Ezra's Church Testimony

Just in case you're curious, here is Ezra's videotaped testimony they showed at church.  You might need tissues...  I still can't watch it without going through a whole box.  We are still reeling from God's amazing goodness!

https://vimeo.com/148756974

The Furr Family Guide to Building a Gingerbread House

This would be more appropriately titled The Furr Family Guide to Proper Holiday Dysfunction, because this is pretty much how we do everything, holidays or not, but I'll do my best to work with the original title...

1.  Purchase gingerbread house kit with a very hopeful, pie-in-the-sky attitude.  True, the last few attempts haven't gone so well.  But, you never know, this could be the year you get it right!  Deep down, you know it will be exactly the same as last year.  And the year before that.  And the previous five years. But still, you have hope in your heart, and a skip in your step.

2.  Over the next two weeks, each time the kids ask when you're going to build it, reply, "SOON! But.  Not.  Right.  Now."

3.  Finally, gather everyone for the big event!  It's time!  Read through instructions, remembering that the stupid thing has to dry after you assemble it, before you can decorate it.  *cue suddenly disinterested children*
"Can't we just eat the candy? Why do we have to put it together, anyway?"
"I'm going to go play with my toys."
"I'm going to go read my book."
*baby screaming for no apparent reason*
"FINE!  I'LL JUST DO IT BY MYSELF!  I DON'T NEED THE REST OF YOU!"
"Oh my gosh, people! Can't we all just get along and DO ONE FREAKING CHRISTMAS ACTIVITY AS A FAMILY WITHOUT ALL THIS DRAMA????"

4.  Children scatter.

5.  Settle infant in his high chair with frosting on his tray, then get to work.  Baby screams.  Give him more frosting.

6.  Muttering to yourself, begin the gingerbread house.  By yourself.  Because you don't need the rest of them.

7. Baby is fussy, give him more frosting. One child comes back and offers to help; remind him you don't need him. Or anyone else. Ever.

8.  Spouse bemoans lack of artistic talent.  Remind spouse the cat will eat it anyway.  It doesn't have to stand up to earthquake standards, and you're not worried about the the Big Bad Wolf blowing it down.  It does not have to be perfect.  However, because spouse is an engineer, it really does have to be perfect and pass earthquake standards.

9.  Declare gingerbread house finished.  This is the most effort you're willing to put into it.  It's finished.  Baby is covered head to toe in frosting, as is everything within a 100 foot radius of the baby.  His eyes are gyrating in his head from his sugar buzz.

10.  Children reconvene to admire the gingerbread house they just built.  Ohhhhh.  Ahhhh.

11.  Wake up next morning to discover cat has beaten your latest foolproof cat-proofing method, and eaten the carefully constructed house.

12. Swear off ever doing another gingerbread house.  The kids don't actually help, and the cat just eats it.  It's a waste of time.  It really isn't any fun.

13.  Know that you will repeat Steps 1-13 next year. Sigh.

I Don't Want to Grow Up

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional."  --Chili Davis

I turned 39 earlier this week.  Thirty-nine.  THIRT-EEEEE NIIIIINE.  How did this happen?  Actually, I'm not sure I'm having as much trouble with it as I thought I would.  I mean, it's not 40, so I'm not ancient yet, right????  RIGHT????  Just kidding.  No offense meant to the 40-and-overs.  I don't feel 39.  Of course, I've never been 39 before, so I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to feel. Or how I'm supposed to act, for that matter. How exactly does a person act 39, anyway? The gray hair and facial lines are starting to tell their story, my body has told the story for longer than I can remember (I'm not sure that counts as age related, though), and there are times my mind feels more like 80 than 39, but--I don't feel 39.  

I get reflective on my birthdays.  What were my parents doing when they were my age?  What stages were they in? I remember they just seemed old to me. They were grandparents already at my age.  Then, I make promises to myself, to my family, to my friends.  One of the promises my best friend and I have made is that while we may grow old, we will not grow up.  We will have fun, even when that requires us to be more immature than our teenagers. Yes, requires.  We will live life to its absolute fullest, even on the days it's hard.  We will be grateful to be alive, for the opportunity to watch our children grow up, to be with the ones we love.  We've decided that acting our ages is terribly overrated.  We are only given one life, and we need to make the best of it.  

Shawn and I have the same philosophy.  Well, most of the time!  I wouldn't say we're always successful. There are times stress does get the better of us, and we forget.  Overall though, I feel as though we haven't forgotten the passion, the fun, the life to our lives.  We often find ourselves saying to each other, "I hope we're still like this when we're old.  Let's not ever lose this." It's a promise we've made to each other, to our children, and any future grandchildren.

I often think that's what happened with my parents.  They forgot to have fun.  They forgot how to have fun. I won't get into all of it, but looking back, I'm certain that was a huge part of what went wrong.   

Of course, there are times this philosophy has us acting more like 5 year olds, or immature 13 year olds, but that's life, right?  Who wants to to always be a stuffy, boring adult?

Growing up, I always knew I wanted to 'grow old' like my grandmother.  Nan never seemed old.  Even when she was old, she was young.  It was her attitude, her personality, her belief in God and faith, her love--it all worked together to keep her young.  She was amazing.  Nan had a zest, a vim and vigor to her that was just contagious.  It wasn't until the multiple TIAs and age-related diseases began taking their toll that I realized just how old my Nan was.  Similarly, there is a woman I work with who approaches life the same way.  She's nearly 90, but you'd never know it.  That is my goal: To approach life the way these two women have, and to inspire others to do the same.  This is also something I've learned from my work at the grief center: Live one day at a time.  Enjoy it.  Live it to its absolute fullest.  Love like crazy.  Be yourself.  Cherish every moment.

I don't want to grow up.  I will grow old, I will age, but I will not grow up.

Snarky Mommy

I should probably warn you--I'm tired.  I'm sleep deprived.  Ezra still isn't sleeping through the night, Avery still typically ends up in our bed (how do I say no when he says he's lonely and was worried I was lonely too?  Wait: "No."), and Noah is a very early elephant riser.  Don't get me started on the cats and the dog.  I also had a very bad pain flare up.  Sooooo, I'm feeling just a bit snarky.

Which story would you like to hear first?  Avery sounding out the word 'tampon' ("Taaaaammmppponnn.  Tampon.  Mom, what's a tampon?") in the public restroom, or monitoring my speed in the car ("Mom?  That sign back there said 55, but your speed clock says 65.")?  Seriously, who taught this kid to read????  Or maybe how my 14 year old announces to everyone he's taken up life on the pole?  Thank you, winter track.... 

I started thinking this morning that I could probably get these stories to give me a paycheck, you know?  If I were so inclined with social media, I could start a Twitter account: Honest Mommy.  Sarcastic, Tired, Exhausted Mommy.  Why Mommy Drinks.  Why Mommy's Hair is Gray.  Why Mommy has a Coffee IV Drip.  Why is Mommy's Face Turning that Weird Red Purplish Color?  You get the idea.

I won't, but the thought is certainly there. I'll just keep entertaining you here on my blog.  While I can't be the only one with the thoughts that occur in my head when Noah absolutely needs a gift bag and tissue paper at 6 in the morning, or when Avery has a meltdown (naked, of course) in the hallway at 6:15 because the fan is on in the bathroom and he needs to pee, but he's scared of the fan, I'm certain I'm in the minority when I actually say them out loud to other people.  Seriously, we bought that gift on Saturday--we couldn't have wrapped it, ohhh, say, 36 hours ago?  Or even 12-16 hours ago???  And for the love of all things furry, just turn the dang fan OFF!

There you have it.  Honesty.  I love my children dearly.  I really do.  But sometimes it's a little easier to like them when I've had a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep without someone's foot in my face (I'm looking at you, Avery).

Miracles

If you can't tell by the majority of my posts, I'm a big believer in miracles.  I know how big my God is, and He never ceases to amaze me.  Still, He continues to prove Himself even bigger than the last time He wowed me.  Please don't think me simple minded.  I know these are truths.  I've seen them.

This time of year I love hearing of them even more.  We need them.  This season is filled with hope, faith and belief; those are things that miracles give us.  We need to believe in miracles, and our God who performs them.

I used to be a skeptic.  I've been a Christian my entire life--but miracles?  In this day and age?  Whatever.  I used to hear people use the word 'miracle' and think it was cute that they believed such a thing.  Sure, God healed you.  But didn't you see a doctor?  Didn't you take that medicine?  Didn't you just.... I thought those people--well, I thought they were simple minded, quite frankly.

And many times we use the word flippantly.  It's a miracle I got my hair to do anything in this humidity! While it might be nothing short of a miracle for you, it's not quite the kind of miracle I adamantly believe in.

The reason I believe is multifaceted.  Sometimes a miracle isn't presented in the blatant form a child born of a virgin.  Sometimes it's messy.  Sometimes there's no wow factor. Many times, it's not the way we imagined, or asked for. Sometimes, if we aren't looking for it, we miss it--and sometimes, we miss it even when we are looking for it. Sometimes, it's more in the form of deliverance, or acceptance, or a lesson, rather than a cure.  Sometimes it is through that doctor, that medicine, that red light that kept you from the accident you didn't even see coming, the friend who keeps you from doing something stupid.  Sometimes that miracle whispers, other times it announces its presence with a monumental roar.  Occasionally, it just happens.  It's supernatural in nature.  There's no explanation, nothing that anyone can put their finger on--but it happened, and you were there to behold it then, and you are here to testify to it now.

Christmas as a Way of Life

I always get emotional this time of year.  Christmas songs tear at my heart and make me cry, which makes my family roll their eyes and say, "Here she goes again." I think of what Mary went through as a mom, a teenage mom, not only the circumstances surrounding her son's birth, but knowing his future.  My heart aches, wondering if she wanted to squirrel Jesus away and hide him from certain death.  I think of the families who consistently go without year-round, having to go without at Christmas, too.  I think of children without families, without the basic necessities, just--without.  I think of those for whom this season is not special, for those who are sick, without family, for those who just can't find the spirit because it's too much.

I also think of all the blessings we have as a family.  I think of all the gifts I've been given that (who) can't be wrapped up with pretty paper and perfect bows.  I think of all the things I get to do for my children, and all the things we get to do for others.  It's a fun time of year for me, even when the days are gray and my depression gets worse.  Honestly, being able to be 'Santa' is probably the thing that gets me through December.  I love the smiles on my kids' faces, and the giggling and full-on hearty laughter Shawn and I share over secrets and surprises, the wonder in my kids' eyes.  I love knowing that we've been able to give peace of mind to a parent whose child might have done without on Christmas morning, that we've been able to make someone smile.  I love the 'feel' in the stores, I love that giddy feeling as I choose gifts for family and complete strangers, and leave things for friends and family to find.  I love decorating, the warmth of the Christmas lights, and the comfy feeling it all brings.  I love the hope of the season, the love that surrounds it.  I'm even (finally) getting used to how we eventually 'Furr it up,' knowing that's just how we do things, no matter what we try to do to avoid it. I also get nostalgic, remembering past Christmases, my children's firsts, and all the other memories and traditions that make Christmas special. It's a magical time, a gifted time, for me.  During this season, I'm still a child.

This is a season of huge blessings, and lots of giving.

I started thinking....  What if we live every day as though it's Christmas?  What if it became a way of life?  Families don't go hungry just one month a year.  Children don't go without proper clothing or families only during November and December.  People don't go without basic necessities only 30 days out of 365.  Yes, Christmas is a season and a holiday, but it's also a state of mind.

I can't help but think of what the world would be like if we were just plain kinder to each other.  If we thought of others more often than we think of ourselves.  If we gave from the heart continually, so that no one would ever have to go without.  What if we shared more of ourselves, having conversations with strangers, sharing an encouraging word or a kind smile?  You never know what it could be that you might do or say to turn someone's day around.

This is how I want to live, and how I want my children to live.  I want to share the spirit of this holiday every day, no matter the month or season.  Do we always get it right?  No, we don't.  Remember how I said we Furr it up?  Yeahhhhh.  But we try.

Ezra the Lion Hearted

We've been asked to share Ezra's testimony with our church family.  I need to write it out first, so here's my thinking process.

When I was 25 weeks pregnant with Ezra, he was diagnosed with premature atrial contractions, and a hole in his heart.  At a routine OB appointment, we heard his heart skip several beats, then speed up, repeatedly.  That same week, we followed up with a pediatric cardiologist. Walking into the office was scary; as a parent, you’re thinking to yourself that places like this shouldn’t exist, then you realize your child is the one who needs this place, and you’re grateful they do exist. The cardiologist talked with us extensively, then she did an echocardiogram to look at our baby’s heart. She referred to Ezra by his name, and did her best to calm our fears.  The fact that she used his name and didn't refer to him as a fetus, or any other term, was important to us.  It meant that she saw him the way we did--a real person.  It also helped knowing she is a mom too.  When your child’s health is a concern, you start thinking and worrying too much, often imagining the worst case scenario.  You don't want to think about any reality other than a good one, but your mind goes there anyway.  Hearing the missed beats was one thing, but watching the screen as his heart repeatedly stopped, then sped up, was another frightening thing entirely. Throughout the next weeks and the diagnostic process, God gave us Ezra’s first name, Jonathan, which means Gift of God, and He also gave us his life verse, Isaiah 41:10—“Fear not, for I am with you; Do not be dismayed for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”  That verse became our strength.  We had one more appointment with the cardiologist before Ezra was born, we notified our pediatrician and our OB required a NICU nurse to be present for his delivery.  Ezra’s heart did not handle the stress of labor well, so we had to have an emergency c-section.  He immediately saw the cardiologist at the hospital, where he had a third echo, and his first ekg.  Bringing him home was scary; we watched him like a hawk, always vigilant for any changes in his breathing or behavior.  At our appointment with the cardiologist when he was a week old, he was diagnosed with a murmur, in addition to the previous diagnoses.  A fourth echo showed the hole still hadn’t closed, nor had the PACs resolved.  We took our newborn home with a 24 hour monitor that day. We were given statistics meant to comfort us, but when you’re talking about your child’s heart, few things give you peace.  We leaned on God, relying on Him to heal our child.  God had seen fit to give us this miracle child in the first place, and we had to know He would make sure Ezra would be okay.  Ezra had so many people praying for him during this time, we knew he was well covered.  It was all in God’s hands.  This past week, we had another follow up with our cardiologist, and we received amazing news! More tests showed the hole in Ezra’s heart is closed, the PACs are gone, and the murmur was undetectable. Right there on the screen was a perfectly normal and healthy beating heart.  Just like that, it’s over.  His heart is healthy and healed. No more tests, no more cardiologists, no more worries.  Once again, our greatest healer took care of it all.  God has given our sweet little boy an amazing testimony, and he’s only 8 months old.  We are so grateful for this healing, and so grateful to all who prayed!  Most of all, we are grateful to serve a loving Father who still performs miracles and keeps His promises.