Luck and Blessings

Our last day in Jamaica was spent on an amazing beach with crystal clear water, white sand and blue sky for miles.  It was beautiful, I loved watching the teens have fun, it was glorious to wiggle my toes in the sand, and we were able to see some truly amazing fish--but you know my heart was still at the orphanage.  This was our decompression day, but it was difficult for me to decompress.  Okay, so it's difficult for me to decompress on any given day. 

Our bodyguard/tour guide/minder extraordinaire had chosen a private beach club of sorts for us.  The idea was that we wouldn't be bothered the street salesmen selling their wares as we relaxed.  The club had security guards patrolling the stretch of beach to keep street salesmen at bay, but really, there's only so much one can do with open waters.

My best friend swears I stood on the nearest lifeguard stand yelling, "TOURIST WITH AMERICAN CASH!!  TOURIST WITH AMERICAN CASH!!!  COME AND GET IT" as I waved wads of cash in the air.  And the way Noah acted, I really actually did.  I bought several things from a few of the  salesmen, much to Noah's horror.  You have to remember, he was my protector on this trip, and he took that role seriously, especially when I engaged with the locals, and especially when I attempted to haggle with the locals over my purchases.  I knew I was getting taken, so to speak, but as I explained to a very frustrated Noah, that's just kind of the role you know you are going to play as a tourist.  Each and every one of them pled to me about having to eat and feed families, mon, and well, I just wasn't going to be that gullible.

"Mom, you're going to get both of us shanked."
"Noah, they want my money, calm down."
"Exactly!" *hissed through clenched teeth*

I still think it's kind of funny Noah used the word 'shanked.' Does that make me a bad mom?

One of my purchases was a necklace for Avery.  The gentleman I bought it from insisted it was handmade, and insisted even further the beadlike thingamabob on it was some sort of expensive African wood that brings good luck (it looks like plastic to me), therefore I should pay $20 American cash for it.  I told him I would give him $10.  "A man's got to make a living, mon! $15!" I did get it down to $10; after all, a missionary has to live, too.  And, as I explained to him--I'm a Christian.  Luck means absolutely nothing to me (Noah hissing in my ear and pulling on my arm: "Moooommmmm......").

Avery wears that necklace almost all the time now.  And I hear him tell that story to anyone who will (or won't, as sometimes the case may be!) listen.  He even includes the part about Noah telling me I'm going to get us shanked.  I'm not sure Avery knows what 'shanked' means.  It makes me smile, and even laugh a little.  I love hearing Avery tell this story.

"I'm a Christian, so this luck bead is meaningless to me, but it's still kind of cool because it's from Jamaica.  Or it's from Africa.  I don't know.  But my mom almost got shanked over it."

I smile because I know he isn't just repeating what he's heard me say.  I know he understands the difference between luck and blessings, and what they mean to us. He corrects me when I say I'm the luckiest mom, "No Mom, you're the blessiest mom!  We don't believe in luck!"

So yes, I paid $10 for a luck bead.  But my blessings are priceless.

Avery's Faith

This kid.  I'm undone.

I've shared my fear here on my blog, I've shared it with my friends, and I've shared with Shawn.  I've done my fair share of crying and yelling at God.

I've also done my best to hide all of it from Avery.  Some days I'm more successful than others.

Avery, on the other hand, has remained brave.  We've talked about the seizures and he says he's not afraid.  He's faced each new test with stoicism and bravery, even as they've torn my heart to pieces and I've wanted to be able to promise him this is the last one. We pray for healing, we talk of miracles, and research the brain.

A few nights ago we were praying for Avery's healing and I couldn't hold it together anymore.  Avery reached up, grabbed me in a hug, and reminded me, "It's going to be okay, Mom."

Today on our way to church, I heard from the back, "Mom, when God heals me, I want to call in to Wow God Wednesday and tell people about my miracle."

Miracle.  My boy has such hope.  He has such faith.  He believes.  He knows.

This kid.  I'm just undone.

Perspective, Experience, and Everyone's Fight

We took a drive to put seizures behind us today.  One of our ventures took us into one of my favorite antique shops. I didn't feel as though we behaved any worse than usual, but we seemed to be bothering a particular woman every time we passed her.  It just struck me as odd, as we really were pretty tame compared to how we can usually be!

Shawn commented on it, asking me what I thought her problem was--I mean, we were really catching some looks from her!  

I began looking at us with different eyes, trying to figure out what she saw when she looked at us.

We had our three boys with us.  I was proudly flaunting my motherhood, wearing my "#outnumbered: boymom," shirt.  We were laughing, having a good time.  She didn't know our back story from Adam's (or Eve's,  for that matter).  She didn't know what we were out to escape today.

Nor did I know what she and her husband might have been trying to escape today, either.

There was a time, before Avery and before Ezra, I was SO.  ANGRY. at families like ours.  I was SO.  ANGRY. at women like me.  I hated families and women like them just for existing.  Why do they get to have some many kids and I don't?  Why do they get to have fun and I've buried a child in my heart and have wanted nothing more than more babies in my womb? Why am only only allowed one child when I want so many more?  No one understands me.  Everyone sees me, but no one sees the pain I've buried so deep.

I was so bitter. I was so angry.  I really had to pray my way out of it. It was not a short, easy journey. I will be honest here--it was not Avery and Ezra who got me out of that hole.  It was GOD, who made me whole.  It was prayer, that renewed me.  I know many think I'm all better because I have Avery and Ezra, and while my gratitude exceeds any imaginable expectation, they are not the reason (the only reasons) I'm all better.  There are times I want to wear my testimony on my shirt, you know?

Anyway, I'm digressing.

I said to Shawn: "What if her story is similar to our story?  What if we remind her of something she just wants to forget?  What if we remind her of her heart's desire?  What if she needs the kindness and love we did?"

It changed how we looked at this precious woman, and it changed how we thought of the way she looked at us. When we passed her the next time, we smiled.  We didn't judge, we didn't wonder how we'd wronged her, and just did our best to understand that yes, while it was possible we may have just been on her wrong side, it was also entirely possible we reminded her of something she needed to forget.

Kindness and perspective go a very long way.

"Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." (many authors attributed)