the life in the day

sheep and goats

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Wed, 29 Aug 2012 02:29:00 +0000

I need Thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine
Can peace afford.
I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee!
O bless me now, my savior--
I come to Thee.

There is almost always a song floating around in my heart, most often an older hymn from my Baptist childhood or a praise chorus or sometimes a little Ingrid Michaelson ditty. Today, it was this one. I Need Thee Every Hour. I listened to it from the voice of Nicol Sponberg of Selah. I hummed it as I sat on the deck and felt the rain drops tapping all around me.

I sang it as a prayer of my own. It is so sweet to always be needing the Savior. Many of my friends have been posting things about the importance of prayer, and I know that I have been quick to let my prayer life slide lately. When I caught myself singing these words again and again, I realized that it was a call to prayer. Then I found these wonderful words by Alfred Lord Tennyson:

More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friends,
For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

Haha! I love it! Let's lift each other up, friends. We are better than goats, yes?

What's a little headache?

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Mon, 27 Aug 2012 20:08:00 +0000

I hear the questions many times every day now from my compassionate friends. How are you, Shelley? Are you better now? Is your headache gone yet? Is there anything we can do for you? Do you need anything? Is Loren taking care of you? Have the doctors given you any idea of what's going on? How long is this supposed to last? What are they doing to help you get better? What's going on with you? I heard you were in the hospital? What happened? The list goes on...

I'll try to answer as many of them as I can right here. On Aug 1st, I started having some strange wobbly changes in my vision. I decided to go rest in our bedroom, and Loren and the kids began watching a movie in the living room. Over the next couple of hours, I had the worst headache I've ever had. It was so bad that I could not move at all or even speak. I thought I should go to the hospital, but I couldn't do anything about it. It subsided a bit, and I was able to get up and take a hot shower and go to bed. I slept okay, but in the morning, I still had this wobbly vision and terrible headache. I also started seeing things that were not there. Mostly shadows and textures and movement. I didn't tell Loren any of this until after we went to church where we were visiting some people. But when we came out of the building, Rachael was walking beside me. I noticed that she stepped down, but when I looked, I could not see a step. All of this together alarmed me, and when we got home I called the nurse hotline for our insurance company. The nurse told me to hang up and call an ambulance...so I asked my parents to drive me to the ER.

Over the next few days, lots of tests were run (CT scan, MRI, lumbar puncture, blood and urine analyses), but everything pointed to migraine. It turns out there's this type of migraine called an intractable migraine. It just means that nothing they throw at it works. I spent all week in the neurologist's office getting infusions and changes in medications and dosages, but still the splitting headache. Now I'll pause here to say: I've had horrible migraines all my life. I had even been on preventatives before. This headache was like nothing I have ever experienced. I really thought at first that I must be experiencing a brain aneurysm and about to die. I could not imagine living through that amount of pain. Thankfully, that part came and went. I only experienced it a few times through all this. The other symptoms also come and go like rolling waves: nausea; blurred vision (a very simplified way of explaining what I see); hallucinations; changes in smell, taste, and hearing; balance issues; dizziness.

The neurologist put me in the hospital so they could watch me more closely and try to manage the pain better while they tried to find the right combination of medications to get the symptoms to a more tolerable level, which is all they have ever given me any hope of doing so far. I was very eager to get out of the hospital and back home to my family and friends. It is much easier to cope in this environment. I was there for a week. I've been home a little more than a week.

If you ask Loren how I am doing, he is going to say that I am healing. That is what we both believe. It doesn't mean that my symptoms have disappeared. It means that we serve a God who is Healer, and we believe He is performing His healing work, in His way, in His time, in my life. It also means that Loren dislikes sharing details. :-) If you ask me how I am doing, I may feel up to sharing details. If not, I'll tell you that I'm healing. :-) The one question I think I hear the most is if I still have a headache. I'll try answering that one. My head hurts. A lot. It has stopped for hours and hours at a time, but there is always the blurred vision or nausea or whatever. And any sudden sounds or movement across my field of vision or any kind of stress at all will immediately cause my head to pound and everything in my vision to start bouncing wildly out of control. I also feel confused and lost. The more there is going on around me, the more confused and lost I feel.

Ultimate embarrassing mama moment: I had to take Zechariah to the doctor. Or, my mom had to drive me to take Zechariah to the doctor. When I got up to the receptionist's window, she asked for his date of birth. There were two different TVs in the lobby playing two different stations, and the room was full of people talking. I stammered and stuttered and thought and looked at the lady hopelessly. Not surprisingly, she rolled her eyes at me. What kind of mother doesn't remember her child's birth date? "I need to see his insurance card." she said next. I squinted and shuffled through my stack of cards, trying to make sense of the letters dancing around on them, located what I hoped was the right one, and handed it to her. "Did you remember it yet?" I did, finally. Ugh.

I do catch myself wondering how much longer this will be the definition of my life. My friends, if you would lift me up...still...I would be so grateful. I know there are greater challenges, greater pains, being faced by people every day, all around the world. I have faced greater challenges and pains myself, but perspective is a cruel comfort. And yet, our God changes not, and His compassions fail not. He is faithful to provide all I need. That He has proven to me time and again. I trust Him in this.

Don't Bring Your BRAT to School

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 01:00:00 +0000

Today was an especially fun school day for me. We had our first Bible lesson from the Calvary Chapel verse-by-verse Bible curriculum. Then we spent some time learning new hymns. We looked them up on YouTube to see which ones were our favorites. Since my post yesterday included some "soul food," I thought I would include something a little...shall we say, different?

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the BEST version I could have found, but it was the most interesting video of this particular song that we watched today. I wouldn't quite consider it torture, even if it's not my cup of tea. But one of my children was complaining so loudly about every aspect of school today. First he was tired, then he was irritated, then he just plain didn't want to. I started thinking about all the complaining he's been doing lately about school, breathed a little prayer under my breath, and headed to the white board.

This white board is where I do a lot of my "splainin" to my children. Sometimes it's about the Circle of Blessing. Sometimes it's a verse that we copy that has something to do with an issue we are currently trying to correct. Today, I had a vision of the word "BRAT." Who likes a brat in their classroom? Who would really want to be thought of as a brat? Who feels good about behaving like a brat?

Here's what I came up with (I believe it was a God-breeze):

So for the next little while, we are going to be working on keeping these feelings checked at the schoolroom door. Instead, we will bring hearts ready for work, doing all to the glory of God.

The catechism in a rap

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 02:37:00 +0000

A friend of mine pointed out this site on Facebook. It's a fun little number about the Westminster Catechism done by Curtis Allen. Nah, it's not my style. But it does put me thinking about how little real doctrine is taught in our churches, especially to the children. This is something I want to instill in my children; and since I'm tight with the teacher and the principal, I have quite a bit of say in what my kids study.

One of my favorite ways for the kids to get some good doctrinal teaching in is here. I like Shai Linne. Did I just say that? I guess I did. :-)

And since I seem to be on a theme here, I'd love to share with you a little SM Lockridge. If you've heard it before, then listen to it again. If you've never heard it, you are in for a REAL treat. That's MY King!

There are a lot of YouTube videos with this sermon in them, and some of them have better sound quality. But most of them are edited, plus they are set to music which I believe takes away from the overall impact of Rev. Lockridge. Be blessed!

Here we are, Rebecca

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 05:50:00 +0000

My dear friend Rebecca, whom I met through this blog, has challenged me to begin writing again. There are a few truths I'd like to share about blogging: 1. I love to write. It has been a passion since I was a little girl. 2. I'm nervous every time I publish something. There is this pressure to live up to a standard I've set for myself. 3. Inconstant Kitty...that's me. Updating my blog has been rather sporadic, unfortunately.

I'm issuing myself a challenge this time. I will blog at least 20 days this month. Do you think I can do it?

In post number one, I have some amazing things to share with you. For well over a year now, our family of seven has been crammed into a little 6 seat Mercury Sable. We were determined not to take on debt with another vehicle after Loren hit a deer, totaling our van and freeing us from the $12k we still owed on it. We had been given, yes GIVEN, a Sable with about 280k miles on it. We found that, with creative buckling, we could fit all of us into this car.

Here is the driver side of the back seat.

Here is the passenger side of the back seat.

Front Seat

We have put over 40k more miles on her, and she's still going strong at 320k+ miles. But over the last year or so, the kids have done the most outrageous thing. They've grown. And we have gone from cramped to downright squished.

We have been praying for a new vehicle that could fit all seven of us, plus still have room for our groceries when we go shopping and our luggage when we travel. We already knew that a minivan would not would do all that, so what I really wanted was a Ford Econoline (Loren is a Ford guy). Well, lookie at the blessing that God sent our way!

TaDa!!

Complete with roomy seating for seven, plus tons of room for groceries, luggage, and even the family dog. :-) We are feeling so blessed.

Isn't she beautiful? My favorite color, even!

Starting over...again

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 03:00:00 +0000

It's a new school year now...time for new ideas, new schedules, new subjects, new responsibilities. It might be deceptive of me to say that I haven't been feeling apprehensive about this for a while, but I'm also excited. Homeschooling has never really been easy, but there is nothing more thrilling to me than to watch my children learn and grow over the years. I never know if they are learning in spite of my best efforts or because of them, but the real credit all goes to God. I know that on my own, I'd never make it. I'm not any of those things most people think of when they picture a homeschool mom. I'm not terribly creative, organized, or patient. Also lacking in my life are, evidently, persistence and stability. I never seem to be able to stick to anything through a whole year (that is a major goal for me this year).

But, with the Lord's help, I have found the courage and motivation to keep on trekking. I used to see homeschooling merely as a specific calling on my life. Now, I just can't imagine doing things differently. There are things that children learn year after year at home that just can't be learned in a brick and mortar school setting. And there are unforgiving lessons that are learned in these other institutions that just cannot be unlearned, no matter how good a parent's intentions may be.

So, not looking back at what else I could have done with my life, I press forward. My fulfillment will not lie, for now, in what I could possess or where I could go. It will lie in starting over, again...making a renewed effort to become the mother and teacher that I would love to be. If I can grow and learn half what my children will this year, then it will have been a great success for me.

Goodbye, sweet summer!

Something in the Smile

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 19:24:00 +0000

"It won't hurt so much always, Anne."

"The thought that it may stop hurting sometimes hurts me worse than all else, Marilla."

~~

"Oh, everybody has been so dear and good and lovely to me, Marilla. I'm not ungrateful--and perhaps--when this horrible ache grows a little less--I'll find that I can go on living."

~~

Anne found that she could go on living; the day came when she even smiled again over one of Miss Cornelia's speeches. But there was something in the smile that had never been in Anne's smile before and would never be absent from it again."

Today, I remember the "fair maiden clothed with celestial grace." I see her, a tribute laid in grateful devotion at the feet of the Father. Today, all the little remembrances are gathered together and poured over with love. Her name will not be forgotten.

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Fri, 02 Jul 2010 18:11:00 +0000

First of all, thank you to my blogger friend Sheila, who always encourages me to get back on here. Yes, Sheila, I am alive and well. :-)

So, what things have been slurping up all my time lately? Well, first there was my venture into writing for profit. For an example of this, you can click here. I haven't given up on this, but the website that I was writing for seems to have gotten more difficult to navigate as a writer. I need to get back on it, though, because I did make some money. (Yay)

Then, there was my month long attempt at being OCD about housework. I'm not OCD, and I don't seem to be able to keep up the energy/desire to go around behind my family of 7 and pick up, put away, wipe up, etc. enough to make it look spotless 24/7. Who really likes (or has time) to vacuum and mop every day?? I've decided I'm gonna have to be happy with 2-3 times per week. The kids are great about doing all the household chores...WHEN I'm directing their efforts. When I try to leave them to do the things I've taught them without my supervision, it usually ends in disaster. Most recently, this was a glass mixing bowl shattered all across the kitchen while I was away briefly with just the younger two. My husband seemed to think I should let them clean it up while I was still gone. Personally, I believed it was a better idea to tell them to hide out downstairs at grandma and granddad's until I got home. I would much rather they learn to be "responsible for their messes" when I am available in case someone gets hurt. As it was, Rachael still managed to get a sliver of glass stuck in her foot which crumbled as I was trying to remove it.

Which brings me to the other adventures related to feet: I've decided to give you the shortened story rather than all the fun/interesting details. My mom ripped off her toenail. My dad doesn't really do gross very well, so I was the caretaker/bandage changer/dr's office transport. During one of these Dr. visits, I received a phone call from my husband asking me to come get Rachael and take her to the hospital. She had stepped on a nail. Really, that's an understatement. It was an enormous nail (about half the diameter of a pencil) that she drove nearly all the way through her foot. My little baby girl was such a trooper with all the horrible things they had to do to her at the hospital, and I took her out for an ice cream treat afterwards (with a cookie bowl--yumm!). Needless to say, I spent a lot of time soaking feet in Epsom salts and changing bandages over the next few weeks.

There was also Joshua's trampoline accident which led to a hospital visit several days later. There were no broken bones, but he was definitely subluxated--which the chiropractor kindly took care of for us. :-)

Oh, and the bank transfer. Our bank was closed by the feds, taken over by another bank, and overhauled. To add to the excitement, our account number was the same as another account holder with the new bank. This took several hours over the phone and at our local bank branch to straighten out. This sweet lady took good care of us, though.

Then there was my dad's visit in the hospital. Actually, he spent several weeks there because the insurance would not approve the medicine he needed in order to go home. Funny that they were willing to pay three times as much for him to be in the hospital.

My mom was also in the hospital for a couple of days. She had to have some procedures done on her heart. I guess our family has spent a lot of time at the hospital over the last couple of months.

And last of all, we went to Waxhaw, NC to visit some friends. Jenny and her husband Isaac just had their first baby. Her name is Olivia, and she is a doll.

We also got to see Jenny's sister and her family. They live in Ireland (Tammy married an Irish fellow). Her children are beautiful, and she still looks just like she did when she was fourteen!

And I got to spend a few minutes trying to act like a kid again. It was tough to get my nerve up (I really wasn't sure I was strong enough to hold on). :-)

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 04:09:00 +0000

I thought I'd share some quick pictures and a few thoughts tonight before my hectic weekend starts tomorrow morning. :)

The youngest three getting ready for bed. (Okay, well, Rachael getting ready for bed, anyway.)

Striking a pose.

One more before mom finally ushers them to bed.

And here we have a little pick-me-up dropped off by Stephanie. What a sweet thing to do! It's a butterfly cake!

And here to prove that it was DELISH:

And last, look what else got dropped off this week!

Some dirt for our landscaping project. We are hoping it will help alleviate our septic tank problems by diverting the runoff from neighboring properties.

But the kids had better ideas for how to put it to use. :-)

Should it feel this difficult?

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 12:20:00 +0000

Parenting can be tough in some of the smallest ways...at least for me, that is. As is the case in much of life, most parenting decisions don't directly impact my life exactly now. It is the constant investments, consistently made over time, that eventually add up to some kind of return later on. I think this is why it is so easy for me to underestimate the importance of daily decisions. Their impact is often not felt immediately, so it seems not to matter if I tend to waffle.

For example, I often hear this one excellent piece of parenting advice: "You have to choose your battles." Sure. That's true. But what do I use as the standard for which battles are worth choosing? As a Christian, it's easy to give a hasty answer: the Bible. But what wisdom does God's Word share for whether I should make my three year old eat his vegetables, or for which expressions of emotions are acceptable from my adolescents? I believe the answer is simple, but profound. By asking this question: "How will this bear up in the end?" It is too easy to convince myself that small things don't matter. But every single parenting decision I make has the potential to yield dividends that I haven't counted on.

So here's my most recent example. A couple of days ago, Loren and I decided to take the kids to the dollar theater. They were very excited, and we had to eat a quick dinner so we could get there on time. As they ate, the older kids talked animatedly about what they were about to experience. When they mentioned popcorn and sodas, our three year old, Isaiah, suddenly pushed his plate away and pronounced he was full. He had eaten half a chicken drumstick and none of his green beans. I told him that he could not be excused until he had eaten those green beans. He refused, so I said if he did not eat the green beans, he would get no popcorn. He claimed that he did not even want popcorn anyway, and I answered that it was a good thing since he wouldn't be having any without eating the beans. His brothers and sister tried to convince him that he should eat them. They knew, as did I, what was going to happen later.

I'm sure you are not surprised to hear that Isaiah was not happy when he was sitting down in the theater watching his siblings and father eat popcorn without him. I certainly wasn't, nor were the other children. But what did surprise me was the mental wrestling match going on in my mind! Maybe I should give him just one little handful. No, I told him he'd get no popcorn. Well, maybe he didn't really understand! You know better than that. Well, if I just tell him I changed my mind... Maybe...

And then the hubby gives me those puppy dog eyes and says, "Mom, can't he have just a little?"

How sad that our hearts were willing to put his temporary happiness ahead of our duty to shepherd his heart and mold his character. How indicative of our human nature, to try to shield him from even such a small consequence of his own choices.

It would have been all too easy to underestimate the importance of staying true to my promise that he would get no popcorn if he did not eat that tiny handful of green beans. After all, he generally does eat his vegetables very well. And his sad little eyes looked with such longing...and his dimpled little fingers reached out for that popcorn bucket every few minutes.

In the end, I took him in my lap, squeezed him to my chest, and whispered into his ear: "Isaiah, I love you. I love you too much to lie to you. I told you no popcorn, and that is what I meant. I'm sorry this is so hard for you, and I really wanted you to have some popcorn. But it is very important for you to remember that mom told you the truth."

Would it have been easy to rationalize letting him have a little popcorn? Certainly. Would it really make that much difference? I don't know. But I hope and pray that it made all the difference in the world, in his little mind, to know that mom really meant what she said.

Maybe I'm alone in this. Perhaps everyone else would have had an easy time carrying out such a sentence. Perhaps no one else would have chosen this battle. I don't mind having chosen to tell him he must eat his green beans, but perhaps next time I'll think more carefully about how difficult it will be to follow through with an imposed consequence before I pronounce one.

Loosing that first tooth...and other signs of growing up

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 03:53:00 +0000

A couple of days ago, Zechariah lost his first little baby tooth. It had been holding on in there for quite a while, but the little fellow asked me to pull it at last. Usually, I am the designated tooth puller, splinter extractor, hang nail remover, etc. (my husband does not like these things). But this time I couldn't pull it well, and wrangled the dad into the position. Once again, I have a Snaggle Tooth in the house...and boy is he proud of himself. He was in quite a bit of shock at the beginning, which mom took to mean that he needed ICE CREAM!! It bled quite a bit, and what better excuse to eat the last little bit of ice cream in the house (mom usually saves that privilege for dad).

In other news...

the kids are all growing up. Joshua is going through---dare I say it?---Puberty! All these little Man-traits are popping out all over my little baby boy who I KNOW was just born a couple of years ago...right?

Rachael is working hard to control her moods (aka: attitudes!). I had noticed a particularly shining attitude a few days ago, after the lot of us had endured some serious TUDE from her for several days running. I complimented her on it, and she gave me a shy little grin. She asked me if I wanted to see what she had read, and ran and fetched her Princess Bible. As I washed dishes, she read to me about God's desires for our attitudes and dispositions. What a cherished moment. I'll hold on to it forever.

Daniel has recently turned 10, and even more recently been coaxed away from his YouTube addiction, where he would spend all day watching videos of "boss-fight" songs from various video games...if only mom would allow it. Poor dear has been restricted to only two per day. Now he researches sensible things again AND spends more time with his family. Yay!

And Isaiah, bless him, still has those adorable baby cheeks that I just don't want to go away. It is so hard to believe that he is three and a half. Please pray that I will have the courage to let him grow up rather than to baby him the rest of his life.

On the pet front, my poor little kitty had to be taken for an emergency trip to the vet today. It appears he somehow got into a fairly vicious scrape with another cat. His previous owners had the poor guy declawed, and he's practically defenseless in such tangles. Several stitches and several hundred dollars later, he's home and learning to deal with his Elizabethan collar. Only two more weeks to go, and it is simply heartbreaking to watch him. I've never had a pet with one before, and it interferes with his walking, sleeping, and I'm sure even his dignity...which is SO important to a cat.

And finally, at our house, Friday night is Family Fun-Filled Feast and Film Festival. This week, we ate hot dogs sans buns, broccoli soup, and mac and cheese. The only rules for our Friday night Feast are that it must be something the kids like and it must be made in plentiful quantities. The movie was A Light in the Forest. Not a must see, for sure, but still made for an enjoyable evening. Here, in a rare moment not covered with kids, is the relaxed king of the castle...and take note of this: Isaiah has this thing for piling up random items and pronouncing it a fort. So, in the top right corner, you will notice various pieces of armor (all plastic), a broken "golf club" that mom has disposed of quite a few times already (not sure how it makes it back into circulation as a toy), and an empty cracker box. What you cannot see is the cat carrier standing on end just on the other side of these items (so he could duck behind it---voilà, a fort!).

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Mon, 22 Mar 2010 20:14:00 +0000

Wrestling am I, with what to post. Do I try to back up to my last post and bring you up to date? No, I really don't have time for that since today's my wonderful husband's birthday, and I'm going to make him his birthday dinner. Biggest news: we're all alive. :-) But I have precious little time, and I want to share so much. So I'll start small and share with you the most recent awesome thing that happened in my life.
For Valentine's day, Loren (my love) wrote an essay and sent it in to our local Christian radio station. It was for a giveaway. He was trying to win us a spot in a wedding vow renewal ceremony. He did this without my knowing, and finally told me about it after he figured that he didn't win because he had not heard back from them.
Well, the day that we were snowed in, he received a call informing him that, unfortunately, they had been forced to decide to postpone the ceremony. WHAT??!! We looked back through his emails, and there in the trash box was the discarded, unread message that he had indeed won. Wow! If it had not been postponed, we would have missed it entirely.

And then...THEN...while we were there saying our vows, he surprised me with a diamond engagement ring/wedding band to replace the one I lost over 10 years ago. How he managed to do it without my noticing the money missing is beyond me, but he earned major brownie points, YES HE DID!!! (It's going to have to be sized up to fit my ring finger...guess he sees me as much tinier than I am...more brownie points.)
I can't imagine life without him. Perhaps it would be a little less complicated (what relationship isn't), but I can say with certainty that it would be much less exciting, quite lonely, and absolutely unthinkable.

So here's to my amazing husband, who has overcome more heartache, abuse, neglect, disadvantage and trouble than perhaps any other person I know...and come out a better man than perhaps any other man I know. I love him completely, even all the terribly irritating little bits. And he loves me completely, even all the terribly irritating little bits. For that I am truly blessed. Happy Birthday, Loren, my love.

Breakfast at Last!

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 17:59:00 +0000

We have been officially off our media fast for about a week now, but I have been slowly adding back in a little here and a little there. It seems like this has taught me some sense of moderation that I don't want to lose. But a lot has been happening in our lives. Hmm...a little synopsis is in order, I suppose.

I resigned my job. Yes, it has been wonderful. Sad sometimes too, but overall fantastic. After the last pictures I posted, my house improved dramatically in just a few hours. And even more so over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, I don't believe I took any pictures to show how wonderful it looked. Did I say looked? Sure did. That brings me to what else has been going on.

My kids have started a new business. It all fits in as part of our homeschool life. See, for a few years now my kids have wanted to start a lemonade stand, but with a job and new babies and just general busy-ness, I haven't been much help in facilitating the idea. So once I was a little more free, I started helping them plan for this. Now, being a homeschool family, we certainly wanted to do this with excellence. So...

We went to the library and checked out books about business, money, and entrepreneurship. We conducted market research. We worked out brand ideas, sketching logos and such, and planned color schemes and more. We made field trips to Sam's Club to scope out prices. We went to Goodwill and found coordinating collared shirts for all of us. We borrowed a canopy and table from friends (and we decided that we would conduct business rain or shine), with the plan to invest in those items with our business profits. We decided on a charity to receive 10% of our profits (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta). Weeks after the beginning of this whole process, we designed and passed out flyers to every house in the neighborhood. And we woke up on opening day to a downpour outside.

If only you could have seen my husband and me as we attempted to raise that borrowed canopy for the very first time in the pouring rain at 5:30 am. It was, well, comical! But I was so proud of my little entrepreneurs as they braved the rain and cold, and stood out under that canopy waiting for those mythical creatures otherwise known as customers. Two wonderfully faithful friends did stop in those next couple of hours, and we had prepared the children well for the possibility of little to no success on that first morning because we had not told anyone that we would still be there rain or shine. So there was no bitter disappointment. Just the understanding that driving by and seeing three little munchkins braving that weather to remain consistent and reliable would only help build trust among our customer base.

That was yesterday. Today, we had steady customers the whole time we were open. And the kids also learned the value of a soft open before the Grand Opening...we actually ran out of coffee! Right in the middle of a customer's cup! So we will be getting a few of the kinks worked out this week. Our Grand Opening is planned for next Monday. We are planning discounts and giveaways.

The kids already have visions of franchises in their little heads. :-) Have I mentioned before how much I love to teach my kids at home?

Lots more has been going on, but getting back to the condition of my house. Well, with all this coffee stand business, it has kinda slipped a little bit. Not like it was, mind you, but slipped none the less. Especially yesterday. I spent all day cleaning out the garage so that we can run the business out of it when the weather is especially cold and rainy. So, while mom was working downstairs, you can imagine what the preschool set were doing upstairs! And after getting up at 4am yesterday, I wasn't worth anything by the time I got my kids in bed at 8. I did the dishes and then fell asleep on the couch with hubby playing around on Facebook at the other side of the room. So, well, I guess now I'll put up with a little bit of chaos upstairs while we finish redoing the garage suitably for a coffee stand to run out of it! And we'll figure out how to fit all of this back into a workable schedule over the next few weeks.

Boy, have I missed blogging! I'll post some pictures as soon as I can.

Media Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 16:41:00 +0000

Our family is doing a media fast right now. The only computer time I am allowed is the time I take to check important emails and certain school work for the kids. But I thought I would briefly pop on here to let you know why I'm not updating my blog right now (for Sheila, LOL). I haven't forgotten you, though. There is tons of stuff I want to share with everyone as soon as our fast is over in a few weeks. Ok, break-fast over. Hahaha!

Full disclosure

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 14:53:00 +0000

In all this time of leading a "double life," I have found myself getting farther and farther behind on so many important things. My home has suffered terribly as I have tried to decide just what had to fall off my plate. In the beginning, I was letting all leisure time get slashed from the menu. After about a year of this, I finally understood the immense importance of having some down time for the whole family. So, little by little, the little things have fallen off my plate. And anything that happens little by little has the potential to become a very big thing. Still, I've managed to keep some things very organized and tidy......
.....but in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to bare my soul. I'm going to show you the good, the bad, and the ugly.

This is just a glimpse of our homeschool room. It used to be our dining room, but we never ate in there. So I started moving all the homeschool supplies from all over the house into our homeschool room. It's a little small for organizing everything a family needs to school across 5 different grade levels, but it's nice to have everything in one place. I have been reading up on organization ideas, and I've learned a lot from my friend Laura (she did all the organizing and planning for our new space in Praise Park).

Here we have our new "workboxes" from Sue Patrick's Workbox System. They are ready to be loaded up for the beginning of our school year. If you've never heard of this system and you are homeschooling or have toddlers, you should check it out.
You can google "workbox system" and get lots of pictures of how other mom's have put this system to use in their homes.

This is our supply cabinet. It holds some of our school supplies like craft foam pieces, stampers, file folder games, ribbon, beads, whatever. The whole idea for organizing this cabinet came from what I learned from Laura. I have no real organizing sense whatsoever on my own. I owe her soooo much!

This is where the everday supplies go. It's right next to the workboxes so it's easier for me to reload them each night. It holds our pens, pencils, crayons, markers, glue, scissors, whatever.

It has made a big difference just having these all together. I used to try to keep separate boxes of these items for each child. It seemed like such a good idea to me, but it never worked out. Everything just kept disappearing. Now the kids know exactly where something goes instead of having to figure out whose box it belongs in.

The bottom of the cabinet holds all their coloring books and artwork that they want to keep. It's pretty much a mess in there right now.

Here is where a lot of our curriculum supplies are located, along with the science supplies and math manipulatives. This shelf stands about two feet high, so it's great for the kids to be able to reach the things they need.

And here is a bookshelf where I try to keep interesting books to read. We have bought the supplies to create our rain gutter bookshelves, but we haven't been able to come to an agreement about where they should go.

So none of this looks too bad, right? Well, that's because I'm showing you the closeups. Now, here's the part where I open myself up to vulnerability. I'm not looking for disapproval here, or even pity. This is just straight up honesty about where I have been. But by the end of today, it will be soooo much different. Maybe I'll pop back on here and post some pics of that as well. Okay, here goes...There. I've done it. You know it all now. I'm so glad that the Lord led me to understand that I had to choose my home and family over my other ministries. In this season of my life, my sacrifices should be for my husband and for the little ones God has entrusted to my care. There will be plenty of time to throw myself into other important endeavors later on, Lord willing.

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Tomorrow will bring big changes to my life. For nearly three years, I have held a part time job working for my church. I have loved this job, working with so many beautiful children. In the beginning, I was responsible for coordinating both volunteers and paid workers for the nursery through Kindergarten age children. But about a year ago, it changed dramatically when the church leadership asked me to help them embark upon a new mission.

Our children's pastor and I had both dreamed of having a worship service for the three year olds through kindergartners. So, that is just what we created along with the help of a few dedicated friends. Praise Park. A fun-filled, bright and cheerful place for the children to grow and learn about what it means to reach beyond themselves and worship their Creator! How awesome it is to be a part of Praise Park. To listen as 35-40 preschoolers recite God's Word that they have hidden in their hearts. To watch them dance and sing that God is alive, and jump and shout F-A-I-T-H. To hold a little boy with autism while his mama worships in the worship center.

It has been wonderful, and challenging, and often even frustrating. But for a very long time now, I have felt like I've been stretched too thin. I've found myself having trouble even getting out of bed, just so tired and overwhelmed. My homeschooling efforts last year were certainly less than joyful, and my performance at every single task I was undertaking was less and less acceptable. I spent time reading books on leadership and organization, trying to learn to make myself more capable.

But finally, I picked up a book I had read a few years back:
A Woman After God's Own Heart by Elizabeth George. It was a great book for me to read the first time around, but it was even more precious to me this time. As soon as I read it, I knew where I had gone wrong. As a wife and mother, my first ministry is to my family. But I had been giving so much of myself to Praise Park that my family was left eating the crumbs that fell off my plate.

So I told my husband that I felt we needed to choose between Praise Park and homeschooling. I just couldn't keep trying to do both and expect our home to be what God wanted it to be. He and I both came to our decision with sadness, but once we had landed upon it...and put in our six weeks notice...there was a sense of relief. Especially when a replacement for us was found, and it was a couple who would be so perfect for the job. (Way more perfect than us, I'm sad to say).

So, after tomorrow, I will once again be "just" a homeschooling mom, teaching and learning and loving and growing. It's my first ministry, and I am so eager to give my children and my husband my most creative and energetic efforts. But pray for me, please. This year I will be taking on 6th, 4th, and 2nd grades, along with Kindergarten and preschool...an exciting, though a bit daunting, prospect!

Lovely now her life shall be

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 03:51:00 +0000

It has been a while since I blogged about the here and now. I'm so happy to have shared with you all the story of our sweet Abigail's short life with us, and I feel blessed to have heard from so many of you how you have been touched by it. But now, there is so much life that happens each day in our home, and I hope to be able to share that too. Our struggles, our joys, and our sorrows go on.

I'd like to leave you with the words of one of my favorite poets, who also knew too well the pain of losing a child:

As We Prayed
by Edgar A. Guest

Often as we watched her there
From our lips there fell this prayer:
"God, give us the pain to bear!
Let us suffer in her place,
Take the anguish from her face,
Soothe her with Thy holy grace."

Then the angels came, and they
Took her lovely soul away
From the torture house of clay,
As we'd prayed, they brought release,
Smoothed her brow with gentle peace,
But our pain shall never cease.

Ours is now the hurt to bear,
Ours the anguish and despair,
Ours the agony to share!
When our hearts with grief were stirred,
Thus we prayed and thus were heard,
Shall we fail to keep our word?

Was our promise all in vain?
Would we call her back again
Just to spare ourselves the pain?
We are hurt, oh, that is true!
Desolate and lonely, too,
Suffering as we pledged to do,

Lovely now her life shall be
Safe through all eternity,
Always beautiful to see;
Now the pain is ours to know,
But we prayed to bear this blow
That she need not suffer so.

We love you Abigail. We miss you terribly. But we take comfort in the understanding that you live on, made whole and perfect in the presence of the Almighty. Your pain is now ours to bear, and we know that we will be with you again someday. We praise God who granted you the ultimate healing rather than to leave you living in the agony which mortal life afforded you.

He remembers

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 15:59:00 +0000

In church one Sunday morning about 6 weeks after Abigail had passed from this life into the next, I was broken. My arms ached with emptiness. My soul was bruised, and I wondered how I could even breathe. Yet I raised my hands in praise and choked out the words to the songs of God's faithfulness.

Pastor Scott got up and began an altar call. He asked all those with needs to come forward for prayer. I had a need, that was certain. I wanted to be prayed over. My spirit cried out to me that I needed intercession. But something held me back. Perhaps it was that I didn't want all those hundreds of people, who knew of our loss, to see me and, forbid it, pity me. I didn't want to be pitied. True, I was a victim of human suffering, a kind uncommon to most in that building. But my spirit was not crushed. I simply had a request to make of my Father in Heaven.

So I cried out to him in my heart, "God, I need you. But I can't go up there. I need you to meet me here. I know you can minister to me right here where I am. Father, my arms are empty. I understand what I must do, and that is to wait for your perfect timing. But I want you to know that I'm scared of your timing. I'm afraid my heart will break in two. I'm afraid that my spirit, though strong, will become crushed by the wait. And yet, I trust in who you are. You have brought me through so much. And I will trust in your timing. Just please, know that I feel as if I can't bear these empty arms much longer."

As I prayed these thoughts in my heart, I held back the tears. Then I felt an arm slip around my waist. I thought it was my husband's, but I turned my face to see a woman who had come down from the choir and made her way past the other worshipers down to the middle of the row where I was. She put her face against mine and started speaking: "God wants you to know that He hears you, and He is coming to you right where you are. He knows the desire of your heart, and He will give you what you need. You don't have to worry about His timing, because it will be sooner than you think. And He will hold you up. He will wrap His arms around you and you will not feel empty any more."

Through these words, I found that the tears had started to stream down my face. By the end, I was fairly sobbing. I had never experienced something like this before. I had been in love with my Heavenly Father since I had given my heart to Him at the tender age of four. I knew that He cared for me so much that He sent His only Son to die for me. But I never felt as loved as when He reached down and touched me that morning, through the words of a beautiful woman I had only just met. Suddenly it was me, there at the center of His heart.

How I wish I could express in words the jumble of feelings inside me as I left the sanctuary that morning. The God of creation had come to meet me where I was. No, I wasn't surprised. I knew He could do it. It's just that my expectation was to find a quiet peace come over me there where I stood. My envisioning was that I would find a spiritual connection such as the others that I had found throughout every other trial of my life. But that He would place it upon a relative stranger's heart to come and speak to every petition I had just made, and that she would hear it and command the courage to come down to me from the choir and deliver it, was greater than I could ever have imagined.

And yet, human as I am, fickle and often fragile in my trust, I left wondering if she had been right. I wanted to believe it. She had literally answered every private word spoken through an intimate conversation with my only Hope. And yet, there was a tiny seed of doubt lingering deep within my soul. And even the comforting words that His timing would be sooner than I thought (which, by the way, was along the lines of years) left me concerned. How soon did that mean? It's funny how I went before Him seeking merely peace, and He delivered much more; so I wanted even more yet.

But true to the words of that faithful acquaintance (now a dear friend), my wait was not to be unbearable. Only two weeks later, I had a positive pregnancy test. By my calculation, I conceived perhaps on that same day that I had poured out my soul to a God who really does care enough to meet me right where I am. And only a month away from the anniversary of Abigail's short life, my arms were finally wrapped around the answer to a promise. His name, Zechariah, which means "the Lord remembers."

And a few days later, I once more walked up those stairs, turned to my bedroom, and saw an empty cradle. But this time, I walked over and placed into it my beautiful baby boy. Then I sat on my bed and cried, just as I had only eleven months before as I looked upon it as empty evidence of her that was and is no more. There will never be a way to replace Abigail, and nothing will take the place of my love for her. But the faithfulness of the Lord is to be found in this: He not only held me through this terrible storm, but He also remembered my cry and gave me my heart's desire.

The Struggle

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Wed, 13 May 2009 18:43:00 +0000

When I first arrived back home, I struggled up the stairs. It was a physical struggle because of the C-section, but more painful was the emotional struggle. I knew I had left the cradle by my bed, ready to receive our little Abigail. I knew I had left a trail of blood all across the hall and into the bathroom. Memories of these images had flashed through my mind so vividly, and I was honestly afraid of losing myself to the pain.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I found the floor spotless. My brothers had cleaned away every trace of blood from the carpet. I had spent so much time worrying about that blood on my way home, and I was grateful to them for performing that difficult act of love for me.

As I turned and walked into the bedroom, my breath choked up inside of me as my eyes fell upon the little cradle. My arms instantly felt empty and cold, and for a moment I wondered how my heart could go on beating. My mom and Loren and the children had dropped me off and gone to handle something (I can't recall what it was), and I sat on my bed, alone, and cried. I think it was my first real chance to cry out to God with no one around. Everyone had been trying to be there for me and hold me up, and now I am convinced that I needed that time to learn to be ok all alone. I needed to be comforted by Him. Just Him. It was one of the most difficult moments of my grieving process, but it was important to me and has become one of my strongest memories of God's presence in my life. My own arms were empty, but He was holding me in His.

The emotions that surrounded Christmas only 5 days after our daughter passed away are difficult to describe. I felt so empty, but at the same time peaceful. I spent a vast amount of time on my knees pouring out my soul to my heavenly Father. Then He would fill me back up with Himself. But I had to do this over and over, day in and day out. I didn't want anyone to see this. Not my children, not my husband, not my mother. It was a private purging and filling.

Those lessons I learned on my knees were life changing. There was a cosmic shift in how I saw myself and those around me. I realized how much God in His infinite mercy, grace, and love had shaped my life...shielding me from harmful influences, humbling me by showing me all that I was capable of doing and being were it not for His guiding hand.

I spent countless hours on internet support boards for grieving parents, reminding those other hurt souls that their own pain didn't change the truth of who God is. I think the most important lesson those other parents and I solidified in our minds was that knowing and loving God doesn't shield us from terrible and tragic events. I'm not sure how we as Christians can sometimes come to that irrational conclusion, but it is so common. "How could God allow this to happen to me?" As if being a Christian is somehow supposed to guarantee us a life free of pain. But most of us wrestle with it. Or, "I prayed in faith, believing Him for a miracle. Why didn't He save her?"

But it was there in that place of countless questions and few satisfying answers that I found the comfort for my own heart. I learned that even when I don't know the mind of God and why he allows something to happen (His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts...Isaiah 55:8-9), I can trust His heart and know that He has only my best at the center of His heart (plans for a future and a hope...Jeremiah 29:11).

It still hurt. And I still had questions (still do). But I was not consumed by the struggle.

Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 01:38:00 +0000

Abigail had passed away late on a Saturday evening. We entertained the thought of going to church the next day because we felt the need to be in the presence of fellow believers and friends. We were tired, though, and there was much to do, and we weren't certain that we were ready to face the questions or even the silence of those who didn't know to ask.

We decided to go ahead and clear out of the little house we were staying in, even though we had been told we could stay as long as we needed. I wasn't sure I was ready to go back home. I knew that it would be difficult, but I also knew it wouldn't really get easier. Some things you just have to dive right into, and I believe dealing with grief is one of them.

With Christmas coming upon us quickly, we thought it would be good to stop by Toys R Us on the way back home from Atlanta. Again, it seemed like life was going on too effortlessly around me. Why didn't everyone else look like they could barely muster the will to even breathe? Why the carefree smiles on so many faces? Why the frowns and complaining about mundane things like having to wait in line or not finding that certain toy? Didn't they know they had so much to be thankful for? And then there were the babies being pushed around in buggies or straddling their mommies' hips. I remember feeling the aisles closing in around me.

I had decided to stay up near the front of the building as my mom and Loren and the kids wandered about the store. It had only been a week since I'd had a C-section, and I was still easily tired by too much walking. Suddenly I felt so lonely in that crowded place (and if you can think of what the stores look like on the last weekend before Christmas, you can imagine how many people there were). It seemed like we were there for hours.

I found a flat packed box and sat on it while I waited, and I tried to smile at the shoppers as they passed me. As I sat there, I wondered what Christmas would be like this year. I tried to envision myself portraying excitement as our children opened presents. I practiced feeling happy. Above all, I knew that I didn't want painful memories of Abigail to be the focus of this special celebration. Instead, I wanted us to celebrate her life as well as our Savior's.

It was something I had to practice repeatedly, not just that year, but in every year since.

Life should somehow have slowed down

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:04:00 +0000

In the days leading up to Abigail's death, Loren and I had been unable to really eat anything. When we had left the hospital's little chapel, we were both surprised to find that we were at last ready to eat. There had been a sense of finality and release once we had spent that time in prayer and praise. So we left the hospital and went to the only place we could find open so late at night, Waffle House.

It was a very strange feeling, sitting there in Waffle House with life going on all around us. Inside, I felt like life should somehow have slowed down. I wanted everyone who saw me to know that my daughter had just died and my heart was broken. Instead, I said nothing. Not even our waitress knew that we had just lost such a precious part of our lives. We ate our meal in relative silence and managed weak smiles as we were leaving. The waitress had been unusually kind and quietly attentive. It was another blessing.

When we got back to the little house that we had been staying in through the graciousness of strangers, my mom was asleep on the couch and our three remaining children were in sleeping bags side by side on the living room floor. We stood in the doorway and held each other as we watched them sleeping. After watching for a few moments, one of us said what both of us had been thinking. "We are so blessed."

Really. Just think of all those parents who lose their first child...or their only child. When we left that hospital, all our parental hopes and dreams were not imprisoned within it's halls. We had living, breathing, beautiful children waiting for us in that cozy little home. We had a reason to drag ourselves out of bed the next morning.

When we spoke those words out loud, my mom stirred on the couch. She looked up at us and asked, "Is she...?" We nodded, and the tears came to her eyes. As hard as it had all been for Loren and me, it had to be just as difficult for her. I knew her heart hurt just as much for us as it did for herself. But she stayed strong through it all. I love her for her strength, both then as she allowed me to be strong when I needed to be, and to let go and cry when I needed it, and now as she has read all these posts. I love her for never having to pretend that any of us have forgotten how very much we loved Abigail.

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 03:32:00 +0000

After Abigail had been pronounced dead by the NICU doctor, the nurses asked me if I wanted to help them clean her up. Immediately, Loren said, "No." One of the nurses very gently told him that they weren't really asking him. They were asking me. She explained that the fathers almost always answer the way he had.

I asked them what was involved and they explained that they would be giving her a bath and putting fresh clothes on her. At first I said no, but something in my spirit told me that I would regret it if I didn't. I wanted to try to explain to Loren, but the nurse beat me to it and told him that it would give me closure.

I wanted closure. Really, I did. But what was even more compelling to me was that not once since she was born had I been able to really take care of her myself. This was a way for me to care for my baby girl for the first and last time.

I helped them bathe her body, and we picked out an outfit from the hospital's stash of newborn clothes. Together we measured her length, something that had never been done because it wasn't medically relevant. She was just shy of 20 inches.

They clipped a bit of her hair for us to keep, and we made handprints and footprints in her journal. They gave us a beautiful keepsake box to hold on to the molds they had made of her foot while we had been away the night before. In it, we also placed the gown she was wearing as she passed from this life into the next, her journal, the little bit of her hair, and pictures of her that were made at the hospital.

We took pictures of us holding her, and we stood and looked at the tiny body that had once been the home of Abigail's spirit.

It was hard to actually walk away. She was all tucked into blankets, with her little stuffed animals all around her in the isolette.

There was a hospital chaplain there with us. Judy had called him before Abigail passed, and when we met him he told us he would be there whenever we were ready for him. When we were finally ready to go, we went to the chapel with the chaplain and our sweet nurse, Judy. We asked the chaplain (I'm sad that I can't remember his name. He was so kind.) if we could sing some songs together and share verses among ourselves. So that's what we did until well after midnight. We prayed and thanked God for giving us the beautiful gift of our sweet Abigail Noel. We thanked Him for having a plan for her life, and for loving us through the most difficult time of our lives. It was a worship service, and it held such healing for our freshly wounded hearts.

Loved to the end

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 16:31:00 +0000

They had told us it wouldn't take long. She might breathe on her own for 20 minutes. We had made the impossible decision. It really was the only choice we could make. Every other option was to leave her to a long and painful death. She was already in so much pain.

They could hold her for us, they said. Children's Healthcare never lets a baby pass without someone cuddling her. I tried to understand what kind of emotional detachment a parent would have for not taking every last opportunity to let their baby know how much they loved her. I would not allow myself to linger upon the thought that it was cowardly and cold.

Can it ever be easy to hold your child as she struggles for her last breath? No. Never. But we would do that most difficult thing. We would hand her over into the loving arms of her Heavenly Father ourselves.

Waking up that morning was so hard. I didn't want the day to begin, because I knew it would be the last day of our sweet Abigail's life. I still prayed, believing for her healing. But I knew in my heart that God was going to take her home.

I didn't want to go to the hospital. I didn't want to go to her room. I was worried that they would rush us, and I wanted to savor every painful and heartrending moment of our precious little time left together. I guess those kind people caring so beautifully for our baby knew and understood all of that. We had told them the night before that today would be the day. But when we arrived, they did not mention it. They were so wonderful.

We spent most of the day with her, letting all the family have a chance to hold her. We read to her, talked to her, sang. When it came time to remove the tube, we finally gave the nurse, Judy, the go-ahead to extubate. They might as well have removed mine too. It was so hard to breathe. I felt her pain as my own. Soon everyone but Loren and me left. It was a private time.

Loren and I held her. We read to her from Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You'll Go and from the Bible. We told her everything you could imagine a parent would want their child to know about life and our family and our loving Creator who had created her for a purpose. She would meet Him soon. We sang to her one of our favorite songs to sing with our other children: "This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." Our voices choked up as we sang it, but we pressed on.

Minutes turned into hours, and she still was with us. Judy came in to make some notes and stuff (she mostly just left us alone, telling us to call her if we wanted her for anything). She could read in our eyes the question. Why was Abigail still with us? I wanted to believe maybe she was gonna keep on breathing, just like I had prayed. Judy explained to us that babies whose parents hold them and love them take longer to pass. They hold on harder. They fight harder. They know we don't want them to go. But they do eventually lose the fight.

When Judy left, we held Abigail tighter and told her that it was ok for her to let go. But she held on still. And so did we.

Meanwhile, my dad had gone to the store to buy me some ibuprofen because someone had stolen my pain pills out of my purse when I left it in Abigail's room. I couldn't believe how calloused someone would be to steal medicine from a woman whose baby was dying. The only people with access to the room were the nurses and the janitorial staff. When Daddy called to tell me he had my medicine, he wanted me to meet him out in the lobby because he couldn't bear to see his granddaughter dying.

When I tore myself away from Abigail's room, her heart rate had been a steady 140 bpm. I went and fetched the medicine, indulged in a long embrace from my daddy, and headed back to my daughter and her daddy.

I walked into the room and was surprised to see a look on Loren's face that I cannot even describe. There were tears in his eyes as he said, "I didn't think you were going to make it back in time." I looked frantically at the monitor. Her heart rate was now 40 bpm. She was going, and fast. We watched helplessly as her labored breaths became farther and farther apart, and then finally ceased altogether. Incredibly, the monitor still registered 40 bpm. Her lips were blue, and she was growing colder in our arms. We looked at each other and at Abigail, wondering what was going on. After a few moments, Judy came in and said she had been watching the monitor and wanted to listen for a heartbeat. She could not find one. She explained that the monitor could still pick up residual electrical impulses and interpret them as a heartbeat.

Abigail's doctor had just gone home for the night, and they had to call her back so she could call time of death. It was finished.

Bye for now

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 06:08:00 +0000

On December 12th, Abigail Noel Hankins was born an unexpectedly very sick little baby. On December 17th, we learned that there was nothing more the doctors could do for her. On December 19th, we gathered all our family together to witness as we dedicated her to our Father in Heaven. Pastor Scott Sheppard came to Atlanta to perform the dedication service, and we asked him difficult questions.

If we knew that it was never too late for God to heal her, was it OK to let them remove her breathing tube? Could we do that and still be practicing faith?

He looked me in the eyes and asked me an even more difficult question. What do you feel Abigail needs?

I had to breathe a prayer for strength to say what I really knew deep within. Abigail was tired. She had fought so hard. She had been through so much pain, and all there was left for her besides our love was more pain and inevitably death. I didn't want to admit it, but I could see that she was even losing her natural newborn reflexes. There was no doubt in my mind that it was time to let her go and pray for a miracle.

Pastor Scott assured us that it was no lack of faith. He knew what we knew, and that was the simple and unquestionable fact that God could heal her with or without that breathing tube...and if it was His will for her life, that was exactly what He would do.

He proceeded to bless her, and to bless us. We promised to give her fully to our Lord no matter what. We dedicated ourselves to this, and our daughter to the Sovereign God who was already holding her in His heart. Pastor Scott wrote something beautiful in Abigail's journal, and I wanted to share it with you.

Dear Abigail,
What a beautiful little girl you are. Everyone is so very proud of you! The blessing these few days has been to your family and friends is a gift from God all wrapped up in "you." I am so sure God knows your every move and has your best interest in the center of His heart! Hey as pretty as you are he has to have your picture on his wall. Listen, I need you to promise me, if you get to see Jesus before me, tell Him how much I love Him. P.S. You are doing everything God wants you to do for your family. Keep up the good work! You are a special little Princess. Elizabeth, Hope, and Harrison wanted me to tell you hello and give you hugs and kisses. Bye for now, and God bless you forever.
Pastor Scott

I was standing nearby when he finished writing and stood up. He leaned over Abigail and kissed her head, then he whispered in her ear, "Keep on breathing!" I held on to those words. I prayed them over and over as I held her swollen little hand and breathed in the smell of Johnson's baby lotion that we had smoothed over her dry skin. I prayed them all that night and all the next day as we prepared to do what we had to do. Lord, just let her keep on breathing.

I thought I'd also share with you the note I wrote in her journal that evening too.

Dear Abigail,
You bring me such joy. It is amazing that it can hurt so much. I'm still praying for a miracle, but if you need to rest in God, that's a miracle too. Your light shines.
Mommy

Faith not built on circumstances

noreply@blogger.com (Shelley) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 15:13:00 +0000

I remember sitting in the NICU/PICU waiting room the day after we found out that Abigail would not live. I had been pumping colostrum for her every few hours ever since she was born. Now I knew that she would never get to have it. Sitting there in that room full of people I didn't know, I felt my milk let down for the first time since she was born. My other children were playing a video game a few feet away, and my parents were standing with them. I sat there alone, feeling a very physical tie to my newborn baby girl. I wanted to hold her in my arms. I wanted to let her nurse. I wanted her to just live. I felt invisible as I sat there and cried. Why couldn't I shout to all these people in this room that my baby was going to die? I didn't want pity. I just wanted everyone to know...to care. I wanted them to think about her. Does that make sense?

Our children had been staying with some friends because we couldn't take them to visit Abigail since it was cold/flu season. But once the doctors knew Abigail was not going to make it, they told us we could bring her brothers and sister to meet her. We brought them into her little room and let them all see her and touch her. Joshua got to hold her for a little bit. Here is her swollen foot against his hand.

We explained to them that she wouldn't be coming home. It was so hard. They needed to understand that there was nothing more to be done for their baby sister, but they couldn't understand it. Couldn't the doctors keep trying? Couldn't they give her a bandaid?

Joshua, the oldest, was only 5. He had a basic understanding of death, having seen dead bugs and such. He realized that it was final. But he couldn't understand why a baby would die. Daniel was 3, and he really just wasn't very interested in the new baby. He never did really grieve her at all. Rachael had just turned 2 the month before. She was so excited about having a little sister. She didn't understand death at all. For weeks after Abigail passed away, she would come to me and say, "Mommy, wanna go see baby sister. I get my coat, ok?" I had to keep explaining to her that we could not see her again. I had to hold her as she cried. She just thought I was saying no. She couldn't understand that Abigail was actually gone.

The grief counselors at Egleston (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta) had explained to us that the children would have to go through the grieving process over and over again as they grew. They would reach developmental levels that would cause them to reevaluate their whole understanding of death, and they would have to grieve again. I was thankful that they had prepared us for this, but nothing prepared me for Joshua's question a year after Abigail had passed away.

We were driving to a friend's house, and I looked back and noticed that Joshua had tears in his eyes. I asked him what was wrong. There was a look of accusation in his eyes as he said, "Mama, I remember you telling me that if Abigail was born before Christmas she might not live. Why did you let them take her out of your belly? You knew she could die!" Earlier in my pregnancy, I had been trying to give him a frame of reference for when she would be born. I had told him it would be after Thanksgiving, after Christmas, and after New Years. He had asked why it had to be so long, and I had explained to him that she needed time to develop and if she came too early she might not live.

So now he wanted to know why I had let the doctors take her early. He thought I had not protected her the way I should have. I was prepared for all the questions about death. I was prepared when Joshua would walk up to perfect strangers in restaurants and tell them that his baby sister had just died. I was prepared for their not knowing what to say. I was prepared for nightly tears on Rachael's pillow. I was prepared for Daniel's apparent lack of concern about it all. But knowing that my precious little boy was grappling with the idea that his mama had caused his sister to die...it caught my breath. I had to swallow away the choking feeling in my throat. I had to blink back the tears. I had to stop the car.

Now Joshua was 6 years old. I explained it all to him all over again. Abigail was very sick in my belly. She was bleeding, and they had to get her out to try to save her. She would have died much sooner if they hadn't done it. They did everything they could do to save her.

"Well why didn't God heal her? We all prayed for her so much!" I took a deep breath. I asked God how I was supposed to explain this to him when I wasn't sure I understood it myself. I told Joshua that God had a plan for Abigail's life. His plan had been for Abigail to live a short life, but we had been so blessed by it. I told him how I had been able to minister to other women whose babies had died. I had been able to share the hope and peace that God can give in times of crisis. He began to grow into an understanding of how we can pray for God's will to be done and for His name to be exalted even when we don't get what we want. His understanding of God grew away from the idea of some genie who grants wishes when we pray. He also began to learn to trust that God's ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts. It was the foundation of a faith not built on circumstances, and for that I can never be grateful enough.