The Illusion of Fairness- Myles' 2nd Month Letter

(Only sweet Myles would be smiling while getting a 24 hour video monitored EEG scan) 

Our son, Myles, was born at the end of December and I've been writing him a letter each month.  I will write a letter to him each year after he turns one and give them to him when he's older.  I plan to keep most letters private, but since this last month held quite a few lessons for us as a family, I thought I'd share it.  It was written last week and we have since completed his final 24-hour test at the Hospital and the initial results look good. We are so grateful and thankful to God that it appears our little guy will be just fine.

Dear Myles,

    It's March 1st. Since you were born on December 29th, you technically don't have a two month birthday since the month of February decided to stop counting at twenty-eight.  It doesn't quite seem fair that this particular month didn't make time for your 2nd month celebration, but, as you'll surely learn, life oftentimes just isn't fair.  That is something we have been reminded of consistently during your second month of life.  

The concept of "fair" was shattered as we watched you struggle with fear during your myoclonic jerking episodes following your vaccination.  Life showed itself to be quite unbalanced as I navigated through days of scheduling and researching best practices for MRI's and EEG's and how to advocate for the least invasive tests possible. And when your dad and I watched you visit the emergency room twice and saw your tiny innocent body poked and prodded with wires and needles, the meter of "fair" appeared to be broken-- or rather, completely non-existant. This past month has reminded us of how uncontrollable life can be-- and when it's happening to the most fragile of people--our need for something greater than ourselves is highlighted in dramatic force.

This past month you started having myoclonic jerks-- little spasm-like episodes that look like seizures.  After taking you to the emergency room and visiting with the pediatric neurologist, we were ordered to schedule a number of tests to make sure you didn't have a tumor or lesion on your brain or some sort of seizure activity in your brain. 

The week between the scheduling and the administration of the first test held the most delicate tension as we prayed and cried and forced ourselves to believe the best.  Our family and friends surrounded us with love and compassionate text messages and encouraging phone calls but, most importantly, they prayed fervently. We knew that it would be a miracle if you slept and stayed still throughout the loud MRI but I believed it was important to try without sedating you. The least amount of interventions possible has been our motto from the beginning. And, Myles, you did it.  You must have had angels protecting you as you slept for over an hour in a large dome-like structure that would soon predict so many things about your future and ours. 

That was yesterday. Today, on your makeshift two month birthday, I received a call from the neurologist office.  "His MRI is normal," they said. "Both the brain and the spine are normal."  My heart jumped.

 That's it?  I thought.

 So many of the swirling emotions and questions and what-if's of the last few weeks were compacted into this 6 letter word:  "normal". Your dad was so confused when I came into the room crying and told him the results.  Although you still have another important test in a few days, this MRI  held a heavy weight in my heart and mind. To hear the word "normal" seemed like such a stark contrast to the endless scripts and tests and potential problems we had been warned against over the past three weeks. 

We could have just as easily heard different words on the other end of the phone this afternoon and we are praying we will receive the same positive news after your test on Monday.  Myles, is it "fair" that your MRI carried the powerful diagnosis of "normal" when many other parents don't get to hear those comforting words?  As we navigate the next few weeks of testing and follow-up appointments, as we continue to monitor you and search out alternative vaccination schedules and as we hopefully start to move from the quiet desperation of a medical daze into the common notices of everyday life, we have changed.  We hold you a little closer, yes, but we also realize that you are ultimately held in the strong and powerful hands of a God who loves you beyond what we could even imagine.  And, although it hasn't seemed "fair", we have learned a depth of trust to rely on the light shining directly before us-- a light that sometimes shines only on the next step and nothing else. It stands to reason that this trust may not have been possible without those moments when it felt altogether dark. 

Although it has been a whirlwind of abnormality this month, one thing that is important to me is to make sure we don't treat you like a "sick baby".  Sometimes I forget about the tests and surprise myself all over again when I look over and see you-- smiling, wide-eyed or wailing-- and I am reminded that you are simply a miracle in so many ways.

Over the last month, I've been overjoyed to notice the small things: the way you hold onto me when I carry you and your sweet sigh of relief when I pick you up and place your head on my shoulder, your first delightful smile and laugh and many more since then (dubbing you with the nickname, "S'Myles" :), our conversations when you squeal and it seems like you really want me to know something, your ever-telling eyebrows and how I can picture the same expressions when you're 16 and annoyed with us, how BIG you're getting and how often I have to stretch and "measure" your clothes before I put them on you and, most importantly, the emergence of your strong spirit.  It is clear that you are beginning to know what you want and you have no problem telling us about it somehow. As your dad says, you even "talk us through it" before you start crying with your little noises and "words" that lead up to the cries. 

Ultimately, I believe we will all be sharing about the trials and joys of this month in the future and we will remember the priceless lessons we've learned from a month when the scales initially appeared to be weighted unfairly.  As for now, we continue to pray and we continue to trust that the greater measure of fullness in life is not fairness, but remembering that God is faithful-- and He gives us all the grace we need for each moment when it arrives.

Love,
Mom

To our baby boy...

Dear baby boy~

It seems like ages ago that I stood in the kitchen and stared at the ever-so-faint double pink lines of a pregnancy test.  Unsure of the results, I checked in with the doctor later that day to see if our lives were, indeed, about to change forever.  As I overheard the nurses talking about the results in the other room, I knew at that moment that life was springing up.

The first three months I felt as if I was half asleep, with morning (all day) sickness and secrets and lots of surprises.  I prayed for you every day, holding my non-existent belly and scanning the mirror for any signs of an impending bump.  When I saw your heart beat for the first time, I sighed and let out a big laugh~ a laugh full of relief and expectation and joy and yes, still a little bit of fear of the unknown yet to come.

The first time I felt your spirit inside me, I was driving and listening to the radio one sunny afternoon.  I started to change the channel because a song that I didn't like was playing, but as I reached for the button, I froze because I got a distinct sense that YOU liked it.  I was confused, thinking, "Why would the baby like a song that I dislike?"  And then I remembered that you are composed of (at least) half of your dad!  And his taste in music can be slightly more intense than mine :)  At the beginning of pregnancy, it felt as if you were simply an extension of me, but over time, I started to learn that you are uniquely formed and individualistic. And so began the thoughts of your identity and who you'll grow to be...

The days continued to pass, and you slept inside me as I traveled thousands of miles across the country many times to visit your dad, as we told family and friends about you and took dozens of pictures of their reactions and as I finished my lifelong dream of completing my masters degree.  Your tiny heart grew stronger and your body bigger as your Nana and I bought my first maternity clothes and your dad rubbed cocoa butter softly on my belly while he prayed out loud for you.  Your tiny taste buds began to develop as I devoured bacon and BBQ sauce and pounds of lima beans.  And my heart flipped with an unsurpassed love when I felt your first somersaults and elbows and ever-so-faint kicks in my belly.

Becoming your mom is the most beautiful and terrifying process I've ever encountered.  I love you already with such a deep and connective love and yet I am aware that the essence of love is freedom.  I anticipate many moments when I will need to learn the delicate balance of protecting you vs. letting you learn, holding your hand but trusting enough to let it go, comforting you yet teaching you how to receive your comfort from the strong Spirit within you.  Having been told that the baby can feel his mother's emotions inside the womb, I have tried to stay calm and centered and thankful during pregnancy.  But I am also a (normal!) pregnant woman with uncontrollable hormones and inconsistent mood swings.  So I pray that you'll be protected by a God bigger than me, a God who created the makings of every cell in your body when your whole body was as small as a pinpoint.  This is the God that your dad and I thank every day for allowing us the honor to learn to love you.  And you truly are a gift from Him.  Someday, you and I can sit down at the counter and I'll share with you (over juice boxes) the miraculous story of how God revealed to us His idea of forming you before your dad and I even had a clue.

Speaking of your dad, I just know you are going to love him.  I faintly saw his eyes and nose in yours, although at this point, it would be a little ridiculous to suggest you look like him (baby boy, you'll learn one day that your ultrasound pictures simply cannot do you justice at this point).  He loves you already with the strong, protective and playful love of a Father, and if you have a heart anything like his, you will be the most caring and passionate little boy around... and possibly a bit mischievous as well. :)

It's been 5 months since you began your journey to life.  We have many months to go before we join together in the intense process of bringing life into the (outside) world.  My prayer is that you'll feel safe and protected for the next 4 months and be free to experience all that life inside the womb brings.  Just know that when the time is right, you'll have two parents waiting to greet you with an overflow of love and a commitment to sacrifice for all that you'll need.  It won't always be easy, as life can throw all kinds of fast balls and curve balls into our midst, but we will learn and we will pray and we will teach you that a life worth living doesn't have to be perfect, just full of rich love.

Loving you richly,
Mom and Dad

Enough

Today I've decided that everything that I have and all that I am is enough.  Not "almost enough" or "enough because I've ignored the desires of my heart so I'm numb" but rather "fully, feelingly, embracing reality with all it's imperfections"... enough.

Every day it seems that I start off behind.  I wake up and think "I didn't get enough sleep."  Before I know it, there isn't enough time to get ready, and after breakfast is over, I'm counting down ways to force myself to eat a salad because my breakfast wasn't healthy enough.  By lunchtime, I've already created a large deficit in my sense of being and I'm barely a third of the way through my day.

This mindset of scarcity is common in American society, when we dream "big" and "climb the ladder" up toward our ideas of success.  We are practically groomed into it: with grades and extra credit and scholars awards and always the next level of acknowledgement taunting us, even from grade school.  And yet, when I live as if there is always more to be attained, I never achieve that sense of "I've made it"-- which is what the higher levels of accomplishment so slyly promises me while I'm striving to get there.  The only way my life will be enough is if I consciously choose to accept it as such.  There is always someone higher on my "I want to be like that/have that" list.  The seeking of such an illusive place where I've 'arrived' is a merry-go-round that will keep spinning until I realize that I'm moving in a circle and the only way to achieve some inner peace is to jump off the ride and re-group.

One of my themes this month is gratitude.  I truly believe that being grateful is a practice-- much like exercising a muscle or holding my tongue when angry.  It's an exercise that is born in the ordinary -- while practicing mindfulness and recognizing the gifts that are present in the simplicity of life.

"Time stands still in moments that look suspiciously like ordinary life." ~ Brian Andreas

When I think back to the moments of greatest impact that I shared with my late father, it was the smallest of events that remain stenciled into my memory: a bedtime story, a shared car ride while singing to music...even a simple look ("the look" that he always gave us).  These are the things that defined my relationship with my dad.  Since humans are designed for connection, it's the repetition of mundane, ordinary moments that spark life and love into relationships.  It's these things-- not the expensive family trip to Hawaii (frankly, we were at each other's throats half the time!)-- that are stored in my memory as the tiny connectors.  Over time, these moments weaved themselves into a deep and trusting relationship.  And the frequency of these ordinary, every day moments?  I have found that there is always enough of them-- if I choose to slow down and acknowledge what is right in front of me.

Something to think about:  If you lost everything today and got it back tomorrow, tomorrow would be the happiest day of your life.  What prevents you from being thankful for those things today?

How necessary is vulnerability?

Humans desire connection.  To truly connect with another individual, we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable.  To truly be vulnerable, we must be authentic.  When we operate authentically, we gain a sense of belonging.  We cannot feel that sense of belonging if we are simply seeking to "fit in" (living in a way that is more concerned with being a part of something than being who we really are).  

In high school and at the beginning of college, I was an expert at "fitting in".  Being sensitive to the needs of others around me allowed me to cater my attitudes, behaviors and, frighteningly enough, eventually my thoughts into whatever way would benefit the relationships around me and allow me to feel as if I "fit in". The problem was that I never truly felt accepted and did not feel true belonging, because belonging is a byproduct of being accepted for who you truly are-- when you're honest about your thoughts, feelings, emotions, joys and fears.  

For the first year or two after I accepted Christ, I became a part of a Christian sub-culture that told me exactly how to act and feel and respond.  Question?  Go to the Bible. Fear?  Go to the Bible.  There was a scripture for everything and I began to live in a robotic way, quoting scripture and monitoring my thoughts and feelings to what was "holy" and "sanctifying".  Now, I do fully believe that being holy and sanctified is a true gift; but the gift I was receiving was tainted by my sub-conscious expectation that if I didn't do it the "right" way, I wouldn't truly be accepted.  How far from true grace. 

We've all experienced it.  The disapproving glance.  The careful wording of a thought or emotion to prevent anyone from misinterpreting it and reading into it (which, frankly, is impossible because that standard of perfectionism is always going to be based on other people's perceptions-- perceptions that change daily and even hourly).  How exhausting to live under such (sometimes self-imposed) scrutiny. 

Over the past 6-7 years,  I've truly come to understand my identity in Christ AND as a person (which are inextricably connected for me). I've started to practice the art of vulnerability in a more risky way.  The last few days have been a clear example of how God (and my community) has met me in this place and offered the freedom to just be.

A few nights ago I was on the phone sharing a story with one of my closest friends.  My mom found a cd that an old neighbor/ friend made for me.  When I saw the handwritten note on the cd cover, I remembered a moment with this friend that brought up deep emotion within me.  We were sitting in my room and we had just finished praying.  He looked at me for a moment then said, "I love the way you say Jesus' name.  It's as if I can tell how much you love Him just by hearing you say his name."  

It was a beautiful reminder of the deep and intimate love relationship I had with my Savior.  But as I remembered his words this time around, all I could feel was a deep sadness.

  "I feel as if we are like an old married couple now," I said to my friend on the other end of the line. "I know I love Him, but it seems as if I'm not as in love with Him anymore."  

We talked for awhile and said our goodnights and Daniel slowly entered the room.  He was visibly shaken up.  "I heard you on the phone," he slowly said, in a low voice. "Who were you talking to?" he asked.

"Julie," (my friend's name) I said, wondering why he seemed so upset.  And then it hit me.  He thought I was talking about HIM.  He thought I was telling my best friend about my dwindling romance with him!  I asked him if this is what he thought and he immediately enveloped me in a hug and replied, "Yes, it really worried me".   

It wasn't a good thing either way, whether I was talking about my husband or my Savior, but as we talked I posed the question, "I wonder what Jesus thinks about what just happened?  I wonder what His thoughts are about this exchange?"  

"He probably feels the same way I did," Daniel whispered.  "He's probably hurt." 

And then it hit me.  Jesus feels hurt over strained relationships which means Jesus allows Himself to be vulnerable.  My vulnerability to my friend (and Daniel's sharp overhearing ears :)) allowed me to see a physical representation of Jesus' love and care for me in my husband's response, which in turn deepened my relationship with my Savior (and my husband)--which was the very thing I had been hoping and praying for over the past few days. Plus I was able to assure my husband that I am completely IN love with him. :) 

If being vulnerable with one other person is a cool glass of water,  practicing vulnerability in community is a waterfall.  Today at church, we had a time for prayer requests.  Although we go to a small church, it can seem daunting because during prayer requests, individuals stand up where they are sitting (yes, in front of the whole church) and share their request.  It's authenticity and vulnerability at it's riskiest (and best).  Today, I took my scared and shaking self, and slowly stood up to share the pain in my heart about feeling as if my relationship with Jesus was becoming more stagnant than dynamic.  "I know He's still pursuing me," I said. "But I just need prayers for the grace to pursue Him in the way my heart desires."  

I sat down (still shaking, mind you), and a friend turned around and whispered, "great prayer."  After church, a couple of people came up to me and mentioned that they had the same exact prayer request, and it was as if they wanted to raise their hand and "second" what I just said.  

I took the risk to be vulnerable, and I was met with acceptance.  I stepped out of my comfort zone and spoke from my heart, and I was received with a sense of true belonging.  

If wisdom leads you to share, vulnerability is always worth it.  If it doesn't turn out well, it's a chance to grow in your true sense of self, regardless of how others may respond.  If it's met with love and encouragement, it's an opportunity to feel connected.  So even if you're shaking, step out.  You never know who may meet you on the ledge to join you in the experience.



** A beautiful song about God meeting us where we're at right now: Times

What happens when God seems absent? Lessons from "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" Part 2

Warning: If you haven't seen the movie yet, I'd recommend going out to see it now (hey! It's Saturday- time for a break from life and some time at the theater).  The following post contains "spoilers" from the movie so if you're planning on watching it but haven't yet, please hold off on reading the post.

******

It's the end of the movie.  The theater is tense.  How could it not be with so many emotionally charged themes and scenes that have been drawing us into Oskar's world for the past 2 hours?  As I watched him journey through many towns and meet various people while searching for the lock to the key his father left behind, I too, began to hope he would find a magnificent safety deposit box that had books filled with letters from his father or large sums of money or secrets passed down through generations.  But in this moment, when he finds out where the key belongs, all those hopes were dropped as I realized that for Oskar, this season in his life wasn't going to lead him to a final answer, but rather provide him with a journey that would build his relationship with his mother, his grandfather and within himself.  The journey was the destination in this movie.

Throughout the movie, as Oskar travelled the city by himself, I kept wondering about his mother.  My judgement would rise as he would run out the door with his map and bookbag, a young 10-11 year old braving the city streets of New York.  His mother was portrayed as too weak to chaperone him.  And yet, at the end of the movie, I was given a picture of true parenting as Oskar's mother (played by Sandra Bullock), sat down with her son and told him that she had been following his journey all along.   She told dozens of stories of how she found his maps and visited each location before he did; telling the family that her son would be coming to see if they knew anything about his key, asking the families to take good care of him and help him in this exploration as much as possible.

"How did you know, Mom?" Oskar asks.  "How did you know what I was doing?"

"Well, I just tried to think like you," she replied.  Oskar was incredulous.  All this time, he thought he was embarking on the journey of a lifetime alone and here was his mother, this person he thought was too weak to understand anything, preparing the way for him to explore exactly what he needed to explore in order to grieve his loss and confusion.  Although her way of doing things was completely different than his, she entered into his way of being to connect and protect him in a way that only a parent can do.  He wouldn't have let her into his journey if he knew that she was helping clear the way; he had to believe he was doing it alone.  He didn't trust her enough at that point in time.  And yet, after the fact, when he returned without the result he had planned, she gently walked him through the entire process of how he hadn't been alone the entire time.  They reminisced on the people they met, the lessons Oskar learned and how the process of searching ultimately helped him grieve and grow.

What a beautiful picture of God in our lives.  How many times do you think you are alone in a situation?  How many times does it appear that God is just too weak or doesn't care enough to: provide that job, heal that friend, renew that relationship?  And so we trudge forward, cognitively forcing ourselves to believe He is with us, yet deeply questioning His presence or provision all the while.

Personally, I am looking forward to sitting in Heaven and walking through my journey with my Creator. Seeing His presence weaved throughout my life will only strengthen our relationship.  For now, I know that I may not always understand the journey that I'm on~ life can be all together confusing at times.  But I do have the knowledge that I have a Heavenly Father who has gone before me to prepare every interaction I may have.  He knows my weak places.  He knows my stubbornness.  He knows my heart when I question Him and my trust level is low.  And yet He gives me the grace to obey Him in the way I know how.  I believe that, like Oskar, He knows I may try to figure some things out without Him.  And yet He's still in control even when I do not acknowledge Him to be.

Ultimately, my prayer is that God will continue to give me grace to obey Him better than I know how.  Living with this knowledge and prayer, I am reminded that it's His grace that allows me to obey Him even once.  I can study and pray and seek Him diligently, but there will always be some things I just don't understand.  Living in His grace turns our relationship from one of me striving to obey Him to a relationship where I allow Him to live and be through me.

When life doesn't make "sense": Lessons from "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close" - Part 1

Two nights ago, Daniel and I went to see a movie called, "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close."  The movie was a risk for many reasons: it's an adaptation from a complex and existential book AND it's a story about 9/11 in a culture that is still somewhat raw from the attack 10 years ago.

The basic story line is of a little boy who appears to be slightly "off" (he mentions in the movie he was tested for Aspergers but the results were "inconclusive") who lost his father in 9/11.  About a year after his death, the boy (Oscar) finds a key in his father's closet.  Since his relationship with his father was historically one of exploration and creativity, Oscar believes that this key will open up something that his father "wants (him) to know".  Oscar sets out on a methodical and unwavering search for the lock to the key and he meets a number of people along with way and conquers a number of his fears in the process.

There were numerous parts in the movie that held layer upon layer of significance, but today I want to focus on a scene between Oscar and his mother (played by Sandra Bullock).  Oscar always connected more deeply with his father, and after his death, he finds it even more difficult to connect with her.  In the scene, Oscar is raging at his mother because he thinks she "doesn't understand" and "won't ever" understand why he simply HAS TO find where the key fits.  The mother, consumed with grief but trying to paint a picture of reality to her son, finally fires back with, "It won't make sense because it just DOESN'T make sense.  It doesn't make sense why someone flew a plane into that building. It doesn't make sense why your father was taken.  No matter how hard you look to find out why, you won't find it completely because it. just. doesn't. make. sense."

Oscar falls to the ground sobbing and continues to believe his mother just simply doesn't get it.  And in that moment I realized that I have been Oscar (metaphorically) so many times in my life.  We are in a culture that is desperate to make sense of our suffering.  We are desperate to understand the "why" behind the "what", as if knowing the reason will somehow validate the experience.  But, for me, my obsession with understanding the why in it's entirety was just another way to control an uncontrollable world.

This logic can spread to a number of different areas.  Religion, for example, can be a way to follow rules in order to somehow manage our lives and keep things in control.  I remember when I actually believed that if I could just "obey" God enough, I would be "protected" from the hurt, pain and sickness in this world.  This type of obsessive compulsive obedience was just yet another way for me to be the one in control of my life.  My faulty belief was this:  Obey God's commands = safety.  But that just isn't the case.  As a mentor of mine says, "Sometimes we just get caught up in the web of a broken world."  Suffering happens.  Pain is inevitable.  And no amount of obedience to a Higher Power can change the fact that the world is not perfect.

And so Oscar reminded me of this:  If I'm constantly trying to understand and "make sense" of my reality, I'm failing to truly live in it. To truly engage life, we must accept it as imperfect.

To truly engage life, we must accept it as imperfect. 

We must accept that people die, relationships break and health is not always controllable. Don't get me wrong, I am a FIRM believer in the power of redemption.  It's just as real as the suffering, if not more real.  But if the redemption doesn't come in the timing and the way I expect it, I am learning to practice the art of acceptance.  The times when life doesn't make sense, I take as an opportunity to remember the fact that I am human and limited in my understanding.  I am constantly reminding my analytical self that not everything needs to be dissected.  To truly dissect something, we have to take the life out of it (think: science and dissections).  The beauty of humanity is that some things are a mystery.

There is much more to discuss regarding the movie, so I'm going to divide it into parts. Next topic will relate to God's presence even when we think He's absent.

If you get a chance, check out the trailer for the movie.

Cookie dough + Brownie bar = Better than half baked ice cream

So I found this little recipe from Pinterest and couldn't help but try it out. It's extremely sweet but oh-so-good.  Even just making the (egg free) cookie dough part could be a nice solution for any cookie dough lovers who enjoy the dough sans possible salmonella.  Here is the recipe: 

Prepare brownie as directed (I used Betty Crocker brownie mix but you can choose your favorite) and let cool.

Prepare cookie dough mix in standard prep (mixing butter and sugar together then adding the remaining ingredients)

3/4 c butter (room temp)
3/4 light brown sugar packed
3/4 granulated white sugar
3 tbsp milk
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/2 c all purpose flour
1 1/2 c mini chocolate chips :) 

Spoon cookie dough mix onto cooled brownie pan and let set in refrigerator for 15 minutes (or less, depending on how hard you want the topping to be). If you want to add the chocolate drizzle, microwave 1 c. chocolate chips with 1 tbsp shortening until melted (about 30 seconds would be my guess) and then pour (slightly cooled) into a plastic zipped sandwich bag.  Cut a slit at the tip of the sandwich bag and drizzle over the top of the dough.  Let sit for 30 minutes in the fridge and slice into small pieces.  I'd recommend putting them in little cupcake holders.  Enjoy!