a scramble-ish sort of update

By way of quick update on this all-too-forgotten space:

-- Aubrey continues to do well. We had a minor (but scary) set back that began in early November and persisted until mid December, in which she began to retain a lot of fluid in her lungs. We think it probably began as a mild cold and then was compounded by her doctors taking her off her blood pressure medication and reducing her diuretic (which flushes extra fluid out of the body before it has a chance to build up in the lungs). At any rate, after initially being told it was just croup, I put my foot down and brought her back to the doctor after a series of five long nights filled with frantic gasping for breath, tears, coughing fits that were turning her blue, and sheer exhaustion. They confirmed my suspicion that it was not at all croup, but pulmonary edema. Her diuretic was increased by two and after three more long nights it began to do its work and she started breathing more clearly.

And honestly? Aside from that little hiccup, she is doing spectacularly. It's miraculous. Entirely, completely, breathtakingly miraculous.

She loves to run. Apart from that rough patch, she has boundless energy. Her tastebuds have changed! (She's pickier.) She is finally, after several long years, taking ground in reading! Even her scar, which she was initially so very disturbed at the thought of having, has become its own badge of honor for her.

Words can't say how thankful we are for how strong and healthy and vibrant and whole she is!

-- We finally closed on the new house! First, the sale on our old house was delayed by a couple weeks. Then the sale on the new house was also delayed. Banks. Attorneys. Paperwork. New York state. Oh my. We are so excited about the new place, if feeling a bit in over our heads right about now!

We closed on a Tuesday at 5pm and by 8pm that evening we had changed into work clothes and were eagerly tearing up carpet. That was only the beginning of the demolition work that was about the ensue, I must say. As is often the case with old houses, the more you uncover, the more you find that needs to be uncovered/addressed. Although the house right now is completely unlivable because of all that's been torn out, it's actually feeling rather exciting. Not surprisingly (old house, remember), there really wasn't insulation in most any of the exterior walls. Taking down all the plaster and lathe and removing brick that was between the exterior and interior walls will allow us to get the house better sealed up.

Daniel has spent many hours (major understatement), along with the help of many others, pulling out the old in preparation for the coming updates. We're just now beginning the process of putting things back together.

We love this house. We love the heritage in the Gospel that it has cradled for years. There is amazing history to it. The people we bought it from are godly, selfless, kind, and faithful people. It is fun to imagine all the years of living that has gone on in that home before us, and to imagine what lies ahead!

And although I've learned better than to say I'll blog more on that "another time"... I really will try!

-- December has been full of all the wonderful and busy things that December brings. Christmas concerts and Christmas cookies and Christmas carols and Christmas books and Christmas trees and Christmas shopping and Christmas movies, and on and on. It was a strange Christmas for us, being out of our own home and all (we're renting a home in Madrid from some of the most generous of people while we work on the new home in Potsdam), but special in its own way.

The forced simplicity was good for me.

The challenge of maintaining certain traditions without all my normal tools and systems in place was at times stressful.

The children, especially Aubrey, cried often about how much they missed home.

The morning of Christmas dawned at my parents' home-- the first time we woke on a Christmas morning in that house since Gabriel was not yet 2 years old and Bronwyn was a little baby-- and every. single. child. declared it "the best Christmas ever"!

We didn't have a real tree in our own place, but my mom lent us her little boxwood bush that normally resides in her big kitchen window and we decorated it with fairy lights and homemade ornaments and even cookie cutters that were given to Daniel as CFA Christmas gifts. It was quirky and perfect.

-- In the midst of all the December hubbub, my beautiful baby giant turned two years old. Two!

We celebrated with little fanfare-- my parents and Merrick came over for a simple dinner of homemade macaroni and cheese and a chocolate bundt cake-- but he was delighted with what little we did. He sang "Happy Birthday" along with us, and with great gusto I might add. He blew out the candles on cue, no prompting needed. He opened gifts and lined up each little matchbox car and wooden truck in a row, which is his favorite thing to do.

I can't believe this baby of mine is already two years old! Bronwyn asked me the other day when I'm going to potty train him and I almost fell over at the thought that such a thing could happen any time soon... but she's right, and I am dumbfounded.

-- Otherwise, these days have been filled with the usual: homeschooling and housework and errands and cooking and reading aloud and snuggles. I do my fair share of repenting when life is stressful because I often find my words sounding more like barking than speaking, and the children so graciously forgive. Daniel and I have settled in on a phrase that is almost comical in how little it actually does say, but somehow it helps us just take a deep breath and enjoy the adventure: "It is what is!"

That's going to cost twice as much as we thought? "It is what it is!"

That's going to take five times longer than we thought? "It is what it is!"

We have do all that in one day? "It is what is!"

Wherever we are, Lord, let us live to the hilt this moment and situation for Your glory!

moving

It's true.

We're moving.

In fact, we've kind of already moved.

Out, anyway.

Just 10 years ago we drove up to The Little Yellow House for the first time as ours. Our home.

I was a young mom-- only 2 months past my 23rd birthday, to be exact-- with a talkative 2-year-old son, a curly-haired and softly dimpled 1-year-old daughter, and a belly swollen large with another baby due in early January. How blessed I felt by this house! We had scoured internet listings and even sent family to look at a few places for us, including places to rent, and nothing fit the bill for what we needed in terms of space and dollar-figure. Then this place came along without even making it officially onto the market, thanks to my mom's friendly praise of the work a retired couple was doing to fix it up.

It was and has been a place for us to steward, cherish, enjoy, and share.

There are parts of it that are very much like when we first walked into it 10 years ago, and other parts that are vastly improved (or so we like to think, anyway). It has grown with us and we with it... and now it will go on without us.

On Saturday, along with the help of so many dear family and friends, we packed up all our belongings.

The house now feels very, very empty.

And beautiful! I do love the bones of this house. The woodwork and floors and doors and windows stand out even lovelier without furnishings than with. Saturday after we finished moving everything and Daniel and I dropped off the U-Haul, we stopped back to tidy a few things up and I just walked through the rooms.

So many cherished memories made here!

I know, I know... It's just a house. Just walls and roof. Just wood and stone.

But it has been a basket, a cradle, for so very, very much life.

We've laughed, cried, fought, forgiven, learned, shared, and grown in this house. I think of small group gatherings, the big sitting room filled with young adults eager to discover more of who Christ is and would have them be. I think of Christmas Eve dinners with three large tables all full to bursting with family and childlike anticipation so high among us that it is almost palpable. Late evenings with half-empty tea cups and the crumbs of scones or muffins on paper napkins, candle wax pooling on the tablecloth as we enjoyed one another and others. Baby showers, CFA moms meetings, farewell parties, let's-get-to-know-you dinners, premarital counseling, birthday parties. I am grateful for the nudging of the Holy Spirit to host our own Easter dinner this past spring, a precious opportunity to celebrate His resurrection with the nations quite literally represented around our dining table.

And oh! the wiffle ball games everyday for years and years-- and figuring out the best place in our not-so-large-yard for home plate. Countless dinners of simple soup and bread at the end of weary days, candles lit, shadows blocking out the piled laundry and dishes. The lightbulb moments when-- aha!-- a child learns how to read, right here in this house. Canning applesauce, freezing cherries, burning bacon. Painting a room only to not love the color but have no money right then to paint it again and learning that there are bigger things in life than what color the walls are. Washing dishes and watching the cattails blow in the breeze like waves of the ocean on a warm summer day.

I brought five babies home to this house.

It's just a house.

But it's been a home.

We are excited for what lies ahead. The handiwork of God has been so richly upon this entire process. We're not in the new home yet, but we will get there. Soon I will try to write about all that.

But for now, a farewell to The Little Yellow House.

Thanks, God, for giving us such a special place to spend these past 10 years.

That house was a perfect house

whether you liked food or sleep or story-telling

 or singing or reading or

just sitting and thinking best,

or a pleasant mixture of them all.

Merely to be there was a cure for weariness.

- J.R.R. Tolkien

it's done

Aubrey underwent a very complicated and difficult open heart surgery on Thursday, September 10th. She was sedated and in the OR for 8-1/2 hours. 5 of those hours were spent on the bypass machine. All of them were spent with what I am convinced is one of the most talented and committed pediatric cardiac surgical teams operating on her.

And it worked.

I have to pause after I write that. Those words still make my cry.

Aubrey's heart is fully repaired. Not only was the surgeon able to do the more difficult repair, but he was able to do it without the use of anything foreign: her heart is 100% hers, with no additional conduits or valves. This is beyond any of our expectations. We hadn't even thought to hope for such a thing.

I have a clear memory of standing in the kitchen eight years ago, on a sunny day much like today, having returned home from those first whirlwind weeks of Aubrey's life, except that then there was a big knot in my stomach, a pit that refused to go away. It taunted me, it would rob my joy if it could, it made swallowing hard, even in the happy moment of knowing Aubrey was alive. My daughter was not well, the future was uncertain, and I was helpless to change it. In that moment, and in many subsequent moments, I had to grapple with faith-- that which we hold onto even though we do not see-- like I'd never grappled before.

Today, I stand here in this same kitchen (albeit entirely remodeled), and instead of wondering if, when, how my precious baby girl might have a working heart, I know she does.

I don't know if I can communicate with mere words just what this means to me.

September 10, 2015 will always be horrible and wonderful and miraculous in my memory. Staying strong before we said good bye was so very, very, very hard, not being able to do anything but wait during the following hours even harder. Getting the report that the surgeon was "going for it"-- beginning the riskier, much more difficult procedure-- against many odds and contrary to the advice of many cardiologists he himself said he respected deeply split my heart in two: I wanted the better fix for Aubrey and yet, in a wave of doubt, I wondered if this was it... if I would ever see her alive again. The phone call that came many hours, countless tears, unending prayers later, saying that he had done it, that he was very pleased, that now it was just a matter of seeing if it would work, and feeling like I was able to take my first real breath all day. Hearing that it had worked, that her heart was functioning, that it was a total repair, and exhaling deeper than I have in almost 8 years. Realizing when talking with the surgeon a little later that it was the best possible outcome; that he really had been stretched but that he'd gone for it because he saw something; that his courage and compassion had allowed him to be used by the Lord for our daughter's healing; and tasting in the most aching parts of my heart that He truly is a God who does exceedingly, abundantly above all that we can ask or think. Seeing her wheeled through the hall, pink fingers and toes, chest moving rhythmically up and down with each breath, surrounded by the same doctors and nurses who had so tenderly and graciously met her/us that morning and who had stayed by her side every minute of that whole day, and seeing more clearly how much He loves to use people.

It will be two weeks tomorrow since she underwent that surgery. And when I say total repair, I mean that her blood is flowing exactly where it needs to go. All of it. Her oxygen saturation levels, which had steadily dropped over the years to the 70s when resting and much lower when walking, were 99% when she was tested at her cardiologist's office today. She has all four chambers and all four valves in working order.

Even in the hospital, they kept saying, "Miracle."

It truly was. She truly is.

My brother sent a text the day of the surgery, "We're the persistent widow, yo!"

And all day I kept picturing the thousands of prayers being prayed on her behalf rising like incense. I had a confidence that we were doing our part: asking, asking, asking.

At around the 3pm hour, about mid-way through the surgery we now know, I whispered to Daniel, "I'm so scared. I just got so scared."

I didn't want to be. I wanted to be the woman of faith. I wanted to be able to say on the other end that my faith never wavered, but here I was and I could only weep, "I believe, Lord; help my unbelief."

My husband leaned in close to my ear and said so softly, "His presence is the answer, Brietta, and we already have Him."

God with us. Emmanuel. And in my heart I knew like I've never known before, this is when He is strong.

Aubrey has a testimony. Ever since she was 11 weeks in the womb, the fight for her life has been real. But she is here, and she is breathing, and she is whole. If I took a couple hours I would struggle to tell the many details of this miraculous story; I look forward to years of telling it at church and around cups of coffee and on the street, and I look forward to years of hearing her tell it.

I stop and I wonder who all the people are that her story will touch. And I pray that she will be faithful to declare Christ in and through and above it all.

Postponed

A bit ago we got a phone call saying that Aubrey's surgery would almost definitely be postponed beyond the originally scheduled date of August 20th. We had been forewarned that this could happen as it is not uncommon for emergency surgeries to backlog the surgeon's schedule and OR. Last week we were told that it would indeed be pushed back due to a number of patients whose health took a sudden turn for the worse.

As much as this initially sent me into a bit of a tailspin, I couldn't help but be thankful that "sudden turn for the worse" isn't how Aubrey is described. Her decline has been that-- a decline-- but it has been gradual and expected and quite honestly even slower than predicted. I am so deeply thankful for this.

The make-up date is tentatively set for September 10th. There's a possibility it will be sooner, but it's most likely going to be then. After a day or two of adjusting emotionally, I realized the multitude of ways this seems better, and I don't even see all that our Heavenly Father sees as He orchestrates our lives! Daniel will now certainly be here when our church transitions back to two services for the fall and reception of the college students back into the area, I will have the time to start our oldest 3 children on some basic schooling that they can then plug away at in my absence, we have more opportunities to show our house (which we put on the market a little less than 2 weeks ago), Daniel will have time to train up a new office assistant the church just hired for him, and I might even get the chance to swap summer/winter clothes (though right now, as we're in the middle of a 4-day high 80s/low 90s stretch, that seems almost ridiculous to think about!) before we head out. Little blessings all along the way.

Aubrey is, of course, very disappointed that she will now pretty certainly be in the hospital for her birthday (September 13), but the truth is that even if we'd made it home post-surgery by then, any celebration we would have would have been very quiet/simple. It feels like a big thing in an almost-8-year-old's world so I'm trying to have compassion for her genuine heartbreak while reminding her that the Lord really and truly does work all things together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

Please spread the word about the surgery date, and I will do my best to continue updates here as we go. Thank you again for praying. We are comforted and strengthened daily, and it means more than words could ever say.

Surgery

It's been quiet in this space, and largely because there is an update looming that I have dragged my proverbial feet about for quite a few months now. Somehow talking about it is easier than writing, and even that isn't easy.

But here goes.
Aubrey, who will be a miraculous eight years old on September 13, is scheduled for open heart surgery on August 20 at Strong Memorial in Rochester. This has been a long-anticipated but much-dreaded necessary course of action since the day of her birth. I tell myself I should just be glad that it's been almost eight years-- seven years and many months longer than we ever thought it would be!-- but the truth is that despite an unwavering confidence that the Lord is leading us and that this is the step of faith He's calling us to in these days, there are those few minutes every single day when I can do nothing but cry.

The surgery is technically an elective surgery. She is not on death's doorstep. Indeed, we could put it off or choose to never have it done at all if we wanted, opting instead for simply enjoying whatever days she has left. The surgeon and her cardiologists have made that clear to us at repeatedly. Yet their professional advice is that her health has declined to a point that they feel it necessary to take action, and they feel now is a good time: she is big enough that they are hopeful they'll be able to put a full-sized valve/conduit in her heart and still she is young enough to have a better chance at a speedy recovery. As we talked and talked and talked with them (they have been wonderful to the point of the surgeon, a big-wig with plenty of important things to be doing, giving us his personal cell phone number so we can call him any time with questions), we repeatedly felt the Lord telling us to, once again, make faith our friend and fear our enemy.

If this feels like quite an abrupt shift from the report in November following her heart catheterization, believe me when I say I was shocked when I read the letter in December myself. I just hadn't seen it coming. But in hindsight, I realized that although the procedure gave them confidence that she was doing okay, it also gave them more information about her heart that then enabled them to discuss with their [very large] team a more concrete plan of action moving forward. They finally reached a consensus about what kind of surgery they thought she should have (remember, her heart is so unusual that there is no standard protocol) and, with that, feeling like the risk of organ damage due to her steadily declining blood oxygen saturation was no longer worth it.

The surgery will be a very involved one. Despite their best attempts at explaining to us exactly what they'll be doing, I really only understand that they will be adding a conduit/valve for the purpose of re-routing oxygenated blood to the proper side of Aubrey's heart so that it can be more efficiently spread to her body. After that, they will patch the hole that currently allows any oxygenated blood to make it to her body at all-- a hole that has been good for her in the short-term because it's the reason she's alive at all, but not good for her in the long-term. Many of you are familiar with the idea that her heart is "backwards"; this won't really be changing as they will simply be trying to get blood where it needs to go. They have told us to anticipate the surgery taking 8-12 hours. Her recovery will most likely be 2-3 weeks in the hospital followed by another 2-3 months before we can resume life "as usual".

Since April we have been making plans. Slowly and at times with much procrastination on my part because-- I won't lie-- it all feels very overwhelming. But bit by bit, it's coming together. And, of course, as overwhelming as it feels, I can't help but feel thankful that we have the opportunity to make plans instead of having it all thrust on us suddenly.

Obviously, we deeply covet your prayers. I can't even tell you how much strength of heart the prayers of others gave me in the days surrounding Aubrey's birth. This time around, it is not just my heart that needs to be strengthened, but a seven-year-old girl's, too.

In the past weeks since we began handing out prayer cards* there has been a steady stream of emails, messages, notecards, and gifts sent to us/her that have been such a tangible expression of God's tender care. Just the other day she curled her ever-lengthening body onto my lap and burst into tears, "Why do I have to have a bad heart? Why do I have to have surgery?" Among some of the things we considered and tearfully discussed were the ways the Lord so generously pours out His love even in the midst of the storm-- and so often at the gracious hands of individuals whose hearts are led by Him.

Many, many, many thanks to those of you who have been praying, and many, many, many thanks to those of you who will be. It truly is the greatest gift you can give.

*I have physical copies of this prayer card yet available and would be happy to send them out. Please just get in touch with me and I will gladly and gratefully do so.

valentine's day

It was a simple Valentine's Day for us this year.

To be honest, celebration of any kind almost didn't happen. I was so tired and just feeling a little worn out physically and emotionally.

But then came the simplicity of my seven-year-old's request coupled with such earnest hope in her eyes, "Mom, do you think we'll decorate heart cookies today?" and I couldn't say no.

Cookie dough got mixed up and popped in the fridge. I pulled out the defrosted pork loin and began preparing it. A simple table can be beautiful and honestly doesn't require much effort.

And a little red food coloring in buttercream frosting delights the hearts of little girls everywhere.

Our celebration was simple, but perhaps more memorable than any other Valentine's Day I've experienced yet, because it reminded me that even when the pressures and cares of life press in hard, even when I feel worn out and like there's not much left to give, as I put one love action in front of another, He meets me. By the time dinner was served and we were gathered around the table, I felt so refreshed, so filled.

The greatest of these truly is love.

Upward basketball

It's another year of Upward Basketball and, boy, do we just keep loving it!

Right in the midst of the winter season when it's hard to find opportunities for kids to run around and be active, they get to play basketball with friends twice a week right at our local church. It's a pretty sweet deal!

The three oldest kids are all playing again. This is Gabriel's seventh and final year, Jackson's fourth year, and Bronwyn's third year. Bronwyn has surprised me in the past twelve months by showing a good amount of athleticism after years of being less than interested.

The little girls still weren't interested. They'd rather color pictures in the bleachers. But who knows? Maybe one or both of them will pull a Bronwyn and suddenly come out of the woodwork with this stuff!

We're so thankful for all the volunteered investment so many make to put Upward together. The kids have great coaches who love them and fear God. They foster an environment of encouragement and healthy perspective.

And, of course, it's a great time each week to see people we love and spend time together!

The Paladins are big fans of Upward Basketball!