 

Ryland is still working, although most surgery is still on hold to save PPE (personal protective equipment) in the event of a surge in the virus. His office has most of their staff only working 3 days a week now and financially everyone is hurting. For my husband, a helper, leader, and problem solver being sidelined during a medical crisis is a frustrating experience. Surgery is not the cure for a virus, and so he is doing all he can, spending hours daily catching up on the ever-changing research. At this point, we do not see an immediate way forward and so settling into a new normal is the order of the day.

Yesterday was Easter and the end of what would have been Masters week. Instead of Augusta National's beauty and visits from out of town family, we watched church from our sofa, had a take out feast here at home and enjoyed a Zoom call with family from Atlanta, Maine, and Denver.  There was terrible weather in our region throughout much of the night, so we spent hours in the cellar during tornado watches and warnings. 

Life these days is a bit surreal.

We are keeping a record of Covid losses and gains. As the days have turned to weeks, the list of cancelations has grown to include the following: 

- Neighbor's wedding in New Orleans
- Young Life camp for the boys
- Kate's braces off
- Masters Golf Tournament
- Soccer, lacrosse, and track seasons
- Study abroad in Spain for Kate
- Driver's license exams for the kids (already canceled even though birthday is weeks away)
- Big Sweet 16 bash we'd been planning since February. 


We are waiting with bated breath to hear the official word on Summer camps. Kate is a club leader and truly relishes this two-week experience each year. This was to be Ryland's age-out year and his last chance to be tapped for Palladin. (A big accomplishment that he hoped to follow his Dad's footsteps in achieving.)

This is to say nothing of all the daily life losses like time with friends, small groups, our former foster child, and the grandparents. There were also many boarding students at our school who never returned from Spring Break and my children are disappointed there was not a proper goodbye.  

These are small in comparison to loss of life, homes, businesses--but we mourn them in our own ways. All were extras, not critical to our survival, so rather than deep grief, we are experiencing a quiet reorienting of what we thought our privileged first-world Spring was going to be.

In happy news, we adopted a puppy. We've learned new games, made new memories, and enjoyed time together that we would have never had in the hurried pace of a typical high school Spring. 

The children are beginning their fourth week of online learning and it is going fairly well. I am trying to take my own parenting advice and let them own their academic life, but this is new to all of us and having a child with ADHD and other executive function challenges is causing me some confusion as to how much to enter in versus letting them learn to self regulate. There is no handbook for adolescent crisis learning during a pandemic!

While we are on the subject of parenting during a pandemic, I am realizing that allowing my teens room to grow while we are stuck in the same house all day every day is extremely challenging. When they are at traditional school I can let go with an "out of sight- out of mind mentality." I trust the adults there. I know the process is essential to their healthy development--and not having to witness it all relieves me of my overwhelming feelings of responsibility. At home, the gap between what I want to do (back off) and how I feel (responsible) is a true source of stress. Managing this gap is exposing some control issues in me. 

I know how important it is to be consistent and I find I am quite the opposite. I try to give everyone space to do the right thing in terms of chores, screen time, academic work, etc...but after a few hours of ignoring, I frequently swoop in and have a mini freak-out from all my stuffed feelings of anxiety. I fear I am not being a good Mom and they are regressing instead of progressing. I really hate this cycle of loose-controlling-loose. I am hopeful that we can settle into a space that is healthy for all of us.  

It is ironic that I trust the Lord with their spiritual development, but feel a LOT of pressure for their social and academic progress. Awareness and admission are good first steps, but I am ready to move forward. 

Truly, the inability to move forward is perhaps one of the most discouraging and frustrating aspects of this pandemic period. What is the way forward--economically, financially, socially, professionally, academically? Who will define it? 

I trust the Lord for the long-term big picture, but the daily challenges necessary to get there are a struggle for me. This is where the rubber meets the road of daily devotion to the Lord and my inadequacies are being exposed.  


I wrote this on Instagram last week, but it bears repeating here. The frustration with the unknown timeline has led me to ponder why it seems to matter to me so much. In addition to planning and control issues, I think it also has a great deal to do with a desire to pace myself and my family. I am reminded that we are exhorted in Galatians 5:25 to "keep in step with the Spirit." The Lord of the Universe is to be the pacesetter. We cannot allow ourselves to fall too far behind or rush ahead. So, I am renewing my desire to stick with Him as the refinement and sanctification continues. 

Onward, into week five. 

Covid Quaranteens: Week One

Our first full week at home social distancing was actually quite smooth. In many ways, this Mama's heart was overflowing from the gift of so much time with my people.

I wanted to establish some sort of rhythm without being overly controlling, so I settled on a checklist with categories of activities. My teens were given freedom in what order they completed the tasks and how to fulfill some of the requirements.

We were able to address a dozen "life skills," complete many home projects that have been lingering on my list and learn lots of new games (including Texas Hold 'Em and Spades). I also took advantage of the captive audience to introduce a few movies they might not have otherwise chosen for their screen time.

Ryland returned to work at his surgical practice and covering call for two hospitals. He is adjusting to a new normal as all elective surgical cases have been canceled and this was a large portion of his practice. There will be tremendous financial implications, as well as difficult management decisions within the practice. At this point, the caseload of Covid infected patience is under control enough that Ryland is not on the front lines, but this could change at any time. In the meantime, he is researching a great deal and ordering his own personal protection (when possible). 

Parker, our introvert, is thriving. Kate seems to be enjoying the forced sabbatical--a pause from all the social, scholastic, and schedule-related pressure. RyGuy, my extrovert, has been the most affected so far. The greatest losses for them at this point are their lacrosse, track and soccer seasons and the threat to their age-out years at Summer camp.  Kate is also disappointed that her date from brace removal has been kicked back three weeks :(

I am adjusting to the loss of my daily normal it has been quite manageable so far. I always said I wanted to cook more, so I guess this is my chance!

So many poignant things have already been written about the hopes for this period of history and what we will learn. I don't necessarily feel the need to add to that here. But I do think it's helpful to look for the lessons. At the conclusion of the first week, I am grateful for the forced pause, the opportunity for a reevaluation of life priorities, technology to stay connected, and the peace of being at home with a strong family unit to weather this storm.

Whiplash: From Chile to Covid

Two weeks ago today my family left on a plane to South America for a bucket list Spring break trip to Patagonia. We had a head full of adventurous dreams and a packed calendar to escape. We had heard a little bit about a coronavirus making its way through China, but there was no personal relevance for our daily lives.

While we were away, enjoying the incredible beauty of Chile, life, as we knew it at home, had drastically changed.

I cannot adequately describe how serene and calming our experience was at Tierra Patagonia. The breathtaking beauty of creation and the vast, natural landscapes surrounded us. There were no televisions in our hotel and we only checked in to WiFi twice a day, mostly to post photos. On Thursday I started to receive messages from worried friends at home. "When are you returning?" "Things are getting crazy here." "Did you hear they are closing some borders and canceling flights from certain countries?"

Checking social media, I started reading about grocery store shelves being picked clean and strangely, about toilet paper shortages.

Saturday we left a small, new and clean airport in Puerto Natales for a two-hour flight to Santiago. When we disembarked the plane there I started to feel hot and panicky. I cried twice as we stood in long, crowded lines for baggage check and security. People were wearing makeshift masks and warily eying one another for threatening symptoms. Every time someone coughed, a protectiveness welled up in me that made the stranger feel like a dangerous enemy poised to hurt my family.

The flight home was nine hours long and full of cruise ship passengers, many of them older. A woman behind me was coughing and it led me to cover my entire head and face with a blanket while I slept.

Our flight landed in Atlanta at 5:20 am, which meant Customs and Immigration was a fairly speedy process. We chatted with other Americans who were returning to the same new world. Our spirits were mostly jovial and resigned to face whatever was coming...and at that point, none of us could determine if this was an overreaction or a necessary way of living.

Our 90 minute drive home from the airport was calm. It was still dark outside. We were exhausted from our redeye flight. The radio was on a news channel and our driver, Jerry, tried to fill us in on how our community was being impacted.

We unpacked the car in the dark, leaving all the luggage outside. Each of us showered immediately and while I made a trip to the grocery store to restock our food supplies, Ryland set up a decontamination process in the laundry room while the children tried to sleep a bit.

My trip to Kroger was emotional whiplash. I was expecting it to be like a pre-snow day trip in the South...but instead, I felt afraid, sad and disoriented in a place that has been a regular part of my weekly routine for 16 years.

Although it was only 8am on a Sunday there were many shoppers and even more employees. Shelves were being actively restocked on every other aisle. The store was eerily quiet. Everyone seemed to be on a mission and processing in silence. A couple of times I started to make eye contact with another patron only to realize humanity might make me burst into tears.

With a cart full of two week's provisions, I thanked the shellshocked employees in the check out line and returned home to begin our self-quarantine on Sunday, March 15, 2020.

Goodbye to Haley

January 16

This morning I watched everyone in my family tell our 14 year old chocolate lab, Haley, goodbye. She completely lost use of her back legs the day before. She had to be carried for food, water and to urinate and defecate. Her tail was between her legs and her eyes begged for relief.

My husband spoiled her with delicious duck meat for breakfast. The kids hugged her and rubbed her ears. They knew I was taking her to the vet while they were at school and that the outlook was grim, but the hopefulness of youth still ruled their hearts.

I carried her to the car at 9:30 and drove with all the courage I could muster to the Vet. I called my husband (who was at work) for a last minute pep talk. As I carried her in from the car, our vet and one of his tech's was waiting to open the door and take her from me. We carried her back to an exam room and after placing her on the table, we all made the decision that it was her time.

My last mental picture of her is her sweet grey face with splotches of pink from my lipstick kisses.

The children knew I was taking her to the vet while they were at school--and that she might not come home. The reality still hit them hard.

As Parker mourned he said, "I knew her my whole life. I have known Haley as long as I have known you, Mom. She was always there for me when I was sad and now I have to go through this without her."

Lots of conversations about how there is no easy way to do a hard thing and love is worth it.

But, ugh.

Our Holy Land Experience: Sea of Galilee, Mt of Beatitudes, Capernaum, Jordan River

Sunday we awoke to another gorgeous clear day--perfect for taking to the water! To our delight, our group embarked on a morning boat ride across the peaceful Sea of Galilee.

Our hosts demonstrated the casting of nets and explained the fishing culture in Jesus' day. We also learned a few traditional Jewish dances and fed seagulls before returning to land for a tour of the ancient boat museum.

This is the preserved remnant of a 2,000 year old boat found buried on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Astounding to imagine Jesus asleep on a similar boat as a sudden and frightening storm blew in. The Bible was steadily moving from black and white words on a page to living color.

From the Sea of Galilee, we journeyed up to the Mount of Beatitudes where Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount.

So much of the Holy Land experience lies in getting context and perspective on the terrain/parts of the landscape and culture that influenced the teachings of Jesus. There were distinct bright yellow flowering plants covering many fields. What a delight to discover they were mustard!

The ground on the Mount of Beatitudes? A mixture of rocky and fertile. It was easy to imagine people gathered around in these very places as Jesus taught, surrounded by the object lessons He was using the instruct them. He spoke directly into their daily life in a way they could understand.

Our next stop was the city of Capernaum, where much of Jesus' public ministry took place. The rubble of many of the old buildings remains--including the synagogue. It was fascinating to think of Jesus in this environment. This day also impressed upon us how close in proximity many of the events of Jesus' life took place (walking distance!)

Our final stop of the day was the Jordan River. I was a bit leery of this place because the mix of tourism and sacred sacrament was a bit odd. Upon arrival, you rent towels and robes for $10 each and there are dozens of people there to be baptized.

Once we made it through the more commercial dressing room/rental portion, however, I was pleasantly surprised at how serene and special the environment became. We gathered as a group on large stone stairs on the riverbank that formed a sort of amphitheater. Those planning to be baptized gathered right along the river. One of our trip leaders said a few words and we sang a song. In God's impeccable attention to detail, the chorus we sang was the one song I knew as a child--a song I would sing when I was fearful and longing to feel close to God.

"I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice to worship You. Oh my soul, rejoice. Take joy, my King, in what you hear. May it be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear."

It was a very person God-wink from a loving Father. A peace settled over me and I knew this moment--all five of us being baptized together as a family was something I would never forget.

Ryland was baptized first, then he stayed in the river to assist in the baptism of the rest of us. The child each answered three questions, publicly professing their faith and then were immersed in the FREEZING cold water. I went last and it wasn't until I walked back up those stairs, dripping and shivering that the redemptiveness of the afternoon started to settle in.

My first baptism was in August of 1987. I was a child a couple of months shy of 13--the exact current age of my children! I was from a family that did not attend church and so the decision felt like a declaration of independence in many ways. I made my profession of faith with no family members present and only one of my parents was present the night of the baptism.

The fact that God gave me a second opportunity to be baptized, not only in the presence of my whole family unit but beside them healed something I didn't even fully realize was broken. And the fact that my husband was leading our family in such a symbolic way? I am still overwhelmed. 

This day was full of examples of what a personal God we serve. Jesus sought regular, unremarkable people in their ordinary lives. From casting nets to calming storms--to teaching in parables that explained the Gospel in a straightforward, uncomplicated manner. He knew needs they didn't even recognize and He spoke to them specifically in ways that would resonate in the pain, fear, and reality of their lives. My afternoon experience in the icy waters of the Jordan reminded me that He still operates this way today.

What an unforgettable day of personal redemption and restoration! (And hard to comprehend that we still had 6 days left in the journey.)

Legacy

Christmas 1998 I gave my beloved Grandmama a 300+ page journal full of life questions called "The Story of a Lifetime." In October 1999, she wrapped the completed volume and gifted it to me for my 25th birthday. I flipped through the beautifully handwritten pages in awe, then put the book on a shelf--only vaguely aware of the treasure I had received.

Sunday afternoon when I received word that her battle with cancer was over, I pulled the book off the shelf and dove in--regretting I had not read more sooner but still able to hear her voice in my head telling me the fascinating stories inside--of her youth, how she came to Christ, her long distance courtship with my grandfather during WWII, young marriage, parenting six children, the betrayal that led to her divorce after 40 years, how she enrolled in college in her 60s and was inducted into the National Honor Society alongside her grandson. Death, life, faith, regrets...she bared her soul in these pages. She was a blogger before there
was any such thing. :-)

Today we held her funeral, an event I've dreaded. Grandmama was a significant fixture in my life--a primary caregiver, a cheerleader, a pen pal, my neighbor and the person God used to get me to church where I could learn of His life changing love for me. Although almost complete hearing loss and vision impairment had made communication quite complicated in recent years, there was great stability in just seeing her. How do you close a chapter on that?

Much to my surprise, as I attended her funeral today I was buoyant with a feeling that she completed her 91 year race and despite a life full of less than perfect circumstances she lived faithfully and well.

The pastor's eulogy was so touching because it wasn't marked by regret. Instead of grief, I was filled with loving pride that I was reared by such a fine woman. She wasn't perfect--but she was the real deal. After heartfelt praise, the pastor used many of the words she had written in her memoirs--in effect leaving behind a commission for her five surviving children, 12 grandchildren and 13 great- grandchildren.

As he read her words, I felt like they were just for me:

Nehemiah 8: 10b "This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength." 

There is a lot going on in my offline life that I cannot detail for the masses. After 8 months of fostering two of our girls and a month with their little sister, the winds are shifting, court cases are happening, decisions are being made, hearts are impacted and we are bracing ourselves for the unfolding of a story that is not ours to write--but most certainly ours to walk through.

I have spent several weeks feeling sorry for myself, battling weariness, fighting fear and just wanting to get to the other side of all this so I can rest and put the pieces back together. Honestly, joy has been hard to find--and today I felt as if my finally fully restored and healed Grandmama was looking at me with her glittering blue eyes and saying "Joy, Jennifer, Joy. Don't lose the JOY of the Lord because IT IS your strength." 

On the long drive back from my hometown this afternoon I pondered legacy--and what it means to truly honor a life. My Grandmama's journey was rich and full--and it was clearly marked by joy that transcended circumstances and a faith that God was in it all.

Rather than simply mourn her loss, I want carry her story forward with a life that says, "I was watching, Grandmama. I was listening. Thanks for the legacy."

She has passed her baton and now it's my turn to run--with joy.

Learning Loss

My Grandmama has been a constant thread through my whole life--my early childcare provider and next door neighbor from age 2-17. I've spent 40 Christmases in her living room. She led me to the Lord. She has always been my Steel Magnolia.

We returned from vacation last week to news that she had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. At 90, the decision has been made to not pursue treatment.

This is not my children's first experience with loss. A close family friend succumbed to cancer when they were in PreK and they lost their other Great Grandmother in 2nd grade. Regardless of previous experience, walking through this at 11 feels different. I am trying to be as compassionately forthright as possible with my bio kids--but mindful of shielding our foster daughters from any additional feelings of loss.

The triplets know she is terminal. My little girls only know she is 90 and feeling ill.

Despite her diagnosis, she still looks well. So, yesterday while our little girls were in school I took the trio on the 5 hour round trip down to visit her. I attempted to prepare K, R & P as best I could, but some parts of life are just hard regardless of your preparation.

Even though there were a couple of house calls from Hospice, our time with her was sweet--a little porch sitting, some Scrabble playing and lunch out at a pizza place.

Everything was smooth, normal even, until it was time to tell her goodbye. As we were all walking out together, my trio rushed back to give her big hugs. With their tan, skinny arms braided around her waist, tears welled up in her eyes. Releasing their grips, K, P & R scampered away. Grandmama took two more steps before she stopped shuffling halfway to the door and leaned against a chair.

Suddenly this woman who has always seemed strong--spiritually, emotionally & mentally looked weak and frail. She stood in the middle of Johnny's Pizza with her face crestfallen, eyes red, mouth trembling--and there was nothing I could do to ease her pain, fear or concern. My heart hurt--and I wanted to shield my children and fix her broken heart.

But I couldn't.

I scanned the room quickly to see what my children noticed. R was frozen in his tracks, analyzing the situation. When he saw me notice, he quickly glanced away. He will remember this.

All I could do was take steps towards Grandmama and grab her hand like she has done to me so many times before and squeeze. She is extremely hard of hearing and there was a great deal of background noise in the pizza place, making words a challenge. I leaned into her right ear and shouted, "This is not goodbye. We will come see you again soon." I led her out the side door where I squeezed her again as she exhaled and her shoulders dropped.

She is a believer on her way to a better place--but she has some business to attend to here first. My Grandmama has 5 living children (plus spouses), 13 grandchildren (plus spouses) and 17 great grandchildren--and she has to tell them all goodbye.

Life can be so brutal.

We cannot shield and shelter the people we love from the realities of love and loss. Everything living will pass away. For those of who believe we have great hope that this is not the end. But, today, I am feeling the weight of walking my children through the dying process and managing grief--while experiencing it authentically myself.

One step at a time.

I am not predisposed to worry, but I confess our emotional day, plus monthly hormones led my heart and mind into an anxious spiral. Suddenly it wasn't just about the loss of my Grandmama, but the eventual loss of the little girls we are fostering and even our 12 year old lab whose predicted lifespan is ticking to a close. (Our minds and hearts can haunt us so cruelly sometimes, can't they?)

As I asked the Lord for perspective and comfort the lyrics of a recent favorite Casting Crowns song came to mind:

"He's already there."

I don't know the day or the hour or the circumstances. I don't know how my children's hearts will process these events--I can worry, but I cannot know. The certainty I can cling to, though, is this...He does.

"From where I'm standing, Lord, it's so hard for me to see where this is going and where You're leading me.
I wish I knew how all my fears and all my questions are gonna play out in a world I can't control...

Oh, when I'm lost in the mystery, to You my future is a memory 'cause You're already there.
You're already there.
Standing at the end of my life, waiting on the other side and You're already there.
You're already there.

From where You're standing, Lord, You see a grand design that You imagined when You breathed me into life.
And all the chaos comes together in Your hands like a masterpiece of Your picture perfect plan.

One day I'll stand before You and look back on the life I've lived.
I can't wait to enjoy the view and see how all the pieces fit."
-Casting Crowns, Already There

99 months, 29 Days

Eight and a half years ago, I fell in love with my family's current home.

Tomorrow (God willing) we will finally close on the sale of the house we left in early 2007 to move here.

We have reluctantly owned a 'second home' 6 miles from our primary one for over 8 years.  The story doesn't make sense according to the way I long thought 'trusting God' was supposed to work.

The first home Ryland & I purchased together--where I cried tears over infertility, adjusted to life in a brand new town, welcomed a new puppy, discovered we were pregnant, renovated to prepare for a rapidly growing family and ultimately brought our babies home was a source of great joy. It was truly a wonderful home.

A series of events led us to our current home quite unexpectedly. Everything was so smooth in the beginning and bathed in prayer that the sale of the old house was almost a given in our minds. Until it wasn't. The Housing Market Crash of 2007 was squarely upon our community the very month we closed on our new home and listed the old. Once a sweet blessing, the house slowly became a big burden.

We didn't go down without a fight.

We lived with minimal furniture in the new house for months so we could show the home staged with furniture but without three toddlers.
Our kids turned 3.
We cut the price.
We rented it for a year.
Our kids turned 4.
We cut the price again.
We renovated bathrooms.
Our kids turned 5.
We rented again.
We cut the price again.
Our kids turned 6.
We did a landscape overhaul.
We cut the price again.
Our kids turned 7.
We repainted the entire interior.
We replaced carpet.
Our kids turned 8.
We thought we had sold it twice.
We had to walk the road of mediation after an ugly ending to a contract.
Our kids turned 9.
We cut our price.
We had another contract fall through.
Our kids turned 10.
We rented again.

We've been out of the house twice as long as we lived in it. Many frustrating situations presented themselves through this roller coaster process. The ownership of a house we loved but did not want or need was costly--to our emotions, our time, our finances--and at times put a real strain on our relationship.

I have struggled for 99 months and 29 days to find what God might be teaching me. We tried to follow Him faithfully through this whole process. We prayed. We sought Godly counsel. We followed the 'rules' and it was still messy and difficult.

After all these years, it seems I should feel more celebratory about the closing tomorrow, but the most I can muster is a sigh of resignation. I am grateful, but I am tired of this chapter. I don't think the check will satisfy what I really want: a neat, big lesson I could wrap up in a bow. (I like those.)

As I walked around the property this morning for a final inspection, I asked God again: What was the point? The loss of time, substantial money, energy would be so much easier to swallow if I could count it as the cost of some lasting lesson.  Make this count for something God. Show me what you have been up to so I can feel some value from this long, frustrating road...

Please make this make sense so I can understand. I promise to tell the story of Your faithfulness--just show me what it is...

But He hasn't yet. And maybe that IS the lesson. God doesn't function in a transactional manner. It is not ours to know what or why. Faith really is just walking in obedience and trusting Him for the rest. Even when it is hard. Especially when we can't wrap it up in a bow and explain it away. Real faith is knowing that the way He is at work may, in many cases, never make sense this side of heaven.

I learned lots of small lessons along the way. Hard ones that stretched me and grew me...but should 'small' lessons cost so much?

Honestly, this was just time and money. It wasn't cancer, terrible abuse, a horrific accident, devastating heartbreak...but one day it may well be. This world is not our home. Life gets messy. No one is immune.

And I pray we will choose to trust, even when we cannot see. Even when I do not get my neat bow. Even when it costs me. Especially in those times.

He is God. I am not. He is wise, trustworthy and concerned with an eternal picture.

99 months and 29 days feels like a long time, but it is nothing in light of eternity.

Maybe one day I will get my big, neat lesson from this...or maybe learning to practice this type of faith when it doesn't make sense was the lesson.

The Journey So Far

I received my first call about a foster child today. Because we aren't yet through our home study we can't take a placement, but I am approved to babysit. My heart beat hard and fast as I went to meet the little guy. I sent a quick text to a prayer warrior friend that ended with "and so it begins..." She texted back, "Don't you mean and so it continues..."

The journey to opening our home to fostering has been a decade in the making. It was not a straightforward journey (the best stories generally aren't), but has instead been full of fits and starts. In retrospect I am beginning to see just how many relationships and experiences have been used to get to this place.

Before I delivered the triplets Ryland & I were asked if we wanted a tubal to be performed in the OR after my C-section. On the heels of infertility the idea of closing up my womb carried greater weight. We declined, having no idea I would have a near death encounter with heart failure within hours of that C-section. We couldn't have known that doctors would forbid me from further pregnancies because data (at the time) indicated I had a 50% chance of death with subsequent pregnancies. We didn't know I would be denied life insurance until I had a tubal. We just knew we were open to a larger family...not planning on it, just open.

We trudged through the exhausting, sleepless days of babies. As the trio neared their one year old birthday I was advised that my heart was healthy enough for surgery to perform a tubal ligation that would protect my heart and close my womb. God seemed to have closed the door.

As the babies became toddlers the thought of additional children became a distant memory...until another series of events opened our hearts and minds.

After long days of diapers, babble and messy faces my ministerial outlet was a Bible Study with girls from our local children's home. T was a 13 year old girl who had been in care for years. We talked for hours about her desire for a forever family, her hopes of higher education and maybe law school. She was tender with my children and I was able to imagine a family that included her.

Ryland & I attended a class for folks interested in foster care in 2007. While reviewing materials, we realized that our biological children took us outside the state requirements of number of children under three in a home. Meanwhile two other excellent families from church stepped up to the plate for T. She was placed with a friend of mine from Bible Study who had been her Kindergarten teacher years before when she was first taken into DFCS custody. It was not our time. T was not meant to be in our home, but instead to be used to open our minds to the idea of foster care.

The following month my husband's first cousin was orphaned suddenly at the age of 14. We discussed the possibility of him coming to live with us, but it was decided that my inlaws were the most logical choice. As our kids turned three, we became increasingly comfortable with the idea that our hands were FULL. The approval process was daunting, the training time requirements seemed impossible with a busy husband and small children. The door was closed again.

Through the next several years our hearts continued to be moved by the plight of vulnerable families, but our service took forms other than having kids in our home. A couple of years ago, through a private agency, I started babysitting and transporting foster children as a way to provide support for friends who were fostering in their homes. 

Through this process, we got an up-close glimpse of the challenges friends who are fostering face: integrating new children with the dynamics of their biological families, dealing with the issues children of trauma often bear, loving fiercely then letting go, being out of control of the decision making process regarding birth families, how to have date nights when you can't hire a sitter...The list goes on and on. 

The greater gift from these short babysitting stints was that our whole family was exposed to a half dozen great kids. We had play dates. We went on adventures. We realized these kids were not to be feared, but rather to be loved.

Two years ago my cousin called from New Mexico and asked if we would consider hosting his daughter for a few weeks of Southern Summer with our family. Although we had only met her once, we said yes. For three weeks we got a glimpse of life with an extra kiddo plopped into the mix. She visited again last Summer and we found our groove. Each time we returned her to her parents out West, knowing we wouldn't see her for at least another year, I considered that this was a small taste of fostering.

This Fall I went through a stereotypical midlife crisis of a 40 year old stay-at-home Mom whose kids spend 7+ hours away each day away from home.
What now? I am not the woman I was when I left the workforce (not entirely a bad thing). What do I do with my time, talents and resources now that children aren't demanding many of my daylight hours?
Was I to go back to work? Doing what? Should I pursue a graduate degree in social work?

Suddenly a message started coming through loud and clear. In Andy Stanley's Resolution sermon series listeners were challenged to prayerfully consider, 'What breaks your heart?"

In Henry Blackaby's classic Knowing and Doing the Will of God I heard a call to find where God is already at work and join Him there.

In Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years parents are urged to help their children live a story bigger than themselves. 

In You & Me Forever Francis & Lisa Chan assert that the best way to have a unified marriage is to have a common mission.

And in the epilogue of Bob Goff's Love Does he asks: 

What’s your next step? I don’t know for sure, because for everyone it’s different, but I bet it involves choosing something that already lights you up. Something you already think is beautiful or lasting and meaningful. Pick something you aren’t just able to do; instead, pick something you feel like you were made to do and then do lots of that."  -Bob Goff, Love Does

And what I LOVE about this is that other readers/believers/listeners may find a totally different call...or perhaps would be unmoved by these words altogether. 

After all this reading, dozens of relationships, years of prayer and tearful conversations the ultimate decision to move forward was prompted by a very simple moment in early February. Ryland & I had taken a quick overnight trip to a nearby resort to celebrate our 13th anniversary. As we were walking around the grounds enjoying an unseasonably sunny, warm day a giggling little girl cartwheeled past us on the lawn.

"I can't believe we are done with that age," my husband commented. 
"Do you think we really are?" I asked.

After years of uncertainty, we took the next step. We made a phone call. We attended a class. And even through the mounds of paperwork and the hours of training we are becoming more certain that this is the next Yes. This is the season. All of those other experiences were steps on the path to here.

I am under no illusions that this is easy, painless work...but this is life and messiness comes with the command to love. Heaven knows the last 11 years of parenting have taught me humility! I don't think it is an accident that when I could finally admit how clueless I feel about this parenting gig, God chose to add a few more heads in our beds.  

There are more questions than answers...and of course there is a healthy element of fear. We don't know for how long. We don't know where this is heading or what will happen next. We just know this is the next step for our family and are trusting the Lord with the rest. 

Expecting

I've started this post a dozen times and countless different ways, but here's the bottom line:

We have an extra bedroom in our house with two unused beds.
I drive a Suburban with a couple of empty seats.
My husband & I have hearts that break over the crisis of foster care in our community. (We are the worst in the state of Georgia per capita for kids in care AND worst in the state in terms of the ratio of available foster families for the number of children in need of placement.)
We are knee deep in kid mode.
We have margin in our lives to share with others.

So, after years of conversation and prayer, mounds of paperwork and days of training we are entering the final stretch of our home study process to become foster parents. (And our kids are onboard "as long as it is not a baby.")

We have been told to expect placement of a child or two before the end of April!!

I have learned SO much through this process and have felt confirmation in my Spirit over and over again. I have been pondering so much in my heart and enjoying private time to really explore the commitment with my little family without a lot of outside input.

But, at this point I am like a very pregnant Mama ready to burst in anticipation (except I don't know the age, gender or number of additional kids in my home!) I am ready to talk about it.

Due to the sensitive and personal nature of these cases, I won't feel free to write once there are children in my home--it will no longer simply be my story then, it will be theirs.

So, I hope to use these next few weeks of waiting to record some of the stories of how God got us here. On the hard days and nights I don't want to forget how assured we feel of this call right now. We've been circling the pool for years with toes in the water. Now it is time for us to dive in.

It's been a long journey, but little by little God removed all the obstacles until the only thing that was holding us back from saying Yes was fear. In the last several weeks God has reminded us that He's never considered fear a good reason to avoid anything.

Like a hope-filled young bride, I want to record this chapter. God has really shown Himself to Ryland & me as we have considered this for NINE YEARS, but I can't fit a decade in a single post. So stay tuned.

TEN

May 25, 2004 the Terbutaline pump that had been used to keep my labor in check for 8 1/2 weeks of hospitalized bedrest was removed. My perinatologist quipped that it could be hours or weeks until our wee ones made their grand entrance. Contractions picked up late that night and we met our long awaited blessings early the next afternoon.

Although it has been ten years, it only takes a few moments of reflection to bring back the fear and the fog of those days.

Eighteen months prior I had been deemed infertile.

Ten months later I'd been told my eggs "really didn't look good" and "this injection was probably not going to work."

I had a negative pregnancy test only four days before the faintest of faint lines appeared leading me to ask for a blood test to see if maybe, just maybe, one of those eggs had been ok after all.

Two weeks after that my husband and I received the most shocking news of our lives--there were THREE tiny humans growing in my womb. This was followed by medical counsel to 'selectively reduce' down to twins or a singleton because there was a 30% chance at least one of our babies wouldn't make it to birth.

At 22 weeks I was on home bedrest and at 23 weeks I was admitted for the duration of my pregnancy.

And when they delivered these teeny, tiny two and three pound bundles at 31 weeks, we still were not out of the woods by a long shot.

I'll spare you the ups and downs and twists and turns of everything since then--I have eight years' worth of blog archives for that. ;-) But tonight as we went for a family walk to "watch the sunset on our single digits" my heart could scarcely take the wave of overwhelming gratefulness. 

Oh, how I wish I had a time machine to go back to that girl I was...

The newly married woman sobbing over the infertility diagnosis, wondering if I'd ever get a shot at being anyone's Mama...convinced my identity somehow depended on it.

The pregnant lady alternating between weeping and shouting Jennifer Knapp songs the entire 75 minute drive to and from each OB/GYN and Perinatology visit--terrified the ultrasound would reveal a missing heartbeat.

The one who heard the whispers in the halls of the High Risk Pregnancy Unit when another Mama would deliver too early and suffer a terrible loss.

The patient who had to stop reading the books because the litany of preemie complications were too scary.

The new Mom who was lonely, frightened and overwhelmed during the ICU/NICU days.

The exhausted toddler Mama who has just heard scary diagnoses--and the one who became seasoned at scheduled pediatric therapy visits.

And the one who even now wakes up sometimes overwhelmed and worried that I am royally messing up these kids.

I just want to show my younger self these pictures and remind her to breathe.

The kids are gonna be alright--and so are you. More than alright, actually, you are going to laugh and love and yell and sigh and find yourself stretched in ways you never knew possible.

Life is far from perfect. We have issues galore, but so does every body else...and it is OK

Oh, and they are going to age you...in wisdom and in wrinkles...but you will have earned it.

And one day you will find yourself sitting by lamplight in that rocker glider you registered for a decade ago, completely sure that every single minute of it has been worth it.

It was a fitting God-incidence that the Children's Worship lesson I was assigned to teach today repeated the refrain "the story is not over yet." How frequently we all need to be reminded on this journey to not lose hope, keep holding on, God's still at work, and this story is not over yet! 

A whole decade under our belt! Here's to the next...

The Place of 40 Christmases

If a heart can have a place, my Grandmama's house is mine.

It is the place my Granddaddy was born in 1923. And although it is not where my Mom grew up, it is the only home I have ever known Grandmama to live.

There was a period in the mid 1970s where my parents & I lived there as our home construction was completed. For much of my early childhood, I spent every weekday there while my parents worked. Because it was next door to my own home, I spent parts of many weekend days there as well.  Perhaps most significantly, I have spent every Sunday evening before Christmas of my entire life celebrating with our very large extended family--that's 40 Christmases.

By virtue of births, death, moves, marriage, and even divorce the faces present seem to change slightly each year. And while so much has shifted in the world and in the lives of our family, within those walls time stands still. For better or for worse, the carpet, the wallpaper, even the furniture has remained as a testament to the continuity of family.

I have written about Grandmama's house before and even specifically about celebrating Christmas there, but several weeks ago I received the news I knew was coming. She is moving and the house in all likelihood will be razed. In her late 80s, living independently in such a large, aged home with many maintenance needs is no longer feasible. Grandmama has left the home in order to move in with my aunt.

I had a deep sense back in December that it was our last Christmas there. I tried to actively soak it in.
Yet, knowing something is inevitable doesn't make it sting any less.

It is just a house, but it is a place that holds my history. The phrase "if these walls could speak" was no doubt first uttered over a place like this.

So today my clan of five journeyed South to Alabama for a walk thru of the old place--to gather some things Grandmama wanted us to have as she downsizes.

As I took a walk down memory lane, my children ran through her front yard, which was once my domain and climbed in the old magnolias that also held a younger me. It was a striking portrait of generational shift, changing times--and yet the precious beauty of shared stories and places.

The children were game to look at old pictures and hear a few stories about their heritage. (Those are baby portraits of my mom and her five siblings.)

Then we took a few updated front porch pictures.

1975

2014

 

Finally we journeyed about 40 minutes to visit Grandmama in her new surroundings. Just an hour after lamenting the old space, we were able to celebrate the new--even sitting on the porch there.

And in the sunshine, surrounded by family I was reminded that places are important to our story--but people can't be defined by that alone.  While change can be emotionally wrenching, sometimes it truly is for the best.

Grandmama is healthy, happy and appears to be enjoying her new adventure--and it is well with this granddaughter's soul.

Peace with My Position

In the last few months I've had the opportunity to meet with a handful of young women in my life who are on the edge of their next big chapters. As they approach graduation, school transfer or beginning their work careers, we've lingered over coffee and talked about what's next. As I look into their eyes I see it...the sparkle of simultaneous exhilaration, fear and cluelessness. (I honestly say that with great love.)

There is no longer a guidance counselor or custodial parent outlining their next steps. On the edge of the proverbial nest, they are taking big leaps with wings that have been strengthened for two decades in preparation. They aren't yet sure about the flight...how long, how far, how high, at what speed...and they are learning that so much of this season is about praying, then taking off--trusting the wind of the Spirit to carry them as they flap and soar.

It has been a sweet, healing experience for me to sit and talk with these women. I've experienced several different legs of my flight so far and still find myself in those places--wondering if I am really honoring God. Have I grown too complacent and lazy on this particular ledge? Or have I taken on too much? Are my wings flapping much harder than intended because of my pride and need to prove my worth?

And I hear the whisper in my heart: Slow down, child. One step at a time.

Once upon a time I was an independent young woman with no idea what the Lord had for me in terms of the future. I vividly remember driving away from Tuscaloosa, AL in my dented, light blue Honda Accord with a degree, a job offer and only enough belongings to fit inside that sedan. I did well professionally, free from any definitive career aspirations, striving to do my best and honor God--trusting Him with the details of where it would all lead.

I was not actively seeking my "Mrs. degree" but really hoped God would see fit to bring me a mate and little ones. I was not in any real hurry and kept busy with what He put before me 'in the meantime.' There were amazing experiences in that season.

In my late 20s, God did bring an incredible man into my life. It took a few years, a couple of moves and major heartache before we married in February of 2002. The desire of my heart came at a cost. As a result of that union, my career took a major detour/derailment. I left a job I loved, a team of incredible co-workers, a nice salary and fulfilling ministry to move to a new place several states away for one brief year. In Virginia, I worked a mindless job that felt more about covering our utilities than any sort of call.  In what can best be described as a 'placeholder year,' my ministry work went from relational to hourly shifts and we counted the months until we would begin our job hunt for the place where we would build our nest and plant our family. I wonder what blessings I missed by looking constantly towards the next thing.

I was not bitter about what I 'gave up' to get married. I felt peace that he was the One and this was the path God had marked out. I didn't always love it, but it was a tradeoff. Trading my maiden name and the identity that came with it to become better known as "Dr. Scott's wife" did inspire a few pride-fueled pity parties every now and again. Honestly, it only got worse when I earned my new name: "The One Who Has the Triplets."

I wish I could say this whole issue was worked out once and for all long ago, but it wasn't. It has taken different turns and led me to lots of soul searching in the process. Although none were overt, I can look back and see how I pursued different identities through the last nine years: Super Mom, Volunteer of the Year, Wonder Wife, Social Butterfly... They have all required compromise, yet not one has been my ultimate fulfillment.

As a woman who still stays at home although my children attend school, I've felt additional pressure to justify 'what I do all day.' In the midst of a tough season of wrestling with it all this Spring I heard myself say out loud to my husband: It's not that I am discontent, I just want a good answer for 'what I do.' Yikes! Talk about a petty motivation.

I've pondered several noble pursuits: a masters in counseling, fostering, writing more, leading a major fundraising effort for a terrific cause... but at the end of each exploration I have realized that I am not feeling 'called' to those things as much as I am feeling insecure about my position in life and in search of a noble sounding answer to other people's questions.

And somewhere in the last couple of months a refrain has taken residence in my heart and soul: This is your call, Jen. In this season, THIS is it. Be here.

I have a very busy husband to whom I pledged to be a helpmate. Everyone has a different deal, but in our marriage it means the house, the finances, the food, the errands, the trash cans, the car maintenance and pets--it's all on me to manage.

There is no way for me to adequately convey the stress my husband is under in his job 14+ hours a day. He never gets to turn it off. It is not workaholism--it is real life in his profession. Several times a week, he is the one who tells patients their biopsy results. He's the face they will always remember uttering the words: "It is cancer." When on call (every 4-5 nights) he's the one tasked to speak to worried family members. He spends hours in the ICU with very sick patients counseling through end of life issues. Between clinic and OR time, he sees over 100 patients in a given week. All must be dictated. Even when he is home, phone calls are steady, research must be read, charts signed. Often when he is staring off into space, I know he is thinking through the course of action for a particularly sick patient.

The reality is that my greatest sphere of influence is loving and supporting my husband through work here at home so he is free to minister in this extraordinary call. It is behind the scenes work, full of much 'mundane' for those few moments each day that matter. They come when least expected, so I must be available. I'm 'on call' too.

The reality has also set in that I have a decade remaining before my children will (hopefully) launch.

Ten years. That's really no time at all. Before we can blink, they will we taking their lights out into the world...right now it is our role as parents to teach them how to shine.

I am writing this as an expression of my heart--not as any judgment of what God has called anyone else to do. This type of comparison is unhealthy and unhelpful. But I rejoice in the peace that God has answered me in my personal wrestling for the call he has for me: This is your gig, Jen.
All those other seasons and experiences weren't 'given up' for this, they were preparation.
Live and love and serve here until I prompt your heart for something else.

Nevertheless, each person should live as a believer in whatever situation the Lord has assigned to them, just as God has called them.
I Corinthians 7:17 NIV

As I was wrapping up this post, I glanced up at a card my friend, Cabell, made me some time ago and it made me smile.

(reference 2 Corinthians 4:7 The Message)

Beautiful indeed.