Opening the Floodgates
There has been much on my mind lately and much I would have liked to have blogged about earlier, but each time I sat down and tried to type a post, I found myself stuck. Stuck because the things whirling through my mind were things I wasn't quite ready to share with the Internet community at large (or whoever reads this thing), and the things that remained to blog about seemed insignificant by comparison.
As this week draws to a close, so does my 9th week of my second pregnancy. I'll hit the 10 week mark on Monday. Christmas break has found me feeling blessed by time with family and nauseous all at once. I've been grateful for the time at home. I'd much rather throw up in my own bathroom than the girls' bathroom by 5th-grade hall at school.
So far, everything seems to be going well with this new baby (aside from the morning sickness, which I suppose is still a sign of a healthy pregnancy). Our first doctor's appointment brought news of a healthy little seedling, and we're hoping to hear a nice, strong heartbeat when we go back for our next appointment on January 16th. It has been interesting for me to try to wrap my brain around what life will be like when Anna is the big sister. She's still very much everywhere all at once; I fear I may not have a moment of peace again for the next several years of my life. I also doubt my ability to juggle two little munchkins at times, particularly on days when I'm not doing a fantastic job mothering the one I already have. It's those times I have to stop and convince myself to remember that God has a plan for my life and my family and that I can rely on His wisdom and strength (and my "village" I mentioned in a previous post).
On Monday night this week, Anna didn't sleep. She cried off and on all night long, refusing to move her right leg at all--even to roll over or change position in her sleep. She would occasionally cry out that she was "all done" or "broken" or had "owies." I, of course, was freaking out. Even in the moments she was still and quiet, she made sure her hand was touching me somewhere. It broke my heart. I couldn't think of a time she had injured her leg, and watching her lie there in so much pain--and so still--was awful. At 4:00 in the morning, I was on the phone with the Children's Mercy Hospital nurse's hotline and was told I could either go to the ER or call our pediatrician when the office opened the next day. Anna was finally sleeping quietly when I hung up the phone, so we waited to take her to the doctor until the next morning. I watched the minutes tick by and tried to will myself to sleep unsuccessfully until Anna roused for good around 7:00.
X-rays taken Tuesday morning showed nothing remarkable, so our pediatrician advised us that Anna likely had Toxic Synovitis--a condition that is, essentially, a temporary inflammation of the hip joint that is triggered by a virus of some sort. We were told to give her ibuprofen and to touch base with them again if she was still limping and/or complaining of pain in 48 hours. As if to confirm the virus explanation for her bizarre hip pain, that night, shortly before bed, Anna broke out in the worse case of hives I've seen on her and instantly stopped limping. We, sadly, are familiar with the hives/virus combination, but this was still so strange to us. She looked like a pink and white cheetah for all of Wednesday and the better part of Thursday. This isn't the most flattering shot of her, but you can see the spots beginning to pop up.
Today brought us a happy, clear-skinned toddler. Praise the Lord!
On a more somber note, today was also the day when our family said final goodbyes to Brian's grandfather who passed away before Christmas. He was 93 years old and was an amazing man with a long list of accomplishments and an even longer list of memories and values he imparted to his family and community. I was blessed by the way he and Brian's grandma, who is still living, took me in as one of their own even while Brian and I were still dating.
The funeral was a simple graveside service with a full military detail to honor his service in World War II. He was tremendously loved and respected, and his presence among us will be missed.
I think it's times like this--times when I stand at a major crossroads in life--when I tend to pick apart pieces from my past and present to take a hard look at who I am and what I find important. At this crossroads--losing a family member and gaining another--I have been increasingly aware of the passage of time and, specifically, how moments are too easily taken for granted.
Perhaps it's because the funeral was in Valley Center today, or perhaps it was the family picture I saw that included me as a high school senior with a nice tan and fantastic legs, but moments from my high school era have been playing loops in my head all day. I've been remembering friendships I had, choices I made, and moments I wish I could have viewed through a slightly older lens. There are two or three friendships, in particular, I wish I would have fought harder to maintain. I understand that the passing of time brings separation to some things naturally, but I also know that some of the distance that was injected into those relationships can be directly tied to improperly aligned priorities on my end. I think about the way I viewed many of my classmates, too, especially those who weren't necessarily my friends, and I realize that I was woefully lacking in my understanding of grace. When I think back to people I associated with the "party crowd" or other unneccessarily-assigned group labels, I almost feel sick.
I get it now why I was slapped with a few labels of my own--most of them reflecting my "goody two-shoes" nature or straight-A grade card. It wasn't so much that these things set me apart as much as my too-good-for-this-crap attitude that tended to accompany me during those years. Even though I thought at the time that I was doing what was "right," I realize I missed a lot of opportunities to see the worthwhile, the broken, the beautiful in others and to love them for it. I also missed a lot of opportunities to invest in the lives of friends who poured so much into me during those years.
It's no wonder many people have a jaded outlook of the Christian faith. I openly professed my faith without getting my hands dirty or bothering to look at people the way Jesus looks at us all. I still can have a tendency to do that. I suppose that's where the beauty of Jesus kicks in; we're all royal messes. It's only His grace that covers us. And it covers me now and picks me up right where I am so that I don't have to live in my yesterdays. In spite of my failures, I am a work in progress.
"8For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— 9 not by works, so that no one can boast."--Ephesians 2:8-9
As this week draws to a close, so does my 9th week of my second pregnancy. I'll hit the 10 week mark on Monday. Christmas break has found me feeling blessed by time with family and nauseous all at once. I've been grateful for the time at home. I'd much rather throw up in my own bathroom than the girls' bathroom by 5th-grade hall at school.
So far, everything seems to be going well with this new baby (aside from the morning sickness, which I suppose is still a sign of a healthy pregnancy). Our first doctor's appointment brought news of a healthy little seedling, and we're hoping to hear a nice, strong heartbeat when we go back for our next appointment on January 16th. It has been interesting for me to try to wrap my brain around what life will be like when Anna is the big sister. She's still very much everywhere all at once; I fear I may not have a moment of peace again for the next several years of my life. I also doubt my ability to juggle two little munchkins at times, particularly on days when I'm not doing a fantastic job mothering the one I already have. It's those times I have to stop and convince myself to remember that God has a plan for my life and my family and that I can rely on His wisdom and strength (and my "village" I mentioned in a previous post).
On Monday night this week, Anna didn't sleep. She cried off and on all night long, refusing to move her right leg at all--even to roll over or change position in her sleep. She would occasionally cry out that she was "all done" or "broken" or had "owies." I, of course, was freaking out. Even in the moments she was still and quiet, she made sure her hand was touching me somewhere. It broke my heart. I couldn't think of a time she had injured her leg, and watching her lie there in so much pain--and so still--was awful. At 4:00 in the morning, I was on the phone with the Children's Mercy Hospital nurse's hotline and was told I could either go to the ER or call our pediatrician when the office opened the next day. Anna was finally sleeping quietly when I hung up the phone, so we waited to take her to the doctor until the next morning. I watched the minutes tick by and tried to will myself to sleep unsuccessfully until Anna roused for good around 7:00.
X-rays taken Tuesday morning showed nothing remarkable, so our pediatrician advised us that Anna likely had Toxic Synovitis--a condition that is, essentially, a temporary inflammation of the hip joint that is triggered by a virus of some sort. We were told to give her ibuprofen and to touch base with them again if she was still limping and/or complaining of pain in 48 hours. As if to confirm the virus explanation for her bizarre hip pain, that night, shortly before bed, Anna broke out in the worse case of hives I've seen on her and instantly stopped limping. We, sadly, are familiar with the hives/virus combination, but this was still so strange to us. She looked like a pink and white cheetah for all of Wednesday and the better part of Thursday. This isn't the most flattering shot of her, but you can see the spots beginning to pop up.
Today brought us a happy, clear-skinned toddler. Praise the Lord!
On a more somber note, today was also the day when our family said final goodbyes to Brian's grandfather who passed away before Christmas. He was 93 years old and was an amazing man with a long list of accomplishments and an even longer list of memories and values he imparted to his family and community. I was blessed by the way he and Brian's grandma, who is still living, took me in as one of their own even while Brian and I were still dating.
The funeral was a simple graveside service with a full military detail to honor his service in World War II. He was tremendously loved and respected, and his presence among us will be missed.
I think it's times like this--times when I stand at a major crossroads in life--when I tend to pick apart pieces from my past and present to take a hard look at who I am and what I find important. At this crossroads--losing a family member and gaining another--I have been increasingly aware of the passage of time and, specifically, how moments are too easily taken for granted.
Perhaps it's because the funeral was in Valley Center today, or perhaps it was the family picture I saw that included me as a high school senior with a nice tan and fantastic legs, but moments from my high school era have been playing loops in my head all day. I've been remembering friendships I had, choices I made, and moments I wish I could have viewed through a slightly older lens. There are two or three friendships, in particular, I wish I would have fought harder to maintain. I understand that the passing of time brings separation to some things naturally, but I also know that some of the distance that was injected into those relationships can be directly tied to improperly aligned priorities on my end. I think about the way I viewed many of my classmates, too, especially those who weren't necessarily my friends, and I realize that I was woefully lacking in my understanding of grace. When I think back to people I associated with the "party crowd" or other unneccessarily-assigned group labels, I almost feel sick.
I get it now why I was slapped with a few labels of my own--most of them reflecting my "goody two-shoes" nature or straight-A grade card. It wasn't so much that these things set me apart as much as my too-good-for-this-crap attitude that tended to accompany me during those years. Even though I thought at the time that I was doing what was "right," I realize I missed a lot of opportunities to see the worthwhile, the broken, the beautiful in others and to love them for it. I also missed a lot of opportunities to invest in the lives of friends who poured so much into me during those years.
It's no wonder many people have a jaded outlook of the Christian faith. I openly professed my faith without getting my hands dirty or bothering to look at people the way Jesus looks at us all. I still can have a tendency to do that. I suppose that's where the beauty of Jesus kicks in; we're all royal messes. It's only His grace that covers us. And it covers me now and picks me up right where I am so that I don't have to live in my yesterdays. In spite of my failures, I am a work in progress.
"8For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— 9 not by works, so that no one can boast."--Ephesians 2:8-9
what a wonderful post lacey! i'm sorry to hear about brian's grandfather yet immensely excited for your new addition. God trusts you with much and i'm sure you will handle it well with grace.
ReplyDeletei can relate to your reflections on your past decisions. it can be difficult to let go of the "i wish i had.." stuff. but i figure that if i can use those reflections to change the way i treat people now, at least that means that i've learned from who i was then.
keep on carrying on, my friend - i'm cheering you on from here!