Looking Back and Looking Forward: Reflections on Six Months Post-Surgery

I woke up today with the fresh realization six months ago today I had surgery. Life-altering, emotion-enducing surgery.

Just in case you missed it, you can read about that surgery here.

I don't know why it was on my mind so much but, since it was, I thought I'd share some thoughts with you all, six months after one of the craziest days I've experienced. After all, I didn't know much about ectopic pregnancy when it happened to me. So, if you know someone who needs to read this post, send em on over. There's hope, my friends.

Health

I am in great health. No, seriously. I mean, I  ran  almost ran a marathon last weekend. I feel mostly normal. Most days I have no reminders of my surgery. Unless I wear a bikini and see the tiny scars. And unlike most people, I don't wear a bikini every day. Jokes. I totally do. Jokes again.

I sometimes feel residual pain. I'm told this is completely normal and might last up to a year. But it's the manageable, irritating kind that you only notice because you are hyper-sensitive to your body. And I learned the hard way being sensitive to what your body is feeling is a good thing.  Other than that, I feel in tip-top shape.  Which is great. And makes me super appreciative for amazing medical care.

Mental Health

I'm in a good place. A really good place. I've been through lots of phases. That week and the week prior were very bleak.  I am sure you knew this if you read my post or talked to me. But Jesus was also very, very near to me at that time and for that, I am thankful.  I am so thankful His plan is not my plan. Some days it's easier to feel thankful for that than other days. For the most part, I'm very happy to be in God's will, even when it means some broken, hard times. It almost feels like it never happened. Except it totally did and some days I feel that very strongly.

Never was I mad at God. Never was I looking for answers. But still, I think I found some. He loves when we are close, even if that closeness is through brokenness. And when we ask Him to take control of a situation, He does. Even when it's a completely different plan than we had for ourselves.

I think, if I am honest, I tried to "fill" the broken spot in my heart with the adoption at first. You all probably noticed that.  While we both know God was spurring us to look into older children, we knew that before all the madness.  I don't think I was meant to confuse that with "since you had to suffer, I'll now give you something as a blessing."I don't think it was ever meant to be a trade.  And after some tears, I feel really good about that. Yes, we are so looking forward to "the call." And in some ways, this spurred us on to change our parameters. But one will not replace the other. And healing had to come before I was in a place to understand that. First healing. Then hope. Then future. I think we're there.

The Big Question

The big question I get, more than any other, is will we try to get pregnant again.

Which, by the way, is a very personal question, thankyouverymuch. But since I share a lot here, might as well go for it.

Let me start by saying, for those who don't know, it is possible. Scientifically, speaking. I am told by my doctor the chances of the same thing happening again are slim to none and the possibility of us getting pregnant without any complications and in a relatively short amount of time is very high. We should, on paper, be able to have a biological child, should we chose to go that route.

Follow up: it's much easier to hear those words than it is to believe them. Although I think I am almost there.

So,  will we? Well, I think so. It's not in our near plans. But we also aren't ruling it out. I think we'll say what we should have said all along: God-willing. When His time is right. If that time ever comes.

So that's it. Six months. A very long time and not long at all. I feel whole again. Minus a tube of course.

Thanks for praying for me and letting me be very vulnerable in this space. Community helps in the healing. And I am blessed with beautiful community.

Little One Letter

Hi Little One,

Wonder what you're up to! I am writing this on a Monday, as I often do, thinking of how different life will be when you arrive.

It's Christmas season here. I decorated yesterday and it took every ounce of self-control I have not to put up a stocking for you. Yes, we've had a stocking reserved for you for a while but I don't want to put it up until we know who you are and can put your name on it.  Our mantle looks lovely with the four stockings (our dogs have stockings around here...yes, we are crazy!) but I just can't wait to add one or two more. It will be the most exciting day ever to add yours to the list. I have to say we would be more than thrilled to do it this holiday season. Knowing we've only got a few weeks, though, I understand it might be next year. Hopefully not the next. Oh, for the sake of both our hearts, I hope it is not.

When you arrive in our lives, we will get TWO Christmases! I mean, we'll celebrate Christmas on Dec 25 like we always do in the US but we'll also celebrate Gena.  That's Ethiopian Christmas, as I am sure you know. I am already trying to get used to leaving my decorations up a little later. I wonder what kinds of traditions we'll have together. I can't wait.  Christmas will be so much more fun when you are around.  Sharing our family. Reading the Christmas story together. Getting you your own nativity. Wrapping gifts and watching you open them. Sharing the truth of the miracle of Jesus.  Then I imagine we'll come up with some new traditions, too. Maybe we'll eat popcorn and drink cocoa for Gena. Maybe you'll have a favorite Christmas movie. Maybe we'll meet up with other Ethiopian families. Hard to tell.

I know I've told you before you very excited our community is to meet you. We're all getting more excited. In fact, a few weeks ago, people prayed nonstop for you for 24 hours. For your safety. For your quick homecoming. For people to love and care for you until we can get there. For your health. And of course we pray for you all the time. But for someone else to pray for you and care for you in the way we hope you are, well, it's just heartwarming.

I read an article about someone who's been to our transition home, where you will most likely live. It was encouraging to hear her talk about how much the nannies care for their kids. And how much the director cares about your daily life. It breaks my heart that you are most likely over there, waiting for paperwork, just like we are over here, waiting for paperwork. But it was so nice to know if we can't be united yet, you are most likely in good hands.  We'll continually be praying for that.

I must get grocery shopping but I hope you know you're on my heart. I'm praying until we meet. And forever.

Love,

Mom

The Race that Never Happened

The journey to my second marathon is a story, I tell you. It starts with registering right after my surgery in June. I put it on the calendar as a goal. A way to remind myself that my body was capable of lots of things. I got excited about it and started training as soon as I was cleared to run.

Fast forward through months and months of training.  Better training than last year, in fact. E and I were pretty confident we could beat last year's time. And even better? Our team was raising more money for St. Jude than we ever had before.  Our first year there were four of us and this year we were up to 19. The funds kept pouring in and we were so excited for the Mizzou Maniacs to have a fun, productive time in Memphis to benefit St. Jude and introduce new team members to this great race and amazing hospital.

Well, right before Thanksgiving I got bronchitis and started to get a little nervous about the race. But I was hellbent on running. I was going to run NO MATTER WHAT. Because I am stubborn as a mule very determined.

We packed and were ready to go Thursday. This is our 5th year running this race so we have a pretty good game plan. E and I head to my parents' house the night before and then we all travel together early Friday morning. We started on the roads to my parents' and an hour in, we slipped, slid, and turned around to go home. We had high hopes of going Friday but couldn't make any decisions.

Friday morning we hemmed and hawed but eventually decided to get going, along with my brother, his girlfriend, and best friend. I'll spare you the details of our harrowing journey. Bottom line: It took us way too long, it was way too scary, and we arrived late to the expo to get our tickets to the fundraising banquet. Right as we arrived, they canceled the race. Perfect timing.

Trees down the street from the expo. Long travels mean I had a dead phone for the banquet.

I won't lie. Tears. They arrived. I didn't shed them but they welled up in my eyes. All that travel and we weren't even going to get a chance to run. But Rick Shadyac, the fundraising CEO for St. Jude, was sadder than I could ever be. He stood on that stage and very apologetically explained that 30% of their volunteers had already canceled, as well as 15% of their medical staff. Branches were falling all over the city and Tennessee was in a state of emergency. The wise thing to do was to cancel the race. And so they opened beer in the back of the ballroom and we all understood. Mostly.

We went back to the expo to grab some St. Jude gear (can't have enough of that!) and saw the coolest thing...an SUV with the names of every HERO (fundraiser) on it. Check it out!

Pretty neat, huh? While we were at that car, I ran into a sweet patient. Miss J is a teenager who was in chemo for a brain tumor last year during the race. She brought a team from her small Mississippi town this year and her team was so bummed to miss the race.  We commiserated together as she told me about her story. St. Jude began to treat her tumor but then referred her to the premiere specialist to remove her tumor. This specialist happened to not be a St. Jude doc. So when the bill for almost $90,000 arrived, the family was overwhelmed. But...because St. Jude referred them to that hospital, they paid it. Every dime.

Keycard to our hotel

This is why we run.  This is why we traveled through the snow to get there. It didn't matter that the race didn't happen. Miss J is so appreciative of St. Jude. And she thanked us for being there. Wow.

Since we didn't get to run, we put on our jerseys and headed down to Beale Street to enjoy some jazz at B.B. King's. 

cute parents!

No, E is not wearing his jersey. Because for some reason they didn't have one in his size. But cute St. Jude shirt, right??

We woke up Saturday even more deflated. But we put on our gear and headed to the fundraising lounge. There, lots of people were milling around, eating, taking pics, and commiserating about all the training that ended in a cold, frozen weekend. At least we looked cute.

We sat down next to a St. Jude family and Sweet C. told me his story. He's been a St. Jude patient for 13 years. He has his own team and even invited us to join. We promised we'd find him again next year.  He thanked us for his hard work and told us story after story of how much his family appreciates St. Jude.

This is why we run. Or don't run. This is why we love St. Jude.

CEO of the Fundraising arm of St. Jude, Rick Shadyac

When we finished our time at the lounge, ran by the stadium. It was icy and reaffirmed why they didn't have the race.

But they did give us a finisher medal. Getting there was accomplishment enough. So we said thanks and wore our medals with pride.

Check out all that ice!

We went to Rendezvous, our after-race tradition, and enjoyed some ribs.

Then, we geared up for a sad game. And that's all I'm going to say about that. Here's our team watching the game:

So you could say the weekend was a bust. But I just can't say that.  My supporters raised more than $1,000 and our team, jointly, raised $11,264,73. That, my friends, is a big deal.

Special and overwhelming thanks to each of you who donated, wished us well, prayed for us, and encouraged us along the way.

Will we run another race to make up for this one? We haven't decided. We'll have the opportunity to apply our race fees to another marathon. But that means continued training in the cold. So for now we're going to get in the holiday spirit and decide about the race later.

Either way, St. Jude hasn't seen the last of us! Next year we'll have bigger fundraising dreams and a point to prove. We'll be back, Memphis. You haven't seen the last of the Mizzou Maniacs!!

The Best Part

It's easy to miss it. That piece of my heart that sings. That knows each moment of a busy morning is important. That stops to breathe in the scent of the baby shampoo.  That understands the cry and the longing of a toddler and doesn't put him on a to-do list.

Tuesday mornings are one of the busiest times in my job. Moms bring dozens of little people in and we love them and teach them church is safe and hope they walk away with a little deeper understanding of the bible.  I always look forward to it but I find myself rushing through. Checking off my to-do list. Making sure diapers get changed, no one is screaming, and everyone is safe and happy on the playground.

Some mornings, though, I get the chance to savor. I would be lying if I said I like the stand back and observe approach. Most of the time, Sundays or Tuesdays, you'll find me in a classroom. I like to be "in the action." What's that? A baby is crying? Let me hold her. A preschooler is having a rough morning? Can I talk to him? Honestly, I maybe a little too hands-on sometimes. I love it, though.  I only get one or two days a week and I take advantage of them.

So the savoring...

The beginning of today was rushed. Filled with checking things off the list, making sure everyone knew all the pertinent information. Then it turned to discipline. Major, heart-wrenching discipline.

Little A was waiting. He was doing his best to try to make himself happy with other sitters. But each time he'd look over and reach for me, I didn't have the ability to take him yet. I'd say, "I promise, buddy! I'm there as soon as I handle this one more thing..."and then had to go back to the discipline and the rosters and the everyday stuff.

With less than an hour left, I grabbed Little A and we settled in.  He was finally happy to snuggle in my arms.  The back story is it's taken him a year to like me. Ours is a love that's rooted in hardship, in trust, in perseverance.

I held him and watched as he fought to stay upright. He was ready to sleep--something I've never seen him do in my care.  I put on my favorite lullaby on repeat and we rocked and swayed. I watched his eyelids get heavy. I watched him look to me and trust me enough to lose consciousness in my arms. And I prayed over him, praying God would help Little A to know how much he loved him. That God would build him and firmly root him. And I teared up. Thinking of how much I love Little A. What a privilege it is to build relationship with him on Sundays and Tuesdays. I wondered if he would ever know there was a 30 year old woman, waiting for her little one, snuggling him, so thankful for the hope he brought. When he's my age, he probably won't know me. But I pray he knows Jesus.

I read my friend Courtney's blog today. She's in Ethiopia.  She's visiting orphanages and seeing children in devastating circumstance. And she's loving them. Rocking them to sleep, singing them songs about Jesus. Praying over them. I may never know if she meets my little one. But I get comfort in knowing there are people out there, loving my little one like I would want to.

Today was one more reminder that my job is not valued in the eyes of the world. I won't get a medal. I won't even get the value of watching these children grow into adults and seeing how God uses them. But I get glimpses now. A reach and a snuggle. A kiss blown by sticky, chubby toddler fingers. A child who tells the Bible story to Mom without being prompted. And I know someday, when all the sadness has gone, I will see many of them on the other side and we can celebrate our savior together.

And my heart sings.

Grace--A Post About Waiting Two Years

Two years. Of waiting. Today.

So today could be a hard day. But as it turns out, we are so blessed it's actually a great, beautiful example of God's grace.  For those of you who haven't heard. let me explain.

I got a sweet letter last week from a woman in our church who told me she'd be praying for me at 3:30 today. It was a beautiful note, explaining her own adoption story and telling me how she would be praying for me today.

Well, I told a coworker about this sweet note and she pulled me aside to confess she'd been up to something. Something big.

Knowing today would be a difficult day for us, this sweet, precious friend of mine had asked those who know us to sign up for a spot to pray for us today.

Every thirty minutes. All day long today. Starting at midnight. People have been praying for us. And for IC (imaginary child).

People who know us well and people who don't know us as well. People who are related to us and people who feel like they should be we are so close.

She showed me the spreadsheet and told me it filled very quickly. Even the times in the middle of the night.  Of course, I couldn't stop the tears from flowing.  I'm trying not to cry now just typing about it.

I was already in tears when I started to realize some people had signed up as "So and So's Mom" and right then and there I lost it.  Something about seeing mamas we mostly know only by caring for their children praying for our child was just too much to bear.  Mamas who hand their sons and daughters over the door to my husband in the walkers room. Or know me from the hallway. I just can't. It's just too much. I don't know why but something about it just was overwhelming.

As I read through the sheet, there were some times that had three and four people praying.

I don't even know how to express feelings about this.

Grace.

This is what grace looks like.

People loving each other. Loving us.  Taking time out of their day. Their night.  To pray for us.  We don't deserve this kindness.

But for grace.

I will treasure this document forever.

I can't pay these people back.  I wouldn't even know how to begin.

Grace.

As E and I hit the pillow last night, we knew people would be praying for us as we slept. We prayed for them and thanked God for a community who love us so, so well.

I woke up today, knowing his grace really is new every morning.  E and I had a delightful breakfast together before work and still, I really could only think about everyone praying for us.

I just had to share this because he's so sweet and darling. Can't wait to see him as a dad.

I put the link on our chain.  Here's the verse I chose for the 24th month of waiting:

Phil 4:6-7 "Do not be anxious about anything, but through everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, submit your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Today marks two years of officially waiting for our referral (that phone call where they'll call and tell us they've matched us with a child). Two years since our paperwork was sent on an airplane to Ethiopia.

Pay no attention to the backpacks and laundry baskets that have overtaken our whole house:)

I went back today and read our announcement post, where I told the world we were officially accepted into the Ethiopia program for our agency.  On that post I said we thought it would take between one and two years to bring our child home.  We've seen lots of changes to the program in the past two years and it's become clear that original timeframe was a little off base.

Or a lot.

In some ways, I can't believe it's been two years since we sent our paperwork to Ethiopia. In other ways it seems like it's been forever.  Here's one thing I know:

I am not the same woman who stood at Fed Ex two years ago and dropped the most important paperwork of her life into an overnight express envelope.

I was told the wait would change me. It has. My heart looks different. My life looks different. My desires look different. But one thing hasn't changed:

I can't wait to bring home our child.

Of course, the idea of who our child is has changed a little. Or a lot.

My expectations of what that process and the challenges that will lie within have changed a little. Or a lot.

But ultimately, God has grown our hearts more for his desires and to care for his people.

We don't know how long we'll keep waiting but we sure can see how far we've come.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. To each and everyone one of you who hold us in your hearts. We are waiting for our child but we are not waiting for our blessings. We are already blessed more than we can even hold. Thank you for blessing us. Thank you for your prayers.

"Tis grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home."

An update by way of iphone photos

This is where I admit to you that I haven't blogged in a month because I desperately want to blog about something adoption-related. And I think many of you want an update.

But there is no update to be had. As Ethiopia goes through one more set of changes in procedure, nothing is really happening in the way of referrals.

Oh, lots is happening in our lives. Just nothing with the adoption. So in some ways it feels like we're in one of those holding pattern phases again. Desperately hoping someone, anyone will get a referral so we can be renewed in hope.  We're mere days from the 2 year mark. Don't worry. I'll blog on our two year mark. But, alas, we are in the "trust God and be still" part of life.

I got a letter in the mail today. From a family in our church. They told me they'd be praying for me on Monday. They told their story of waiting for their son and how it worked out. It was so beautiful. It's easy to feel like people are only with us for the exciting parts of the journey. It was great to be reminded that our family and our Father are present in the quiet moments, too.

So, I thought today being the 13th (our favorite day around here, in case you had forgotten) I should post. And what makes a better post after a one-month absence than an iphone dump. So in no particular order, this is what is happening in our lives as we try to live on and not wait in suspense, knowing that real life is happening in every moment and not just the adoption-related ones.

OK you caught me. This one was adoption-related. Our 23 months post. We added one more link to the chain with the verse that's been keeping me sane lately. Psalm 18:30 "This God--his way is perfect; the word of the LORD proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him."

Good thing the chain is cute. The wait is so not.

Oh yeah. The football. So very much football.  If I were to describe my fall it would go like this:  run, football, work, /repeat. 

As it turns out we are good this year. Like, seriously good. Who knew? Not even we did at the beginning of the season but we keep winning so that's a lot of fun. A lot more fun than last year. We're even talking SEC championships and stuff.  Of course, there's no hope for winning that one. Sure would be a lot of fun to play, though.

Cute best friend, right? Right. We both like vests, natch.

No, we didn't move. Orphan Sunday was November 3. In an amazing turn of events our church gave around 200 backpacks to one of our local foster care agencies. So what I'm basically saying is I've been inventorying backpacks in my awake free time for the past few weeks and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. 

We were blown away by our church's support for foster care. One of the things I specifically prayed for after attending Summit was to develop a greater support for foster care in our community. We've got a long way to go but this was a beautiful step.  

As I unpacked and checked backpacks, it went like this: open pack, cry at the generosity of people, pack it back up and pray, go to the next one.

This was, by far, the best Orphan Sunday I've been a part of. I am still praying God will use this and it would be great if you could join me.

This is Jerry.  No, not my husband. The dog. We have a new foster puppy currently. He's adorable and very stinky. We love him dearly and hope he finds a great new home. And in no way do we secretly want to keep him. We definitely want him to find a great home.

Unless we keep him. 

I kid. I kid. We can't do 3 dogs right now. My head would explode. So if you know a great family who wants a crate trained, potty-trained, beautiful, super sweet and snuggly dog who growls at ALL THE THINGS, contact me.

And finally, we got to see Eric's aunt late last week. I had never met Auntie R. That's mostly because she lives in Nepal. And has for the entirety of our marriage. So it was so cool to meet her. And a bonus: I found out E has some blue-eyed genes in his family line. So you're telling me there's a chance...

And that's about it for our lives right now. They're full. We just need to remember that. Full and beautiful. And not dictated by a wait.

I keep saying. Over and over and over.

Little One Letter

Hello Little One,

It's bright and early here but it's late afternoon on your side of the world. Sometimes I like to look at what time it is in Ethiopia and wonder what you're up to. Of course, that will all depend on how old you are. And boy (or girl), would I like to know!

I think of you each and every day. I wonder if today will be the day we'll get a call that will tell us more about you. I dream of what that call will look like. What will I be doing?  Will your hair be in tight curls or sweet braids? Will you be smiling nervously or maybe you're so shy they won't be able to coax a smile out of you for the picture. Will there be one or two of you in that picture?

There was a time I was writing to you, not sure if you were even born. I think we can be pretty certain you are born, now that we think you're a little older. Still, there are so many uncertainties.

Yesterday I had to run lots of errands and I thought of what it would be like to have you as a shadow. You probably wouldn't have liked sitting in Jiffy Lube for 40 minutes. But...there was a cute baby who would have been sitting next to us. Maybe you would have smiled. Maybe we would have all played together. Or maybe you and I would have been actively played hopscotch in the parking lot and we wouldn't have even noticed the cute baby. Things are going to be so different when you get here. I can't even imagine. Or wait. But I do wait.

Please know, little one, I pray for you so, so often. It breaks my heart to think of everything that's happening on your side of the world before you become ours.  I pray for your safety every day. I pray for people to love you and sing to you.  I have a friend headed to Ethiopia in a few days. I wonder if she will meet you. Are you already in the transition home? Will she play ball with you or paint your nails? Will she sing to you or hug you until I can get there? Only our heavenly father knows but I can't wait for his plans to be revealed.

Little one, I would wait forever for you but I hope I don't have to. I love you!

love,

mom