(Almost) Anything

(If you haven't already, it might be helpful to read yesterday's post before you start in on this one...)

I probably should have seen this coming. Last fall I road tripped (Yep, it's a verb now. I just declared it so. Take that, grammar.) for a weekend with a friend, and as two women are likely to do when they have hours together and no children to interrupt, we talked. A lot.

In the course of conversation, the book Anything by Jennie Allen came up. My friend had read it, but I had never heard of it. By the end of the weekend, her copy of the book was in my bag.

I have to admit, it sat for a few weeks untouched. But then I was listening to Family Life Today (my favorite radio program), and they were interviewing none other than Miss Jennie Allen herself about her latest book, Anything. As I listened to her, I could feel God tugging at my heart. I wanted to be able to pray the same thing she had prayed, that I would give God anything in my life that He wanted.

But I didn't want it enough. I listened to Jennie and I started reading the book, and everything in it resonated in my heart. And I felt God calling me to make some small sacrifices, so small that I am too embarrassed to even type them out here... because I wouldn't do it. I wanted to convince myself--and God--that I would be willing to give Him anything, and I was already saying "no" in the small things.

I justified it by saying, "Well, that's just silly. I don't need to give up that. There's no reason for it. If it were something important, I would do it." But come on, that's like saying, "It's silly for me to practice playing basketball. We're not even in a real game! The baskets don't count for anything! I'll shoot the ball when we're playing an actual game--I'm sure I'll make it through the hoop, no problem." Not likely.

And since I knew I was in the wrong, I did what any reasonable person would do. I stopped reading the book. If I couldn't convince myself that I was in the right, then maybe I could just stop thinking about it. That seems like a logical conclusion, right?

That was MONTHS ago. Close to a YEAR ago, as a matter of fact. And in a lot of ways, I actually had forgotten about that whole inner turmoil. But the sense of longing, of looking for something more, has been there. And maybe that strange mix of a desire for and avoidance of a deeper relationship is the source of my discontent.

So a week or so ago, I picked it back up. And it still hits me right between the eyes. Again I felt myself pushed to step out of my comfort zone. This time I was determined not to shove it away.

So do you know what I did? I kept reading the book... but quit reading my Bible. I found a new way to avoid God. I didn't even realize I had done it at first, but that's exactly the pattern I have been following. I will read one or the other, but not both. It's too convicting.

And now here I am, trying to get down to the heart of the matter. And I know that it is time to stop avoiding, time to stop refusing, time to stop pretending that I don't hear God's voice. I don't want to feel this constant discontent. I don't want to wonder what could be in store for me, if only I would let go.

So I'm not sure if I've really said much today, except that this is step 1 for me. I will be spending time daily in God's Word. I will be poring over His book and this other book that He has laid on my heart. And I will be back to share what I am learning.

What are you reading that is inspiring you right now? Is it exciting? Scary? A little of both?

The Heart of the Matter, part 1

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you won't be surprised to read that I have been having some emotional struggles lately. It's nothing new--ever since I battled with post-partum after Monkey was born, depression has been a bit of a back seat driver in my life, always hanging around, looking for opportunities to butt in where he doesn't belong. Especially on an, er, shall we say... monthly basis. I have truly come to view it as a biblical thorn in my side (See 2 Corinthians 12:7-10), something that reminds me to rely on Christ and not on my own strength. In some ways I have become thankful for the growth opportunities it has provided.

But I digress.

The frustrating thing about depression is that it can make all of my emotions a little bit muddy. I have to really work to sort out what is true and what is getting mixed in with my thorn. Let's say, just for example, that Mr. Fantastic and I were to possibly... oh, let's say... disagree about the furniture for the basement. Not that that would ever happen. (It totally happened.) And then let's say I got upset enough to cry about it, which is of course totally ridiculous. (And also completely true.) I would, in a situation like that, have to do some real soul-searching and ask myself, "Does Mr. Fantastic have unrealistic expectations and/or is he expressing his feelings inappropriately? Do *I* have unrealistic expectations and/or am I expressing my feelings inappropriately? Do I feel THIS strongly about the basement furniture? Is there a deeper issue in my marriage that is coming to the surface here? OR... am I just feeling a little bit extra-sensitive and overly-emotional today? Would this conversation be going differently if we had it 3 days from now?" (The answers were: no, not until I started crying, no, no, yes, and ABSOLUTELY.)

Which brings me back to today. Well, not just today. For the past couple of weeks or so, I have been wrestling with some emotions. Normally, as in the example above, it takes me anywhere from a few minutes to a day to be able to sort out the root cause of my emotions--whether they are "true" or just being seen through my depression filter (or a little bit of both, which is often the case). In this case, though, it really has been weeks of sorting through and digging down and finding what is at the heart of the matter.

And then it hit me: It is discontentment. I am not content. I am going through my days wishing things were different. I find myself being sad or angry over everything from changes at our church to school decisions to wanting different dishes. EVERYTHING. This thread of discontent has woven itself into just about every area of my life.

But just like the furniture situation, it seemed important to look a little closer. How likely is it that I am actually unhappy with every area of life? Possible, but not likely. So where is this coming from?

That's where I am now, folks. If you were looking for an insightful, lightbulb moment... well, so am I. I haven't had it yet. I do feel like recognizing the discontentment--and realizing that there is likely one root issue (or maybe 2) that are really the foundation--has helped me to take a few deep breaths and let go of some things. But as silly as it sounds (Shouldn't I KNOW what's bothering me?), I just can't quite pinpoint those root causes.

And then I remembered something that I heard from a pastor somewhere along the way... Satan is the great deceiver, and often that means he doesn't tell us an outright lie--he takes something good and twists it. Sex, for example, is a beautiful gift from God, but Satan has twisted it and convinced us to use it in ways it was not intended--ways that leave us empty and guilty and with all kinds of consequences. And look at guilt--it is actually intended to serve a good purpose, to bring to our attention when we have done something wrong and help us to change; Satan, however, loads us up with false guilt over things that have already been forgiven--or things over which we don't need to feel guilt at all.

So what if this discontent is Satan twisting something inside of me that is actually from God? What if God is trying to lay something on my heart--a new challenge, a step He wants me to take, a new leading in ministry or parenting or even my marriage--and I have allowed Satan to take that desire for the next step and twist it into a desire for more of... everything?

I feel like there is truth to this. I feel like it needs to be studied and prayed over. I picture myself with a huge knot of yarn, slowly inching my fingers along, trying to untangle it all. Somewhere in there is the truth.

I called this post "part 1" because I am just on the beginning of this journey, and I am inviting you to come along. Tomorrow's post might be titled "part 2" or it might be something totally different. I have no idea where I am heading. This is a whole new kind of transparency for me--the kind where I don't know the outcome. Are you ready for this trip? I know I'm not. ;-)

By the way, you might want to grab your Bible and a copy of Jennie Allen's book Anything. I think they're going to be key components...

Leading by example

"Do you know why I asked you to read that?"

I was met with silence, as they contemplated whether they should say what they were really thinking.

You see, so far this morning hadn't been going well. It all started with a marital spat over chores. Once my hubby left for work, I thought I had settled it all--prayed for God to change my heart, resolved to handle the situation with humility and grace instead of spite and defensiveness (my default responses). I took a deep breath and got ready for the rest of the day. Or so I thought.

But things didn't magically turn around from there. I got overwhelmed by housework. I realized that my big kids had never emptied yesterday's camp bags of dirty towels, bathing suits, etc, and the bags were a soggy mess. I was also trying to get myself and Roo ready for a meeting we have this afternoon with medical students. (More on that in a future post.) Stress and tension began to rule the morning.

And then at breakfast, I was multitasking, unloading the dishwasher in between whipping up bowls of oatmeal and Cheerios. And I turned around and saw that Roo had dumped his oatmeal bowl ALL.OVER.HIMSELF.

And I lost it.

I yelled, I stomped, I may even have growled. I'm not sure. It's a little foggy exactly what happened in that moment. But I wasn't happy, and EVERYONE knew it.

For the rest of the morning the kids walked on eggshells, but it wasn't enough. I yelled at them for not getting ready fast enough, for not picking up their dirty laundry, for losing sunscreen, even for asking to go to the bathroom ("Just GO already! For goodness sake!"). It really wasn't one of my better moments.

And finally, we were in the van, and I think the big kids were as much looking forward to a break from me as they were to spending another day at camp.

I took a deep breath, and asked Lamb if I could borrow her Bible. I opened it to I Corinthians 13, and asked her to read the first 8 verses.

Suppose I speak in the languages of human beings and of angels. If I don’t have love, I am only a loud gong or a noisy cymbal. Suppose I have the gift of prophecy. Suppose I can understand all the secret things of God and know everything about him. And suppose I have enough faith to move mountains. If I don’t have love, I am nothing at all. Suppose I give everything I have to poor people. And suppose I give my body to be burned. If I don’t have love, I get nothing at all.

Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not want what belongs to others. It does not brag. It is not proud. It is not rude. It does not look out for its own interests. It does not easily become angry. It does not keep track of other people’s wrongs.

Love is not happy with evil. But it is full of joy when the truth is spoken. It always protects. It always trusts. It always hopes. It never gives up.

Love never fails.

"Do you know why I asked you to read that?"

After the initial uncomfortable silence, Lamb spoke up, "Because you were kind of grumpy this morning?"

That's an understatement. "Was I patient and kind this morning?"

They shook their heads.

"Did I get angry easily?"

They nodded.

"I didn't do a very good job of showing you love, did I?"

Let's just say they agreed with my assessment. And that's not even mentioning the other things I did in my mind and heart that they didn't directly witness. Pretty much every phrase in that passage hit home.

"What should I do now?"

So I got the answer to my prayer from earlier that morning... I was quite humbled. I told the kids that I needed to ask forgiveness from them and from God. I apologized and asked them all--even Roo--to forgive me for the way I behaved. Then they listened as I prayed and asked God to forgive my words and actions, and most importantly, the attitude of my heart. I admitted that I didn't have the strength to be all of the things that love is, and asked Him to be my strength.

Hopefully as they grow up, it's the second example that I set that they'll remember, not the first.

Thank you, God, for humbling me. Thank you for your forgiveness and your grace. I'll probably need them again later today... and again after that... and again after that... and, well, you get the idea.

Supposed to be

Good morning. As October draws to a close, I wanted to celebrate Down Syndrome Awareness Month just one more time. This is a re-post, but it is one that it on my heart regularly. I hope you enjoy it--whether you saw it the first time around or not.  :-)

I'm up early. Roo woke me up at 4:45, and I never got back to sleep. I actually kind of enjoy the early mornings—I'm not a morning person by nature, but when forced into it by my baby boy, I like having some time to myself when the rest of the house is quiet, getting a head start on the day, and being fully awake and happy when my kiddos are up for the day. I would probably enjoy it more if I hadn't stayed up until 11:00 last night… I am an 8-hours-of-sleep-minimum kind of girl… but, well, there's nothing to be done about that now.

But this morning I woke up with a familiar grumbling in my head: This isn't how it's supposed to be. Not the 4:45 wake-up call—I would rather he slept through the night (We had a good run for a while, but now we're back to being up 1-2 times per night.), but I can deal with that. Not the short amount of sleep overall—that's my own stupid fault for staying up so late. No, I was just thinking of all the… stuff. Yesterday was Roo's semi-annual IFSP meeting. This is where I sit down with our Early Intervention Specialist and our Service Coordinator (I'm not even going to pretend that I can explain to you exactly what those two women do, so just go with it.) and we go over all of the notes from our various therapists and set goals for Roo. Goals for my 9-month-old. Things that he needs to work on. Seriously? Sigh. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Over the next few days I'm going to be spending time with some people who are likely to have a lot of questions about Roo and Down syndrome, and I am very happy to answer them and so glad that they care. But I wish I weren't the one answering those questions. This isn't how it's supposed to be. On Thursday I'm going to another conference about Down syndrome and development and how to help my child learn. I didn't have to work this darn hard at helping my other kids learn to sit, crawl, play, talk… This isn't how it's supposed to be.

But here's the thing: Yes, it is. This is exactly how it's supposed to be. This may not be what I had planned, what I envisioned for my life or my child's life; but it is what God had planned. From the beginning. This is how it's supposed to be. And I can tell you from experience, whatever God has planned is way better than any plans I try to make on my own apart from Him.

I've been reading Choosing to See by Mary Beth Chapman. I highly recommend it—what an amazing story God has given this family. And I don't have the book in front of me, so I can't give you an exact quote… but at the funeral for her 5-year-old daughter, her teenage son shared that God is an artist, and we are too close to the canvas to be able to make sense of His artwork. But someday we'll be able to stand back—way back—and see what He was doing, how it all comes together to make the perfect masterpiece. I love that image.

This is how it's supposed to be. This is all part of God's masterpiece.

So I brush my grumbling thought aside—again. It's not the first time I've had to do it, and it won't be the last. But I do it. I push it away, and I claim the truth that I know:

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." –Jeremiah 29:11

Doubts

I feel the need to add a disclaimer that this post was not created out of the stress of the past couple of days and spurred on by exhaustion. I actually wrote this last week and scheduled it for this morning. I could probably add some more to it this morning in my sleep-deprived weariness, but I think it's best just to share with you what I wrote when my head was clearer. :-)

I don't know about you, but sometimes I need to write things down. (Surprise, surprise, eh?) Some days I get completely overwhelmed by the to-do list or the shopping list or the list of questions I need to ask or any one of the many lists that I try to keep in my head. The tasks seem impossible... until I write them down. Once I see them in black and white, they aren't so scary. And sometimes the lists aren't as long as they seem in my head. Suddenly the impossible seems managable, even reasonable. And suddenly I start to feel better, breathe easier--maybe even laugh a little at myself.

Lately I have had a lot of doubts on my mind. They started slowly, just a question here and there, a concern now and then. And then they started to grow. My head is hurting more, my stomach is aching more, the tears are coming more... and I'm sleeping less. The doubts are growing, and I am worrying. And the worries... well, they are intimidating. Overwhelming. Impossible.

So this morning I decided it was time to try my old trick. Get them out of my head. Get them on "paper"--or screen, at least. In the spirit of trying to ease my mind, in the hopes that they will seem less scary when I actually write them down, I'm going to share with you the doubts and questions that have been plaguing me.

What if I should have been more concerned about Roo's slow weight gain?

What if that slow growth also slowed down his mental development--and it's my fault?

What if Roo's many colds last year slowed down his development? I was catching up on The Blessing of Verity the other day and read this: "Why are we so vigilant over Verity’s health?  When typical babies get sick, even repeatedly, it doesn’t affect their overall development.  They will still meet their milestones effortlessly.  When babies with special needs are repeatedly ill, it can have a serious negative impact on their long-term development." She also says, "We can’t prove her health is a result of mama’s milk, vitamin D, probiotics, fish oils, grapefruit seed extract, Sambucus, extra-virgin organic unrefined coconut oil, superfood fruits and vegetables, staying away from dairy and groups of peers with runny noses, or any other factors!  But they can’t be hurting, either." I'm not doing those things. If Roo's coughs and stuffy noses and fevers harmed his overall development... it's my fault.

What if I'm not stimulating him enough? In that same post, Verity's mama goes on to say, "Since her birth, we have done our best not to let Verity have any 'down time,' no break from being challenged and stimulated in some way, unless she is asleep.  Again, this has become part of the collective family consciousness.  We all help to keep her engaged and working, to keep her from sitting and doing nothing, or 'blobbing,' as I call it." What if he is falling behind the other babies we know because of this under-stimulation? It's my fault.

How can I stimulate him more and still take responsible care of the rest of my family? Already the laundry is piling up, the floors need swept, the bathrooms need cleaned--not to mention the projects that are growing. I'm not even keeping up with the current level of chaos, let alone making any head way.

What if I'm not spending enough time with the big kids? What if they start to resent Roo because of all of the time and attention he needs? If they start to resent him, it's my fault.

How can I teach my kids that they are more important than housework, and still teach them to be responsible, good stewards? If they grow up to be irresonsible slobs, it's my fault.

What if I'm comparing too much?

What if I'm not comparing enough?

What if we're missing something? Something in his eyes, his ears, his brain that could be slowing down his development--or worse, something that could affect his health in the long-term.

What if...?

And underneath it all... at the very root of all these questions... is WHY. But it's not the "why" of a year ago. I'm no longer asking, "Why, God, did you bring this into our family? Why are you making our baby suffer? Why are you making life hard for us?"

No, now it's a different "why."  Now I wonder...
Why did you give this incredible baby to me, when I am already failing him? Why didn't you realize that there are thousands of moms out there who would be so much better for him?

I heard an interview this week with a Christian counselor and pastor. He was actually talking about victims of sexual abuse, but he said something that really hit home with me. He said that today's oh-so-popular depression "cure" of Positive-Self Talk doesn't work, because the things you tell yourself aren't necessarily true. I can look myself in the mirror every day and say, "You are an amazing rocket scientist!" But that doesn't make it true, so when I go out and try to get a job at NASA, they'll just laugh me out of there.

And do you know what else? Messages like "It's my fault" are a lot more powerful than messages like "I'm sure I'm doing fine."

But do you know what is effective? Scripture. Because Scripture is true, and I know it's true. If I keep it in my head, if I constantly remind myself of the truth... I'll be better equipped to fight the doubts.

That's the hope, anyway. That's what this counselor said. And I definitely found it to be true in my struggles with depression before. So it's worth trying now.

So here's the deal... Plan A didn't really work too well for me. Writing down those doubts... didn't make them less scary. Instead, I'm in tears just from typing them out, from sharing with all of you the ugly thoughts that are in my head.

It's time for Plan B. And maybe Plan B should have been Plan A all along. Because Plan B is the Word of God.

Here's what I know is true...

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" --Jeremiah 29:11

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." --Psalm 139:13-14

"Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens." --Psalm 68:19

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." --Matthew 11:28-29

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." --John 14:27

"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." --Proverbs 4:23

Father, help me to guard my heart. Help me to fill it with truth--and You are the Truth. Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Help me to trust in You, in your plan for me and my family.

A Time for Healing

"To everything—turn, turn, turn—there is a season—turn, turn, turn…" Yes, there is an actual Bible verse that is much deeper than this, but this is what is spinning around and around and around in my head, so I'm sharing it with you.

There is a buzz word in Christian circles right now that has also been on my mind lately: transparency. Transparency is a good thing. I think for a while, we as Christians had a tendency to hide our struggles, meaning both our toils with sin and just the hardships we encountered in life. We may have felt that being honest about those things might be a show of weakness or might make people think that we didn't have true faith. In reality, reluctance to be genuine with others often results in loneliness, hurt, and shallow relationships, just to name a few. So the idea that we need to be transparent in our relationships, that we should bear each others' burdens and be open with each other, is freeing and healthy. Sharing our pain and what we are going through not only helps the "talker," but can let the listener(s) know that other people go through hard things too and that we are not alone.

For me, though, transparency has led to a different kind of struggle. After seeing how isolated I became when I was reluctant to share my struggles with depression, I have become a big advocate of sharing our needs and hurts with others. Now, though, I'm realizing that there is a time to feel your pain, to let it hurt, to cry over it and be sad or angry or however you feel… and there is a time to let it heal.

And guess what? We are healing. It's getting better, easier. The tears come less often, the smiles more. It's not a big giant elephant in the room every time I run into someone who asks me how the baby is doing, and I wonder, "Do they know? I don't remember telling them. Did they hear from someone else? Or are they just asking a polite question about a new baby?" Roo has Down syndrome. It's OK.  And do you know what else?  Sometimes (actually, a lot of the time), we're not even thinking about the fact that Roo has Down syndrome.  We are simply living our lives.

And yet often, when someone actually does specifically ask me about Roo and the Down syndrome and how we're all doing… I feel the need to pick at the newly-forming scab and let it bleed all over again. There's a part of me that feels I'm not being genuine—not being transparent—if I just smile and say we're doing fine. It's like I broke my arm and feel the need to take off the cast and squeeze the broken bones when someone asks how I'm doing, like I'm afraid they won't believe the hurt is real if they don't see it for themselves.

But the hurt is real, and a cast or stitches or a scab are as much evidence of someone's pain as the injury itself. And as far as being transparent goes, people need to see us coping and healing as much as they need to know about our pain. It's important to know that others have struggles, but it's equally important to see them moving through it, not just living in it. Pain often brings growth, but that growth comes as a result of how we deal with the pain, not just because we feel the pain.

So I'm giving myself permission to tell you, the next time that I see you, that we're doing great. I haven't said that in a long, long time. I have been afraid to say anything better than "OK." But a lot of days, we are doing great. Roo has Down syndrome, and it's been hard. But we're healing from the hurt, and life hasn't stopped. He is a cute and sweet and wonderful baby. Monkey is a hilarious and sensitive little boy who makes me laugh every day, sometimes in spite of myself. Lamb is headstrong yet very sensitive when it comes to her friends, just like her momma, and she loves to sing and make crafts and her abilities astound me. And we're having a fun fall and we're getting excited for the holidays and we're… doing great. And that's OK. Because God doesn't want us to hide our pain, but He doesn't want us to hide our happiness either.

The Wednesday Prayer

I mentioned to you all recently that every once in a while—OK, way too often—I get a dose of what I call "the crazies." The rest of you may call it depression. Tom-ay-to, Tom-ah-to. Whatever. It's happening now. In the past 24 hours, I have cried about our school levy (which failed), the amount of money it would have cost us if it had passed (we own real estate), the friendship heartaches of Lamb, the hard time a friend of mine is having, the idea of leaving Roo in the nursery at church this morning (even though I've been doing it three times a week for two months now), and cleaning the toy room, just to name a few. If these issues upset me so much, you can just imagine how I'm feeling about the "real" issues in my life right now.

So that was my state of mind as I went to Bible study this morning. I was a mess, but I really wanted to keep my messiness on the inside, thankyouverymuch. And yes, I know that we are called to be transparent with each other, and people can't know to pray for you if they don't know what to pray for and blah, blah, blah, and all of those other good reasons for crying with a group of women. But let me explain… I have only been "singled out" to speak (and by "speak" I mean answer a question to the entire group, not just my small group) twice since September—something I normally quite enjoy. The first time was to talk about my family, and I cried when I started to tell them how special Roo was. The second time was when I was randomly chosen to share something that had made my week crazy, and several things came to mind but none were things I was willing to share, so I broke down and cried and shared that Lamb had been crying when I dropped her off at school that morning—which was true, but so not what was truly on my heart that day.

In addition to those two experiences in front of the whole group, I also cried to my small group during the first week when I shared Roo's diagnosis with them, and then again two weeks ago when I shared a huge opportunity/decision that is before me (one that I'm not sure I'm ready to throw out there for all the world to see just yet).

So this morning, as I was considering how I was going to handle today's schedule and interactions, I remembered a girl who was in an ABF (Adult Bible Fellowship—like a Sunday School class for adults) Mr. Fantastic and I used to attend a few years ago. It was a while before I knew her real name—and I have since forgotten it. I only remember how Mr. Fantastic and I used to refer to her: The Girl Who Cries. Seriously, without exception, happy or sad, the woman cried every. single. week. It drove us nuts.

And that's when it hit me… I'M "THE GIRL WHO CRIES"!!! When the heck did this happen???

So I walked into the building absolutely determined to put my emotions and my crazy behind me and just enjoy. Encourage others. Listen. Learn. Leave. Here's the real kicker: There's no reason not to do those things, because there's nothing that is actually wrong!!! I'm not sad about something today… I'm just sad! What's up with that? It's time to get my act together, get out of my own way, and enjoy my day. Right?

First, I dropped Roo off… and had to fight the urge to run back and get him. Then the first person I talked to asked me about a fabulous opportunity I'd been given to serve the women at our church—one that I had, with a very heavy heart, had to turn down. I teared up and got out of there as quickly as I could.

Deep breaths, I thought. Keep it light. I will NOT be "The Girl Who Cries!" I went back to my table and started chatting with the ladies. Yes, Lamb is finally feeling better, thanks. How was YOUR week? Tell me more. How did you feel about that? Really? An alien flew into your hubby's nose disguised as a booger and took over his brain? Yes, that happens to me all the time.Whew, it seems to be working. Not only am I NOT crying, but my mood is actually IMPROVING. This is good. Wait, what did she just say?

After some initial chat time, we had some announcements, etc, and then some worship time. Our worship leader—and our whole leadership team for our study—is fab.u.lous. I don't think she reads my blog… or knows that it exists… but thank you, Kate, for all you do.

ANYWAY, I was hanging in there just fine, getting going, getting past myself, getting into the groove… maybe not exactly happy, but functional, which was a dramatic improvement over how I had been an hour before.

And then it happened. Kate started playing a song. My song. A song that has brought tears to my eyes every single time I have sung it. A song that has had new meaning upon new meaning piled onto it each time I have heard it.

Have you heard the song "He Knows My Name"? It is more special to me than I can describe. I'm embedding it here—it's not my favorite version of the song, but you definitely get the idea.

Let me just give you a LITTLE background on my history with this song. 8 or 9 years ago, I had tried to make contact with my biological father (Have I mentioned on this blog that I am adopted?). One day (long story short), he sent me an e-mail asking me not to contact him again. He addressed it to "Kathy." I. was. heartbroken. That night I went to worship team practice, and our worship leader said, "I want to introduce a new song tonight." And there it was, all spelled out for me: "I have a Father, He calls me His own… He knows my name." Whoa. And God has used that song just as powerfully for me every time I've heard it.

This morning was no exception. "He formed my heart," they sang, and I thought about Roo's tiny heart with two little holes. "Before even time began, my life was in His hands." And He reminded me that Roo's life was in His hands as well.

That was as much as I could take. Three lines into the first verse, I hightailed it out of that room and had myself a good cry. And can I inject a side note here? Just as my tears from the song and its message gave way to my depression which gave way to loneliness, a beautiful face stepped out of the room. A friend had come out to check on me. I was terribly embarrassed to be crying again, but so so so thankful. Thank you, Emily.

So I got it together and got back in there. And can I tell you, I was so ashamed. There were people in there with real actual heartache. I'm not saying that I don't have anything hard right now, but I was so focused on myself because I was down… and I was down, well, just because I was, not because of anything in particular. And I started to get angry. I was angry because I was depressed and because I'm tired of being depressed and I'm tired of worrying about when I'm going to be depressed and how I'm going to handle it and how it affects how other people see me.

And for a brief moment I thought about grabbing the mic and saying, "Just so you all know, I am NOT The Girl Who Cries! I am a HAPPY. FREAKING. PERSON!"

But somehow that didn't seem like it would prove the point. Not the point that I was trying to prove, anyway.

So I didn't.

Instead I stopped trying to look like I was focused on what was going on around me, and I started to actually focus on what was going on around me. I stopped telling myself to focus on listening to and encouraging others, and started actually listening to and trying to encourage others. And although I had some weird circumstances toward the end of the morning (By the time I left the church, I had lost one of Roo's socks, Roo's blanket, and one of my earrings…), there were no more tears.

So aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll of that to say, I have penned myself a new Wednesday Prayer. It's not exactly "The Serenity Prayer" or anything, but hopefully it'll get me through:

Lord, give me a buttoned lip,
dry eyes,
and the wisdom to quit worrying about them.

Amen.

Some for 21: Confessions

October is almost over and I haven't done a ton of the "Some for 21" posts that I started earlier this month, but today I want to combine a few thoughts into one post. I was inspired by a post I recently read at another great blog, and I want to tell you some of the things that I have thought over the past four months or am dealing with now. They're not all easy to put into writing, but I hope that they will be helpful if you or someone you know is going through the adjustment of a Down's diagnosis.

Confession #1: Sometimes I don't want to talk about Roo's diagnosis because I can't help you process it yet. One of the hardest parts of talking to others about our struggles is dealing with their emotions, especially when you're first breaking the news to friends or family. I would often feel like I was taking on the role of counselor to help others through my hard time, and it was more than I could take. So I would sometimes avoid phone calls, get-togethers, etc, so that I didn't have to have those one-on-one "sessions." It's easier now, but I still try to make a quick exit from conversations where I feel like I have turned into the therapist for someone who is trying to figure out how to help their friend (ME!) deal with her son's diagnosis.

Confession #2: I'm getting a little bit fed up with the platitudes. I tend to be a pretty laidback person in many respects. Since Roo's diagnosis, I have met several moms of Down's kids who are more easily offended by words than I am—in fact, some of them are probably upset that I just used the term "Down's kids." But those things don't tend to bother me. Many of them get very upset over society's casual use of the "r" word (ie, "That's so r*****ed! I can't believe you did that!") and I totally get it—I really do. Please don't hear me say that it's no big deal, because I completely understand that words can be so hurtful and that this one in particular can be downright painful to hear. But I can't say that it really gets under my skin that much. But the things that people say to try to make it all better… those are starting to wear a little thin. Again, I understand the need people feel to say something, to try to make us feel better, to try to make themselves feel better, and I kept trying to let it go—like water off a duck's back, right? But you can only let so much roll off your back before you get soaked. I'm soaked. I'm alllllllll filled up and weighed down with platitudes, and I can't take many more. If one. more. person. feels the need to tell me that Roo is such a sweet baby AND THEN FOLLOW IT UP WITH "those kids are always so happy", I'm going to punch them. At least then they'll know that the mamas aren't always so happy.

Confession #3: I am tired. I am incredibly thankful for the therapies that are available to Roo, and our therapists are great. It has truly been a very interesting learning experience to find out the growth/developmental benefits of so many of the things that we naturally do with babies. (Bouncing them on your knee, for example, strengthens their core muscles and is actually good for their nervous system. Who knew???) But I'm tired of them. I'm tired of having to put so much thought and effort into things that come naturally for many babies. I'm tired of wondering when he's going to be able to sit up. I'm tired of feeling guilty every time I set him on the floor because he can only lay there. And I feel incredibly guilty because I know that it's not about me, it's about what is best for my child. And don't get me wrong—I do it all anyway—but I'm just… over it. But you know what? Every single time I start to think I don't want to do it anymore, I look at that sweet sweet sweet little face, and my heart completely melts and I am happy to do anything for him.

Confession #4: I am nervous about the future. Sometimes I think that my "acceptance" of Roo's Down syndrome is really just masked denial—that I just don't think about it a lot of the time because he really doesn't look much different from any other baby, especially when you take into account that he's so small. But that's not always going to be the case. Someday he's going to look different, talk different, act different. What if I have a hard time accepting that? And what will I do when others have a hard time accepting that?—because I know that day is coming, the day when he is rejected or looked down on or picked on because of his Down's. To be honest, though, every time I start to get nervous about my future with Roo, I realize that I am equally nervous about the future with the other kids, too. The specifics might be different—What will Lamb be like as a teenager? Will Monkey disown me by the time he gets to high school? Will the kids move far away? Will we have a good relationship with them? Am I completely screwing them up?—but the nerves are the same. Each child, each relationship, is unique, special needs or not.

Confession #5: Sometimes I'm still sad. But when I grieve, I am grieving for Roo and the hardships that he will face, not because of Roo. And when I struggle inside myself, it is that Mommy Guilt that most moms know all too well, the guilt of wondering if I am making the right choices for Roo—not guilt over struggling to love my child. I am completely, totally, wholeheartedly in love with this sweet baby boy. How could I not be?

Confession #6: I'm realizing that life goes on. The last few months have been hard, but hard things happen. Roo has Down syndrome—that's our hard thing right now. Other friends of mine are dealing with divorce, with cancer, with loss of jobs, with hard adoptions. Life is hard. But you keep moving forward. Life—even our life right here in this house, even Roo's life—does not revolve around Down syndrome. And that's good, because that would be a very small and sad existence indeed. But life is about more than a diagnosis. It is trips to the park and hearing about Lamb's days at school and visiting Nana & Papa and family movie nights and getting to know each other and growing and laughing and crying and so many other things. And it's about taking all of the good and bad and all that we're learning and using it to serve God and others. And we're getting there, we really are.

Confession #7: I'm not being very productive right now. My kids are all asleep in bed (Lamb is home from school with a fever.), the van is full of stuff from Wal-Mart, the dishes need to be done, my to-do basket on my desk is full… and I'm blogging. It looks like it's time for me to get to work.

Lifelines of Grace

OK, friends, it's time for a little honesty. I've been drowning lately. Drowning in laundry, in dishes, in packing lunches, in the pile of papers on my desk, in the 5,000 projects I can never seem to get to, in doctor's appointments and therapy appointments, in pressure to keep my house looking nice and to spend more time with my kids and to be a coupon queen and to be better at reading my Bible. All of those things… and also drowning in depression. It's been sneaking up on me for a while, and I managed to hold it at bay… and then the week on vacation was fabulous… and this week I feel like I have tumbled down a mountain headfirst. It's been ugly.

But while I've been drowning, God has been sending me little lifelines through the amazing people in my life. Like my neighbor who called yesterday morning just to say how much she appreciated our carpooling arrangement for school. (I know that sounds silly, but I've been kind of stressed out because I felt like I got the better end of the deal and have been worried that she would think I was taking advantage of her. It turns out it's just as beneficial for her as it is for me.) And my dear friend who e-mailed me about running into a guy who knew from high school who has Down syndrome. And the women from my morning Bible study who were all genuinely interested in how our vacation went and how we have been readjusting to "real life." And the women in my evening Bible study (Yes, I'm in two, it's a long story.) who asked about Roo's test results. And the friend—bless her heart—who hardly even knows me, but read my blog and asked if she could come over and help. And my parents, who are willing to drop everything and come over or take the kids because they just found out that I have been struggling and want to do anything they can to help. The unsolicited e-mails from people who are praying for us. The unsolicited hugs from friends.

And most of all, my wonderful husband, who is working dawn to way-past-dusk to make ends meet for our family and who held me through a minor breakdown last night and who is now orchestrating a help-Katy-regainmaintain-her-sanity movement to get me through this rough patch.

Lifelines. I can grab onto them, pull myself up enough to get some air. Yesterday afternoon I felt hopeless. Today I feel… like we might make it through after all. The storms aren't going away any time soon, and the waves will keep crashing… but I know God's going to keep sending those lifelines.

Created to be

For you created my inmost being;
       you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
       your works are wonderful,
       I know that full well.
    --Psalm 139:13-14


This isn't taking God by surprise. I have heard—and spoken—some form of this phrase a zillion times since Roo was diagnosed. In fact, even before then. When Roo spent a week in the hospital as a newborn, I said it to God, although I followed it up with "But that's not really helping me right now!"

God knows. I get that. Sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesn't, but He knows. He knows what's coming and He knows how we'll feel about it and deal with it.

But God doesn't just know. He controls.

I was having a little discussion with God this morning—most of which will be in another post, hopefully tomorrow. And somewhere in the middle of it all, it hit me. God created Roo.

I knew this, of course. On the surface, it shouldn't be a surprise. But there's a deeper truth in there that I had been missing all this time. You see, here's how my talk with God went. (OK, disclaimer here. I'm pretty sure I've said this before, but let me say it again: I do not hear God speaking audibly. When I talk about feeling crazy, it's NOT that kind of crazy. ;-) I just mean that I was praying silently, and God uses Scriptures and truth to reveal Himself and sometimes His answers to my prayers. I may have worded that awkwardly, but it's the best that I can do on the amount of sleep I'm getting. Are we all on the same page? Same chapter, at least? OK, let's move on.) My talk with God…

Me: "I put a shirt on him this morning that says, 'I want to be a fireman when I grow up' and I almost cried, Lord. OK, I know, what 5-month-old actually wants to be a fireman when he grows up? It's silly. But still, he won't. He's not going to be able to be a fireman or a doctor or a lawyer or… so many other things."

God: "Then those weren't the things he was created to be."

Oh.

And then my heart skipped a beat.

Roo was created with Down syndrome. God didn't just know about Roo's "condition" before we did. God created him that way. The life Roo will live is not some consolation prize because he ended up with Down syndrome—it is the life God intended for him, the life God purposed for him. Maybe Roo wasn't created to be a fireman or a doctor or… whatever. But he was created to be something. He was created in God's image. He was created to bring glory to God. He was created to fill a unique purpose.

God's not just OK with this. This is His plan.

I have been told many times in the past three months that God has a plan for Roo and for our family. I knew that, but somehow in my mind it was always a "Plan B"—the way things were going to be now that Roo has Down's. But no. This is Plan A. For Roo, for Lamb, for Monkey, for my husband, and for me. Roo and his diagnosis and the way that he has and will always touch our lives—they're all part of God's plan.

God knit Roo together in my womb, and He crafted each and every cell with one extra chromosome.

And for the first time, I can look at the Down syndrome and at the months behind us and the years to come and say… Praise the Lord.

It’s about time

I have come to a realization. I'm going through some tough stuff right now (No, that is NOT my realization. I'm laying the groundwork here—go with it.), but I'm realizing that I am not going to "get back at life" by eating myself into oblivion. I am not going to prove to God that He was wrong to put these things in my path by lazily refusing to take care of myself. It was worth a shot, but it seems that laying on the couch eating Oreos is not going to fix anything.

Which leads me to a question I've been asking myself lately… Why do I go into "self-destruct mode" when I need to be at my strongest? Right now I feel like many things in life are out of my control, but there are a few things I can do for myself—like go to bed early, eat right, drink lots of water, read my Bible. I'm not going to put "exercise" on that list right now because I have been trying to find time for that and it is really stressing me out right now. But I could at least push myself to be more active with my kids. Don't you love how I can just rattle those things right off? I know all the right things to do. But I'm not doing them. Instead, I'm staying awake far too late (especially considering that Roo is typically up between 5 and 6 in the morning—he often eats and goes back to sleep, but then I'm up for good), eating everything in sight, hardly drinking ANYTHING (I seriously think that I sometimes go 2 days straight without a glass of water, and maybe 1 can of pop in there somewhere.), and worrying more about keeping up on Booth & Brennan (I love "Bones" J) than what God has to say to me. (Yes, I know, it's just summer reruns now, but you get my point.)

And yes, I appreciate the encouragement from those who have told me to give myself a little grace, to give myself a break and realize that things are tough right now. But that's just my point—I'm not helping anything. Do you know that I feel the need to apologize for myself when I meet new people? I want to say, "Hi, I'm Katy. I'm sorry for the way I look—I don't plan to always look this way, but… well… it's been a tough couple of months and I've put on some weight." I don't actually do that, but I have to fight back the words. I seriously wake up in the mornings and I just don't. like. myself. This does not set the stage well for good parenting or coping or… just about anything else.

Last year I started going to counseling for depression. I stopped going shortly after I got pregnant with Roo, but that's another story for another day. Anyway, I liked a lot of things about my counselor, but she routinely recommended that I "give myself some grace." Her advice wasn't wrong—when I'm overwhelmed by depression, I don't also need to overwhelm myself with guilt about the things that I'm not getting accomplished. But sometimes I don't need someone to tell me to take it easy. Sometimes I need someone to kick me in the butt and tell me to get on with life. Sometimes I need to be reminded that pushing through the crummy times will help to reduce the crumminess.

So I guess… that's what I'm doing for myself this morning. "Self," I'm saying, "get out of bed, get a shower, and get started on the day. Take control of what you can control and let go of the rest." It's time to kick myself in the butt, figuratively speaking of course. I won't be able to do that literally for another 20 pounds or so. It's time to accept where I am—with my body, with the unfinished house projects, with my Bible study—and take steps to improve it. Right? I hope you realize that it's a lot easier to type this stuff than to actually say it out loud like I mean it. But I have to start somewhere, and for now I guess I have to fake it till I make it.

That's my plan for today. Or at least for the next 5 minutes. After that I'll have to come back here and reread this post and get myself going for the 5 minutes after that.

So if you see me out somewhere—at my house, at the store, somewhere in cyberspace—could you kick me in the butt a little? Or maybe just give me a hug, that would be good too. Feel free to tell me that I look like I'm losing weight (yes, lie to me, I'm OK with that), that you're praying for me (I hope that one's not a lie!), that it's going to be OK (pretty sure that one's not a lie, but sometimes I have my doubts). But whatever you do, don't tell me to give myself a break. ;-)

What is it to you?

Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, "Lord, who is going to betray you?") When Peter saw him, he asked, "Lord, what about him?"
Jesus answered, "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me." --John 21:20-22

First, some background. Jesus had just asked Peter to "feed the sheep" three times, an indirect response to Peter's three denials of Christ at the cross. Peter may not always have said the right thing, but he was no dummy. He knew Jesus' comments were because of his denials, and he wanted to take the heat off of himself. What better way to do that than to put the spotlight on someone else? He saw John ("the disciple whom Jesus loved") and said, "Hey… um… what about him?" I mean, surely Jesus wanted him to do something, since he loved him so much, right? Shouldn't we talk about how he messed up? What does he need to do? HMMMM??????

I love this passage on so many levels. First of all, Jesus' tone almost makes me laugh out loud. I can't count the number of times in a day that I get frustrated with my children and spout out, "You worry about YOU." That's essentially what Jesus is saying here. "Mind your own beeswax, Peter!" J As a parent, it's nice to know that I'm in good company with my lack of patience for this behavior. In fact…….. maybe next time I'll just say, "As Jesus would say, 'What is that to you?'" Maybe not.

But here's one of those double-edged swords. As much as I don't like to see that nosiness in my children… far too often, I am Peter. I really struggle with jealousy, friends, and yesterday the Lord hit me over the head with this passage. I got an e-mail from a friend with some news in it. It wasn't BIG news—in fact, I don't even know if "news" is the right word. It was just an update, just some information of something that they found out. It was something that I wanted for myself, for my family. It set off a jealousy that just snowballed into a major bad mood.

And God said, "Really? You're letting the day get ruined over this?" And then He said, "What is it to you?"
God has a plan for my friend and her family. God has a plan for the woman who is succeeding in ministry where I am still floundering. God has a plan for those who skinnier, richer, more popular, and more talented than I am. God has a plan for all of those families out there without special needs children.

But God has a plan for me too. When I spend my time looking at their path, envying their journey or trying to make myself feel better by looking at their flaws, I'm taking my eyes off of my own path, where Christ is leading me. I'm taking my eyes off of Him. And how can I follow Him when I'm not even looking at Him?
"What is that to you? You must follow me." Jesus said it to Peter two thousand years ago, and He has said it to me over and over again. Each of us is on a unique journey, and while they all intertwine and we have responsibilities to love and support and encourage each other, we have to recognize that we cannot walk someone else's path—so why take time away from our own lives worrying about theirs?

This experience has served as another good reminder for me as well. As soon as I started getting down and upset about this situation with my friend, this passage immediately popped into my head. I didn't have to go find a Bible dictionary and search for "jealousy" to see what God has to say. I learned this passage years ago, and God brought it to mind when it was appropriate. The word of God is "living and active" and God often uses it to speak to us. It's not only when we're physically sitting down with our Bibles and reading, it is often when we're going through a hard time—or even a great time—and God reminds us of an appropriate verse/passage/book from the Bible. But we can't remember things that we haven't learned. And we're much less likely to remember things that we haven't read in months or years. If I want to hear God speak, I need to be filling my mind with His voice, His words.

So that when I say, "But look at her!"… God can say, "What is that to you?"

So that when I say, "I don't like myself"… God can say, "You are fearfully and wonderfully made."

So that when I say, "Where are you, Lord?"… God can say, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

So that when I say, "Do I even have a purpose?"… God can say, "You are part of my body."

So that when I say, "How are we going to face the future?"… God can say, "Do not worry about tomorrow."

Enjoy your journey, friends.

Life in Holland

Well, I've given you all the latest updates on Roo's tests and treatments, and I've given you an emotional rant or two, but I thought I would take some time to talk to you a little bit more about what life has been like in our house for the past six weeks since Roo's diagnosis.

Here's the long and short of it: It varies minute-by-minute. That's become my standard response when people ask how I'm doing, and it is not a blow-off answer—it is absolutely the truth.

The morning after our first visit to the geneticist, I was almost overwhelmed by how… mundane the morning was. It wasn't any different than the morning before. The sun came up, the kids got up, we ate breakfast… and it was fine. It was normal. It just wasn't good. I kept thinking, "We're OK, but when do we get to be happy again?" The whole idea of being happy ever again seemed ridiculous. How could we dare be happy knowing that Roo was going to go through life with Down syndrome?

Facing people made me almost panicky. The following week I was supposed to meet up with some college friends for a mini-kid-friendly-reunion, but how could I? People were bound to want to see and talk about Roo. The idea of having 15 one-on-one conversations about it made me sick to my stomach, and trying to make a big announcement at lunch didn't seem any better. I really wanted to be there but didn't think I could go through with it. Finally I decided to send a mass e-mail, and I'm sure some of the girls thought I was crazy to make such a big deal about it—but it was the only way I could handle the trip, and they were all very supportive and kind about it. (It ended up being a great break for me and the kids, so I'm glad I went.)

And what about running into people I knew just around town? How do you break this news in the toy aisle of Wal-Mart? And what were they supposed to say? I hated seeing that awkward look on people's faces, that look that says, "Wow, I only said, 'What's new?' to be nice. Now what?" Yes, I know I'm oversimplifying, but you know what I mean.

The idea of talking to strangers wasn't any easier. Roo was (and is) so tiny and so darn cute, people can't help but want to talk to him and fuss over them. (And who can blame them, really?) So should I tell them he has Down syndrome? To blurt it out seemed overly dramatic and like I was begging for sympathy. But to not say anything made me feel like I was ashamed of him or just pretending that everything was OK. Part of me would actually look forward to his condition being more obvious so that I wouldn't have to explain that he has Down's, while at the same time my heart shattered every time I thought about him having an obvious disability.

I also had a stomachache. For… well, I don't really know for how long. It was at least 2-3 weeks straight. Since then, it just returns from time to time when I start to worry about something specific with Roo, like the day of the echocardiogram, or the week that we were waiting for the latest karyotype results. It's less often now, but I do actually wonder if I have given myself an ulcer over this.

Shortly after Roo's diagnosis, I began to look at some things in our life and realized that God had been preparing us for this, just not in the ways I had expected. For one thing, the geneticist's office recommended we get in touch with Help Me Grow, a service the state provides to parents of children under the age of 3. I had actually already been involved with Help Me Grow (long story short, I'd heard good things about them and got connected with a service coordinator when Lamb was just a few months old, so I'd had a service coordinator for 5 years), and my service coordinator had already come out to visit since Roo had been born. We had planned to just do some basic age-appropriate activities with Roo, just like we had done with my other kids. I called her the day after the appointment to tell her that we were going to need a new plan.

A few days later, we received a very nice card in the mail from her, along with an essay called Welcome to Holland. Since then several others have also sent or e-mailed me the same essay. It truly is a fabulous explanation of life with a special needs child, and it really helped me to put words to my feelings. I highly recommend that everyone read it.

My emotions were—and continue to be—all over the place. Sometimes I am overwhelmingly sad. Sometimes I decide that it's time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and move on. And sometimes I feel completely numb. But more than anything, especially in the first week or two, I have been angry, as you may have guessed from my recent "top ten" list. Not with Roo, of course, and really not even with God—although there have been moments. It's just been a vague, indiscriminate anger. I would get angry with the doctor for diagnosing it. Angry with people who have lots of children and none with disabilities. Angry with people in the grocery store line or the car in front of me or whatever else I could think of to be angry about.

I think I'm over that initial… onslaught of anger, but I am still on quite a mental roller coaster. I think it's especially hard right now because he really doesn't seem different from any other baby. Yes, if you lay him down next to any other 4-month-old, you would definitely notice developmental differences—Roo can't sit up with support, he doesn't reach for toys as well as he should, if he's on his belly he can only hold his head up for a few seconds. But I don't lay him down next to other 4-month-olds, so I don't notice. Add to that the fact that he's still the size of a 1-month-old (more on that in a minute), and he really seems developmentally normal to most people. So much of the time, I think the reality of it just hasn't set in. And then some days it hits me just how permanent this all is—this isn't some sickness that he'll recover from, it's not a "delay" that he'll outgrow. This is it. Forever. On those days, it literally takes the breath right out of me.

The things that overwhelm me aren't the short-term issues—the delayed crawling and walking, the blocked tear ducts, the early intervention, etc. Believe it or not, I get absolutely weighed down by the idea that he will probably get made fun of in school, that he probably won't get married, that he's not likely to ever have children. I worry about what he'll do for a living, where he'll live.

The saving grace to this whole fiasco has definitely been my big kids, who absolutely dote on him and think every single thing he does is fabulous. They love going to play with Nana & Papa or their friends when Roo has appointments; they introduce themselves to the therapists who come over and ask them to play; they keep a close eye on him and make sure to report to me anything exciting that he does—you know, like, breathing. Their simple and unconditional love is beautiful. And the fact that Roo is so sweet and adorable, well, that helps too. ;-) And my husband—oh, my wonderful husband. He is amazing. He ran right through those 5 stages of grief and got to acceptance in record time. Not that he's happy about the diagnosis, but he is fabulously looking on the bright side. He told me a few days after that first appointment, "Our other kids will outgrow me. But Roo won't. He'll be my buddy." Jon is looking forward to taking Roo to work with him, doing projects together. It simultaneously warms and breaks my heart. Talk about bittersweet.
So that's… where we are, I guess. I'm sure there is more, but that's all I can think of right now. That's our life in a nut shell.

By the way, today was Roo's 4-month well-child visit. I had a hard time going to the appointment because it seems wrong to take him to a "well" anything. Yes, I know, he's not sick… I'm just still adjusting, you know? ANYWAY, it went fine—as in, no new bombs were dropped, which is all that I can ask for at this point. He is growing well, and is now up to 10 pounds, 9 ounces (and 22.8 inches long)! Grow, baby, grow! J Our pediatrician wants to keep him on the higher calorie formula until he's eating solid foods, but other than that did not have any pressing concerns.  (I don't think I mentioned this before, but the breastfeeding didn't last long once we got home from the hospital.  Pumping every 3 hours with 3 little kids just didn't happen.

So thank you for your continued prayers. We are adjusting to life in Holland, trying to enjoy the sites. See you soon.

Top 10 Reasons that Life isn’t Fair

So I recently decided to take part in a blogging challenge to improve both my readership and my skills. As with everything in life, I am already impossibly far behind on it—and it just started this week. Anyway, day 2's task ("we" are now on day 8) was to write a list post. So here is a little glimpse into how I am thinking and feeling right now…

The Top 10 Reasons that Life isn't Fair

1. Because more is supposed to be better. Yes, I can see that missing a chromosome could be a problem, but an extra one? Shouldn't that just make him better/smarter/stronger/cooler???
2. Because no amount of money or effort can "fix" it. Down syndrome is in his genetic makeup, and there is nothing we can do about it.
3. Because this just isn't me. I have actually rewritten this sentence 3 times because I feel so guilty to put this in writing, but… I have never been "good" with people who have special needs. It makes me very uncomfortable. And now I just said that I am uncomfortable around people like my own child. How wrong is that?
4. Because I already have an interesting life story, thank you, and I don't need another one. Yes, I know what a wonderful story we will have to tell and how Roo is going to touch so many lives, etc, etc, etc. But my adoption story (which is on my former blog and which I may eventually retell/import/turn into a book that no one would actually believe) will suffice for me, and Roo could find other ways to touch people.
5. Because "How are you?" shouldn't be such a complicated question to answer. Do you mean right this moment or overall? Do you mean how am I doing with Roo's diagnosis or aside from it? Or maybe you're just being polite, in which case I still don't really know what to say.
6. Because this one tiny little chromosome screws up every single area of life. He starts physical therapy this week—before his 4-month "birthday"—and occupational therapy next week. He has 2 holes in his heart. His right tear duct is clogged. Even his TEETH are likely to come in at different times and in a different order from other children's. NOTHING IS NORMAL.
7. Because everyone else gets to go home. We have had tremendous support from friends and family. But the bottom line is, no matter how much someone cares for us or cries with us or helps us… at the end of the day, that person gets to go home and go back to their "normal" life.
8. Because this is not the "summer before kindergarten" that I had planned to spend with Lamb. I wanted to do so many fun things—all of the things I thought we'd have tons of time to do over the last 5 years but never got around to doing—and I've been in such a daze that we have done almost nothing.
9. Because we have enough other stuff to deal with right now.  There are other things going on right now, relationship issues that are breaking my heart, work issues that are stressing me out, childrearing issues that make me want to pull out my hair.  You'd think that a major thing like this might help to put it all into perspective, but it just makes everything seem magnified about 100 times.
10. Because every emotion I have is accompanied by guilt. When I feel sad, I feel guilty because I don't want the big kids to think that I am sad BECAUSE of Roo. When I am angry, I feel guilty if I take it out on someone who doesn't deserve it. When I am happy, well then I feel especially guilty because it seems just plain wrong to be happy in the face of what Roo and the rest of us are dealing with right now. How can we ever be happy again?
11. Because other people have a lot more kids than we do without having Down syndrome—or any other "syndrome"—come into their lives. Yes, I know it is shallow and borderline mean to say it, but I'm emotional and venting so you'll just have to forgive me because I'm going to say it anyway. Why couldn't this just happen to someone else?
12. Because everyone keeps telling me what a "special" journey we're embarking on and all I want is the same normal road everyone else gets to travel.

And yes, I know it was supposed to be 10, but life is just so unfair right now that my "top 10" list has grown to 12 items.

So that's my angry rant for tonight, friends. I apologize for sounding bitter, but I started this blog in part so that I could share all of this with you—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Tonight's an ugly night. But even in the middle of all of my anger and hurt, a Bible verse keeps echoing in my head—one that I learned shortly before all of this drama with Roo started.

"Why are you downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed in me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God." --Psalm 42:11

I will yet praise him. I will still praise him. Even though life sucks right now. Even though I don't know what tomorrow will bring. Even though my emotions may vary "from minute to minute", as I have started saying a lot. I will yet praise him.

Where is God?

As I wrote the title to this post, it reminded me of a little outing I had a chance to take with just the Monkey last week. It is very rare that I get time alone with him, and I am always amazed at how sweet and funny he is. As we drove down the road he said, "Mommy, God is everywhere."

"Yes, Honey, you're right," I answered.

"So He's here? Right now?"

"Yep," I said. "He's right here with us now."

Pause.

"Do you think I could put on my dinosaur mask and scare Him?"

I love that boy.

God is right here, right now. I know this is true. I'll be honest, friends… I don't feel this to be true right now. But I still know it.

Part of the reason I've found the time to post every day is because I want to get you all caught up on Roo and his story, so that I can start to share what's happening now. It's been a tough couple of weeks. I know God is in them. But I don't feel Him.

I haven't opened my Bible in over two weeks. That was when we first went to the specialist's office and found out the latest news with Roo. Shortly before this appointment, our pastor had shared during a sermon that he had been struggling with journaling and praying about a tough health situation his wife was having. A counselor friend of his encouraged him, "You don't train for a marathon when you're running a marathon. You rely on the training you've already had to get you through." I think of those words often, and I have leaned heavily on them in the past two weeks.

Here's the problem: What's another word for something on which you lean heavily? Um, I believe that's called a crutch. That's what those words have become. A crutch. An excuse. Bottom line: I'm avoiding God. I sit down with my Bible and I don't know what to read. I don't necessarily want to read something that will make me feel better, because… well… to be honest, I don't want to feel better right now. I just want to lay here and let it hurt. (That's sort of an inside joke between my hubby & me. I'll tell you that story another time. Hopefully you get the gist, though.) I don't want to read Psalms of David's despair, because I have finally become numb and don't know if I want to reopen the wounds and read something that will make me cry. Sometimes I have an idea of what I want to read but don't know exactly where to find it, so I give up because I just don't have the energy to search.

Excuses. They are all excuses.

So I've been trying to figure it out tonight, why I'm really avoiding God. Is it because I'm angry with Him? I am definitely angry with the situation. Is it because I can't find Him in all this? Not exactly. I can see His purposes in our situation, but… aha. Here's the problem: I don't want to see Him in this. I don't want to run to Him for comfort because accepting His grace to get through this means accepting that He has allowed this situation to be part of our lives. And I can't accept that yet. I'm avoiding God because I can't take the comfort without accepting that it came from the same hand that is bringing the pain.

Sooooooo… why am I writing this? I don't know. I don't have any great conclusion right now, any pick-me-up revelation that occurred to me. I just have hurt. Transparency. This is where I am. I'll get past it, I know I will. But maybe just not tonight.

By the way, one day when I was in a bad mood my hubby put Monkey's dinosaur mask on me and threatened to make me wear it whenever I was grumpy. Maybe he was onto something. Do you think I can put it on and scare God?