Celebrating

Today we celebrate Aubrey's birthday.

It was five years ago on a Thursday much like this one that we found out that there was something terribly wrong with our baby girl's heart and she was delivered via emergency caesarian section at 7:00pm. By 8:30pm she was being life-flighted 140 miles south to the nearest neonatal intensive care unit. Daniel was being driven down by a friend while I stayed behind recovering from surgery. Even that day we had no idea the extent of "deformities" that was Aubrey's heart, but we knew enough to be scared.

Very, very scared.

Due to pain killers, the agony of it all didn't really hit me until the next day. It was also almost 24 hours after her birth before we knew more of the extent of the problems: Daniel called to tell me that after running tests the pediatric cardiologists in Syracuse were saying that Aubrey had a very complicated heart and would need a very complicated surgery at a very young age. I was spent, I was feeling very alone and helpless being so far away from all that was taking place, and I was terrified. I remember thinking that I needed to muster up more faith, but the truth is that the only thing I could seem to have faith to pray for was that she would live long enough for me to travel down and see her one more time.

Just one more time, God, I wept.

And I remember even as I cried out that desperate prayer feeling oh so thankful for the Body of Christ, for believers who I knew had more faith for my daughter than I did in those very broken moments.

In the days that followed, there were many tears. Many highs and lows. Many middle-of-the-night terrors. Many words of encouragement, cards, gifts, and visits from friends who drove in from all over to stand with us. Many hours of feeling like I was living some strange nightmare. Many reminders of faith.

And through it all, there was God.

I will bless the Lord at all times;
His praise shall continually be in my mouth.
My soul shall make its boast in the Lord;
The humble shall hear of it and be glad.

There were good reports and there were bad reports. Anyone who has ever been through medical challenges knows that is par for the course. I tried to take it all in stride, but really I just wished there was some way I could trade places with her.

Our little baby.

She had perfect skin, golden peach fuzz hair, big eyes. We named her Aubrey Colette: "noble leader; people of victory."

Why did she have to have a broken heart? And oh! why couldn't I just trade places with her? I wondered.

And my heart broke.

Yet even as I asked questions that had no answer, there was God.

I sought the Lord, and He heard me,
And delivered me from all my fears.
They looked to Him and were radiant,
And their faces were not ashamed.
This poor man cried out, and the Lord heard him.
And saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the Lord encamps all around those who fear Him,
And delivers them.

On October 4th, Aubrey was discharged. She hadn't had surgery and we brought her home without a single machine. Those days were heavy-hearted and wonderful ones all at once. Heavy-hearted because at that point we were still being told that we had a long road ahead of us and that surgery would almost surely be necessary within the next 6 months; wonderful because we were home, no longer torn between our 3 older children and the baby, no longer being separated from Aubrey each night, and having crossed the first hurdle of coming home for at least some time before an operation.

We prayed so much. For a miracle. For time. For growth. For health. For life.

And God was there.

Oh, taste and see that Lord is good;
Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!
Oh, fear the Lord, you His saints!
There is no want to those who fear Him.
The young lions lack and suffer hunger;
But those who seek the Lord shall not lack any good thing.

In the past five years, Aubrey has only had one hospitalization. As of 3 months ago, she is off every medication. Her heart is still jumbled, but it's working. You would never know she isn't the picture of health if you saw her today. Sure, she doesn't run as much as the other kids and sometimes when it's humid she starts to look a bit wan and blue around her lips and extremities, but that's it.

That's it!

If you had told me five years ago that we would be here today, I would have wept and wept and wept with relief and gladness. Today, just thinking of it, I cry tears of joy.

Still, I wouldn't erase one day of what we've gone through because there are great and mighty things the Lord has taught me through it all. And the greatest and mightiest thing is this:

He is here.

The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears.
And delivers them out of all their troubles.
The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart,
And saves such as have a contrite spirit.

Many are the afflictions of the righteous,
But the Lord delivers him out of them all.
He guards all his bones;
Not one of them is broken.

Happy Birthday, Aubrey-girl! You are spunky, spirited, bright, and victorious!

 

Transitions

A couple days ago I claimed part of the yet unfinished guest room as a "nursery nook" for Elliot.

The plan when we broke through the second story of our home more than 14 months ago was to have both of the bedrooms we added (master bedroom and guest room/nursery combo) done by now, but as all projects go, things have taken longer and cost more than even our most conservative planning accounted for.

That's okay. Elliot doesn't know that the walls aren't painted, the baseboard isn't even purchased let alone installed, the window casings aren't in, and the flooring isn't sealed.

When I look at the space we carved out of the mess of wood, tools, and paint supplies that has resided in that empty half-finished room for the better part of a year now, I hardly know all that isn't finished. It's beautiful in its own growing-with-us sort of way.

The final steps in the moving process were to relocate the baby monitor from the window sill near my bed to the dresser in the next-door bedroom and then remove the bedding from the baby basket so that it could be put away in storage.

And I must confess that as I put the sheet and bumper in the washing machine, a big lump formed in my throat.

It's incredibly sad to me to think that he is done sleeping in this little bed of his, right near my own "big bed" (as Claire always refers to it, due to its height) and close enough that when I wake at night I can hear his gentle breathing. At the beginning of his life, he hated this bed and only wanted to be with me; as he has grown, it has become his favorite place to sleep, and he has slept so well in it that we have carried it all the places we may travel or visit in order to allow him this piece of home anywhere he may be.

He is beyond outgrowing it, though. His little feet have pushed his head right past the bumper and into the wicker many times, occasionally even leaving marks and often resulting in heartbroken awakening.

 

I've put this bed away five times before. Each time I've thought that surely I will never forget how my baby looked nestled within its little walls, safely tucked where I can reach my hand out any time of night and feel the gentle rhythm of their heartbeat.

The truth is that I do forget.

I do.

The other truth is I don't know how many more times, if ever, I will be wrapping a baby and settling him/her in this basket bed again. I'm a little too experienced to think we get to take things for granted.

And while one might think that I'm tired of "the baby thing," that perhaps it's old hat, or that I would be glad to put away these vestiges of early infancy, on the contrary, it gets harder and sadder each time.

Not to mention, regardless of what the future holds for me, I know that this baby, this little man-child, my very own Elliot Hale, will never sleep in that little basket bed again.

Oh, how much a mother's heart must let go of over the years.

So yes, the lumps form in my throat and my eyes burn with unshed tears and my insides ache.

And I think I have barely scratched the surface.

 

Dear Self,

Today you sat down and in earnest began preparing yourself for a new school year. You wrote out some lesson plans to go along with the steady stream of books arriving at your door these past few weeks. You spent time trying to wrap your head around homeschooling not one, not two, not even three, but four young ones, while not losing track of investing in the toddler and baby who need at least as much time and energy as the school-age children. You created a new chore chart and mapped out a daily rhythm. You opened packages and tore off cellophane and got very excited about brand new math and handwriting books now tucked amidst dozens of gently-used living books and field guides and teacher manuals. You even took the time to sharpen 24 brand new #2 pencils.

But, Self, can I remind you of the thought that kept rolling through your mind the whole time, like a wave gently washing over your already-somewhat-panicking soul?

"Above all, let me awaken wonder in my children this year."

Wonder about God, His goodness, His creation, His plan. Wonder about the world around them, their lives, things seen, and things unseen.

In a month, when any daily rhythm seems like wishful thinking, when chores aren't being done well, when the baby keeps interrupting grammar lessons, when getting math finished seems more important than whether or not we're having fun, when you're just too tired or too busy or too distracted or too overwhelmed or too all-of-the-above, please remember this: your goal is to awaken wonder in your children.

Your children are still young. In time, they will need to tuck away facts and memorize formulas and recite information. For now, they need to discover, explore, and absorb. And trust me, Self, when I say that this will in turn be the best foundation for all the things that must come later.

Self, don't be afraid to set aside the books and the plan when necessary. Be courageous enough to let life become the curriculum and reality become the tool. Don't measure your successes against another person and certainly not against another system. Be quick to remember what the Lord is looking for from you-- to do justice and love mercy-- and then choose that when becoming a harsh taskmaster, strict teacher, or rigid dictator seems (in the moment) like the best way to get us back on track.

Enjoy learning. Enjoy your children. Enjoy the process.

And yes: above all, seek to awaken wonder about God's goodness, and this life and world we've been given, in your children.

Sincerely,
Me

8

While on a 9-day hiatus from facebook-- and pretty much all things electronic (computer, movies, and even the summer olympics!)-- my biggest girl hit another milestone: on August 12th, at about 5:15pm, she turned eight years old.

[Excuse me while I continue on my of-late-especially sentimental and emotional streak (I feel like post-partum hormones are hitting a bit late this time around), but my eyes fill with tears at just the mention of this. Time flies by and I grow more and more conflicted each day: I love seeing my children blossom, developing interests and skills and personality and tenderness toward the Lord, but I simultaneously feel myself so tempted to grasp at what was and what is, trying desperately to hang onto every second that keeps slipping me by.]

Bronwyn is a wonderful eight-year-old girl.

She is generous and compassionate.

She is a delightful and easy-going companion.

She is increasingly capable and confident, daily assisting me in the kitchen (I rarely prep salads or pick herbs from the garden for dinner or make sandwiches for lunch, thanks to her), able to tuck her younger sisters into bed, holding Elliot when I need an extra pair of hands, running errands with me when I don't want to go alone, and more.

She has many interests, loving dolls and princesses and musicals and ballet, as well as loving whiffle ball and dogs and digging in the garden and playing with her brothers.

She is a tough cookie: spills and bumps and bruises and sickness are all handled with great fortitude on her part.

Perhaps the thing that blesses me the most, though, about her is her love for Jesus. She truly wants to honor Him.

I like Bronwyn. She is one of my favorite people to spend time with.

And I love celebrating eight priceless years with her.

She is a true gift to our family.

 

Summer days

I always have in my mind's eye what summer days will be like. Somehow those ideas prove to be delusions more often than not.

Summer days this year are, more realistically:

:: early mornings with the baby who thinks 6-7am is the best hour of the day (and his smiles at that time have a way of making me agree)
:: a little weeding of the gardens, some not-so-routine watering, and continual amazement that these relatively uncared for seeds and seedlings turn into something edible

one of many heads of broccoli that have grown in my garden

:: sending children out the door to play so Elliot can take long morning naps in relative peace and quiet
:: getting back on track with daily quiet time of my own, thanks to a post-baby's-birth return to basic routines here at home
:: washing dirty arms and legs and faces and leaving big rings of mud all over the tub
:: finishing up some smallish house projects and feeling refreshed by an outlet for creativity

an etsy-inspired lighting project

:: reading The Trumpet Of The Swan aloud
:: sickness-- and more of it than I like to think is possible this time of year
:: feeling surprised each day when it's already time to make dinner (I blame it on how long it stays light in the summertime...)
:: eating almost completely vegetarian in an effort to use up our own produce plus our weekly share from a local CSA, and feeling thankful for a husband and children who make that a pleasant possibility

eating strawberry shortcake for breakfast isn't so hard, they've all decided

:: wishing I could spend every waking hour outdoors; comforting myself in windows flung wide open, letting in the smells and sounds of summer, for days and days and days on end
:: reminder upon merciful reminder that home is a good and noble and worthwhile use of my life and heart and energies

after all, is there a sweeter place on earth?

:: putting off planning for the fall and for the first time in my life not feeling worried about doing so

 

Bring on the smiles!

Elliot's first 10 weeks were marked by tears. Mostly his and sometimes mine.

He wasn't growing well or sleeping well. He cried so much.

At the beginning of June, though, things began to change bit by bit. He started growing. He started sleeping on his own, in his bed. He began laughing more and smiling all the time.

And now, at almost 4 months?

Oh this baby! He is a joy! He naps twice everyday for lengthy periods of time. When he's not asleep, he generally rolls around on the floor or plays with the toys in the swing or laughs at his siblings or watches movies (!), and he lights up whenever I walk into the room (which melts my heart every time).

He is such a funny looking little man: big ears, big eyes, bald head. He has the brightest grin, the softest skin, the wrinkliest scowl. I love the quirkiness of him so much it makes my insides hurt.

I remember often thinking during hours of pacing the floor as he wept and I wanted to weep from the exhaustion and stress of it all, "Just hang in there. This will not last forever. One day, you'll miss these days, Brietta."

I knew from experience that not all babies slip into this world as contentedly and seamlessly as some, and I also knew that while those days and nights with a heartbroken baby can seem to last forever, they actually go by in the blink of an eye.

Here we are already: those newborn days are behind us.

Sure, I wish those first 2+ months had been marked by something other than tears. They weren't exactly fun for me and they certainly made cherishing each moment more of a struggle. But motherhood isn't about what makes my life picture-perfect or easy, after all. Each moment of swaying while he fussed, of setting aside the personal agenda to hold him another hour, was a gift I could give to him. Love I could pour out on him. Joy in the sacrifice that I could invest into him.

It wasn't so much. Not really.

Certainly not compared to the richness of our lives with Elliot around!

 

Rain, Recovery, and Repainting

It's raining.

Which may not seem like a big deal, except that it's been an exceptionally dry summer and rain has been scarce these past months. The grass, normally a vibrant green and soft to the touch here in the northernmost parts of New York, is brown and crunchy. My perennial flower garden is sad: withered leaves, stunted height, sparse and short-lived blooms. My vegetable garden's success is largely due to the sprinkler that has been set up nearby and used almost daily since mid-June.

Today I am reminded in the most tangible of ways that whether my portion be sunny skies or dreary rain, for ultimate growth and prosperity, we need both.

I need both.

**********

It's been almost 3 weeks now since our family first came down with hand, foot, mouth disease. This virus, of course, couldn't just hit everyone all at once and be over with. Oh no, we prefer to take it one at a time in order to maximize its length. I assumed that Daniel and I would make it through unscathed since this is typically an illness associated with children; however, when I became its last victim, Daniel was officially the lone survivor.

(I have no doubt that my exhaustion from caring for my little patients for over a week at that point played a huge part in me getting sick. That and the fact that Elliot was drooling and crying all over me for 3 days while he suffered from the fever, sore throat, and then rash.)

The good news is that we are now immune to this virus. As much as I don't love having my kids get sick, if it's an illness that is fairly common, I'd rather just get it over with!

**********

Since I was stuck at home due to being a walking germ-factory, taking on a house project seemed like the thing to do. Although I am not an extrovert and I need little (like... very little) human interaction in any given week, after a good stretch of being isolated, missing church repeatedly, and not going anywhere, even I start to feel lonely and stir-crazy. Getting a good project rolling helps ease the pain of solitude a bit.

Giving the kitchen a facelift in preparation for a new school year was just the ticket.

I spent many hours with paintbrush in hand. Many. There are 6 windows, 3 doors, lots of old beams, kitchen cabinets, and a vaulted ceiling in this space. While the baby napped, I painted. When the children went to bed at night, I painted. I snuck in an hour here and an hour there. And then another and another and still another.

Daniel dealt with the tricky parts of the mini makeover whenever he was home: painting the ceiling, making new light fixtures out of mason jars, rebuilding the base of the new-to-me cabinet, and more.

It's done now and we are already loving the changes. It's bright. It's simple. It's much more functional than the dining room for morning puzzles or afternoon art due to its not being in the very middle of the house. I've a feeling it will be the perfect space for our upcoming school year.