Hole? No, WHOLE.

Today was a difficult day.  Actually, it wasn't today so much as yesterday.  Yesterday, I got into a disagreement with my husband before he left for work, which always leaves us both frazzled.  Then, in an effort to bring some holiday cheer into the house, I began to put up some Christmas decorations.  When I got to the stockings, I began to cry.  There shouldn't be two; there should be five.  One for each of us...myself, my husband, and my three babies.

Today was supposed to have been Bennett's due date.  We lost him six months ago.

I broke down completely, and my poor dad chose that exact moment to call and let us know about some last minute plans regarding their visit to see my sister's graduation.  "What's wrong?" my dad asked, sounding a little panicked.  "There are only two stockings," I sobbed, as if he was supposed to know what that signified.  After he calmed me down a little, I sighed that I didn't even know why I was decorating.  Although the family spends Thanksgiving at our house, no one visits us between December and oh, the following April.  They're the better for it, of course, because our ancient, drafty house is rarely warmer than 60 degrees in the winter, despite our best efforts.  Still, that wasn't the point.  The point was that I didn't feel cheery and decorating for Christmas was making things worse!

My dad then promised he'd bring my stepmom and grandma to visit.  I made a mental note to remind them to wear sweaters and bring Snuggies.

Ross was dealing with a lot of frustration about his job situation, and wasn't in the mood to talk when he got home from work, but I had a lot to say.  Which meant that I snuck out of bed to curl up on the living room couch and cry.  Not long after, Ross trudged down the stairs and asked what was wrong.  I made every effort to carefully explain my feelings.  I was dealing with disappointment, sorrow, rejection, and loneliness.  Even after I'd seen my friend Jen that day, who had lovingly crocheted for me a beautiful prayer shawl.  Even after I'd received a special word of encouragement from Pastor Mark earlier in the week.  Even after I'd been contacted by an international ministry that wished to use my photographs in its newsletter.  I was still heavy with sorrow.  Things weren't made easier by the doctor's appointment scheduled for the following day, of course.  I was going to learn when I would need eye surgery.

Last week, I went to a new eye doctor to use up my insurance benefits before the end of the year.  From the doctor, a charming young woman about my age, I received the usual lecture about not wearing my contacts too long, and carefully cleaning them each night, but then I was blasted with the revelation that there was a hole in my right retina and that I should consider getting surgery right away.  She explained that a torn retina can quickly lead to blindness unless corrected immediately.

I was utterly defeated.  The sheer number of horrible things that have happened to Ross and me in the past three months was overwhelming enough, but to suddenly have to worry about my very ability to see threw me over the edge.  Plus, there had been some confusion regarding my health insurance after I was let go from Fenner, and at the time, I was without coverage.  I sat down and had a heart-to-heart with God.  You know, one of those little chats that consists of nothing but tears, threats, accusations and pouting?  Oh, you call that a tantrum?  Okay, then.  I sat down and had a tantrum.  Fair enough.  I just didn't think I could handle much more.

This morning started out ordinarily enough, with the cats panicking over their breakfast (well, actually just Thor panics.  Loki just follows after him and imitates him, so it looks like they're both in a panic).  Even though I didn't sleep well last night, I felt pretty good this morning.  I was going to meet my dear friend Lindsay and she was going to go to the hospital with me, then we planned on having lunch together.

Well...I'm not the Queen of Navigation, nor the Empress of Promptness, so I got out the door later than I had planned and I soon realized that I didn't have time to get to her place, near Station Square, then over to Allegheny General for my 10:30 appointment.  So I let her know, and went in alone. 

Although the opthamology practice at AGH was really large (the office itself was about three times bigger than most I'd seen), the staff was friendly, personable and kind.  Noticing that I appeared to be the youngest patient present, I filled out my paperwork.  I then met with a technician, and sat still for a few tests.  I finally met with Dr. Verstraeten, a tall, polite man with a shock of fading ginger hair and a faint German accent, who promptly smiled and said, "There's nothing wrong with your eye." 

Even for someone who believes in miraculous healings - and who was praying for one! - I could hardly accept what the doctor was saying.  He went on to tell me that I indeed had benign floaters, likely caused by blunt force trauma when I was younger (I had noticed them since I was about 12, which is, in fact, when I suffered a fall and it my head).  He said that I have nothing to worry about, but that if my vision suddenly grew blurry or I saw flashes of light, that I should contact them right away.

I left the office in a pleasant daze - well, partly because my right pupil was still dilated.  I was so grateful for the news.  Either my other doctor had misdiagnosed me - which I had no particular reason to suspect - or God had healed my eye.  Either way, I was overjoyed that I didn't have to worry about the surgery (simple and quick) or the recover (long and arduous).  Oh, and that we got to save money, effort and all sorts of other drama.

I picked up Lindsay and we had a lovely lunch together (her treat, in honor of my birthday last month, even though I fought her for the bill).  Every time I hang out with Lindsay, I am recharged, and I feel like I can take on the world again.  She's such a good-hearted, simple person, but she has that effect on me!  I keep wondering why we don't make plans more often, and I'm determined to change that.  I really feel that God put us together to encourage and sustain each other.  When I recently learned of her prengancy, I felt that brief stab of jealousy that comes for, I am assuming, many childless women, but the Lord almost instantly led me to a place of deep thankfulness for her pregnancy.  I genuinely want to rejoice with her.  I know she will be an excellent and loving mother, and I am excited for her. 

With each pregnancy my friends experience, I am getting one step closer to my own healing.  I don't think the sorrow itself over losing my children will ever completely disappear, but one day it won't have the same weight.  It will be a historical fact, rather than a deep, defining scar.  I will tell the children I have in this lifetime that their sister and brothers had a job in Heaven that was so important, God couldn't wait for them and he needed them right away.  I wouldn't be surprised if, after his birthday celebration with Jesus today, Bennett finds himself before the throne of God, singing and dancing and shouting with joy that he is in the presence of his maker for eternity.

Gratitude

For the past few weeks, I have been making my first daily facebook and twitter posts about being grateful for something, or praising God.  Some days, I am not grateful for vast, spiritual things, but for tiny, everyday blessings...like an unexpected text from a friend, or a much-needed item on sale at my favorite store.  Some days, I didn't feel grateful for a whole lot of things.  Some days, choosing something to share was a stretch.

Today, though, I am overwhelmingly and undoubtedly grateful for my husband.  He isn't perfect; he has little habits that drive me nuts (leaving jelly on the counter, for example).  But he also has little habits that let me know how much he cares about me, about the house, about our marriage, about our future (like cleaning the bathtub, bleaching the towels, rubbing my feet, taking on a valet job for more cash...the list goes on).  I woke up this morning to the first rays of sunshine in Pittsburgh in nearly a week and, when I looked over at him, it was suddenly so easy to see how valuable and wonderful he is.

In the bright light of day, I can see that I am blessed.  In the darkness of night, I can feel that I am blessed. 

I am truly overwhelmed by God's goodness and his grace.  I don't have much more to say than that, other than a prayer that I never forget it.

40DoP

As much of the Christian community is entering into the season of Lent, I am reminded of traditions from my childhood. My mother was raised Catholic, and although she left Catholicism around age 13, a lot of customs and ideas from it stuck with her through her adulthood. We never ate meat on Good Friday. God was a creature to be feared, always watching.

The idea of Lent always frightened and bothered me. An urgent celebration of senseless indulgence, followed by forty days of complaint and lack, followed by another celebration and an Easter egg hunt. I didn't really get it. In fact, seeing people who didn't even really believe in their religion give up things like chocolate or coffee didn't exactly ignite in me a fire for the Lord. These people weren't giving anything up out of a love for God or a desire to serve him better. Many of them were sacrificing out of a feeling of guilt, obligation, self-righteousness or even a secret hope to drop a few pounds in forty days.

Now, Lenten sacrifice is not something that my non-denominational faith expressly requires. However, there have been times when I feel that God is specifically calling me to lay something down for a period...whether it is Lent or another time of the year. Often, I feel that I need to stop listening to a certain type of music, or perhaps step away from a television program, or maybe cut a specific snack or favorite food out of my diet.

However, this year, when I woke up on Wednesday (having forgotten that Fat Tuesday was the day before), I checked my friends' status updates, and one was a beautiful message, a quote from a song, about God's love. Immediately, I was inspired to spend the next forty days trying to express gratitude for God's presence in my life. I decided that my first status update every morning would be a "thank you" to God. Nothing would be too obvious to take for granted or too insignificant to escape appreciation. If I had something in my life that made my life better in some way, I would tell about it. If I had been through trials that improved my character, I would tell about it. If I was struggling with something, I would thank God that he is giving me the strength to overcome it.

Maybe you are confused about Lent, too. Or maybe you have blindly observed it all your life, unsure of the meaning behind it. Maybe you do understand, and you love the Lord enough to willingly give up something that brings you pleasure. At any rate, I invite you to join me in Forty Days of Praise (40DoP) and thank God for something every single morning. Try to think on that one thing all day. Sometimes, gratitude is all that gets us through a difficult time.

On this snowy Pittsburgh morning, I am grateful for my freedom in Christ, my friends and family, a good cup of coffee (from my favorite Starbucks!), a warm blanket and a warm-hearted husband!