In A Field

She arrived at 7:39 pm on January 27, 2001.  A reddish, cone-head.  Wayne hesitantly asked the doctor, her head will be normal, right ?  He laughed, I'm sure he had heard that one before.  I laid in the bed, viewing it all like I was living as someone else.  The nurse placed a swaddled bundle in my arms and I peered down into her tiny, dark, squinted eyes.  She was perfect.  A little bow of a mouth, delicate fingers and toes, head full of brown hair.  I had trouble registering the thoughts that were flying through my mind.  I was utterly overwhelmed and unaware. Terrified.  What wisdom did I have to impart to this little miracle of a child laying in my arms?  She had no idea what she was in for. The first two weeks were so difficult.  Suddenly I found myself at the beck and call of a tyrant who demanded food, cleanliness, cuddles, and rocking.  Living for myself had never been ...

My cup is full to overflowing. I feel like I could cry and cry and cry today and then when I thought I had cried enough tears, they would surface once more and I would do it all over again. I am humbled by gratitude. Thankful that God has clasped my little hand in His large, able one. That I am blessed with so much love, hope, and life. That my life counts for something. That I am something. And that something is beautifully marred and slightly worn. Time slowly marches across the delicate skin around my eyes, skips through my hair and weathers my heart and soul. The first two are slightly annoying in their persistence, but the latter is what I most look forward to as the years pass. I am getting better with age. As we all should be. Why fight back? I'm looking ahead to 40..... and beyond. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 2 Corinthians 4:16

We talk about Him.  You tell me about His goodness in the past.  That you have seen His hand in your life.  But you are struggling.  Slowly, I watch as the joy seeps from your life.  The light in your eyes fades, you look weary and tired.  Bearing a load you weren't meant to carry.  My heart aches for you.  I try throwing you a line, "Please, try seeing Him this way",  but you are stuck under the weight of the burden.  You tell me you will.  Later. I call you on it.  I ask you plainly if you've tried.  "I haven't been feeling well....."   "I haven't really had the chance...."  "I tried and I got nowhere...."   You think your excuses cover you.  I can see right through them.  You're afraid.  But you won't admit it.  How have you grown afraid of the One you love?  What lie has led you to believe He can't be trusted?  You trade peace f...

Elias runs by me, chasing after his baby brother.  I watch him go, laughing, yelling, running.    We received another piece to the puzzle that is Elias.  I've just hung up with his pediatrician.  The results of his microarray scan were in.   An abnormality was found.   His 2nd chromosome is duplicated.   The report said this was an insignificant medical finding.  The importance of this?   It may shed light on why he is different in the ways he is. I was sitting in the living room after the phone call.   I can't really explain how I felt after hearing the news.   It was a bit anticlimactic.   He's been doing so well lately, we hardly notice his little quirks anymore.   It didn't really change anything.   And yet, it did.  My sister-in-law Kelly said it was "good" news in a strange sort of way.  The next step is to figure out if all of our children have this sa...