Gymnastics Day

Literally about half of the days out of the week, Merrick wakes up and asks me: "Is it gymnastics day?!" Ever since he started taking the class about 8 weeks ago, thanks to a birthday gift from my family, he's been a fan. I wasn't sure how he'd take to it...sometimes he can be a bit of a...free spirit maybe? He likes to wander, and do his own thing, and I was picturing meltdowns over him trying to "do his own thing" all over gym class and well, it was kinda scary.

So far the biggest problem at gymnastics has been Jericho. And I know you're thinking of all kinds of ways that I can restrain and entertain a 2 year old, but you've never dealt with Jericho when Jericho is on a seek and destroy mission. It's an unstoppable force of nature that weighs 34 pounds and is stubborn as a mule. He runs out into the middle of gym class at least once or twice a class. And that's when he isn't soaking himself and other gym-goers with the water fountain, or trying to hide in the bathroom. If there was room I'd put his defiant behind in the stroller...but it's usually pretty crowded in there. And I'm sure handcuffing him to a folding chair would be frowned upon...not that it ever crossed my mind.

This past Monday was the final class for the session, and Merrick decided to go out with a bang, and I  caught a glimpse of him scaling the rope hanging from the ceiling and was impressed with how far up he climbed. He's pretty strong for such a wiry little guy. He was pretty impressed with the medal they gave him, a fun little surprise we didn't know was coming. He's literally worn it everywhere since Monday, and showed it to everyone. He's already discussing his next class, so I'm thinking it's time for me to get a job that actually pays something to fund his new hobby. My current employer(s) sure is cute, but the pay around here makes minimum wage look good. ;)

Counting

I typically refuse to set New Years resolutions. I just know in the past, and from so many people around me, they don't stick. If someone wants to do something, or not do something, a New Years resolution probably isn't going to stop them. You have to really decide you want to change a certain thing more than how badly you want to be comfortable...and that doesn't happen necessarily on January 1st.

I'm not knocking people for making an effort and setting resolutions. I think that's better than not even trying. And some people do carry them out, which is even better. I just haven't had good results in my own life. Big changes have happened when I just finally got fed up with the way things were...and that can happen in any month of the year. 

This year is no different...I didn't set any resolutions. Exactly. I happened to come across a challenge, a dare I think it was called, while reading Ann Voskamp's blog. (Yes, yes, I'm a little obsessed with her writing right now. It's just so needed...just makes sense of things that didn't make sense before.)

Anyway, the dare is simply to count 1000 gifts throughout the coming year, usually 3 specific things each day to look for and document (although there's plenty more if you're really looking)...like for example yesterday was "something I'm reading, seeing, and making". The point is just to be aware, to notice, to be thankful for the everyday gifts that make you aware of the One who gives them.

So I decided to try it. I don't want it to be about checking three items off my list and making sure I've gotten that done. Even if I'm not meeting the daily guidelines, if I'm being more aware of the daily graces I'm so used to hurrying past, I'll call it a success.

The Terrorist Turns Two

I think I'll probably be calling Jericho "my baby" no matter how many more babies come into our life. Billy tells me already that Jericho is NOT the baby, and has been dethroned. (I promptly told him to not to use such rude words around the baby.) I am going to give you the I love all my kids the same speech right now, because I totally do and don't want to sound like a jerk, but I think something about Jericho's big, mischievous brown eyes just inspire a person to let him get away with murder. Maybe that's just me, though.

 I totally recognize as well that this giant child could use a little discipline in his life and I'm probably not doing myself or him any favors letting him wreak terror on the house. (He's really not that bad, he just thinks he's really funny...and doesn't take me seriously because he IS funny and I sometimes laugh when I should not. Definitely should not.) I think the fact that he still pretty much refuses to talk except for caveman-ese only I can understand doesn't help solidify in my mind that he's plenty old enough to suffer the occasional wrath of his mama for his wicked ways. But then he grins at me with those dimples and gap teefers...you see my problem. Maybe my New Years resolution should have been "ignore Jericho's sweet talking ways".

Anyway, aside from the fact that I need to develop some immunity to big brown eyes and dimples, this giant baby of mine, absurdly, turned two yesterday. I feel like it was just yesterday that I almost gave birth to him in the bathtub at home because, well, I didn't know I was in labor and he just was born so stinking fast. I still vividly remember hearing the nurses say "he's a big boy", and thinking surely they must be confused because we aren't really big people around here. He got here so fast we forgot to tell anyone we were even going to the hospital, except my brother and sister in law who came over to keep the kids. I'm glad we at least remember to tell them. ;) 

He has brought so much joy, laughter, and backaches to this house. (His siblings would probably point out he also takes things like their toys and food...but they don't get to write this blog.) He weighs as much as his 4.5 year old sister and wears the same size shoes, and 4 pounds less than his 6 year old brother. He's no joke. And he's stubborn as a mule so if he doesn't want to be held onto well then you, sir, are taking your life in your own hands.

We are so grateful for this guy. (I still want to call him baby, Billy. Hmph.) Grateful we get to be his parents,  watch him grow, and for the opportunity to teach and love him and just enjoy the unique and precious soul he is. Jericho Hawk of the big brown eyes and dimples, this mama loves you so. And you'll always be my big ol baby. Happy birthday!

New Every Morning

So, I've been scrolling through Facebook today (I'm writing this the day before it will post...so yesterday.) and seeing everyone post glowing reports on 2013, and how much they are looking forward to 2014. I've been a bit cynical about all that patting on the back of 2013, if we're being honest. If I'm being really honest, which I think I have been to extremes lately ;), I really wasn't a fan of 2013. Me and Billy were talking the other day, and were saying that 2013 (even aside from the loss of one of our twins) was probably THE toughest year we've ever had that we can remember.

I sound like an old grouch right now, and so I want to specify that there are countless things I'm grateful for, and I didn't spend every day of 2013 thinking about how much I hated it. Just looking back on it, there were a great deal of struggles for our family. I felt like I couldn't even quite catch my breath. Every day I'm grateful for the health and safety of my precious family, and the home we have, the food we eat, the God we serve, but that doesn't mean it wasn't tough. I hope I can admit that without sounding like a pessimist. ;)

I struggled though one of the worst seasons of depression I can remember in a long time early in the year. It's always been a part of my life, but this particular time was a pretty crippling blow. Thankfully God showed me more of Himself through that time, so I know that it wasn't without purpose. But it still makes me shiver in the remembering. Next up, Billy switched jobs. I think in the long run it's going to prove a good choice for our family, and one we still feel was right...but ohmyword...the stress brought on by raising a family on a job that's 100% commission is way more than we bargained for. We have always lived paycheck to paycheck and not had much excess, but this stretched our tight budget even further and there was never a guarantee of the next paycheck. Ulcer central.

Stress definitely took a toll on Billy and I's relationship, and I think we argued and fought this year more than I can ever remember. I don't handle being "out of control", and God crash landed me right in the middle of flailing flopping spinning out of control, and while I wish I could say I handled that serenely. Um...I did not. I threw one tantrum after another, cried and begged God to give us a break. I'd still like a break, but I'm grateful for the closeness and unity that has returned to this family in light of the loss we just recently suffered, and the way that I've seen God show us even more of who He is through the struggling.

I don't really put a lot of stock in "new years" and stuff like that. I think every moment is a chance for a new beginning, for starting over, for making the right choice, and for holding onto God's grace and mercy. But I am glad for the feeling of newness that a new year undoubtedly brings. I'm glad for this past year full of tough stuff, arguments, loss, and depression...because on the flip side of that I see how God held it all together when I couldn't. So while this may sound like a gloom and doom post...it's really about the dawning of the realization that I'm an out of control mess and that's exactly how God wants me. I don't have to dress up my mess to impress Him, and certainly not the rest of the world. Because when that's who I am, vulnerably and admittedly, I can be honest with myself about how much I need Him to carry me, and you get to see Him do just that, and be reminded He is carrying you, too.

So here's to this new year...there are so many hopes we are breathlessly looking towards. Lord willing, a new baby in July, a new house (Yes...we are moving in february! 4 bedrooms nice to meetcha!), success at Billy's job, and most of all learning to joyfully live in the glorious ruin of the everyday, seeing how it's all a masterpiece under His brush. Happy New Year!

Nothing is Lost

I'm sure by now most of you guys who read this have probably heard about what happened at the end of last week. We went to to doctor for our second ultrasound, the one where we would find out how both babies were doing since there were concerns with the first ultrasound. I spent most of Friday a nervous wreck. I tried not to be...but it seemed like no matter how many times I prayer or what scriptures I tried to hold onto I was just anxious.

When we got to the office and the tech started the scan, I think Billy and I both knew as soon as we saw the babies that we had lost Baby A. Baby B was bigger, and had a serious case of the wiggles (adorable! but I didn't really have the emotional capacity to notice at the time). The tech had a good look at Baby B first, measuring and checking it's heart rate (175...good and strong). Then she moved over to Baby A. It wasn't moving, and in my heart I remember just begging it to please move. Please. Even though I knew, because it had obviously not grown much since the last time we saw it, watched it's little heart flutter on the screen and fell in love, I still just wanted it to move. Wanted it's heart to beat. Would have given who knows what to make it live long enough for me to hold it and smell its new sweet skin. I think in that moment I felt crushed by all the moments I knew we'd never have together.

I somehow held it together for the most part during the rest of the scan. I credit that to simple denial and numbness. The tech was very kind, offering us tissues and reassuring us that there was nothing we could have done, and that Baby B would most likely not be affected in any way by losing it's precious twin. My doctor came in and talked a bit, and scheduled us for our next ultrasound on January 9th. (They have no concerns for Baby B, this is just a routine ultrasound we've always done between 11 and 13 weeks. Baby B will be 12 weeks at that point.)

Even though she reassured us there was nothing we could have done...I just remember thinking how awful it was to see my sweet baby, not moving, wishing I could hold it, help it, fix it somehow. I'm it's mama...isn't that what mamas do? The helpless feeling of carrying it still, even today, with me, even though it's really not there, is just a constant heartbreak. I have heard of people dealing with miscarriages...I've been blessed to never experience it until now. Trust me...to say it absolutely sucks is putting it nicely. You feel so robbed, arms you were expecting to fill will never be full of this child's life.

There have been so many people who have prayed for us, loved Baby A with us, and I can't help but be grateful for the short life it lived. I remember praying that God would use these twins for His glory, and so far He's done just that. I don't like the way He chose to do it. I don't think He expects me to, either, but I know that He has. So many have shared stories with me about their losses, and told me they've been encouraged watching our faith through this, that I know He has been seen in this. Even through my tears.

I don't want this to be about me, though. I sincerely hate too much attention. I remember telling my mom, after we announced we were having twins, that I felt like a circus animal. (No offense, it was wonderful attention and we are so grateful for the loving people in our lives, but the introvert in me just wanted to crawl in a hole.) This continued after we lost one of our twins. I have realized though, that God also used this to kind of force my hand. I don't share with people. I'm intensely private about my hurts for the most part. I like to lick my wounds without anyone watching. God let this be a public hurt for me, so that I could hurt with other people. People who it helped to share their stories, and people who helped me by sharing their stories.

There have been so many bits and pieces of encouragement over the past weekend. I think the one thing that really comforted me the most though, if anything could, was a letter Billy sent me by John Piper. It talked about how this baby I lost, it will know me as it's mother in Heaven. God will see to that. And I will know this baby. And this sweet baby I didn't get to raise here on earth will thank me for suffering the loss so that they could have their reward sooner. They didn't have to experience any hurt. It was loved so thoroughly in the weeks I was able to carry it, and the first thing it saw was Jesus. I mean, isn't that what being a mama is all about? Loving my babies, the ones here and the one in Heaven, so much that I'm willing to sacrifice my wants for their good. I wanted that baby fiercely, as soon as I knew it was there...but I am comforted knowing it will never hurt, never be sick, never be alone, always surrounded by joy and light and our Savior. What more could I ask for?

To give ourselves some closure, and give Baby A a place in our family, we decided to name *her* Charis Eden, meaning "grace" and "paradise". It was because of grace that we were even able to know this baby, and even more grace that her first sight, her first and forever home, was Paradise.

Thank you so much for all the prayers and thoughtful words, and for reading this. Thank you for sharing in this with us, and for loving Baby A with us. It lived a short, but truly loved, life. Kind of like a shooting star, or an amazing sunset...you only get to see it for a moment, but it's burned into your memory, God's hand is obvious in it's creation, and you're glad you got to see it if only for a second.

And He takes the empty hands and draws me close to the thrum of Love. You may suffer loss but in Me is anything ever lost, really? Isn’t everything that belongs to Christ also yours? Loved ones lost still belong to Him—then aren’t they still yours? Do I not own the cattle on a thousand hills; everything? Aren’t then all provisions, in Christ, also yours? If you haven’t lost Christ, child, nothing is ever lost.”  - Ann Voskamp