My darling littlest daughter, some day you will know how lucky you are that this incredible man is your father.
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Baby 三
When we were first married and living in Wisconsin many of my pregnant friends wore their husband's clothes as maternity wear. At the time I thought it was really weird. 10 years and 3 pregnancies later I have changed my tune. Turns out it is comfy, warm, and cost-efficient, although admittedly, not super flattering. Today marks 28 weeks of carrying our precious baby. (This picture was taken a couple of weeks ago.)
We have not found out the gender but some friends have started calling the baby "Baby 三" (pronounced san) which means "Baby three."
Hiking
Our family isn't super creative when it comes to fun things to do as a family. Saturday morning? We should go hiking! Papa has an afternoon off of work before a three day work conference? Hiking! Friends visiting from out of town for the weekend? Let's go hiking!
The last time we went, our little mighty man filled his pockets so full of cool rocks that he had to hold his pants up in order to walk.
Also, last time we let Hadiah try her hand at the camera for the first time. It was so fun to see from her perspective. We will definitely be doing that again soon. Below are the pictures she took.
snowy days
We've been really blessed this year to live right next to a lovely green space in the heart of the city. It snowed for hours this morning and the kids were thrilled to be the first ones to make foot prints in the snowy field. They also enjoyed playing in the snow covered trees at the end of the field which they refer to as their "fort." It was especially beautiful covered in snow.
2 years
Two years ago today we talked to this precious man for the very last time. We said "See you soon" because we thought we'd spend Christmas together that year.
There were days in the last two years that I wasn't sure we could all survive without him, but somehow we have because of grace. His amazing children and the two best friends I shared with him have emerged full of more faith and hope than I ever imagined possible!
So we listen to his favorite songs and we remember his silly jokes and we rejoice in the inexpressible hope that he was so passionate about sharing with others.
See you soon, James. We love you.
Super Hero Heart Run
Did you know that 1 in every 110 babies born in the USA is born with a congenital heart defect (CHD)? It is the most common birth defect in the United States. Of course, the children born with these defects are not common. Each one is precious and unique as are their families and their stories.
Today we were honored to join with these families to celebrate our heart kids!
We were especially honored that Auntie Libba was able to join us! We all wore super hero capes. Benaiah picked blue to match his Captain America costume and Shaddai chose pink to match the doctors scrubs' costume she'd chosen for the occasion. They loved meeting all the princesses before the race and thoroughly enjoyed crossing the finish line.
I teared up a little bit at the registration desk when the registrar asked me to spell his name. How many hundreds of times did I spell it during those long days in the hospital? And now here we are three and a half years later celebrating this incredible gift. I cannot imagine our family or our lives without him. He plays hard. He loves well. He is busy and funny and lays so still for all his heart check-ups and tests every year.
We look at our son every day as one given back to us from the dead. Only one Name under heaven has that kind of power. He alone gives and sustains life. Our hope is in Him.
Although to our knowledge Benaiah didn't die at any point in the hospitals, helicopters, or surgery, we watched him turn the gray color of death twice during the times when his little body wasn't getting enough oxygen. They were some of the longest seconds of my life, and are now etched permanently in my mind. The same One who sustained his life sustained our souls during those minutes I will never forget. After doing x-rays of his heart and lungs, doctors in the ER told us that he was just hours away from being a SIDs baby.
We will never forget those minutes or those days. We will never forget the global family that surrounded us in our first moments as a CHD family. We will never forget the inexplicable peace we experienced or the change that occurred in our hearts when we glimpsed just a shadow of what was given for us. Benaiah's life is a gift, bought with the highest price.
Please ask with us that neither he nor we would squander this gift. That in the moments we have him with us, we would put aside distractions. We would teach him well. We would love him strong. We would enjoy his laugh and savor his squinty smile. That we would listen patiently and respond lovingly. And when he leaves home, ask with us that he would stay the course, living for the glory of the One who made him, and healed him, and sustains him by His grace.
Hopefully this will be the first of many such races for our family. Go team Super Benaiah!
There's more information on CHD and super hero heart runs here & here.
Hadiah
It happened again. This time worse than any before.
With each exhale, blood sprinkled from her nose. On the sheets and the pillow. On her hand and my hand. On her jammies and her teddy bear. In her hair.
I begged the Healer to stop it. To stop the blood. To spare her life. How many nights have I asked this? How many times has the morning sun found me crouched beside her bed begging the Giver of Life to grant breathe just a little longer?
We've surrounded her with all the pillows as she lay in the middle of our bed in our apartment in Asia. Her dad knelt on one side and me on the other, each with hands outstretched, one towards heaven and one on our daughter.
How many nights? Far more than I want to count or remember.
There were no more flights to Thailand that day. And had it not been for the predicament we now found ourselves in, I might have been relieved. Remember the hospital in the red light district on the brink of the coup? I was torn between that and the doctors in our city in Asia which had left stethoscope shaped bruises all over her torso. There were no good answers and we were out of options.
ITP is rarely fatal. Since rarely does not mean never we did all we could to manage the possibilities, namely the risk of stroke and bleeding. Hence the middle of the bed and all the pillows. It's a very big bed, long and wide designed for an entire family to sleep in during winters in the Himalayan foothills without indoor heat. It's quite Asian in appearance and lack of softness, and although our coworkers tease us about just how Asian it is, I've grown rather fond of it, as well as the rest of our furniture and our apartment there. Although none of it would ever have been my first choice in style or texture or quality, against great odds we've built a life there and we've loved that life.
Crouched on the floor of our Denver apartment that life seemed a million miles away, like a distant memory or perhaps even an entirely different lifetime. But the feelings were the same, the questions, the heartache. The doctors and the hospitals here are infinitely better, but her sickness is the same and this time worse. They'd done all they meant to do. My breathe caught in my throat as I waited for shoulders to rise with another inhale. "Giver of life, sustain my child." The irony stops me, once again. It's the night before Easter after all. How many times did I beg, "Spare my son, you who did not spare your own son but gave him up for us all, please spare my son." And that handsome man I married, he'd add boldly from across the hospital bed or the echocardiogram table or the darkness of our bedroom, "If it be your will. Spare our son, if it be your will." And I'd glare at him from my side of the hospital room or the lab table or the darkness of the bedroom. How I would glare! Didn't he know that when you entrust people to the One who made them, they almost always die?
It's not that he hasn't lost as much as I have or that he loves Benaiah any less than I do, it's simply that he trusts the Maker more. And I learned that from him that year.
Benaiah didn't die. But our lives were never the same and after three solid years of heartache, we have yet to leave the valley of shadows. At least we are not alone within it.
With deep peace that can be explained only by the inexplicably, I added "in accordance to Your will" to the end of my plea for her life. And I meant it. Again. Just like I meant in the middle of nowhere Asia when her platelets were 3. And I meant it in Bangkok when she had meningitis symptoms. And I meant it days before Christmas when she relapsed the third time.
She is His. We've known that from the moment we learned of her existence. That's why her name means gift.
Nothing we can say or do changes that. She belongs to Him.
I read and reread the songs that have soothed our souls. I read and reread promises of His presence, His power, His healing. I reread this. (Her dad died with mine and her daughter lives with them now.) And I remembered that the author of the songs we love so well lost 2 children and survived.
I sent this friend these texts:
"But each day he pours his unfailing love upon my daughter. And through each night I sing His songs, talking to the one who gives my daughter life. 42.8"
"How many nights have you and I done this? (her infant daughter had just recovered from very scary bronchiolitis just weeks before and we'd texted through my days/her nights.) What a blessing to lay our treasures humbly at his feet. So hard though. Tonight I am spent."
And indeed I was. But He met me there as He's met us before and will meet us again.
Morning came. The steroids kicked in. The bleeding stopped. Our little gift woke up with a smile and we rejoiced in the blessing of another day.
Friends around the country and the world continue to rally around us and our precious girl, bringing us faithfully before the throne. She's still on steroids and our whole future is in the air. We're ok with that. We'll build a live wherever He sends us.
In the meantime, we called Elders to bring oil and lay their hands on her head. She fell asleep and then slept peacefully while they asked for her healing.
We continue to walk each day in the knowledge of His presence. He alone gives life. He alone is the healer. In the nights that followed, Hadiah struggled to sleep. We read the stories of His days here. How the blind saw. The lame leapt. The dead lived again. We read every account of the woman with the issue of blood. I wish you could see in her little steroid swollen face the love that she has for the one who Heals. It is contagious and convicting.
rest
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the band on stage started to play. Around me people stood and began to sing. I stood too but looked past them through big picture windows on either side of the stage. In full view sat the majesty Rocky Mountains, covered in snow and all their glory. I breathed deep and wiped away tears as familiar words sung in my heart language reached into my innermost soul.
I was confident that we heard Him when He told us to come here. And I whispered the words we'd said four months ago when we felt the same way about a place on the opposite side of the world, "Here we are. Use us up. Pour us out. We are yours."
My mind was already reeling with possibilities.
Then a word came back, just one, quite small. But powerful and clear.
"Rest."
I wasn't sure I'd heard so I listened again.
"Rest."
Four weeks went by and a host of doctor appointments and the bills have started pouring in and I've given up altogether wearing make-up on Sundays. I'm tired of the tiny black streaks all over my face. And no one here knows me so when I skip it no-one ever asks if I'm sick, which is handy indeed. The mountains are still snow covered and my tears still flow.
My heart aches for my coworkers, still overseas, manning the front lines. I grocery shop in peace and I think of them. I unload clean dishes from the dishwasher and I think of them. I put wet clothes in the dryer and I think of them. I've stopped rationing cheese. The electricity always works and there's always hot water to bathe my children. Always. And every single Sunday I get filled to overflowing with the songs and the truth in the language I know.
And my heart breaks for my sister still over there, walking alone on Sunday mornings. The man she's chosen to love above all others sends her on alone, refusing the prize she holds most dear, forbidding her to share her greatest treasure with their son, her only child.
And my heart, it beats most of all for those who don't know, who haven't heard. Who made the mountains? And from where does their help come? How long must they wait to sing these songs? Songs of adoration to the One I love. Songs of hope in Him that sustains us. Songs of praise to the One who gives breathe to my children and life to my soul. What precious peace to know Him and be known by Him.
"Still here. Use us up. Pour us out. We are yours."
The word comes again. This time with another. "Rest" and "Wait."
So we will. And we do.
We have our working to do lists and our drafted-up plans. We're checking things off, one by one. More doctors appointments, infinite paperwork on every front, plans to see family and tentative plans to head back. Each day we feel a little more like ourselves, a little more whole, still wholly in need of our Savior.
We came for the doctors and the hospital, but He knew we also needed quiet and anonymity. Once again we've come desiring to serve, only to be met by His hands providing so tangibly for our family through His people in the ways we expected the least and needed the most. Birthday parties for our children. Grocery cards from strangers. A kind word. A listening ear. An understanding heart. Late night phone calls to teammates on the opposite side of the world. Reconnecting with precious friends. Groupons for ice cream. Free counseling. Housing and job offers to numerous to name.
We are humbled and grateful and beginning to feel rested.
idols and eyesight
My friend Natalie says these are the best days of our lives, when our kids our little and our homes are full. I’m thankful for that reminder on days like today that are bookended with poop.
It started too early, just as the sun was peaking between the dark curtains of our hotel room. Benaiah climbed into our bed and with a sleepy huff, Jonathan left ours for the bed Benaiah left behind. We barely fit in the short, twin bed and no matter how small the third person is, three people is just too many.
So Benaiah snuggled in next to me and started to sing. I was glad for the extra minutes of precious sleep. It’s winter here and there’s no indoor heat, except the heating blanket sandwiched between the sheets and the mattress. A serious stroke of genius to be sure, however it makes the already difficult task of getting out of bed in the morning even more daunting. Benaiah’s volume increased with the beginning of each new song and I knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the family would rouse, grumpily, due to lack of adequate sleep.
I rolled over to face him and whispered, “Want to go downstairs and have a breakfast date, just you and mommy?” I was hopeful that a hot cup of coffee would taste half as good as my warm bed feels, not to mention the sweet time with my little mighty man. He’s a morning person and these early hours have become some of our sweetest moments together. “Yes!” he replied, “but first I have to go potty.”
I closed my eyes again for one second only to be jolted awake by a crash in the bathroom. I found him picking up used toilet paper off the floor. “I ‘cidentally knocked the trash can over.” He said remorsefully. I smiled with deep sympathy and tried not to gag while I took over picking it all up. Used toilet paper goes in the trash can here not the toilet and the scene before us is one of my worst nightmares. When everything was back in it’s rightful place, a chubby hand appeared inches from my face accompanied by a matter of fact statement about “poop on my hand.” Yes, indeed. Again I tried not to gag while I washed and re-washed both of our hands.
I got him dressed and fumbled for my own clothes in the dark while he hopped up and down in the doorway. I couldn’t seem to find anything remotely adequate and found my mind wandering back to the day I packed this suitcase full. “What was I thinking?” I’d spent most of the day sitting on the edge of our bed with my head in my hands. Everything felt foggy and I struggled to get stuff done in between cartoon theme songs and admonitions from Jonathan to stop being so discouraged about being discouraged. It’s been a pretty brutal month that just hasn’t seemed to get better.
Six days since I packed that bag and still no leads on decent apartments in our new city. Six days in hotels and restaurants and wandering from street to street. Six days of internet searches in a language I can barely read. Six days of trying to text in characters and doing our best to find addresses in cities we know nothing about. Six days of being hung up on when they hear what we want and how much we want to spend. Six days of asking and wondering and waiting.
We looked at two more apartments in the morning and then stopped for lunch at a roadside restaurant. I asked about their specials. The waitress wore a black shirt with puffy sleeves and kerchief embroidered with a big pink rose, the traditional dress of the people group whose food this restaurant features. She seemed to know what she was talking about so I took her recommendations. We ended up with delicious ground beef wrapped in tofu in a yummy sweet and sour sauce, a thin soup with lots of spinach type leaves and stems, stir-fried Christmas tree leaves which I will probably never order again (at least not intentionally), white rice, and my favorite flavor of hot tea for a grand total of $7.
We looked at another apartment in the afternoon and came back to the hotel for the kids to sleep. After talking through our options we were amazed to realize that although the day before we had no real leads, today we felt as though we had a few legitimate possibilities.
J vetoed the first one for safety reasons. Although the second one is in our well within our price range, it’s a bit of a mansion and we’re not quite sure what to make of that. The third one lacks indoor plumbing. After much thought, we decided on the third one with his promising me that a toilet would be installed. It still wouldn’t be inside but it wouldn’t be an outhouse either and that’s good enough for me.
Having gotten less than 6 hours of sleep, I opted to join the kids for the rest of their nap time with plans to contact the landlord when I woke up, while J went to figure out why our truck engine was smoking.
I awoke to him tapping my shoulder saying, “Read this.” It was a text from our almost land-lord saying they’d changed their mind about renting the apartment we wanted and had a counter offer for a different unfinished apartment. I squinted trying to make out the blurry characters and their impact on our seemingly bright future. I texted her back and then tried calling to no avail.
The unfinished apartment is also a mansion, at least the shell of one. It has nothing besides concrete. Concrete walls and concrete floors. No electric outlets, no lights, no toilets, no sinks, and no kitchen. “Maybe we’ll just have to use all the extra space to bless somebody,” J said optimistically. I frowned, thinking I might rather have an outhouse than a string of random people living with us.
I decided then I’m done with this house search. It’s turning up too many idols in my heart, like just how much I value convenience and my own space. Knocking down idols is always uncomfortable and I’m not a huge fan of that which simply reveals yet another of my idols: comfort. Ugh.
The kids woke up and we made our way to supper. We’d promised them a treat at one of the local bakeries and I was secretly very excited at the thought of western food. We split a pork bbq sandwich, a quesadilla, and a piece of chocolate cake four ways. It cost a whopping $20. In this part of the world tortillas cost more than stir-fried Christmas tree leaves and cheese costs more than just about everything, including ground beef and tofu. We’re were happy to spend the money though. This bakery is run by the local community of likeminded deaf men and woman. The food is yummy and we love to support such a great cause. Our kids love the employees and they seem to like our kids, too.
We rushed home to get kids in bed, still hearing nothing from the landlord. I’d already mentally moved into the house with no indoor plumbing. I tried to tell myself that this turn of events is a blessing in disguise, but somehow I still feel disappointed. Jonathan is also very disappointed and we find ourselves asking the Father out loud once again for wisdom and provision for our family.
From his carseat in the back, Benaiah starts singing “oh, oh, oh, oh” and I think back to what Natalie says.
When discouragement threatens to drown me, when I’m paralyzed by doubt, they remind me to find joy in the little things.
“Look, mom, it’s a SPOON STRAW!!”
“Mom, I saw a wedding car. A WEDDING CAR! did you see it?” “It has a heart shape on it. I love heart shapes. Do you love heart shapes, mom?”
“Sometimes when I feel sad I just think about heaven and then I don’t feel sad anymore. Is that a good thing to do, Mom?”
What will I do when they aren’t around to remind me that the Giver of all good things hasn’t given up on me yet?
By the time B’s nearing the end of the chorus, we’re all belting it out with him, “Find faith in the battle, stand tall, but above it all, fix my eeeeeyyyyes on youuuuuu. Fix my eyes on you.”
It’s been our mantra for these six days. Quite possibly the best $10 I have ever spent.
We’re back at the hotel now and some food from day isn’t settling well in one of the kid’s tummies. It’s a relatively small mess and this is the first time any of us has gotten sick on this trip and for that I am infinitely thankful. My husband takes pity on me and deals with it while I bathe our babies and corral them into bed.
I’m not sure what tomorrow holds, but if I had to guess, I’d say probably some more idol bashing. The perfect house for my kids to make memories in? Something that our teammates would view as appropriate? Somewhere our local friends would feel comfortable? a clean kitchen? a flushing toilet? sunshine, great views, maybe even a yard? All good things. And we are confident that the Giver of good things has good things in store for us.
But we are also confident of what Jonah reminds us, “Those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs.” (2.8)
Anything that prevents me from fixing my eyes on Him, robs me of the grace that could be mine for today. And when I think about it like that, I’d take grace over comfort and convenience any day.
faithful
I climbed the last two flights of stairs to the eleventh floor and inquired shamelessly throughout the corridor for my friend, "the foreigner that's having a baby." After a few raised eyebrows, we finally found the right hallway. Hadiah and I peeked quietly into every hospital room, each one fuller than the last. I was growing impatient. We'd sat in traffic all morning after hearing the baby was small and the amniotic fluid was low. "Mom, you passed them." I spun around to see my four year old, gift in each hand, pointing with her chin to the doorway next to her.
Sure enough there they sat tucked in the corner of a very not-private room. I felt instant relief at the sight of my friend's smile. We made our way past the other patients and families and babies.
I held back tears at the sight of her huge belly. We chit-chatted about the events that led to her being admitted two weeks early and the crazy night she'd had the night before. But my mind was elsewhere. How many times had I told my husband in the early years of our friendship that she just didn't get me? That she didn't hear my heart? That she didn't really know me?
Now I look at her and can only think,
"Faithful."
She said hard words to me when there was no one else around to say them. She said kind words too and she said them all in love and in truth believing that He who began a good work in me would be faithful to complete it.
She's talking about the delivery room now. How it was the only free bed the night before when they wanted to admit her and the Father, by his grace, allowed her to see firsthand what labour and birth and delivery looks like in this hospital in this culture and language that is not our own. "What a gift." She says, "to know ahead of time." I can feel my mouth hanging open. She is super woman.
I make a conscious effort to close my gaping jaw and try to smile and nod. Her husband is slouched in the corner of the room looking a little bit more like I feel. "Deeply concerned" is how mutual friends who know them better than us had described him. And if ever there was reason, this would be it.
Hadiah is passing out the gifts now. The first ever card that she wrote all by herself and the few baby things we wrapped together earlier in the morning. I'm apologizing because I bought them all online here in our host country and I still can't really read and none of it was exactly what we thought it was going to be. Although my mouth is saying words, my mind is wandering again.
Back to those days when I thought she didn't know me very well. I remember standing on the balcony of our apartment on the 11th of 21 stories, sobbing into my iPhone 3 about how sick my daughter was and how worried I was that I was pregnant again. We'd only been in country for 3 months at that point. I was a wreck. We found out later that scarlet fever had gone through our city and that's probably what Hadiah had at the time. I hadn't slept in days. And I was pregnant. And also very, very sick.
I called because she's our team doctor. But I found myself pouring out my heart to a friend. She knew me better than I thought. And she knew Him. Him who really knows me. And I'm confident that the words she spoke were from Him for me.
We'd met only a couple times before that. After two and a half years of "trying" I'd recently joined the world of mothers just before we met for the first time. She was still childless then after almost 10 years of marriage. My heart broke for her and I began begging the One who gives life that the next time I was pregnant that we could be pregnant together.
It was her and her physician husband who pulled the plug on my having Hadiah overseas. I'd always imagined having all our babies overseas and I mourned deeply the death of that dream when our leadership denied my request at their suggestion.
"Faithful. Faithful are the wounds of a friend."
How were we to know then that Hadiah would be an emergency c-section and Benaiah would need emergency heart surgery following his birth? They didn't know either but they knew Him and He knew.
I look over at our boys quietly playing with matchbox cars on the two hospital arm chairs. Hers is two and a half and mine, almost three. We had a precious week of being pregnant together at the same time in the same city that was the answer to years of my asking, although neither of us knew it at the time.
I see evidence of His faithfulness every time I see her smile.
I wipe away silent tears and look back into her beautiful face. Beautiful not because of her delicate features and blonde hair, not because of the letters behind her name or the successful pediatric plastic surgeon to whom she's married. Not because she's a great mom or a great wife or a great doctor. Not because her mandarin is amazing or her impact on local people is far-reaching. But beautiful because of her heart.
Her heart that longs to follow Him.
Her heart that's so quick to speak of his faithfulness.
Her heart that challenges mine, "Follow me as I follow Him."
She's not perfect but she makes me want to be faithful to Him who is faithful to us.
She inspires me to walk worthy of that to which we've been entrusted, to fall more in the love with the Giver of Life, and to trust Him more with the life He's given me.
And somehow when it was all said and done, my stinker husband got to see that sweet baby first. He was delivering some stuff to them and it all happened a lot faster than anyone planned so I have yet to see her besides pictures on his phone.
But I hear she's beautiful, too.
our truck and a trip
We set a new family record the weekend before last. 10 people and 1 dog stayed in our home over the course of 3 days! It was mayhem. Beautiful, glorious, meaningful mayhem. We're definitely going to need more sheets. Or a bigger washing machine. Or a dryer that is something other than a clothesline during rainy season.
We left the house early Monday morning with friends still there to follow through on previously made plans to register our new vehicle in the nearby city from which it came. Although we'd already purchased the vehicle we'd been informed that we would probably be unable to keep it due to difficulties in the registration requirements. It was no small process and is fully deserving of it's own blog post, including how J was required to pay the previous owners outstanding speeding tickets before we were able to register the car. For now, let's suffice to say, we arrived home 16 hours later with full ownership of a vehicle we really love and upon which we have already become very dependent (in a good way).
J spent the next few days looking for the ever-elusive-luxury-item known as seat belts. After (finally!) securing and installing them, we spent another 1/2 day purchasing the infinitely-more-luxurious-item known as car seats. Both of which are completely optional despite the fact that the speed limit is 75 mph between here and our destination city.
So with seat belts and car seats installed and car ownership secured, off we drove in the direction of our future. Like somehow everything we've trained for, and waited for, and everything we've endured, every hardship we've walked through, every sacrifice, every decision, years of preparation, countless tears, and tiny victories, all have been leading up to this moment.
We were not disappointed. Those who hope in Him never are.
The air is clean. The mountains are breathtaking. The view is indescribable. But it is the needs that are truly staggering.
It's 2014. How can there still be so many who still haven't heard?
So we did more research and we began to make plans. We asked for wisdom. We sought wise counsel. We looked at apartments. We made inquiries at schools. We walked and we talked to each other and to Him. Him who made them and the language they speak (still unwritten with more tones than I want to count.) Him who made them and the mountains they trek. (Mountains that separate them from the rest.)
In the end we were quite surprised by what we found. Our plan has always been to go where no-one else was or wanted to go, like a spiritual star trek. We'd envisioned an opportunity to pioneer. What we found instead was an opportunity to partner.
He met us there for He is there already.
Already moving.
Already stirring.
Already drawing hearts to himself.
He is at work already.
He is already there.
"Will you come?"
yes.
"Will you join me?"
yes.
"The cost will be high."
we know.
"Higher than it's been before."
we are ready. use us up. pour us out. we are yours.
*trying something new. this is a picture gallery so it should change when you click on it. Let me know what you think. Thanks for checking our blog and remembering our family.
the little things
Breakfast cereal is a pretty special treat around here. It's costs between $3 & $7 dollars for a small box. We eat it on special occasions and every now and then on a Friday morning as a little a welcome to coming the weekend.
We've never said the words "Cereal is a special treat" to our children. But somehow they know. Long after the cereal is gone and the boxes are empty, my children hoard them and pretend to eat cereal in their play kitchen. They're not alone. I've noticed empty cereal boxes at a least one of their American friend's apartments.
It's funny the things that make it hard to be here. Some times it's the big stuff: inadequate emergency medical care, missing weddings, funerals, and new babies (Love you, Mackenzie Elizabeth!). But sometimes it's the little things like not being able to have a dog, a backyard, or a hug from my sister.
And sometimes all these little things add up to something bigger and the pain in my heart overflows until my eyes fill with tears.
I try to blink them back as I stare at her across the room, puttering around with her empty cereal boxes and milk carton.
My heart full of hurt knows deep down that His best for me is His best for her. And His best for her is His best for me. It is not an accident that she is mine and we are here. I don't doubt that but that doesn't make it easy. Less difficult, maybe, but certainly not easy.
Our guests the night before had stayed til well after midnight. Even then it was hard to see the six of them go. So many goodbyes on this shallow earth. My heart longs for the day when they will be no more.
I was up at 5:30am the next day to talk with my sisterhood. We share our hearts and our hurts, as well as triumphs and joys. We lay it all as His feet for another week. The morning time together ends with tears as we say goodbye again to the sister that's moving on.
I head home to have language class with my hubby and babies. Nearly 2 hours later, I skip out 15 minutes early to make lunch. After the bowls are cleared and the little mighty man sleeping, I decide to just close my eyes for one second before starting preschool with the princess.
And this is the scene to which I awake, her whispering to herself as she sets out plastic play dishes and empty cereal boxes around their school table. I blink back tears and wonder if we've ruined her. Our move in November will be her 9th in four and a half years.
Quiet peace in my soul implores me to listen more closely. I strain to discern her whisperings and realize she's not speaking English. I strain a little more and realizes she's reviewing. With each whisper her tiny hand touches an object on the table and she says the local word. "Niu2nai3, wan3, shao2zi0..." (milk, bowl, spoon...)
"Hi, mom." She catches me watching her. "Hi, boo." I reply, my aching heart soothed slightly by the sweetness in her voice.
How I long for my mom to really know her, for her to share her love of books with my sister, and her silly sense of humor with my brother. It's not the empty cereal boxes that make me cry. It's the emptiness I feel sometimes when I think too long about the life we've left behind.
"Baba left. He said not to wake you up."
"Thanks, babe. Ready for school?"
She settles in next to me on the couch and I find myself thanking Him for her sweet spirit, her brown eyes that stare up at me and take me back to those newborn baby days - my first days on this incredible journey called motherhood. Just as it's the little things that bring me so much joy, it's also the little things that can be so painful.
So I swallow the lump in my throat and I breathe in. "You are worthy." And I breathe out. "You are worth it. It's hard and it hurts, but you are worth it all."
If I'm being honest I have to admit, I wouldn't let her eat cereal every morning in the States either. It's expensive there too and not exactly the most healthy.
But there's nothing wrong with breakfast cereal unless I want that more than I want Him. There's nothing wrong with loving and missing my precious family, unless I love them more than I love Him. It's the little things that bring me here, to this place in my heart where I can say "I want you more than anything else. I choose you over everything else. Sometimes it's hard and sometimes it hurts, but You are worthy and You are worth it." In turn, He fills my heart with the greatest of joy in the littlest of things - whispered reviewing, recycled boxes, sweet memories of precious days gone by. Contentment today is found in the little things.
from the archives
summer 2012
his father's son
"Watch, mom, I'm gonna do a pull-up."
thankful
I don't think we say often enough how grateful we are to be here. Certainly the last year has been difficult. Daily life here is not easy but what an incredible privilege it is to live and work here. We are so thankful.
since returning from thailand...
We arrived back in our city less than a month ago. In that time, we've:
had 7 overnight house guests
celebrated 2 local holidays with local friends and 1 American one with friends of many nationalities, reconnected with local friends
spent two full mornings at the hospital (follow-up tests for Shaddai)
found a new teacher for our kids and planned their next weeks of language study
had 10 language lessons
babysat for coworkers
had more than 30 people join us at our dining room table
gone to other people's houses for dinner
done taxes (always fun when there's 4 currencies and 9 per diems involved)
met with our company consultant to discuss our plan for moving ahead in language study and set the date for our next evaluation
and 3 out of the 4 of us have been sick.
No wonder I feel ready for another day at the beach!
I keep looking around our house wondering why everything isn't put away from our Thailand trip and today I finally realized it's because I've been too busy washing sheets from our all wonderful (but unexpected) company!
Look at this cutie! Shaddai has been planning for her to visit since we very first moved to this apartment. Her parents had appointments in the city but had tried calling while we were in Thailand so the call didn't come through.
Last Sunday afternoon we were headed to a friend's house and my e-bike battery inexplicably ran out of battery. It was so odd. I had just charged it. So I parked it at the closest supermarket and while I was standing on the side of the road waiting for J and the kids to pick me up on the motorbike who should I see walking down the street but our first friends from the other city!! It was amazing! They said they'd tried to call but couldn't get us (because we were in Thailand). We asked if they had plans or needed somewhere to stay. They said they had plans for dinner but would check out of their hotel as soon as possible and come to our apartment. S was elated!! And we were pretty happy too.
Our visit with them was amazing! So fun to hear about life in the city we left behind. And incredible to feel like we actually have genuine friendships in this language and culture so different from our own. I'd like to say it's our hard work paying off but really it's just a whole lotta thoughts on our behalf and more grace than we can imagine!
peace
The night before S was released from the hospital the first time, I did some research online and made grand plans for the 3 weeks we'd be forced to spend in Bangkok.
Through a friend of a friend, my mom had connected us with a cheap (safe!) place to stay in the city. Other than 5 days somewhere in the middle when they were completely booked, we'd be able to stay there the entire time for a fraction of the cost of the hotels near the hospital. (Not to mention the added bonus of getting away from the red light district that surrounds the hospital.)
Js sister had already agreed to come to help with Benaiah when we weren't sure how long S would be in the hospital. Now that we were getting out seemingly early, I was elated about all the fun stuff we could do with her.
We'd splurge on a day at the aquarium then make up for it by doing cheap or free things the other days. Bangkok boasts an incredible public transport system and for a few cents you can see the see the entire city by boat or skyrail. I knew our kids would love both and it would give J and his sister time to talk without feeling like they were missing out on anything fun with the kids. There's night markets and floating markets and massive malls with fun playgrounds. The last time we saw E was in Indonesia. It was a difficult time and I'd hoped this time would be different.
But it wasn't meant to be. The guesthouse full, the political situation escalating, we decided to make our way to the beach, away from the mayhem but also away from the hospital. We arrived late Monday night and left first thing Wednesday morning. S spiked a fever in the middle of Tuesday night that grew worse as dawn approached. Around 4am, I told the front desk clerk we'd be checking out early and reserved a taxi for the three hour drive back to Bangkok first thing in the morning. We went straight to the hospital. She was admitted immediately. And then diagnosed with a bacterial infection and a pretty bad one at that.
On the way there I called the hospital and they asked if we felt she needed the same doctors. I said that I didn't know, that her doctors from before could decide. The team of hematologists and oncologists opted to stick with her despite being convinced that the ITP and the infection were unrelated.
Little did I know that this infection would be just what was needed for them to forego with confidence the impending bone marrow biopsy. It also freed us to return to Central Asia earlier than planned when the political situation in Bangkok escalated once again and our leadership strongly recommended us to leave Bangkok if at all possible.
We scheduled S an appointment in our city for lab work (which was already our long term plan for follow-up care for her since she will need to be monitored for at least a year). And we bought tickets for the morning after J's sister left.
16 days in Thailand. 11 of them in the hospital. The other days we were in Bangkok we were encouraged to lay low which meant no aquarium, no boat rides, no train rides, no mall play places. We did manage to spend a few hours at a nearby hotel pool. There was no kiddy pool and no shallow end but the kids had fun anyway.
They also made up a few outside games but it's so hot there and none of us are used to it. The doctors had warned us against the heat and S dehydrating quickly so we mostly read books and played indoors. S painted her Auntie's toenails and fingernails and B gave her lots of check ups. When we weren't in the hospital J and I were on the phone a lot with doctors and our leaders and the insurance company. The last day or so we were finally able to do a little souvenir shopping but we'd been there less than an hour when the shops began closing, early and frantically. In the end it was not at all as I had imagined.
I stared out the airplane window at the waterway below only to see the boats we never rode and the city we never really saw. The plane banked hard to the right and Bangkok's skyline disappeared from view. In its place lay a hundred tiny rivers, each bank lined with buildings and surrounded by rice paddies. Beyond them, the sea and farther in the distance, the horizon where the ocean melts into the sky. There's no distinct line but instead you can almost see the arc of the earth's sphere as blue expanse drops off in the distance and the plane flies north.
Directly below the rice paddies form a crooked patchwork, interrupted by only an occasional house or outlying building.
Shaddai is asleep with her head on my lap. Jonathan is filling out immigration documents and B is chewing on the flat metal end of his seatbelt. I wait for in the flight announcement to end before asking him to stop. My throat is sore and the volume is so loud, you can barely hear your own thoughts much less the voice of the person next to you.
Benaiah happily obliges, refastens his seat belt, and asks for a lollipop "because we're on an airplane." Presumably his ears hurt and I'm ok with a few more minutes of peace and quiet. "Hmmmm, blueberry" he says of his cherry candy and settles back into his enormous-looking aisle seat. Across the aisle the same kind of seat is completely dwarfed by my husband. He's visibly squished hunching over the never ending pile of papers.
Neither kid wanted the window. I was pleasantly surprised. I haven't really looked out the window while flying since S was a baby.
Little green mounds that cropped up at the edge of the rice paddies have turned into full blow mountains as we near our province and our home. I wish I could say my heart felt peace. By definition, peace in a particular place is the absence of conflict. Although I didn't feel conflicted, I didn't feel at peace either.
Rivers snake between the mountains below. Although from this vantage point the tiny clusters of buildings appear close together, in reality the steep terrain keeps each group quite isolated. I can't help but wonder who they are and if they've heard.
My thoughts are interrupted by the flight attendant announcing our near arrival. She repeats the message in two more languages and it's nice to once again be able to understand a language other than my own.
For months I've been waiting with baited breath for "when things settle down" or "we get back to normal" but with a big move on the horizon and the ongoing pressures of language and culture stress and study, that day might long be elusive.
Perhaps in the same way that courage is not the absence of fear, true peace is not the absence of turmoil.
The lake stretches out below us and then the last range of mountains is visible just before we land. In the valleys, lines of skyscrapers form uneven city blocks. Trees and rice terraces curve upward alongside them. Orange temple roofs and tiny white tombstones dot the mountainside.
Benaiah falls asleep just before the wheels touch the tarmac. I wipe away tears as S whispers, "Good morning, Mommy." Wisps of blond curls frame her sleepy, smiling face. This all could have ended so much differently.
I'm convinced that peace is not a feeling. It cannot be found in any particular place. Neither is it a state of being. It is a person.
He himself is our peace.
He is peace.
And He is here.
What's ahead?
Threats on our lives, that's what.
Not really. My husband says I'm a little dramatic some times which makes sense given that's he's an unceasing optimist. Like I've said before, on the days we don't drive each other crazy, we actually balance each other out pretty well.
Today is one of those rare days.
The Thai army declared martial law in Bangkok this morning which sounds a lot worse than it actually is or at least worst than what it appears to be. In my head the phrase "martial law" conjures up images of people running and screaming in the streets as shopkeepers hastily board up their doors and windows. That's not the case at all in the little corner of the city where we're living or any part of the city for that matter. In fact for all intents and purposes, today is business as usual everywhere we look.
Sure, we saw two waves of tanks and hummers fly down the street earlier last week and there's been more green helicopters overhead than I've seen in a long time, but normal life seems unimpeded by the forces of conflict brewing elsewhere in the city. I read the headline articles in the newspaper at the hospital each day asking for healing for our girl and wisdom for our family, but these days if it wasn't for twitter, we might as well have forgotten all about it as we go about daily life here.
Ha, I just said "daily life here" as if that were a thing. We got out of the hospital Sunday evening and are living at a guesthouse in the north of the city. The hosts have been very good to us and we've done our best to settle the kids back into their normal routine following a day and a half at the beach (where we went to escape the escalating political drama that intesified last monday) and then 5 more days in the hospital (due to an infection S developed during the 36 hours we were at the beach.) So with restrictions on travel within the city, we're still feeling very cooped up despite not living in the hospital anymore.
The kids are back in their normal afternoon nap schedule but I don't have a teacher coming during that time so I discovered this glorious pile of books in the guesthouse cafe.
They were written for middle schoolers but the stories are ageless. I picked up the first one because I recognized the last name and the outline of half an island I fell in love with a decade ago.
The author's son was a man my husband long admired before he was husband - the first second generation worker on the island where we worked back when that island was called Irian Jaya. This book, the beautiful story of his childhood, his parents' calling, and the raising up of true children of the Chief of the Sky took place in the very jungles my beloved hiked so long ago. We recognized the names and the places and the people groups. I read the book in its entirety in less than a day and cried the entire time.
I picked up book after book in this series and in pouring over their pages, I have found a very common theme.
"It did not prove to be quite so uncomplicated as they had envisioned."
"All seemed once again to be clear sailing. Then one morning..."
"And their work was fraught with numerous interruptions, inconveniences, and dangers of all kinds."
"We were stopped dead in our tracks yet another time."
Over and over they said these things that sum up my own life of late. Unexpected events. Changes in plans. Circumstances beyond our control. This whole time I've been wondering and asking "What is wrong with us?" I still don't know the answer but at least now I know we aren't alone.
The people in these books, they also had malaria and acute eye infections. Their children got sick. They moved constantly. Their loved ones passed away. They faced political unrest and paperwork issues. They were told by some that they were too old and by others, that they were too inexperienced. They had to travel far and wide for decent medical treatment. Their teams fell apart. Their children got sick, again, and then they had to move, again! And more than once, their lives were threatened (which hasn't happened to us yet).
Some talked of tribes, vine bridges, and gourds, rivers and airstrips and people groups in the thousands.
Some talked of market towns, characters, and tones and people groups in the tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands.
All spoke of sickness and suffering, homesickness and hardship. A medical emergency that ends in a city on the brink of civil war? It's really not all that surprising.
There's other themes in these books, too. Good ones like His faithfulness, our inadequacy, His sovereignty over circumstances, our desperate need for Him, peace, joy, hope, truth, His love for the nations, His care for His children, His power to heal and to save and to restore and to rescue.
The first couple about whom I read left Indonesia before my first birthday after 35 years of service. The husband passed away when I was in middle school and the wife passed away the year we got married. We never met them, but I know they were thinking of people like us when they recorded the precious words that would tell their life story. Each chapter in the book they left behind closes with a couple lines from the best book.
As this chapter on S's health and Bangkok's begins to draw to a close, I wanted to share with you the song my soul's been singing since those spots first appeared on our girl 15 days ago.
I jumped to conclusions and said, "I am cut off from your presence!" But you heard my plea for mercy when I cried out to you for help. P31.22
our sweet little girl has been sick
After two working days on our trip, we were ready for a family day.
The put on their swimsuits first thing in the morning. We enjoyed the hotel breakfast of boiled eggs, fresh fruit, and rice noodles.
We enjoyed some chilly but fun time in the pool.
We went out for a yummy western lunch of hamburgers and juice. And then we noticed this:
I took those pictures and texted them to a doctor friend. She recommended lab work. We were blessed to find a friend of a friend's local friend who was able to take us to a local clinic/hospital for lab work.
"Can you take my picture, mom?" she says. "I didn't even cry!"
I can't read well but I know enough to know that 3 when then line next to it says 100-300 is not good. My heart sank when I saw it and I felt nauseas and scared. But He was with us. We held our girl close and made a plan. Friends all over the country pitched in to help and people all over the world began lifting up our girl.
We got on a plane and went straight to the ER in the big city where we normally live.
It was a long and challenging night. The kids slept from 2am-6am despite the brightness and the noise and the mosquitoes. We slept a little but spent most of the night talking to our Father and reading his letters to us. What else could we do?
Another lab test in the wee hours of the morning and it was obvious we needed to be on a plane to Bangkok as soon as possible. We booked the first flight out at 1:40pm. J rushed back to our house with various members of our team and local friends to pack a few quick things. He spent two hours in traffic round trip and we left from the hospital for the airport. When saying goodbye to local friends at the hospital, S realized we were leaving the country and she began crying, "But we just got here!" J and I fought tears as we climbed into the car with our luggage.
Friends that didn't make it to our apartment came to the airport to say goodbye. It was bittersweet.
The flight to Thailand was a long two hours. Not having slept well, our normally superstar traveler was abnormally fussy and fidgety. S sprawled out on the two seats next to J and slept almost the entire flight. He checked on her constantly and when he didn't, I asked him to. Whenever our eyes met across the aisle, they filled instantly with tears.
I've cried many tears on many airplanes but these tears were different. These were not the precious parting tears of saying goodbye to my family or my beloved. These were tears wrung from the deepest part of my soul, where the unknown and the unseen collide with all that I hold dear on this earth.
After arriving in Thailand, the hospital ambulance met us at the airport. After her good sleep on the plane and the steroids starting to kick in, Little Miss decided that she liked her pink teddy bear jammies and the bracelet they gave her "that's just like the one at Chuck E Cheese" and that Thailand wasn't so bad after all. Her smile did our hearts so much good.
It didn't take long for us to settle in at the hospital. The facilities were great. The staff was amazing. People come from all over the world to receive treatment at this hospital. B loved looking out the window at the busy city below.
We both really tried to take some special time with B. It was very hard for him not being able to play with S and being cooped up in the hospital. Meals were a great time for little dates with our little mighty man.
"Take a deep breath." Says Dr. B. "Again. Again. Again. Again. Everything sounds good."
Papa is the most patient patient.
While we kept B busy, S was busy too, trying to get better. The first night she received treatment via IV most of the night. In the morning she felt great. By afternoon, she was miserable: vomiting, fever, terrible head and neck ache. It lasted all through the night and into the next morning. The doctors said it was aseptic meningitis and is a common side effect of the treatment. We were to treat the symptoms by treating her like someone with a migraine, dark room, totally quiet, ice packs, anti-vomiting medicine.
By the next afternoon, she was finally feeling a little better.
But that evening, her headache returned along with a few other side effects from the treatment. She couldn't get comfortable. She couldn't sleep. It was another long night.
By the last day, she was able to play a little more. She found creative ways of staying busy in her bed until the last day when the doctors said it was ok for her to get down and play a little with B. Although I think in this picture, she was mostly trying to avoid eating. Another side effect of the treatment is appetite loss and although we're doing our best, she has lost some weight. Please keep this in mind as you talk to the Father.
Aslo they were painting the exterior of the hospital so that was awkward at times too.
Finally yesterday she was able to be discharged. We have follow-up appointments scheduled for lab work and doctor's visits every week for the next 3 weeks. We had to wait until 21 days after treatment to do any further testing (like for lupus or leukemia). The waiting and the unknown is still difficult but for now we're happy to have her "home" and healthy. Thanks for remembering our family.
Trip pictures
Recently our family went on a little trip. Here's some of what we saw.
