Seven Years

I can't believe it's been seven years.

It was a day that rocked our little town to its core.

I will never forget those primal screams of maternal grief.

"My" girl wasn't the only one who died, but her death, and her brother's injuries, were just--yeah, that.  I loved her as my own.  And every time I see him, I greet him as my own prodigal son.  He will always be one of my 'extra' sons.  Hers was a loss that was a punch right to my gut.  It took the breath right out of me, and it felt like months before my lungs could fill back up.  She was like a daughter to me.  I had a fondness for her that transcended mere friendship between her mom and myself.

That night when we got home from the hospital, I crawled into bed with Noah, just needing to be close to my own child.  I could not be close enough to my own children.

The events that followed in those next few days were so incongruous.

Death overshadowing life overshadowing death.

I rocked my not-quite-a-baby, but not-yet-a-toddler, just shy of his second birthday, holding that still new life close, as we buried three kids and brought two badly injured kids home.  As we sent three kids home to Jesus, Noah gave his heart and his life to him, and was baptized.

So many of us barely kept it together in the subsequent weeks and months. 

She was one of the few who knew the secret who was Avery before anyone else--her mom was one of my best friends, and my friend found herself giggling, unable to keep the secret from her daughter.  We had a youth retreat the weekend I found out I was finally pregnant, and I was just so afraid of losing him.  I wore a hoodie with a front pocket so I could keep my hands protectively on him without anyone thinking anything of it.  She would come up, wrap her arms around me, and tuck her hands in the pocket with mine, resting her chin on my shoulder.  When no one was looking, she would bend down close to my belly and whisper, "I love you."  She paraded him around, so proud, when he was born.

We were so afraid of losing him, and we lost her.

 I often wonder what she would've been today.  Her brother is one of the reasons I fight so hard for Avery.  He fell through so many cracks. I see many similarities between them.

Some anniversaries come and we celebrate them. Others come and we think, "Has it really been that long? It doesn't seem possible the earth has been missing her for (seven) years."  Not a day goes by you don't miss that person with every fiber of your being, then you realize the anniversary is upon you.

Sometimes I'm still so angry over the circumstances, but I realize anger does no good.

Instead, I just hold my own kids a little harder.  I celebrate them a little louder.

I tell myself it's what she would have wanted.

A Place Called Home

For many, home is a place with floors, four walls, windows and a door.  It is merely a place to live.

For some, home is nothing more than that.

Perhaps home has people in it, and/or pets.  Maybe fake house plates were chosen instead.

Home might be a place, but it can also be a person, or a feeling, a thing, a memory, a smell, or anything else or anyone else that (who) makes them feel connected, safe and loved.

They may not see home every day, but when they do, they know--they are HOME.

Home

All too many in our broken world long for home. Sadly, they do not have that connection and love which makes a home.

My own home is Shawn and our boys.  As much as we love our 4 walls, all they provide and everything inside, as long as my family and our pets are safe, I know we would be okay.  It wouldn't easy, but we would be okay. 

I'll be honest: Goodbyes were the hardest part

However, as I discovered the very moment my feet hit the earth when I disembarked the airplane last summer, home for me is also Jamaica.  I knew the second we landed, I belonged there.  I had heard it said before, missionaries tend to know their 'home turf'--where their heart belongs--straight away.  I didn't really believe it until I experienced it firsthand, even before meeting our children at the orphanage.  The missionary in question may work in other places due to the need, God's call, or personal desire, but there is always that one place which calls them back.  It occupies serious headspace, and even more heartspace, the missionary thinks about it daily, prays constantly, and is always looking for ways to go back.

That said, I have been eager to explore other countries and other mission fields, so when a trip to Peru for February 2019 opened up, I was all in.  I've seen pictures, I've heard testimonies and stories--let's do this!!!  I started my vaccination process, had everything on track--and completely missed the application deadline.

Okay, so Peru wasn’t God’s plan for me.  I was a bit bummed, but I’ve learned there is always my plan vs God’s plan when it comes to missions work and disaster relief/response (ever since I was trying to get pregnant with Ezra 6 years ago, and God kept slamming the door in my face each time a missions trip opened up in our church, and I knew I could not be newly pregnant during such a trip), and I’ve really been praying (asking, pounding God’s door, being a brat…)—what’s going on here?  Because I have to know, I always need the reason, there must be a reason and I. HAVE. TO. KNOW.  What’s Your plan?  Am I just supposed to stay here right now because of everything going on with Avery?  Concentrate my efforts on my family?  Is there something else?  Is God worried—knowledgable—I wouldn’t be able to concentrate my efforts on preparing for this trip properly because of Avery? Then a friend of ours from church told Shawn how disappointed he was he  wouldn’t get to work with me in Peru because he’d been looking forward to it. That felt like such a pat on my head!  Working with him in WVA, I adore him and the other contractors, how they work so patiently with those of us less (not) skilled, how they work with and around my kids, and for him to heap that praise on me—WOW.   It was then I did allow myself to be more than a little bummed about not being able to go to Peru.  And really—with everything going on with Avery, this mama needs a break.  If I'm going to be honesty, I was a little sad to be missing out, but for many of the wrong reasons.  I need a break, I need something to look forward to.  I just really, REALLY need a mission trip, disaster trip, SOMETHING (oh hey, hurricane season is coming up....).  Selfishly, these are the trips that recharge me.

Then our church made an announcement for an upcoming trip to Jamaica.

I'm sorry, what???

Oh my gosh—I had tears!  My home!  I’m going back to Jamaica!!  Shawn turned to me and whispered “You’re going. I’ll put in for vacation on Monday so I can stay home with the kids.”  God said the same thing.  He told me this was His plan all along!  I would love to explore other countries, but I BELONG in Jamaica.  I can’t even type that without crying!

LET'S GET THIS PLANE OFF THE GROUND!!!!

The trip isn't to see my babies, sadly, and yes, I'm more than a little heartbroken over it.  I promised them I will be back, and I plan to make good on that promise, no matter how many mountains I have to move. In the meantime, I’m laughing at God’s insane humor; we will be facilitating women's conferences, and going into homes to privately pray with women.  If you know me, you know I hate women’s conferences about as much as I hate moms groups (go ahead and laugh, those of you who have been in my moms group!)!!!  I'm also incredibly shy and self-conscious about praying with/over others, but looking back, I can see how God has been preparing me for this moment.  God really sat me up straight and spoke to me about this, though—if we are to prevent these young girls from becoming orphans, and prevent these young women and moms from turning their children into orphans, we have to start by building these women up, and teaching them their worth.  We must give them the building blocks for their own lives, so they can, in turn, give them to their own children.

Beyond all of that, the most important thing is what I will be bringing home.  The many things these women will teach me.

Oh my gosh, shivers and tears!!!  Praise God!!!  I’m going home.  I'm going home.  I'M GOING HOME!!!  I have faith I will see my precious babies another time.  Perhaps God will even surprise me and I might have a chance to see my babies this trip.  Until then, as Noah said, I'm off to “make” new babies!

Thank you Jesus, for this incredible opportunity.  I promise you I will not waste it.

"Even Miracle Babies Can Be Jerks"

When I saw that post on social media the other day, I sat there shocked.  A little dumbfounded.  I stared at the words for a few moments.

Then I burst into tears.

What I felt was relief.

As I read through the post and the comments, the weight of the guilt for taking my miracle boys for granted still felt like concrete on my shoulders, but I also felt--relief.

There are other moms like me.

There are other kids like him.

I prayed so hard for my boys.  I wanted them so much.  And now I have them.

What I also have is a sh**ton of guilt for the way I feel sometimes when I really don't like one of them for the way he behaves.

I did not pray for this.  I did not want this.  But now I have this.

There is no way to absolve myself of this guilt because what I have, other women and grieving mothers with empty arms still pray for.

They would do anything for one day with my problems.

And yet, I dare to complain about the gifts I've been given.

This mom of her own miracle baby jerk was doing her best to absolve the rest of us of our guilt.  Her insightfulness saved that day for me.  I've been thinking about that post ever since, reminding myself it's okay to let go of the guilt.

My son is not perfect, and neither am I.  Neither of us ever will be.

Praise God for other moms who are inside our own heads, speaking wisdom and loving truth.

Parking Lot Justice

To the 'Concerned Customer' at Lowes:

Hey you--yeah, YOU.  I heard the way you berated the cashier to your young adult son.

"She didn't even look me in the eye.  Did you see that?  I shoulda told her my eyes are up HERE."

Hearing this come out of your disgusting, angry, gruff mouth as we loaded our kids and items into our car, my husband knew exactly what was about to happen as I started to follow you....  Hey Bud, wanna see where MY eyes are????  Grabbing my hand and pulling me back to our car, Shawn shook his head at me.  Not in front of the kids.

Thinking as my boys' mother first, I wondered if this cashier could have autism, or another developmental disorder that prevents, and/or hinders eye contact.

Next, thinking as the wife of a man who lost his mom to domestic violence, and a friend to several women who have been victims of domestic violence, I wondered if this cashier was so intimidated by your behavior, she was rendered incapable of looking you in the eye.  

Along similar lines, I wondered if she was too shy or too introverted to be able to meet your eyes.

I returned to thinking as a mother.  This cashier could possibly have had a sick child at home who left her tired and worried, a newborn, bills to pay and not enough money to pay them, or any number of other stressors.

And finally, maybe she was just sick of dealing with customers who dole out your kind of crap.  She's been abused so much in her line of work that it's just not worth giving you the time of day anymore. But, she has bills that need paying, so she clocks in every day, looking forward to that one customer who stops to pay her some respect.

That could've been you that day, but instead, you thought the world should revolve around you.

Pay close attention, because this is also what you are teaching your son--granted, what you've most likely already taught him, and how you've raised him.  I daresay you might've even raised him abusively, and allowed him to see you treat his mother that way.

Yes, I'm making some assumptions about you.  It's not very nice of me to do that.  I'll be honest, I didn't feel like a very nice person towards you.  I think I still don't.  Part of me wants to understand you, and part of me hopes you haven't always been like that, that you didn't raise your son this way, and treat your wife this way.  But what changed that makes it okay to treat a fellow human being this way now?  

I hope you will think about other people, and consider their feelings and emotions.  Consider wishing someone a great day, and asking her how her day is going.  Those two points of conversation change a lot for a person.  I hope at some point you are able to see the error of your ways, and correct them.  It may not be short little me angrily stomping after you with my husband stopping me, next time.

You cannot just abuse people like that.

Sincerely,
A Fellow Concerned Lowes Customer

Be Kind As Mother's Day Approaches

I've made it no secret that I don't particularly care for Mother's Day.  I have so many reasons, many of which I've written about in years past.

I also have so many reasons to like it and want to celebrate, but yet, here I am.  And if we're going to get real up in here, mothers should be celebrated and appreciated every day, but that's another blog for another time.

Me, the woman who rolls her eyes so hard I give myself migraines, when everyone seems to scream "INCLUSIVITY FOR ALL" as I mutter, "Get over it and grow up," cannot stand this one holiday because it is so very un-inclusive for the ones who matter.

This is a really difficult week for a lot of women.  The reasons are infinite.

As so many are celebrating, there are still many women who are cringing, hiding and wanting to be left alone.  This weekend, they will avoid church.  They will avoid family get-togethers.  They will avoid going to the store, turning on the tv, opening up emails and social media.  They will avoid life.  Their precious hearts are in so much pain. 

I have, in fact, counseled some of these woman to do just that--avoid life in situations such as these.  Do whatever they need to do in order to protect their hearts.  They are allowed to not be okay.  They are grieving losses much of the world cannot comprehend.  Sometimes, they are grieving losses the world does not even consider to be losses.  

Have you ever felt the loss of something missing from your life, only to be told you couldn't possibly be grieving it because you never had it in the first place?  Imagine that for just a moment.  Knowing you are meant to be a mom, only to have someone tell you that you couldn't be missing a child because you never had one in the first place.  

Our church celebrates every single woman on Mother's Day, and it's something that thoroughly endears my church leadership to me.  I don't know if we would have stayed, even with everything else we love about our church, if not for this.

As we sit in church, walk through the grocery store, even as we sit around the family dinner table, we do not know each other's stories.   We do not know about birth moms and private adoptions, we do not know about abortions and miscarriages, we do not know about the longing in a young woman's heart as she and her husband sit together, praying, night after night, for that room down the hall to be filled with newborn crying and laughter.  For that matter--we also do not know about the woman who does not wish to become a mother, and is just quite plain sick and tired of answering the questions of the nosy people who want to know why.  We do not know about post-partum depression and difficulties and maternal guilt and resentment.  We do not know about mothers lost, and mothers estranged.

There are things we just don't talk about in polite conversation.

"Could you please pass the pepper?  I didn't get pregnant again this month."
"I don't want to be a mom and everyone thinks it's their business."
"I had an abortion my sophomore year of college.  Pass the salad."
"Oh, I didn't get a fork.  Yeah, my girlfriend put our child up for adoption and I don't know where he or she is now."
"Guess what everyone?  I'm pregnant after only a day of trying!"
"No one wants to hear about your ovaries Karen--oh hey, pass those eggs!"

See what I mean?  Awwwwkwarrrrdddd.

So please, be kind.

Do not automatically wish a woman Happy Mother's Day just because she is a woman.

Do celebrate the woman in her.  Celebrate the many ways she touches the lives of those around her.  Do hug her--HARD (or do not hug her--ask permission first).  Thank her for being part of your life. Tell her how much she means to you and those around her.  Pray with her, and pray over her--often.  Most importantly, respect her.  In all ways, respect her.