When the Learning Gates are Closed: Searching for Answers

This is our story of discovering how to parent and educate our son in the best way possible. It is scary to write about this topic because it is intensely personal and it concerns my child, whom I always want to treat with respect. However, my goal in writing down our story is to give other families hope and direction. If you need hope and direction in your parenting journey, welcome. I share our story for you. 

You can read Part 1 of Benji's Story here.  

After I talked to the teacher at the Back to School night, I wavered between feeling unsettled and proud of myself for "doing the right thing." I DID do the right thing--I said something to the teacher. The ball was in her court. She would observe and make recommendations as the educational professional. I looked forward to hearing her thoughts at the Nine Week parent-teacher conference.

Nine weeks passed.
I left the conference feeling confused and irritated.
I had talked, shared my concerns, again....but I didn't feel heard.
I had asked questions...but didn't get clear answers.
I had requested her opinions about my son...but she never "got around" to sharing them.
She wanted to "wait and see."

I had thrown the ball. She was supposed to throw it back, right? But I realized after the meeting that she had not caught my concern. The ball was still in my hands.

I didn't want to wait. I needed to search for answers myself.

First I wanted to rule out any physical problems. We took Benji for an eye exam. He had a slight astigmatism but he didn't need glasses. I checked that off my to-list.

But what was the next step? I literally felt paralyzed. I needed answers but I didn't even know what questions to ask. Finally, on October 4, 2014, I wrote a facebook post in a private moms group I belonged to.

"Moms, my husband and I have been concerned about our son (now in 1st grade) for over a year that he may have a learning disability, such as dyslexia. I have spoken to teachers, etc. and we are monitoring but I am leaning toward trying to get him officially tested. Someone recommended Hutcherson Early Learning Center as a testing location but this resource seems like it is just for pre-school children. Can anyone offer some direction for me? I can't ignore the signs or my intuition on this." 

Information came pouring in. Some recommend this testing center or that service. Others shared their stories of how they went through special education testing. One mom gave me a link to the Virginia Special Education Guide. I clicked through but was so overwhelmed that the only thing I grasped from the handbook was that I needed write a formal letter to the school if I wanted them to conduct testing. 

I felt like the school was ignoring my son (this actually wasn't true, but it was how I felt last school year) since the teacher wasn't seeing what we were seeing. I needed another way to get answers before I wrote any formal letters. 

One mom said she had her son tested by a woman in town who was a "lay-expert" in dyslexia. She had traversed these waters with her two sons, both severely dyslexic, and now her sons were grown, in college, and successful! I got her information and wrote her a message on Facebook: 

Hello Ms. _____ I am sorry to contact you about a formal issue in such an informal way as facebook but your name was given to me by several mom friends about testing for dyslexia. I was wondering if you still do official testing for learning issues such as this.
My husband and I have been noticing issues with our son, Benji (1st grade) since last year such as: 
1. Inverting numbers/letters when writing
2. Sounding out words backwards or from the middle letter
3. Writing words backwards Writing words of a sentence completely out of order
4. Not being able to read common sight words, even after just seeing the word Etc.
Benji is at ________elementary school. I have spoken to teachers but have not gotten the information, ideas, or support about how to help him with these issues.
I would love to speak with you more, if you have the time. Thank you!

I wondered if I was crazy sending that message. I wondered if I was just making things up. I wondered if I was doing the right thing. But in the middle of all my self-doubt, I took the first step.

She contacted me within a few days and we set up a meeting for testing on October 20.

The testing was very interesting and actually fun for Benji. She had him read and write for her, as well as repeat strings of words, directions, and re-tell a story. He did balancing exercises, eye tracking, and threw a ball with his right and left hand, as well as other tests.  We spend almost two hours with her.

"So, do you think he is dyslexic?" I asked, as Benji played Angry Birds with one of her grown sons on his iPhone.

Her eyes and voice softened. "It isn't that simple. Dyslexia is actually difficult to diagnosis and I am only an expert on my own children. One of the formal marks of dyslexia is "being behind two grade levels in reading." Since he is only in first grade, it is difficult to know...or assign terms." 

Then she talked about Learning Gates. She used this term to describe how the brain responds to four different avenues of learning:  visual, auditory, writing, and spatial (how one's body moves in a given space).

Her initial assessment shocked me: "From the tests, it seems to me that most of his learning gates are partially, if not fully, closed."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means that the right and left sides of the brain are not communicating with each other through wide open pathways. His pathways, or gates, are shut. When something is blocking that gate, learning cannot happen."

I nodded, taking it all in. It was like trying to swallow the ocean.

She wrote up an official report so I could share the results of her assessment with his teachers, etc.

We got the next 9 week report card: The results were not good. So many U's. (Unsuccessful). My heart was breaking for my little boy.

I scheduled another meeting with the teacher. Again, despite all my best communication efforts, I felt like we were not on the same page. She seemed nervous and intimidated. She didn't hold my my concerns with the weight that I held them. I felt the strange need to soothe her during our meeting, when in reality, I was one who needed to be reassured. I told her that I would email her a copy of the testing results.

I forgot to send the email. By now it was late autumn and I was very pregnant with our fourth son. The holidays pounced and consumed my time and thoughts. My belly grew larger and my due date crept closer. 

I tried to carve out the mental space to think about Benji. I unearthed the Virginia Special Education Guide and read about how to request formal evaluation: I needed to write a letter and give it to the administration. 
I read about my legal rights: After my formal request, the school was required, by law, to refer my request for evaluation to a special education team. 
The team was required to contact me within 3 days to let me know if they would evaluate my son. Once they decided to evaluate, we would be on a 60 day time line for the testing.

I decided to write a letter.

To be continued....
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More Posts about our Journey

When Silence is Full of Words
It Means You need to be Strong and Brave: Telling my Son about his Learning Disabilities
Reading Sucks

I don't need to be Intimidated by what you're good at

Intimidate:
1. To overawe through the force of superior talent

2. To force someone into action by inducing fear

As I scrolled through my Facebook feed this morning, I felt that familiar sinking feeling. Pictures of First Day of School decorations and celebrations from the kitchens of friends far and near seemed to mock me.

I inwardly sighed. I'm no good at that stuff. I suck at decorating and celebrations. And I know I'd be a terrible homeschool mom...

In this Pintrest-Perfect, Post-it-to-Facebook world we live in, it is easy to feel like we don't measure up.
...Wow! She's training for a marathon? Does running after a toddler count as exercise?
...They are always doing such creative projects.  I never think of things like that.
...She always looks so nice. Maybe I should change my yoga pants. 

Of course, we all know that most people only present their best selves on social media, and it really is fun to see the amazing things our friends are doing.

But instead of feeling bad about all the things I am NOT doing or am NOT good at, I need to realize this truth: I don't need to be intimidated by what my friends are good at.

Just because someone else is good at her life doesn't mean that I'm bad at everything.

I mean, I am bad at a lot of things:

Keeping up with housework (and laundry...)
Doing my hair and make up (Can you say "2nd day hair messy bun"?)
Exercise (Sweat and I are not on good terms)
Feeding my pets (poor bird and guinea pig!)
Decorating cakes (seriously. They look like they were run over by a lawn mower by the time I am done)
Listening to my kids read (if ever there was an activity that needed the patience of a saint...)

But I'm good at lots of things too!

Sewing stuffed animals and gifts
Cooking meals my family and friends love
Answering emails quickly
Tickling fights
Sticking to an organized schedule
Doing research
Being a public school mom (I hope!)

And lots of other things too (which I can't think of...apparently "Thinking of things I am good at" is not one of things I am good at)!

You don't need to be afraid that you am not a good person/mother/human just because you are impressed with another person's unique gifts.

So keep sharing your First Day of School Pictures, mama, and your beautifully decorated cakes, and your amazing homeschool projects.

Instead of being intimidated, I am going to put my own insecurities aside and give you a cyber high five (or click "like"!) and celebrate the amazing gifts that make you you! 
  
Do other people's gifts intimidate you?
What are you good at? 

If you think something is wrong, trust your gut

This is our story of discovering how to parent and educate our son in the best way possible. It is scary to write about this topic because it is intensely personal and it concerns my child, whom I always want to treat with respect. However, my goal in writing down our story is to give other families hope and direction. If you need hope and direction in your parenting journey, welcome. I share our story for you. 

I remember conversations I had with my husband last summer, 2014.

"He's really struggling. I tried having him read to me today. It was miserable. He has to sound each word out, even if we just read it two seconds ago. Or he keeps starting with the middle sound or the end sound. He gets so angry."

"Is he still doing the reversals?"

"Yeah."

"I noticed that too, but when we were doing some number stuff last night."

"Do you think I should say something to his new teacher?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

I didn't really know what to do. I knew that lots of Kindergarten, and even 1st grade, students have trouble with reading and reversals at times. But I had that little niggling feeling.

And this time, I decided not to ignore it.

I say "this time" because I have had that feeling about my son in the past, a feeling that made me knit my brows and say "hmm...I wonder..." Other times I would throw up my hands in frustration and wonder which one of us was riding the crazy train (probably both).

 Even when Benji was two years old, my husband said, "There's just something...I don't know. That kid's unique."

We talked about how Benji lived in his own little world. We described him as "quirky," "zany," and "his own person." We joked with him: "Which planet are you on today, Benji?" And he would answer us--in great detail! Oh, his little sense of humor!

But I struggled to understand him.

I can't tell you how many times I've covertly googled "Autism symptoms," "Learning disabilities," and "Dyslexia." I've scrolled through dozens of lists, articles, stories  but have always come up short: "No. He doesn't fit that list...not quite. We fine. He's fine. Besides, if something was really wrong, someone will say something."

I mean, he was in day care and preschool off and on from age 2-4. Someone would say something if something was really wrong.

Right?

We chalked his struggles and behavior issues up to his age:
Well, he's only 3.
His teacher will say something if there is something going on.
LOTS of preschoolers act like that!
Well, he IS a boy! 
He's so young.
Lots of kindergarten students do that.

And suddenly, he was almost 7 and I was running out of excuses.
Yet...not one of his teachers or caregivers ever said anything to me.

And that meant nothing was wrong. Right?

I placed so much of my trust in other people's professional opinions that I stifled the growth of my "mother's intuition."

Sure, I had learned to trust intuition in the past--and it had been right. But my intuition had been about physical, medical problems.

This...this had no name. It was something I couldn't see, couldn't put my finger on. It changed, morphed, disappeared, and then violently resurfaced. Some days we were fine.

Other days, we were...not fine.

So I decided to stop ignoring my gut.

I sat down with Benji's first grade teacher at the Back to School night in early September and told her of some of our concerns. I asked her to keep an eye out for some issues we were seeing.

When our conversation was over, I was glad I talked to her...but I didn't feel any better.
Did she believe me?
Did she think I was being "that parent," the hovering, over-indulgent, coddling type?
Did she even take me seriously?
Would she see what we, as parents, saw?
Of course she would! She was a professional educator. As a professional, she would be able to tell us if something was wrong.

Right?

I didn't get any answers that night; in fact, taking my concerns out of my head and talking about them just added more questions and worries to the situation.

But, that night, something important happened: I stopped ignoring my gut, even if my intuituion was about something that I couldn't see, or quantify, or even describe very well.

Something was going on with my son, and I was going to discover what it was.

To be continued....
_____________________________________________________________

Are you ignoring or listening to your gut? 

Following your intuition often leaves you with more questions than answers. But if you think something is wrong with your child, trust yourself. You know your child better than anyone. No "professional" can ever know or love your child as well as you do.

When you can't do it all...ask for help

"I don't know how you do it."

I hear this phrase a lot--from my mom, mother-in-law, friends, colleagues--and inwardly cringe every time. I don't know how to answer this phrase. Is it a compliment? A warning of impending insanity?

Usually say, "Me neither."

I do a lot of things, but so do lots of women. And like lots of women, I usually keep all the balls I juggle in the air.

I have four children: school aged twins, a toddler, and baby, all of whom are constantly hungry
I have a house that never stays picked up, let alone clean
I work from home as an adjunct English professor and freelance editor
I have a husband whom I love dearly (oops! Can't forget about him!)
But this summer, stuff got real. Stuff hit the fan.

This summer, I felt like Life was holding a whip to my back, screaming at me: "DO IT, WOMAN! DO ALL THE THINGS! DO ALL THE THINGS AND BE AMAZING TOO!"

And this summer, I've to confront my Life, the task-master of my own creation, and whisper, "I can't."

So I've had to say four words that I have stubbornly, foolishly resisted-with-all-my-being to say in the past.

No
and
I need help 

This is how I WAHM (work at home mom)

In order to say "yes" to my basic Life responsibilities, I've had to be honest with myself and say, "My life is not working right now. I am stressed out of my mind. Something needs to change." So...

I gave up a volunteer position I loved.

I cut short a summer book club I started.

Because I have 55 students in my current 8 week term (a course load I used to handle with ease), I scheduled babysitters to watch the kids a few times a week so I can go to Panera and frantically grade papers for a few hours without distractions.

I enrolled my 2 year old in two-day preschool this fall.

I want to do it all. But I just can't.

And that's ok. Because none of us can do it all, all the time. Sometimes we have to ask for help.

Read with your child in 48 [Hard] steps!

For some kids, learning to read is not as easy as 1-2-3! It's more like climbing a very hard, tall, rocky, frustrating mountain.

Maybe you've climbed this mountain too.

The 48 Steps to reading with your (struggling) reader:

1. Call child. Tell him that it is time to read.
2. Call child again when he refuses to come.
3. Give yourself mental pep-talk (you can do this!!)
4. Let child choose book.
5. Child chooses book.
6. Child throws book after getting stuck on the third word.
7. Child chooses 2nd book. 
8. Child starts screaming at you after you tell him to "sound out" 7th word.

10. Tell child to calm down.
11. Child runs out of the room
12. Tell child to come back.
13. Child refuses.
14. You realize that child needs to "reset brain." Insist your child run around the house.
15. Child screams at you and refuses.
16. Suggest Jumping Jacks.
17. Repeat steps 14 and 15.

18. Take a break to nurse the baby.

19. Go find your child. Fight anxiety that your child has actually run away instead of running around the house.
20. Find child in the backyard. Breathe a sigh of relief.
21. Chat calmly with child about how he needs to work through his "brain funk" by moving his body.
22. Child decides to "move his body."
23. Give enthusiastic praise as child spins on swing, jumps on trampline in a a circle, and hangs from the top of the swingset like a monkey.
24. Child feels better.
25. Go back inside.
26. Child chooses 3rd book, one that he has read before.
27. Open book. Realize that there is an "Instructions for Early Readers" page.
28. Read page quickly to yourself and realize you have been doing everything "wrong" with your early reader.
29. Feel lots of guilt.

30. Child starts reading.
31. Resist urge to correct.
32. Resist urge to say "sound it out" every 2. 5 words.
33. Say GREAT JOB!!! every time you finish a page.
34. Give high fives!
35. Laugh with child at the funny parts.
36. Say "that's a bossy 'e'"
37. Say "sound it out."

38. Wait calmly and silently while child screams at you and then buries head in the couch.
39. Wait some more.
40. When child resurfaces, repeat steps 36-39 twice.
41. Say, "You're doing great!"
42. Say, "Only 2 more pages!"
43. Turn the page. Realize you lied.

44. Repeat steps 41-42.
45. Repeat steps 38-39.

46. Finish book.
47. Give high five!
48. Take five deep breaths and make yourself a cup of coffee.

Helping your struggling reader is no joke. Hang in there, mama. I'm right there with you.

"It means you need to be strong and brave:" Telling my son about his learning disabilities

"MOOOOMMM!" He yelled. "STOP!"

"I'm sorry! Sound it out. h-h-h--"

"MooOOOM!" His voice took on an even angrier edge, his eyes flashing irritation.

"Benji, just read it. Sound it out. Start at the beginning."

"This! THIS!"

"It's not "this." There's no 'th.' Sound it out, Honey. "h-iiii--"

"GAHH! MOM!!! I don't WANT YOUR HELP!" He dropped to the floor and flung his arms around his knees, making himself into a ball, a position that is all too familiar to me.

I was losing my temper and trying not to. We had been at this for twenty minutes.

One Bible Verse: Twenty minutes.

"Stand up! Get off the floor! Let me help you--"

"I don't want your help!!!!"

"BENJI!!!!"

"No! NO NO NO!"

And we were fighting...again.

I knew I needed to calm down. We have deep ruts down this path, the path of fighting, struggling, pressing forward and falling down...deep down into relational brokenness, all over reading.

But it's more than reading troubles. We just learned some new names for it: Language Processing Learning Disability and Auditory Processing Disorder.

It affects so much of my son's daily life: listening; processing sounds, words, and their meanings; understanding requests and direction; remembering instructions; basic, daily communication; and the ever-dreaded reading.

And here we were again, in the same deep, frustrated, angry, miserable-mom-miserable-son, RUT.

"Let's breathe," I said. And we did.

He pretended he was a balloon, squeezing out all of his angry air.

I decided to take a step into unknown territory, to forge a new path.

"Look at me, buddy. I want to be a team. Can we be a team?"

"I'm only teams with super heroes!"

"Well, can we be a super hero reading team?"

Then I held him on my lap, my little-big bony boy and spoke quietly into his ears, so sensitive to noise that listening to music in church causes weekly meltdowns.

"Benji, you know how you have trouble listening, and understanding words sometimes? How it's hard to follow directions and read? Well, it's because you have something called Auditory Processing Disorder."

He turned to face me, curious.

"You know how you have pathways from your ears to your brain? Well, sometimes those pathways go...um..." I made a noise that sounded like a cross between static and clearing your throat, because he likes noises. "CHXXXTCH! and the message doesn't meet your brain in the way it came through your ear."

He stared at me, his head cocked to one side and said, "CHXXTCH!"

"That's right! So when the CHXXTCH! happens, it's hard to listen and follow directions. And it makes reading hard."

"I do not like to read."

"I know, baby, I know. How about I read it to you, and you just listen?" So I read his memory verse again. "How 'bout I read it one more time?"

"No, mom! I'll read it." He said enthusiastically. And he tried again, he tried so hard.

We stumbled to the last word. "Faithfulness." I prompted.

"Thankfulness."

"No, faith-ful-ness."

"Thankfulness"

"Th-th-th."

"F-f-f-f"

"FAITHFULNESS."

"THANKFULNESS."

And then I saw it, a rare glimpses into my son's world.

"Benji--do "faithfulness" and "thankfulness" sound like the same word?"

"Yeah." Duh.

"Ok, I see." I nodded, reveling in the clarity of this moment. "They really are different. Here, put your teeth on your lips: f-f-f."

He tried: "f-th-th-f. ffffffaaaiiinkfulness. faaaiiinthnnkkfullness."

He tried. He tried over and over: "Fainkfulness. Thaithfulness. Faithfulness! MOM! I DID IT!"

"You did it!

"Faithfulness! Fainkfulness!"

It didn't matter. He was smiling, his brow free from his debilitating frustration. We did a special fist-bump-high-five combo.

He read the verse one more time, halting, stopping-starting, mis-reading, mis-interpreting, pushing through the overwhelming CHXXXTCH in his brain. We finished together.

"One more time?" I asked.

"No."

I smiled. "Good job, B." I prompted him to look in my eyes, another task he struggles with.

"Listen, honey. I know this is hard." I hesitated. Should I go on? "You know, people learn in all different ways. And because your pathways get messed up sometimes, it can be hard for you. It's because...because of your learning--"

My brain said disabilities but my psyche recoiled. After a year of struggle, worry, testing, research, specialists, fighting, pushing, and so many, many tears, we finally got a name. We have a name for his struggles. But I just couldn't choke out the word.

"...because of your...uh learning challenges. But that's ok! Learning challenges just mean you need to be strong and brave."

"I'm super-strong and brave!" He showed me his muscles.

"I know you are, B. I know you are."

And I'm learning to be strong and brave too. 

Because this is just the beginning of our journey.  

_________________________________________________________ 

If you were wondering what this post was about, my story today is my first time writing about this topic.

You don't have to enjoy every minute to be a good mom

When my twins were babies, I was consistently bludgeoned with this advice by well-meaning people: "Enjoy every minute."

I hated this phrase...mostly because I was going through one of the most difficult experiences of my life. Just keeping up with the daily care of two infants was hard enough--and I was supposed to "enjoy every minute" too?

I felt like a failure.

 One of my favorite bloggers, Modern Mrs. Darcy, wrote an article the other day about marriage, called "What makes a relationship work?"

This line stuck out to me:

...I’ve been warned by older and wiser friends not to panic if we hit a rough patch—strong marriages have bad weeks, months, even years—

We seem to accept the truth that "strong marriages have bad weeks, months, even years" so why does this truth seem harder to swallow when applied to parenthood?

 The thing is, our kids are people too, complete with little personalities, big attitudes, funny quirks, and loud opinions. And just like a strong marriage, our relationship with our kids requires work and daily maintenance.

In my seven+ years of parenting, I have come to realize that relationships with my children can and do go through difficult times that are frustrating, irritating, exhausting, even soul-crushing--trials of growth and times where I literally pull my hair out and think what-the-heck-am-I-doing?

There are so many times I have thought "I am a bad mom" or "I am not doing my best" when really, I was just going through one of these trials of growth. And growth is uncomfortable and painful and....not enjoyable.

The truth is, you don't have to enjoy every minute to be a good mom, despite the little old lady in the grocery store who sighs "it-goes-by-so-fast,"  and the "soak-up-every moment / enjoy every stage / be-the-perfect-parent-today-or-screw-your-kids-up-for-tomorrow" social pressures that we are inundated with on a daily basis.  

Parenting is hard because we are in relationship with tiny humans, and all good, lasting relationships have hard times. The key words there are "good" and "times," because there are good times too--seconds, moments, days, and years that are good, and should be soaked up and enjoyed.

Those are the times where we feel like good parents.

But the reality is, whether in marriage, or friendship, or parenting, or any relationship, feelings can be fleeting. It's the sticking through the hard times that spells commitment, the "I-will-do-my-best-no-matter-what-because-I-love-you" that is the true marker of a "good" mom.

Is motherhood enjoyable? I think the answer to that question depends on the mother and the moment you ask.

But if the litmus test of a "good mother" is how much we enjoy it, we will always be sentimentalizing the past or wishing ourselves in a less difficult parenting moment (naptime, anyone?).

We need to release the expectation of "enjoying motherhood" and focus on the reality of growing our relationships with our children, and all the good, bad, infuriatingly messy, ugly, and beautiful aspects that relationships with people bring to our lives.

When Silence is full of words

I haven't blogged in a month. And it isn't because I haven't had anything to say. Actually, it's because I had too much to say...but I haven't had the the words to say it.

I still don't.

All I can say is this: I've been going through Something Hard, something that I want to talk about and write about but don't always have words for.

Writing has always been a way for me to process my thoughts, feelings life. And I've felt like I want to write about what's been gong on, but I can't. Not yet.

My husband has this theory that goes like this: People want to talk about what they want to talk about. Meaning, even if you didn't intend to have a certain conversation or say whatever you said, subconsciously, you wanted to say exactly what you said. 

He calls it "The Corner Theory," meaning you back yourself into the "corner" you want to talk about, either consciously or unconsciously (usually the latter).

This is why people tend to tell secrets to strangers, like the person sitting next to you on a cross-country flight.

Writing is a bit more conscious and deliberate. There is such vulnerability in "putting it all out there." Writing is big, black, bold...and, in a way, permanent. It's committing to the idea.

I have talked about the Something Hard with a lot of people, and that has helped me process some of the crazy and scary and unknown. But the words fall and float away as soon as they're said. Nothing sticks. Nothing's permanent.

But writing about it still scares me, because somehow, making the commitment, saying the words, makes it real, like honest-to-goodness THIS is my life. THIS is real. THIS is hard, damn it.

For me, writing is accepting the real.
It's brave. 
And I'm not brave, not yet.
 But maybe someday I will be. 

For now though, until I have the answers and words, the Something Hard still looms large. I am so full of words, but I don't know how to say them. 

When Holy Desire and Motherhood Colide: A story of how God answered my unspoken prayers

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of doing “something big” for God. I would write that book; I would travel the world; I would speak before thousands at seminars; I would become the mentor that would impart godly wisdom. I was ready to soar for God’s glory.

Fifteen years later, married with four young sons, I sometimes feel that I am grounded, both physically and spiritually.

My aspirations are much less grandiose (and self-glorifying) now, but my desire to serve the Lord is still deep. Yet I often feel frustrated that my heart wants to offer so much more than the reality of my life allows me to give. After all, husband, home, and children take up most of my daily effort and energy.


I know I'm not alone. As I listen to my friends and read in the blogging world, I know that many women feel as I do. While I recognize my God-given roles as a wife and the mother of four young boys, I still have the ache to do something more.

Shouldn't I just be content with the ministry of my family?  What do we do when our desires to serve God are harnessed by the responsibilities of domestic life and motherhood?

I often don't even know how to pray about this desire. So I don't.

But God knew it anyways.

Unexpectedly, my old college roommate contacted me: “Let’s get together for coffee! I have something that I want to talk to you about.

During Silas' naptime, we sat at my kitchen table and Sabrena told me about her MFA thesis, “The Lucky Ones” project: a set of three graphic novels, a la comic book style, to address human trafficking of American girls in the USA. The project, focused on education and prevention, was unique and inspiring. I was so excited for her.

But then, she asked me a surprising question.

“Would you consider being my writer for this project?”

I felt a shocking holiness in her question, almost like God was saying, "I see you. I know you can't go overseas, or travel the country, or work for a non-profit, or do midnight counseling sessions in jail cells...but this. You can do this. I know your heart. I haven't forgotten about you." 

That was two years ago. Since then, I have learned about the sobering, wretched reality of the human trafficking sex trade. I've written two stories for her project, and our team is hoping to do a third story in the future.

The Lucky Ones team: Me, Sabrena, and Mike (our illustrator)

It has been the most challenging project I have ever done. In fact, after writing two stories, I feel my psyche resisting, because plunging my mind and heart into this type of story telling once again is soul shocking, like jumping into the deep end of a freezing swimming pool and getting the wind knocked out of you as you struggle to keep your head above water.

During the research and writing process, my husband has shaken his head out of concern for me, saying, "I can tell you're researching again. You're in a dark place."

The project has been difficult, but it has also been Good. Sabrena is about to defend her thesis. "The Lucky Ones" is a beautiful, powerful project that I pray will bring education and prevention to many, many people.

I got to be a small part of "something big."

So what is the point of this story? I guess it's this: God has not forgotten you.

This opportunity opened my eyes to the unique and unexpected ways that God can fulfill my desires to serve him (Psalm 37:4), even when, in my life as a busy mom of young children, it seemed impossible.

As mothers, we often feel like our duty is to constantly meet the needs of others. There is holiness in this act of selflessness. Yet God cares about our needs as well.

He also cares about our desires.

 As Jen Pollock Michel writes in her book Teach us to Want, “we discover that our desires are given by God—not in the sense of granted, but more in the sense of confided.”

I'm becoming more brave in telling God my desires these days. But, in reality, he already knows them, and he wants to give me so many Good Gifts. 

In wrestling with my own frustration of balancing my personal wants and trusting God for his timing, I have quietly learned that God has not forgotten about my youthful desires to serve him. The first act of service is trust. As Michel writes, “Holy trust believes that whatever God chooses to give is enough.”

And God does give. The only thing left to do is say "yes" to these unexpected, surprising opportunities to serve, small as they may seem, in this season of limitations.

________________________________

Want to learn more about "The Lucky Ones" Project? Click here! 

Planting Seeds

I am terrible at growing plants. I have killed every plant I have ever tried to nurture.

I mean, I KILLED A CACTUS, ya'll. True story.

I am a terrible plant mother. I am a better real mother. I mean, the jury is still out...but to date, all my kids are still alive. ;)

I think a lot about being a good mother, not just in the clothes/food/exercise/school/sleep departments but in raising my boys to be good men, men that love others and love God.

I want them to know God and follow Jesus when they're ready. So I take them to church, and we fold our hands before meals, and talk about how Jesus lived and loved, died and rose again.

Most of the time, I feel like they aren't listening, like somehow my "preaching," and praying, and showing The Way isn't reaching their hearts.

But I keep trying.

Like for Easter this year, I decided to try Something New. I had high hopes for Something New, like the Something New would result in this special moment in my sons' spiritual education and relationship with God.

This is how it went:

Our church put together a contemplative walk for Easter Week. A couple from our church invited families to walk the trails in their woods marked with 14 stops, each with a chair for sitting, thinking, praying, and reading selected scripture from the last hours of Christ, ending with his death and burial. The story, of course, would be finished on Easter Sunday. Our pastor put together booklets with the scripture and invited people to come walk the trail.

Since my boys really are not huge fans of sitting still (or traditional church stuff), I though, "Wow! This could be great! It is really active. We can read the Bible! This is gonna be good."

So on Good Friday, I loaded up all 4 of my little guys in the car: two 7 year olds, a 2 year old and a 3 month old.

The boys were ready to RUN! The pastor greeted us when we got there and tried to explain the walk  as I squished the baby into the front carrier, kept one hand on Silas, and kept telling Micah and Benji to WAIT FOR ME! THANKS FOR THE PAMPHLET! K' BYE!

And we were off!

We made our first stop. The boys fought over who would sit in the chair while I quickly scanned the scripture passage (wow! This is really long...ok! Paraphrase! Paraphrase!) Whoops! Ok, we're off to stop #2!

And speaking of #2....before we were even 10 minutes in the woods, I hear this phrase from my 7 year old:

"Mom. I gotta go."
"Honey! Pee or poop?" Please be pee...!
"Poop."

Gah! NOOO! This is the child who coined the frantic phrase "IT'S COMING CLOSER!!!"

I thought we were going to have to squat by a tree while other church members passed us by, contemplating their Good Friday in silent prayer. Don't mind us! Just a little pooping going on here! But...a miracle happened.

"Don't worry. I can hold it."

After asking "Are you sure?" six times, we continued our walk.

Or run, I should say. The boys were going FAST. We kept catching and passing people on the trail.  "Ok, boys." I reminded them. "People are thinking about Jesus and praying. Let's....ok! Listen! Let's BE QUIET!!!"

We got to stop 6....and it started to rain. Oh....great.
It was just sprinkling. BUT I was alone in the woods with four children and we had 8 stops left to go.

"Uhh...I think we should go back, boys. It's rain--"

"No, Mom! No! It's ok! Let's go!

So we went. I kept going, the rain-spattered scripture pamphlet in one hand, and a yellow race car and snack cup full of goldfish--compliments of Silas--in the other hand.

Despite the rain, it was a beautiful day and a beautiful walk.
There was a stream.
There were trees.
There were rocks.
There were big splashes.
There was dirt.
And sticks.
And sword fighting....all while I struggled to read them Bible verses about how Jesus prayed in the garden, was kissed and betrayed, then beaten and mocked, taken to the cross.

"Listen." I urged. "Let's listen!"


It started to rain a bit harder. The boys found a big rock and threw it in a mud puddle. SPLESCH! It made a great noise.

This is hopeless. They aren't hearing anything I'm saying.

Silas kept falling down. Eli was slobbering all over the wrap because he wanted to nurse.

The boys kept running. "Woo hoo! This is the best day EVER!"

I was struggling to keep up. Why did I wear skinny jeans and nude flats for a walk in the woods? What is wrong with me?!

It was really raining now. Silas was crying because he fell down...again.

"Ok, boys. Ok. Alright...here. Last stop! 'And they...um..they laid him in a tomb.' That's like a cave where they put people when they die. A man named Joseph gave the tomb to Jesus...ok...and we're off again!"

We made it back to the car. The pastor asked, "How was it?"

I laughed a little bit. "Well, it was a little--DON'T GET MUD ON THE SEATS--it was a little crazy. I am not sure how much they heard. But they seemed to enjoy it."

He smiled. "Well, you're planting seeds."

And I smiled back and nodded. And then I dashed to put all those little boys in the car because it was REALLY raining by this time.

Planting seeds. There must be a reason Jesus used that metaphor in his parables. Planting is dirty work, and pretty boring. There's a lot of waiting, and hoping, and wondering if anything is going to come up.

There is nothing super-spiritual about the act of planting a seed.  Just poke a hole, push the seed in, cover it up, brush the dirt off on your skinny jeans, and hope for the best.

I turned on the windshield wipers and backed out of the drive way. I glanced at the clock: we walked for almost an hour.

"That was awesome, Mom!"
"Yeah. This is my favorite day."

I decided to gamble a question: "Do you guys remember anything we talked about while we walked?"

"Uh...about how Jesus died on the cross?"
"Yes! That's right! Anything else?"
"Yeah, he healed that guy's ear that got cut off with the sword! Right?"
"Yes! Right!"
"And he wore a crown of sticks on his head."
"Thorns...!"
"Yeah, thorns. And then he went in the cave. And then he rose from the dead!"
"Anything else?"
"Uh...no. That's all."

I smiled. That's all.

It wasn't some big spiritual breakthrough or deep conversations or special prayers or warm fuzzies. There was dirt and rocks, sticks and slow-down, crying and falling, yellow cars and goldfish, shushing and slobbering, poop-scares and rain. There was so much...Human.

And that's what He came for.

That's all.

Planting seeds...it's enough.

I'm 100% Mom and 100% Wife--And it has to be that way

This past week, the internet exploded with two more articles in the "Mommy Wars," this time targeting women's roles in the modern American family.

This was the first article: "I'm 99% Mother and 1% Wife--And it has to be that way" in which the author, a tired mother, states why she will always put her kids above her husband (to the detriment of her marriage).

This response hit the web a few days later: "I'm 49% Mother and 51% Wife--And it has to be that way." This article was from a Christian woman who argued that in order for a family to be happy and healthy, a wife must make her husband a priority over her children, if only by 2%.

Here's my two cents:

If we are going to pursue happy, healthy, and godly relationships in our families, we need to be 100% mom and 100% wife.

Because...they are two different roles.

Being a good wife doesn't mean that I ignore my children for the sake of my husband.

Nor does being a good mom mean that I forget that I am married to a man I respect and love.

Photo by S. Carter Studios

They are two different roles, each requiring different time commitments and energy focuses.

Aaron and I talked about this issue in the car yesterday as we drove for 2.5 blissful hours--blissful because all 4 boys were strapped in their car seats and no one was crying or screaming for food (thank you, DVD player).

My husband is a math guy (it's true: he as two math degrees) and he "did the math" on the  mother/wife debate.

Aaron: Let's say you get 8 hours of sleep at night--
Me: bahahahahaha!
Aaron: I was being hypothetical. But let's just say...Then you have about 10 hours of "mothering" before I get home from work at 5. We have about 2-3 hours of co-parenting before the kids go to bed and maybe 2 hours before we both conk out for the night. 

Yeah...you're pretty much 100% mom. 

Me: Do you feel neglected as a husband? 
Aaron: Not at all. 

Of course, adding up the numbers to determine value and worth of my family roles is pretty silly.  Plus, by that criteria, the kids win and I am a sucky wife. But just because I spend more time and energy with the kids doesn't mean I don't "put my husband first."

Photo by S. Carter Studios

My relationship with Aaron is a huge priority to me, which is how I am interpreting "putting my husband first" (Otherwise, I really don't know what this phase means).

The 99/1 and the 51/49 relationship arguments pit motherhood and wifehood against each other, as if being a "good mother" means I can only toss 1% to my husband, or being a "good wife" means that I must  somehow carve out 51% of....something to my husband.

I believe this creates needless anxiety for many women: Oh no...am I prioritizing the kids before my husband? Am I more "mom" than "wife"?

It doesn't have to be either/or, 99/1, or even 49/51.

The roles of "wife" and "mother" don't need to be at war with each other.
We can be 100% mothers and 100% wives.  

Or maybe, instead of focusing on percentages and numbers, we should just focus on being the best moms and wives we can possibly be in our unique family situations.

 A few more thoughts:
~Other than the false 51/49 bifurcation, I agree with pretty much everything Ashleigh said in her article. Cultivating a strong marriage relationship is foundational for a strong family.

~I think the 99/1 mentality often results from a woman feeling like her husband is an overgrown "child" who is a burden to take care of. A healthy marriage is a partnership of equals, with mutual respect between spouses.

~Consider how silly this discussion sounds when the gender roles are reversed:
I'm 99% father and 1% husband--And it has to be that way (???)
or
I'm 51% husband and 49% father--And it has to be that way (???)

100% dad and 100% husband--And it has to be that way

Two {tough} Solutions for My Every Day Jealousy

I felt the familiar, gnawing feeling as I skimmed the college newspaper article.

The story was about some precious college senior who had just published her FIRST NOVEL, some little "love story" with a cute title. The cover of the book was pictured, showing an 18 year old beauty who was looking pensively off into her perfect future. So predictable....I wanted to gag. My lips twisted into a sneer and I rolled my eyes.

Then I sighed, feeling defeated....because I hated how I felt at that moment: Crazy, stupid jealous.

Wow. She wrote a novel. Good for her, seriously! I'm thirty...! And I haven't even done that. 

And I'm insanely jealous of that fact. Yep, I've been bitten...no, devoured by that green-eyed monster (Thank you, Shakespeare for providing perfect metaphors for my basest feelings).

If I'm really honest with myself, I get jealous a lot.

I'm jealous of:

• Women with recent highlights and pedicures
• People who sleep through the night (like my husband)
• My students (college students) with their stylish outfits and perfectly curled hair
• Blog posts that go viral ("I could have written that"!)
• Mom friends who have flat tummies
• People who get to nap everyday (like my two year old)
• My English colleagues who get to travel and present their papers at conferences 
• People who get to eat a full meal without nursing a baby, filling milk cups, mopping spills, or picking up dropped (or thrown) forks. 
• My single friends who get to do fun adult-things, like road trips

And MOST OF ALL....I am jealous of my husband's ability to fall asleep anywhere at anytime (the sleep jealousy is real, my friends).

Most of my jealousies are petty and fleeting--after all, I am not a 19 anymore with the luxury of thirty minutes of hair-curling time. I don't really care about pedicures that much. And, let's face the facts...I've had four kids, including twins. There are some things that crunches will not fix.

But my other jealousies bother me, like the fact that I disparaged a fellow-writer's success when I read that newspaper article. I should have rejoiced for her...but I couldn't because I was so stupid-jealous of her.

The truth is, I had no right be be jealous of her because she had done the work...and I hadn't.
I had an ah-ha moment. There are just two solutions to my every day jealousies:

I can be jealous of women who have flat stomachs and toned arms....or I can Do The Work and start exercising.
I can inwardly sigh about about my pathetic social life...or I can text a friend and make plans to get together.
I can mope about the success of other bloggers...or I can steadily work on my own blog because consistency and commitment come before success.

I can Do The Work.

But sometimes, I am jealous about things I can't change....so I have to be content.

I may be jealous that the girl I went to grad school with just presented a paper at an amazing Jane Austen conference...but I have a newborn and conferences are not realistic right now.
I may feel a twinge when I see friends with their daughters...but I can choose to be content with my 4 wonderful, beautiful sons.
And I may want to smoother my husband with a pillow when he falls asleep in 2.3 minutes on the couch...but I can choose to be content with a 30 minute rest before the baby wakes up to nurse (And I really don't want to smoother my husband. I really like him. I am just really tired...Sleep-jealousy. It's real).

So after throwing my jealousy-fueled pity-party about my lack of literary success at the ripe old age of thirty, I decided to crack open an old file entitled "Story Ideas" and actually, well...Do The Work.

Doing the Work or Being Content is hard...but it feels a whole lot better than being jealous, right?

What about you? What makes you crazy-jealous? 
Which is harder: Doing the Work or Being Content?
How do YOU handle every day jealousy?  

The BIGGEST surprise of my life!

I meet so many people who tell me, "Oh, I always wanted twins!"

Growing up, I never had this thought. Don't get me wrong: having twins is great (crazy...but great!) but I never wanted twins, basically because I never thought I could  have twins.

"Twins don't run in our family." I remember my  mom saying.

And that was it. The end. There had never been...so there never would be twins in our family. Right? (see "Scientific Note" at the end if you are curious about the types of twins that run in families).

WRONG!!

The day I found out I was having twins was the biggest surprise of my life. Want to hear the story? It's a good one. :)

Aaron and I were newlyweds and had just had the "when do we want to have kids" talk. We happily decided that waiting 3 years would be just right.

And God shook his head and laughed.

BOOM! I was pregnant the next month.

We were not happy. There were tears, terse conversations, hurt feelings, overwhelming worry.
We were only 22 and had been married eight months. I was still in college.

Aaron had an especially hard time adjusting to this life-altering news. The "plan" was that I would finish school and then he would be able to finish his degree. Now, that wouldn't happen.

But, like it or not, we were going to have a baby. My first ultrasound was scheduled at 11 weeks.

"I don't want to go." Aaron told me. "The baby will just look like a peanut right now. I'll go to the next one."

I was pretty miffed that he didn't want to go but I wanted to avoid another fight.  So, I sighed and went to the appointment by myself.

For anyone who hasn't had a baby, first ultrasounds are awkward. I expected it to be like all the pretty ultrasounds on “A Baby Story:” a subtle hand-held monitor gliding gently over the mother’s belly. I certainly didn’t expect a curling iron shaped condom-covered stick invading my private sanctuary.

But the real shocker came when I looked at the screen.

The doctor was so calm. “I thought your uterus felt kind of big. You're having twins."

And then my brain exploded. 

April 20 2007: The biggest surprise of my life.

Not really. 

But I went into shock. I broke out in hot flashes and hives laying there on that cold table, covered only in a paper gown.

“I’m having twins?!” I choked.

"Yep. You're having twins." Serene doctor said serenely.

(How could she be so serene?!?!?!? How was everyone not FREAKING OUT? I felt like someone should be shaking me by the shoulders and screaming, "HOLY CRAP, GIRLFRIEND!! YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE A MOM OF TWOOOOO BABIES!!!! BECAUSE YOU'RE HAVING TWINS!!!)

And I was. There they were: two little gummy bears floating and waving and punching at each other through the hair-line membrane that separated them. Twins.

Twins!

After the ultrasound, I slowly got dressed, my heart racing and my hands shaking.

"Well, you just got the surprise of your life, didn't you?" A nurse said when I came out of the dressing room.

I nodded vaguely. I was in a  haze.

Then I started smiling. I was having twins.

Then the smile turned a little twisted. Because Aaron wasn't with me.
 Heh heh heh. Payback, baby.

I called him, inwardly cackling.

Aaron: Hey! How'd it go?
Me: Great! Guess what?
Aaron: What?
Me: We're having TWINS!
Aaron: oh, haha! Good one. No we're not.
Me: Yes. We are.
Aaron: (laughing) You're kidding me!
Me: I'm not kidding you.
Aaron: (pause. not laughing now) You're freakin' kidding me....!
Me: Nope. We're having twins, babe. I've got pictures.
Aaron: (laughing hysterically) [I heard a co-worker in the background asking him what he is laughing about] We're havin' TWINS!

I spent the rest of the day in a happy twin-haze. I smiled so much my face hurt. My ears also hurt from the number of people who screamed in the phone after I told them the good news.

It was one of the happiest, most surprising days of my life. 

This picture never ceases to amaze me.

And that, dear friends, is how I found out I was going to be a mother...times two.

So yes, even if twins don't run in your family, they could still HAPPEN TO YOU. 

Scientific Note (for those who are curious): Fraternal twins run in families, which occurs when the mother releases two eggs.
Identical twins --where the fertilized egg splits--are spontaneous and can happen to ANYONE, although it is rare (4/1000 births are spontaneous identical twins).

And wouldn't you know? We were lucky enough to get identical twins.

If you're heartbroken on New Years Day...hold on.

I wonder if God peers into our man-made New Years traditions, and in his omniscience says to himself, "Oh, dear child, this year...this year you will grow so much. I only wish I could spare you the pain of such growth. Hold on...I am with you."

On January 1st 2014, I spent the day in the bathroom, praying and crying and telling myself that this was not happening, that I was not having a miscarriage.

Happy New Year, right? All my hopes, expectations, and plans for the year were shattered. All I could think was, "No new baby in August. No new baby. No baby."

The only verse that brought me any sense of comfort during this time was this:

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me..."

You are with me. 
You are with me.
You are with me. 

THAT was the only guarantee I had for 2014.

Now it is January 1st 2015. As I look back at last year, I am amazed at how my miscarriage shaped my whole year, overwhelmed with the good that was directly related to my miscarriage. In fact, this heartbreaking experience even fulfilled desires of my heart in three specific areas: Counseling, Volunteering, and Writing.

Interestingly, at one time, I was going to pursue a Masters Degree in counseling (I even took a Statistics class in preparation for grad school. eek!). My own grief allowed me to help others grow and heal by becoming a peer counselor to women who were walking through the grief of miscarriage, still birth, and infertility. I have grown so much in knowledge, compassion, empathy, and sympathy by being a co-leader of this group.

The grief group is under the umbrella of The Motherhood Collective, a non-profit organization in Lynchburg whose purpose is to "Nurture the Mother to Grow the Child." I had secretly wanted to be a part of the leadership of this organization in a "that'd be really cool" kind of way, but had no idea what I could/would do. The miscarriage opened this door too. I feel very privileged to serve with the amazing women in this organization.

Looking back at 2014, I see how God was able to marry my life experience and clarified beliefs with my desire to develop professionally as a writer. As I blogged about my miscarriage throughout this past year, I was not only able to work through my own grief, but I was also about to develop my theology about  God's providence and sovereignty when it comes to pregnancy and the gift of children.

At the end of November, I wrote "Say 'Congratulations'--It's the Christian thing to do" and it got over 500 views overnight! To date, it is my 2nd "most-viewed" post on my blog, with over 7800 views (in reality, this is not a lot of views in the "blog world" but is a LOT for my little blog!). Even more exciting though, is that this blog open the door for me to be a guest writer for Christianity Today's blog, Her.Menutics. My article was published on December 10 and has received over 3000 shares on social media. These publications have been huge for me as a writer. I hope it is just the beginning. But I know that without the heartbreak at the beginning of the year, the victory at the end most likely would not have happened.

So what is the point of this post? I guess it is this: If you are heart-broken today, on New Years Day 2015, and your life is taking a completely different, unwanted, horrible path than you would have ever chosen...I pray you can find hope in my story.

God had plans for my 2014, ones I never would have chosen but plans that ultimately helped me to grow, learn, love others, and even brought me the desires of my heart.

And even though I was never promised the gift of another baby, He gave me that too. I sit here typing with my 10 day old baby boy sleeping on my chest. What a gift of grace, complete unmerited favor. 


So, hold on, friend. He is with you.

Symbols of Hope: Remembering Loved Ones at Christmas time

"Here, I made you something," my husband handed me an object one night before dinner.

It was a few weeks after my miscarriage.

"Do you know what it is?" He asked eagerly.

I smiled, confused but pleased by his gift. My husband is not typically crafty person. Nor a gift-giving person.

"Uh...key chain?"

"Well, yes." He rolled his eyes. "But look at this pattern. Do you recognize it?"
 
I shook my head.

I watched, bemused, as my husband dashed through the house and found a plastic pirate doll.

"Look!" he pointed. "It's Izzy! See the pattern on her bandana?"

Source

 And then I did see and...Oh. 

 I made the connection and my eyes filled with tears.

You see, our 7 year old son named the baby we lost, Izzy, after the pirate from one of his favorite Disney shows. Before the miscarriage, I rolled my eyes at the name, chuckling and shaking my head, thinking, "I would never name my baby Izzy."

But that was the only name the baby got.

I clutched the keychain in one hand and gripped my husband's hands with the other...callused hand with strong, square fingers, hands that held me when I wept for the loss of our child, hands that wove a pink and white key chain.

"I made this for you so that you can always have Izzy with you."

My husband, like many men, didn't have many words when we went through this time of grief. He felt and grieved in his own way, a way that was different from my way.

But he made a key chain for me, in memory of our child.

It was a symbol of loss, of acknowledgment, of remembering.

Christmas is usually a time of hope and happiness for most families. But it can also be a time of grief as we remember loved ones who are no longer with us.

We bought an ornament for our tree this year--a plastic pirate doll: Izzy.

I was hesitant at first.

"It's really expensive." I told my husband as my mouse hovered over the BUY icon.

"It's doesn't matter." He told me. "Get it."

So I did. And Izzy came in the mail in a little white box and we hung her on our tree.

It's been almost a year since I found out I was pregnant: it was December 14. And instead of cradling a 4 month old baby (boy? girl?), I am hanging an ornament on our tree.

It is sobering....but, by the grace of God, not sad.

And I do not use that phrase lightly. His grace has carried me, buffered me, pushed me, grown me...in agonizing ways in the past year. 

This has been one of the hardest years of my life, but it has been one of soul-wrenching growth as well, growth that has been fostered by faith and has led to hope.

"And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance;  and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope;  and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our heart" (Romans 5:3-5).

I've carried my key chain this year, just as I've carried Izzy in my heart.
We put an ornament on our tree, not as a symbol of loss, but as a symbol of Hope.

Because His hope has not disappointed us.  His love will continue to carry us through every season.

How do you remember your departed loved ones at Christmas?
How do you seek hope, even in time of intense grief?

You can read more about our miscarriage journey here: 

Sweet Iz: Our Miscarriage Announcement
Miscarriage and Faith: Suffering and God's Goodness
Miscarriage and Faith: Giving Thanks IN…not FOR
Miscarriage and Faith: Walking through the Valley
Miscarriage and Faith: Searching for Beauty
Pregnancy after Loss: Survivor's Guilt
Remembering Izzy: Pledged to God

Say "Congratulations!"--it's the Christian thing to do.

When I was 13 years old, my mom took my older sister and me to a meeting for a para-church organization that did puppet ministry. We were introduced to the leader and a few of the other teens.

One introduction shocked me, mostly because of my mother's reaction.

"And this is Stephanie," the leader said, gesturing to a pretty blond girl. "She's 16 and she's pregnant."

"Oh, congratulations!" My mom exclaimed.

There were a few other details shared about the pregnancy, though I can't remember if the girl was going to parent her baby or place the baby in an adoptive family. Either way, she was 16. She was pregnant.

And my mom told her "Congratulations."

To my 13 year old self, this was really weird...no, not weird. Wrong. How could my mom congratulate this girl?
She was a teenager.
She was pregnant.
Everything in my narrow, black and white mindset judged this girl for being pregnant when she should NOT HAVE BEEN PREGNANT. 

It wasn't until this week that this event crossed my mind again and I realized the amazing example my mother gave me when I was 13 years old.

You see, my mother is pro-life. She told that girl "Congratulations" because she was pregnant...and she was choosing life.
LIFE is something to affirm and uphold. LIFE is given by God, no matter the circumstances.

Even though I didn't understand the example she was showing me at the time, I am so grateful for and inspired by my mom's reaction to this unexpected pregnancy announcement.

Mostly because I have been disheartened and down-right confused by the negative comments and tone I have received on my 3rd and 4th pregnancies (I am pregnant with my 4th baby right now):

"Are you pregnant AGAIN!? How many is that now?
"Another baby? Oh no!!"
"You're having another boy? I am so sorry!"
"Do you know how that happens? Oh, honey. I need to take you out to coffee and we need to have a little chat..."

Whenever I get these comments, I smile and say proudly,
"Yes, I am! 4!"
"No, we're happy...really!"
"I'm excited to have another boy...yes, really!"
(And yes, we know. We like it a lot).

The odd thing is I feel like I am trying to convince these people to be happy that I am having another baby. (?!?!?!?)

I was struck by the similarities in judgment voiced by the author of this article, published earlier this week.  In "Your Mother is Destroying the Earth," the author describes her constant need to justify her existence as the 5th daughter in her family, citing that it is the WACO (Warriors against Child Overpopulation) feminist leftists that give her the most grief, stating:

Content to bear their own children, they avidly seek to restrict childbearing for other women whom they apparently deem less worthy of free choice.

The thing is, none of the people who said these things to me would probably ever classify themselves as a feminist, leftists WACOs...because all of these comments have come from Christian women.

Our Pregnancy Announcement for Silas, our 3rd son

 One of the foundational elements of a Christian worldview declares this truth: Humans are made in the image of God.

And because of this truth, a Christian worldview declares life to be precious, worth saving, worth dying for, worth celebrating.

 While the comments directed at my 3rd and 4th children gave me a chuckle (and an inner "seriously?" moment), good anecdotes for facebook, and food for thought, these comments also made me mad. But more than feeling self-righteous anger,  I am deeply saddened that this attitude toward pregnancy and new life pervades our culture, even in the Church.

And even at times in me.

My 13-year-old judgmental attitude lasted well into my adulthood. I know that it has taken 3...no, even 4 pregnancies, including my miscarriage, to break the "pattern of this world" and begin to be "transformed" and "renewed" in my mind (Romans 12:2).

I've rolled my eyes when family and friends announced their 3th, 5th...8th pregnancies.
I've thought, "Good grief! Honeymoon baby? They didn't waste any time "getting busy" did they?
I've dismissed the grief of miscarriage as something that "would never happen to me" instead of extending real comfort to these women during a devastating time.

Until this year.

God has been transforming my mind to truly understand what it means to value life, family, pregnancy, and babies.

Every pregnancy is a miracle (Psalm 139:13-16).
Every baby is a gift from God (Psalm 127:3).
And every baby, no matter if it is the first, third, sixth, tenth, or more, should be accepted as a miracle and gift.

Without judgment, without eye-rolling, rude comments, or snide remarks. Just celebration.

Just "Congratulations."