Grace Rising

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

"Deah Dod..."

This morning was tough.
She did not cooperate in any way, shape, or form. I will spare you the details, but to get in the car without yelling at her was a giant task for me.
The problem: a tired, flustered mom and a tired, teething toddler..
A toddler who is maybe wishing she didn't have to be with someone else all day while Mom works..
A mom feeling beyond frustrated that every morning's struggle seems less-than resolved as I leave her in a hurry, smeared in yogurt because she had to hold the spoon herself, and drive away..
At work I change to a different role.. but at five o'clock it's time to change back in to the Mom role and be patient, loving, and energized again.
Today my coworker Olivia had the best thought about this.
Although it is hard, hard, hard to leave her for work, the moments I do have with her are the sweetest, not taken for granted, and maybe more special than they would be for moms who are with their children every day.
Tonight, before I put her in her crib, we were lying in bed singing together for ten minutes. We sang the "Hallelujah" song (Think Shrek) dramatically together with much giggling.
I sang a hymn which she repeated in a toddler language that is pretty magical to a mother, but most people can't understand.
I prayed and this was my little echo:
"Dear God"
"Deah Dod."

"Thank you for Mama"
"Tank tu fo Mama"

"Thank you for Avalon"
"Tank tu fo Awon"

"In Jesus Name, Amen."
"Aaaamen!"

I'm thankful.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

The Strawberry Showdown

It was precisely eight o'clock this morning when A and me sat down to a fine breakfast of french toast with a dollop of creamy vanilla Greek yogurt and sliced strawberries, smothered in syrup.

An alarmingly short amount of time passed before the french toast on A's plate was mostly gone, and she was starting to do that annoying, itchy-scratchy thing. She was sprawling off her booster and acting like there were ants in her pants. If she could talk well, she would be saying, "Mom, I've been holding still for five seconds, so I need to get down immediately. Then I can rub syrup on your shirt, the couch, and in my hair, while simultaneously demanding mulchie (milk) to be given to me now and pulling out every Kleenex in the box that you thought was out of reach and then throwing every book that I can see on the floor because the shelf looks too organized."

On this morn, I was struck by an urgent thought: my child is going to ignore those forlorn little strawberry slices that I have strategically syrupped and placed in the middle of her plate.

I uttered the following words, "A, you. can. not. leave. the. table. until. you. have. one. bite."

This has never been said before, because eating has not been a problem, and OKAY, PERHAPS I HAVE NOT ALWAYS BEEN THE MOST DILIGENT ABOUT THE CONSUMPTION OF FRUITS AND VEGETABLES.

The toddler in question laughed and giggled and whined and fussed and made more requests to be "All! Done! MAMA!"

I persisted with multiple phrasings and re-wordings of the original "one bite" statement.

She persisted.

"Okay, A I'm going in the kitchen. Let me know when you're ready to get down after. your. one. bite."

Reinforcements were not called in.

Reinforcement Officer Lucy is able to receive telepathic waves, even when they are subconsciously sent.

Officer Lucy appears from the living room and states, "I'm just going to 'talk' to her."

Fast forward through half an hour of lively conversation between A and Officer Lucy, which I will not record here, but throughout which I was hiding in the kitchen giggling. One poor strawberry slice remained on a fork on the table in front of A.

Let the plan, "This Is My Last Resort," commence!

"A, I'm going outside to play. I wish you could go with me, but you aren't obeying me. Let me know when you would like to come outside."

I sat outside, roasting in the sun in my pajamas, in full view of covetous toddler. She adores the wonderful world of the toy-strewn porch.

Meanwhile, Officer Lucy continued her friendly chatter with intervals of coaxing.

Something's happened! I heard the cheering of Lucy and followed by a cackle from A. I ran inside.

The strawberry was gone!

I yelled for joy and clapped my hands.

Alas, and alack, the slice immediately fell from her open, dainty, rosebud mouth onto the floor.

The girl has unbelievable powers of stubbornness!

I swiftly picked it up and placed it back on the table.

Two minutes later, it's gone. Swallowed. Never to be seen again.

It was one of the most rewarding fifty four minutes of my life.

To A:

Bring. It.

I'm ready for you.

Because I love you.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Not The Opposite Of Me

As I look out from my narrow, single-mom perspective, I see the things I am missing. I don't always talk about them, and sometimes I think "nice" thoughts in my head, like, "Oh, I wish my child could have a dad, but I'm so happy for that little girl getting a giant hug from hers. God is our Provider." Sometimes, I think bad thoughts such as, "This married person who is attempting to relate to me doesn't even know what it's like to be me. How dare she even try. She gets rest and breaks and dates with her husband and lots of love. She never has to tear herself away from her screaming child so she can provide for her. "
I'm so sorry for those thoughts, and I'm thankful God already knows that I'm going to think them. I try not to anymore.
The truth is...I don't know what it's like to be her. I don't know what it's like to have marital problems for years. I don't know what the stinging disappointment feels like to the wife who has taken negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test. I don't know what it's like to feel just like a single mom as you wait for your husband to get home from working late night after night. I don't know what it's like to be home with kids, all day, every day, or to be made fun of for being pregnant with your sixth child. I don't know what it's like to try really hard on dinner every night and never be thanked. I don't know what it's like to be under appreciated by your husband or experience post-partum depression. I don't know what it's like to have health issues or lose a close family member while being a new mom.
The truth is... we are so similar. We both have no idea what each other faces every day. We are both helpless and weak and dependent on Christ for our strength.
Yes, I'm alone. I make all the big, giant, scary decisions. By raising my daughter alone, I am doing an unnatural thing that I never intended to do, but it is nothing more than a natural consequence.. not a punishment or a sentence that I have to carry out.
I play a little game with God sometimes, and I ask Him to be the dad in certain moments. I haven't had a time yet where He hasn't helped me. Sometimes she takes four hours naps. Sometimes a little idea pops into my head which helps me understand what could be wrong with her (today, I bought prune puree for my daughter's fussy self. Let me tell ya, it WORKS!) And sometimes, the way He helps me is by giving me no relief in the moment but to know His presence is there. I just tough it out, with tears in my eyes and a torrent of prayers- that my baby would go to sleep, that she would stop crying, that she would be okay, that she would feel better, that she would be safe, that she wouldn't be psychologically damaged because I can't be with her every moment, that she would eat, that she would be healthy, that she wouldn't be overcome by a sudden awareness that she doesn't have a dad (Yep, it can get pretty ridiculous).
The truth is, she-- married, seemingly happy housewife-- will never know what it feels like. I'll stare at your Facebook photos, and you'll stare at mine. None of us will ever know what it's like to be in each other's bodies, and that's just the way God intended.
So, dear friend, I love you. You're doing a great job.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Little Spark

At four or five or six every morning, my little monster awakes with a loud cry. I jump out of bed and pull her out of her crib. She wiggles with joy as I lay her down next to me. I feel especially grateful for my queen sized bed.
A's new sleeping position: sprawled out on me, limbs dangling, complete with contented sighing and snuggling deeper down into my tired body. Somehow I find this better than her toes digging into my rib cage in a surprising and painful way.
We fall back to sleep for a few more hours.
You would think that I would do something to change this sleep pattern but I don't do.. anything.
I feel like this is my last chance to hold my little baby girl.
Oh, I know there will be other times. Scraped knees, a crashed bike, the death of a pet, maybe even a bruised heart.
But now, just be my girl.
Unlike most people (and, just like a mom), I see more than her outward appearance: the color of her outrageous curls and her silly, intense faces that people comment on every day.
She's innocent, lovely, and so easily pleased by bugs, grandparents, bubbles, "hoseys" (horses), dogs, and other babies. Life through her eyes is in slow motion, or fast forwarded.
Just be.
Her great-grandparents ask us to stay longer during our weekly visit. A's great grandma recently said, "She's our spark."

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Testimony filmed at Palouse Care Network/ WISH Medical

The end is really the best part. You may or may not see a 10 month old Baby A dressed in pink!

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Sunlight

I had just sat down next to the fire, which was doing its very best to be warm and inviting but was kind of failing (as do all fires that I build), but then my baby girl started crying and sounded very miserable. I usually don't get her out of her crib, but tonight was an exception because it was her "pain" cry. I gave her ibuprofen, rubbed clove oil on her teeth and put more layers on her due to the freezing temperature in all areas of our house. I always think I will be used to seeing her in pain but it was so hard to see her suffering tonight just as any other night. A few weeks ago at church one of the pastors was giving a talk before communion was passed out, and he described a time in his past where one of his children was lost in the mountains. The way he described the desperation and longing to see his child again was so easy to relate with that I couldn't help but cry.
I came back to my poor, little fire. Holding my little daughter, who is growing so big but still so tiny, I realized that I don't know how long I get to be A's earthly parent. There may be a day when she is no longer in my care. I pray that day will never come, but I also pray that God reminds me that she is, and always has been, His. I have to force open my clenched hands and give her to Him. The agony of this statement of surrender is almost as huge as the relief knowing that God loves her too much to leave it all up to me.
The other day I was writing a note to a pregnancy test client that I had seen with another advocate during my training. I wrote her this quote,

"I have held many things in my hands, and have lost them all; but whatever I have placed in God's hands, that I still possess." - Martin Luther