When Isaac and I were nearing the end of our orders to Virginia Beach, it became very apparent that we had no plan. Well, we had a plan, but as plans tend to do, it fell apart. Let me explain.
Since I was 12, I dreamed of studying and forecasting the weather. At 24 I lived that dream. By 28 when my orders were coming to a close the only path ahead in that career was clear: attend the Naval Post Graduate school, earn a Masters in Meteorology and Oceanography and before you know it I would have served 12 years and might as well work until retirement. Not only would my degree be in the field I loved, I would get to do it in beautiful Monterey, California. Another dream come true.
But with all things in the Navy, that sweet deal came at a high price. It would cost me a 3 year commitment after graduating with a 99% chance of deploying on a sea tour. A fork in the road. We knew we were ready to start a family, and tons of people had their babies in Monterey however, I didn't want to have a baby and then a year and a half later leave on sea duty. (aka 9 month deployment and over a year of in and out to sea resulting in Isaac becoming a single parent.)
I chose to turn in my resignation as well and start the new dream. Mom.
So there we were, in our late 20's, owning a home and searching for jobs while trying to get pregnant. Isaac had a great job lined up in Nashville. He was supposed to come down for a walk through in late May while he was transitioning out of the Navy...that was postponed. And then it was postponed again. We realized this postponing might never end so Isaac told them thanks, but he was going to start looking elsewhere. About 2 weeks before I said goodbye to my Chief, he walked in and said, "wow. You are really doing this aren't you?" "Doing what?" "Leaving everything. Where are you going to live?" "I don't know." "What are you going to do for a job?" "I don't know, we'll figure it out." "So what is your plan?" "God will take care of it. I know it." "See, there, I am just amazed, you are really doing this! I don't think I ever had the guts nor will I."
I never once thought what we were doing was brave. Crazy, yes. Brave? no. But I also knew that I was letting go of everything that I once thought was the life for me. I found myself belting out the lyrics to my favorite song, "I'm letting go" every day on my way home. Haven't heard it? Here is the chorus:
I'm letting go
Of the life I planned for me
And my dreams
Losing control
Of my destiny
Feels like I'm falling and that's what it's like to believe
So I'm letting go
On June 30th I said goodbye to all of my coworkers, packed up my office and headed home. A month later I was officially out of the Navy and the only job I had known in my adult life.
And then, there was the test. The best test I had ever taken up to that point in my life. The test that told us that 3 days after our final pay check, we were going to be parents. Isaac and I enjoyed the following weeks more than many in our lives. We had no job. We had no plan. I do not advise this to everyone, but if you find yourself at a crossroads and know you are supposed to turn instead of keep going straight, TURN!! Turn and don't look back. When your soul finds peace that baffles others, know that is what Paul means when he writes of the "Peace that surpasses all understanding." (paraphrased, Philippians 4:7)
2 weeks later we found ourselves in Cincinnati and Isaac accepting a job offer with a great company. We made the decision that I would not work during the months leading to our baby boy arriving and settled into our new home. Our Lord provided more to us in Cincinnati than I ever thought possible. I also found myself saying something I have since repeated several times, "well, I never thought I would live in (fill in the blank) but it has been a wonderful experience and I don't want to leave."
Everything wasn't smooth after that, but we have always been able to look back to the summer of 2010 and know that our God provided for us. He loves us. He will always take care of His children as long as we trust, believe and follow Him.
Sunday, August 7, 2016
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Thankful for the dirt
One thing I have always hated was sweeping. I remember when my mom used to make me do that as the final step of cleaning the kitchen. I could never seem to get everything into the dust pan, which bothered me, so I would sneak over and sweep my pile under the rug! When it was there, I was convinced that it was contained and my job was complete. Plus, sweeping only cleaned the floors until the next person or pet walked through the room.
In college we had white tile floors. Everywhere. Globs of lint and hair and whatever else, which we affectionately called 'dust bunnies' would make their way into our room and live in the corners until we would sweep. We were supposed to sweep every day. At any moment, we were to be ready for a room inspection and that meant a swept floor. I probably swept once a month. Thank goodness I had roommates that would carry that burden for me...we weren't allowed a rug in our room.
In each home I have lived in, I have begrudgingly swept our floors. Thankfully, in the first home my husband and I lived in together we had a mostly carpeted floor plan and the vacuum and I get along just fine. I love that invention. I even bring it into the kitchen and suck up the piles these days...much better than under the rug. When we moved back to Virginia Beach I just accepted the fact that I was going to have to sweep a lot more. Uhhhhh. I love the beach, but sand gets EVERYWHERE! There was another problem with this new home. Whoever installed the floors in the kitchen area hated mothers. Let me explain. From our kitchen you can exit out the back door onto the concrete patio or you can come into the home through the garage. I assume that the selector of the flooring thought, "I will make sure anyone who hates to sweep the floor will be able to see the dirt that their children and pets track in constantly by installing these bright white ceramic floors. They don't even look clean when they are freshly mopped! wahahahahahaha!"
Ok, so maybe they actually thought more along the lines of, "White will make things look brighter. Let's do that." But, after living with these floors for almost a year, I tend to lean towards the aforementioned theory.
We sweep constantly. We have a rug by the back door and the garage door that my kids have become well trained that their shoes stop there however, the dirt finds its way everywhere. EVERYWHERE! I now only sweep either right before bed or first thing in the morning because mid-day sweeps are pointless. I *might* sweep before someone comes over to our house but if they are bringing more than one child with them, fa-getaboutit.
This morning I did my sweeping. You can see, these aren't a small pile of beans, but a mountain of dirt each day:
In college we had white tile floors. Everywhere. Globs of lint and hair and whatever else, which we affectionately called 'dust bunnies' would make their way into our room and live in the corners until we would sweep. We were supposed to sweep every day. At any moment, we were to be ready for a room inspection and that meant a swept floor. I probably swept once a month. Thank goodness I had roommates that would carry that burden for me...we weren't allowed a rug in our room.
In each home I have lived in, I have begrudgingly swept our floors. Thankfully, in the first home my husband and I lived in together we had a mostly carpeted floor plan and the vacuum and I get along just fine. I love that invention. I even bring it into the kitchen and suck up the piles these days...much better than under the rug. When we moved back to Virginia Beach I just accepted the fact that I was going to have to sweep a lot more. Uhhhhh. I love the beach, but sand gets EVERYWHERE! There was another problem with this new home. Whoever installed the floors in the kitchen area hated mothers. Let me explain. From our kitchen you can exit out the back door onto the concrete patio or you can come into the home through the garage. I assume that the selector of the flooring thought, "I will make sure anyone who hates to sweep the floor will be able to see the dirt that their children and pets track in constantly by installing these bright white ceramic floors. They don't even look clean when they are freshly mopped! wahahahahahaha!"
Ok, so maybe they actually thought more along the lines of, "White will make things look brighter. Let's do that." But, after living with these floors for almost a year, I tend to lean towards the aforementioned theory.
We sweep constantly. We have a rug by the back door and the garage door that my kids have become well trained that their shoes stop there however, the dirt finds its way everywhere. EVERYWHERE! I now only sweep either right before bed or first thing in the morning because mid-day sweeps are pointless. I *might* sweep before someone comes over to our house but if they are bringing more than one child with them, fa-getaboutit.
This morning I did my sweeping. You can see, these aren't a small pile of beans, but a mountain of dirt each day:
But something was different today as I swept; I was thankful. I am so thankful that my children love to play outside. I love that they want to play in the dirt, bring me picked flowers, show me cool bugs or worms that they find and in their excitement they don't have time to stop at the door and take off their shoes...they have to run right to Mommy and show her. I am so thankful that they get to make fun crafts like play-doh at church and then play with them at our kitchen table, leaving little bits of pink dough everywhere in their wake. I am thankful for the food that we can afford to fall on the ground. I am thankful for a husband who helps me sweep. I am thankful that every day I get to do this all over again because I know before too long the kids with grow, our old pup will pass and it will just be Isaac and I tracking little to no dirt into the house. I know that this dirt represents the life that is in our home and I am thankful that I get to see the side effects of a day well lived.
I am thankful that we live each day.
I still hate sweeping, but I will do it with a thankful heart from now on.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
The Life not lived
We are a very blessed family. I have a husband who not only loves me but works daily to make our marriage terrific...it isn't perfect (far from it), but we are dedicated to one another and work really hard to strengthen our marriage. We have two healthy, energetic, social and hilarious children. One boy, one girl. We have a dog that loves everyone, rarely barks and only makes herself known when food is being served. We live near a beach. My husband has a steady job which he does well at and I get to live my dream of staying home and taking care of my family.
Why would we ever want more? Well, for about a year now I have longed for a third child. Timing seemed wrong and so we waited for dust to settle and for our hearts to agree before we pursued that third baby. Oh what joy when 4 days before Christmas I got the best gift ever...a positive pregnancy test. We have never had any issues with our pregnancies and typically have told family and close friends almost immediately (between 5 and 7 weeks). Since our son is almost 5 and more aware of things, we decided to get through our first appointment before telling our children of their soon to be baby brother or sister.
We had so much fun telling our parents. I will never forget the hugs, shouts of joy and excitement on our dear friends faces as we told them.
We started planning. Talking about names, rearranging sleeping arrangements to allow more space for our older daughter. It seemed everyone we knew was letting the cat out of the bag about their sweet babies that were on the way but we waited patiently for that first appointment at 8.5 weeks.
We did test the water with our children though:
"Eli, what would you think about having another baby brother or sister?"
"Ummm, that sounds like fun."
"What would you rather have, a brother or a sister?"
"Brother. No sister. No, both!" Then he stood up, put his hands on his hips and with the most grown up look and stature turned to me and said, "what do you think Mommy? You have enough room in that belly of yours for two babies?"
We were a bit nervous that the ultrasound would reveal two little babies...scared but would have been thrilled. Especially considering what we found out instead.
My husband and I arranged to have a friend watch our kids so we could get the first look at our new baby together. It was a new doctor's office and the earliest I had ever gone in for an appointment. I was 12 weeks with Eli and 10 with Elle. The technician started her machine and the excitement between Isaac and I was almost tangible.
And then the air started to leave the room.
"So, are you sure you are pregnant?"
"Oh, yes ma'am. Quite positive."
"Could you be off on your dates?"
"No, I had a positive test on December 21st. I am quite sure."
"Well, this is your uterus, (showing us on the screen) and there is no baby in there. You are sure you are....oh no... this is not good. No, this is not good at all."
She said a few other things as she started measurements and typed the words on the screen, "Ectopic Pregnancy."
And there it was. Our beautiful baby. The picture on the screen looked just like the others. Odd shaped head and tiny nubs for arms and legs. And there in the middle, the fast and clear beating of our babies heart. The difference? This baby was not in the perfectly safe womb, it was somewhere on the right side of my body. Presumably in my fallopian tube but we would find out hours later, after surgery, that it had actually attached to my right ovary. Which, had to be removed.
Why am I writing this? For closure I guess. Because although our baby was only 8.5 weeks, it was our baby and it had a future that will never come to fruition. Because I have to remind myself of what happened because some moments I forget and start to day dream about September again. Because I want others to know that though we didn't get to name our baby or hold or baby or sing to our baby, it was still our baby and loved like our other two children.
The hours leading up to my surgery and the remainder of my time in the hospital were and still are a blur. I just know every time someone asked me, "why are you here?" and I had to say, "because I have an ectopic pregnancy and the baby has to be removed," a box of tissues was immediately handed to me.
The doctors may have referred to our baby as "the pregnancy" or "pregnancy tissue" but they would always hesitate when they had to say, "an 8 week fetus with a heartbeat." It was a life. A life that would not be lived outside of me. A life that though we never got to hold in our hands will live on in our hearts forever. I don't understand why this miracle never made it into our home. I do not know nor do I care to question my Lord as to why we have to suffer this pain and ponder the what-ifs. It doesn't change anything to have the answer.
The loss is the same and I choose to find joy and happiness.
I am thankful that we live when and where we do so that this abnormal pregnancy was detected before a rupture which would have been life-threatening to me. I am grateful for the moments I have had with my husband quietly crying together, or talking about our loss and comforting one another. I am thankful that we are now closer. I am thankful for my two sweet babies at home and the love they have poured upon me as I have been less able to love on them due to recovering. I am thankful for the outpouring from our friends and neighbors who know of our loss.
We are so blessed.
The loss of this child doesn't change that. Any loss doesn't change that. I know that I am loved and we are loved by a Father who mourns with us our losses.
"All of my life, in every season, you are still God, I have a reason to sing. I have a reason to worship...I will bring praise, no weapon formed against me shall remain. I will rejoice, God is my victory and He is here." -Hillsong, Desert Song
Why would we ever want more? Well, for about a year now I have longed for a third child. Timing seemed wrong and so we waited for dust to settle and for our hearts to agree before we pursued that third baby. Oh what joy when 4 days before Christmas I got the best gift ever...a positive pregnancy test. We have never had any issues with our pregnancies and typically have told family and close friends almost immediately (between 5 and 7 weeks). Since our son is almost 5 and more aware of things, we decided to get through our first appointment before telling our children of their soon to be baby brother or sister.
We had so much fun telling our parents. I will never forget the hugs, shouts of joy and excitement on our dear friends faces as we told them.
We started planning. Talking about names, rearranging sleeping arrangements to allow more space for our older daughter. It seemed everyone we knew was letting the cat out of the bag about their sweet babies that were on the way but we waited patiently for that first appointment at 8.5 weeks.
We did test the water with our children though:
"Eli, what would you think about having another baby brother or sister?"
"Ummm, that sounds like fun."
"What would you rather have, a brother or a sister?"
"Brother. No sister. No, both!" Then he stood up, put his hands on his hips and with the most grown up look and stature turned to me and said, "what do you think Mommy? You have enough room in that belly of yours for two babies?"
We were a bit nervous that the ultrasound would reveal two little babies...scared but would have been thrilled. Especially considering what we found out instead.
My husband and I arranged to have a friend watch our kids so we could get the first look at our new baby together. It was a new doctor's office and the earliest I had ever gone in for an appointment. I was 12 weeks with Eli and 10 with Elle. The technician started her machine and the excitement between Isaac and I was almost tangible.
And then the air started to leave the room.
"So, are you sure you are pregnant?"
"Oh, yes ma'am. Quite positive."
"Could you be off on your dates?"
"No, I had a positive test on December 21st. I am quite sure."
"Well, this is your uterus, (showing us on the screen) and there is no baby in there. You are sure you are....oh no... this is not good. No, this is not good at all."
She said a few other things as she started measurements and typed the words on the screen, "Ectopic Pregnancy."
And there it was. Our beautiful baby. The picture on the screen looked just like the others. Odd shaped head and tiny nubs for arms and legs. And there in the middle, the fast and clear beating of our babies heart. The difference? This baby was not in the perfectly safe womb, it was somewhere on the right side of my body. Presumably in my fallopian tube but we would find out hours later, after surgery, that it had actually attached to my right ovary. Which, had to be removed.
Why am I writing this? For closure I guess. Because although our baby was only 8.5 weeks, it was our baby and it had a future that will never come to fruition. Because I have to remind myself of what happened because some moments I forget and start to day dream about September again. Because I want others to know that though we didn't get to name our baby or hold or baby or sing to our baby, it was still our baby and loved like our other two children.
The hours leading up to my surgery and the remainder of my time in the hospital were and still are a blur. I just know every time someone asked me, "why are you here?" and I had to say, "because I have an ectopic pregnancy and the baby has to be removed," a box of tissues was immediately handed to me.
The doctors may have referred to our baby as "the pregnancy" or "pregnancy tissue" but they would always hesitate when they had to say, "an 8 week fetus with a heartbeat." It was a life. A life that would not be lived outside of me. A life that though we never got to hold in our hands will live on in our hearts forever. I don't understand why this miracle never made it into our home. I do not know nor do I care to question my Lord as to why we have to suffer this pain and ponder the what-ifs. It doesn't change anything to have the answer.
The loss is the same and I choose to find joy and happiness.
I am thankful that we live when and where we do so that this abnormal pregnancy was detected before a rupture which would have been life-threatening to me. I am grateful for the moments I have had with my husband quietly crying together, or talking about our loss and comforting one another. I am thankful that we are now closer. I am thankful for my two sweet babies at home and the love they have poured upon me as I have been less able to love on them due to recovering. I am thankful for the outpouring from our friends and neighbors who know of our loss.
We are so blessed.
The loss of this child doesn't change that. Any loss doesn't change that. I know that I am loved and we are loved by a Father who mourns with us our losses.
"All of my life, in every season, you are still God, I have a reason to sing. I have a reason to worship...I will bring praise, no weapon formed against me shall remain. I will rejoice, God is my victory and He is here." -Hillsong, Desert Song
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