I've forgotten what I started fighting for...

There is nothing wrong with my eyes. It is my vision I am having a hard time with.

Here is the scene: Days into labor, and I mean about five days. Finally, my midwife and I decided it was time for her to come, ready or not (I was only 10 days overdue), so after a few doses of a terrible tasting drink (herbs to get labor going) around 9:30 that morning, I was in heavy labor. Hannah is my fifth child, so I knew what to expect. But this just went on and on and on... I would set a goal. I can make it until 5:00 pm. I can make it until 9:30 pm. I can make it until midnight... At some point, I quit trying to see the end and just tried to make it!

It was about 2:00 am and I walked out of the bathroom into a HOT bedroom. Our bedroom door opened to the sunroom where the wood stove is and that was now stoked high and very hot. I remember so well saying, "You guys have got it entirely too hot in here!" My midwife answered, "I want it warm in here when the baby comes."

"BABY? Who is having a baby? Where is the baby? OH, that is what is going on here? This labor is going to end soon and there will be a BABY?" I will never forget those thoughts!

In my hours and hours of labor, I had forgotten the goal. I was so consumed with labor that I had lost the vision of the baby. As REO Speedwagon sings so well, "I've forgotten what I started fighting for..." There I was with a belly so big, I couldn't see my toes, and I was so distracted by my pain that I let go of the joy to come.

I remember when I went through a season of healing in my heart a few years ago that I thought the pain would never end. But I trudged everyday, sometimes taking a step back, but always moving, not stopping, trusting that Jesus was a Shepherd that knew where He was going. And now that I have walked all that healing out, I can say that whatever form the pain comes in, it never compares to the joy on the other side. Don't get distracted by the pain, press into the vision that there is healing on the other side.

I feel like that about a lot of things in my life lately. I get so consumed with the day to day that I forget why I am doing all this in the first place. Days of breaking up fights, cleaning up spills, folding clothes, washing dishes all make it so easy to forget that the children that require my endless time and energy will one day be adults. All that is being poured into them today will come back out tomorrow on the world. But how easy it is to get caught up in the fifth load of laundry of the day or the seventh time I have asked someone to clean up that mess!

This is my prayer for all of us: that we would be able to see beyond ourselves. That the Holy Spirit would give us vision so that we could run with endurance toward our goals. I pray that whatever situation you are in, your vision is as clear as your sight.

Seeing past the trash

I went for a much needed walk tonight after supper. A rainy day inside with five children wired for sound makes a mama don her raincoat and head outside!

Now, if you have never been to our house, you might not know we live in the woods. We live at the end of a cove surrounded by forests. Today it rained all day, and one of my favorite places to be on all the earth is in a green leaved forest after it rains. The earthy smell of the damp forest floor... the deep green of the leaves against the dark brown of the wet trunks of the trees... the coolness of the air and the quiet solitude of Nature watching her bathe in her renewed vigor... It is a time that I watch in expectation to see a little piece of magic in all that enchantment.

It was so beautiful. It calmed my tumultuous soul and soothed my mind to just stand there on the road gazing into the forest. It was one of those moments that you forget all about going home or when you were supposed to be there.

And then I saw all the trash the rain water dragged along the ditch as it raced by on its way to our pond. Trash! It was so out of place in that beautiful moment! It was like the camera catching you with your eyes closed in the everything-else-was-perfect family portrait. I got so distracted by the trash that I forgot all about what had stopped me in my tracks in the first place!

I tried to keep going back to that feeling I just had, like waking up from a dream and trying to will yourself back to sleep. But I just couldn't get passed that trash!

So as I walked home, I started thinking how very much alike the scene I just came out of and people are. How many times have I been stopped by someone because I glimpsed that rare beauty and then, just as I began to breathe him or her in deeply, I got distracted by the "trash"? Maybe they thought differently on some oh so important issue, maybe they *gasp* said a bad word!, maybe they were gossiping, maybe they had a life story that was a little too much information, if you know what I mean.

Or what about my children, or my husband? What about the people I really cherish and love, my friends, my family? What about their trash? Heck, what about my own?! What about the complaining, the arguing, the hurtful thing that was said yesterday? Are we really going to get distracted by that trash to the point we no longer linger in the beauty?

I must admit, I know where I have come from and who I was. Trash would have been a compliment to describe me...

And still I have the most incredible friends who love me. A husband that encourages me and cherishes me. A family that cheers me on. Children who absolutely don't seem to see any flaw in me (yet!). And best of all, a Savior who has forgotten more that I will ever know about my trash, and He is wild about me!

Perspective

I want to introduce you to some really special people. They have been special to me for some time now, but recently, the word "special" has taken on new meaning.

This is Doug and Sue Bausch, my mother and father in law.

They look like ordinary people. They live in Iowa and work pretty ordinary jobs. They have an ordinary family (except their oldest son and his children, I think they are quite extraordinary!) They have an ordinary house, cars, clothes...

But recently they have become anything but ordinary. An ordinary day for any of us might include waking up, a cup of coffee, dressing for work, meetings, school, planning for the weekend, thinking about a vacation...

Nothing seems ordinary anymore when you find out you have two tumors in your brain and you have months to live...

You see, Sue is a cancer survivor. She had cancer a year and a half ago. And this is where ordinary stops. It is not so out of the ordinary for cancer cells to metastasize. However, as her doctor told her a week ago, he has only seen one other person in 35 years of experience to have it spread to the brain. So much for ordinary.

Eric and I took Hannah to Iowa last weekend because the same week she found out this incredible news was also her birthday. How ironic. And this is where I realized I no longer have ordinary in laws.

When we got there on Friday, her birthday, Sue informed me that the next morning we would be going to get her head shaved. After three radiation treatments, she was losing her hair, and she could have waited, but wanted me to go with her, so she went early. We talked later about how in the scheme of all that she is about to go through, having a hair cut should be so insignificant. She called it "just another step in the process". But we agreed that it was so much more than insignificant. It is facing with both eyes open the reality of what this is. It is an outward reminder that from this moment on, every single second is precious. It was anything but insignificant.

I wish more than anything I could verbalize what I saw her do. So many times this week I have felt like a painter must feel at Inspiration Point in Yellowstone trying to figure out how to capture all that beauty on one canvas. I don't remember ever seeing such grace, such dignity, such courage, and determination as I saw in Sue that day. Like David running toward Goliath in battle, she held her head high, and went forward. And when it was done, when her precious regrown hair from the first cancer battle littered the ground around her, she looked more beautiful than I have ever seen her.

And then there is Doug. You know, something I realized is that this is not just happening to her. He is losing his wife of 38 years. His best friend. His travel partner. His walking buddy. He calls her "Bugs". His fellow singer of made up songs to their grandchildren. Their marriage is one of those marriages that you hope your children find, that you hope to find for yourself. My earnest hope and prayer is that when anyone, not just someone I deeply love, is vulnerable and out of sorts, that I can be to that person such a safe place that Doug is to Sue. Because of the location of the tumors in her brain, she doesn't remember things well, or she gets confused, or can't recall what she just read. And he is her constant protector. He is so patient with her. So lovingly willing to esteem her and honor her. Again, if I just had the right paint brush or the right color, I might be able to paint my heart and thoughts...

So this week I have seen things differently. I have taken extra time to drink deeply the fleeting moments that so easily escape the busy mind and soul. Like when the children are laughing and playing with the wind in their hair and dirt on their feet. Watching Josiah today in the garden catch frogs and try to keep them in his toy truck. The flaming color of the azalea bushes. The smell of the freshly tilled dirt as I plant a seed. Trying to pinpoint the color of the full moon's light on the leaves of the forest trees I see out my bedroom window.

Beauty from ashes. That has to be one of Jesus' best talents. In the middle of a heartache we have never before matched has already come, for me, some of the sweetest gifts of my life. I aspire to face the impossible with as much resolve, as much unconditional love, as much life as I have witnessed from Doug and Sue.

Thank you, Grammie and Grandpa. You have given this family gifts no package could ever hold...

Today is hard

Today is hard. Maybe because it is 7:15 am, and today has already been underway for me for about 4 hours. Eric was up at 3 am to get to work in Dyersburg (an hour away) by 5. Josiah seems to have a routine of coughing at 4 am for the last couple weeks. And by 5 am, do I really go back to bed just to get up an hour later?

Besides, my heart aches this morning...it is so hard to watch Josiah cough. So hard to watch him struggle to get that sticky mucus out of his lungs, coughing until he just throws up. Once he finally calmed down and went back to sleep, I got online to try to research CF information. I found some blogs that I know I need to read, but how do you face something like this and not become moved by it? Moved as in "none of these things move me, nor do I count my life dear to myself , so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of God." Acts 20:24

How do you read about the lists of medications, treatments, hospital stays, deaths, husbands, wives, children, lung transplants, diets, doctors, and on and on and not be moved?

I really do know the answer. Really, I do.

But there is a difference between knowing the right answer and KNOWING it. There is a knowing based on theory, and a knowing based on experience. I think this is just a grieving time. And I can't imagine knowing based on experience without grieving.

So today is hard. And I can't imagine it without Jesus to hold my hand...

7 is not so big...

Moses is 7. He is so big! He backed the golf cart out of Granny's shed this week by himself (he's been doing this for awhile). He does wheelies on his bike. He reads. He writes. He engineers amazing creative ways to accomplish everyday tasks. He has a BB gun. And several pocket knives. He helps me take care of Hannah, changing her and dressing her. He sleeps over at friend's houses and doesn't call me to come get him at bedtime. In fact, I think he would really like to stay for days. He has beaten Super Mario Brothers on the Wii. He does back flips on the trampoline. He cooks eggs himself. He is just so...big.

But then there are the times that he falls, scrapes his knee, and wants me to make it all better. Or when someone says something unkind to him and his little heart is broken. Some nights he has a

bad dream and just wants to crawl in bed between Eric and myself. He likes for me to get his clothes out and toss them up to him on the top bunk in the mornings or to give him a piggy back ride to breakfast. He still whines (sometimes). He likes for me to scratch his back. I love the way he says in his still so sleepy voice, "Good morning, Mama" while he rubs his eyes and holds blanky. I still have the ability to quiet his fears. He still wants me to kiss him good night and tuck him in.

I hope he always wants to kiss me goodnight...no matter how big he is.

The top of the wall

**FINALLY** we finished the climbing wall! It has been up for a good long time, but now it has all the holds on it. You can see we improvised a few at the bottom... It is about 14 feet high, just right for the children. How cool is it that this is what recess is like?!

There is so much to learn about life from the climbing wall... wow.

The thing that has stuck with me the most is actually not getting to the top. It is what they do once they are there. The boys (especially) are pretty confident that they can get to the top. Even friends who have not climbed this wall before puff up their little man chests and, indeed, shimmy right up to the top. Then they get stuck. And it really is not that high. And you can see they wear a harness, and I am holding the other end of the rope. I try to tell them that this is what I went to college to do. (Yes, it is, in fact. I am finally putting my degree to work!) They don't care what I went to school to do when they are standing at the top, and I am asking them "to lean back and trust the rope".

Sometimes they try and try and try. They get mad. They cry. But they keep trying to trust me and trust the rope. Finally, they conquer their fear and, oh joy! What fun they have rappelling down the wall!!

Sometimes they get to the top and say "NO WAY. I WILL NOT EVEN TRY." My husband is a counselor. I try all the techniques on them. "What are you afraid of?" "Can you trust me?" "Tell me about your relationship with your father." Blah, blah, blah. If they have made up their minds not to even try to push past what they are afraid of, then no amount of coaxing will work.

Yeah, I say to myself, that's not me. I NEVER do that. I always try, right? Self, are you listening?

Speaking in Flowers

A long time ago, Eric and I came up with this idea. What if our words turned into flowers as they were spoken? What kind of garden would we grow? I hate to admit it, but a lot of days, my words plant this kind of garden:

These are the days when everything that comes out of my mouth is complaining, bitterness, grumbling, frustration.... Then in the middle of all that, I get a moment of relief from all the dryness in my heart, and, like a shower in the desert, out comes a compliment. An encouraging word. A praise. An I love you. A sunflower in the middle of the dry, dusty, dead ground.

We all know that "life and death are in the power of the tongue". How much do we actually pay attention to that? Are we those people who just say what is on our mind? Do we stop to think about how what we are saying might make someone else feel? "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Whoever said that had obviously never been condemned with harsh words from his father. He must have been quite content in his marriage with a wonderfully mute wife. His friends never made the mistake to share with him their point of view, because it was, of course, "for his best".

And this doesn't even take into consideration the actual realization of curses we speak over ourselves and the people we love most! We wonder why we can't ever get ahead when all we can proclaim is "I never have enough money!" Or why we feel ill after we just said to our child, "You make me sick." This is not some hokey pokey notion, but real truth. Just because we don't believe it, doesn't mean it doesn't operate in our lives. We can refuse the Law of Gravity all day long, but I'll bet every single person takes a parachute with them to skydive.

But what about the things we don't say? What if we are careful not to speak curses, but not intentional to speak blessings? Eric and I have become very intentional to speak blessings over our children. This is sometimes harder! To speak out loud that "I am patient. I am a patient, loving mother with a gentle spirit" when all I really want to do is kick everybody out the door while I scream "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??!!!", is an act of my will to speak a blessing over myself. In my busyness, I have to slow myself down often to speak loving words to my family. I want to get this done first, then I will stop to tell Josiah I am so proud of him... Why not tell him first?! It was hard at first. Growing up, my family wasn't really one that was super affectionate and affirming. I had to give myself permission to pour out what I didn't necessarily have poured in...

For those of you who are not around children very often, do not be fooled by the masks that people wear. As we age, we become masters of facade... When death is spoken in place of life, it is not nearly as visible as with a child. I am reminded every time I speak to my children that I am a gardener. I have seen them literally wilt right before my eyes because of a harsh word spoken over them. What kind of garden they become is very much because of what I plant. To my great shame, I confess that sometimes in my inpatience I throw thorns and thistles instead of tenderly, carefully transplanting young sprouts.

Oh, God! Please help me use my words to plant this instead:

P.S. I guess I better get used to being real with every thing I write on here... here is today's confession: Yes, we do live by this. To the point you will never hear us say that Josiah "has" any disease. He was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis when he was a baby (he will be three October 25). He manifests the symptoms of a disease. Those things both did and do happen. But we will not speak over him a diagnosis of death. At the point all we can hope for is what we see, all hope is lost. We believe for Josiah (and any other child God blesses us with!) what we cannot see. What we cannot understand, but dare to hope in. His name means "Healed by God". We didn't know that when he was born, nor did we know he would need that promise so tangibly in his life. We believe God still heals. We believe words have power. And I don't know too many little boys that are as healthy as he has been for the past three years! You might think we are crazy, or maybe "that we are not facing the facts", I can't blame you. A few years ago, before I got to walk all this out, I might have thought I was crazy for believing in this, too. It is funny how a little life and death situation will spin you all around and make you question everything you have ever thought you have known... and rebuild your faith in a whole other paradigm.