Recently my inquisitive kiddos have been firing off alot of questions. Some of their inquiries have made me laugh, some have caused me to reflect and generate questions of my own and others have totally confused me! I thought I'd share a few of them with you for today's entertainment. Enjoy!
Am I supposed to be at school right now?
(Kellan, leaning over my bed at 9:30 a.m. one day)
Will you smell my finger? (Emmi, to Donnie while I was at work)
Is THAT your chin?
(Kellan, pointing to my neck as I was looking down at him)
Why did God make us?
(Emmi, while she was in the hospital)
Will that dress look good on her boobs?
(Kellan, to Emmi as they were playing with Emmi's barbies)
Can I have a mayonnaise and jelly sandwich?
(Emmi, waking up for one of her midnight snacks)
When I grow up to be a daddy, can I still live with you?
It was only 6 years ago that I sat anxiously waiting to hear the results of my husband's first, of many, life changing surgeries. I was 4 months pregnant at the time with my little girl. My husband, who was only 35 years old at the time, had been sick for 5 weeks, misdiagnosed 4 times and was literally near death before we finally saw a surgeon who realized that his body was being ravaged by the flesh eating disease, Necrotizing Fasciitis.
Of course my emotions were all over the place since I was expecting my daughter Emelia. I had been nursing my husband for the last several weeks, seeing him deteriorate and not getting any answers from multiple appointments with varying Doctors and at the same time taking care of my 2 year old son and filling in for my husband in his position at our church. I was a wreck. And I was angry. I was SO MAD at God that my husband was so ill and that I might lose him and be left alone to raise my son & my soon to be born daughter. I was livid with Him that He would give me a gift (my baby girl to be born) & be taking away my husband at the same time. It was devastating to even think of it.
But over the next 2 months and multiple surgeries, my husband began to slowly recover. His life was preserved; he was able to come home and build his strength back up and become a father to our little girl. In the years since, he has had several additional infections including MRSA, a total of 16 surgeries (including the amputation of both his great toes), and multiple complications that have become a normal part of our daily lives.
My little girl is now 5 1/2 going on 32 years old. She is full of sass and has a hilarious sense of humor and perfect timing for her witty remarks. She is full of energy, high maintenance, and exhausting. She also has eczema and asthma and we cannot seem to control her scratching or itching no matter what prescription lotions or treatments we try (please don't suggest anything, we've literally seen, heard & done IT ALL). And just a few weeks ago, we were in the hospital, anxiously waiting at 4:30 a.m. in the Family Holding room for her Dr to let us know how the surgery went.
In those moments I found my mind back in that first consult room 6 years earlier, waiting for my husband's surgeon to come out and tell me if we had waited any longer my husband would have been dead and that he wasn't out of the woods yet. I was terrified when he told me that. But it didn’t even BEGIN to compare with the horror I felt inside at the thought of my daughter having to endure surgeries comparative to what my husband had gone through. After that moment of flashing back, I informed God that if He took me through all of that back then just to lose my daughter now, I was going to be SO MAD at Him!
Of course, she is fine. Of course, it was just one finger infected, not an entire limb. Of course, I WAS overreacting to the situation. Of course, the Doctor is the best hand surgeon in the area and absolutely knows what he is doing. Of course, the anesthesiologist has had years of experience dealing with people that have eaten only a few short hours before an emergency surgery. And yet as the time crept by I became more anxious. Maybe it’s because I know what can happen; I’ve seen ugly infection and ugly results.
And I know, I KNOW that anyone can analytically reason things out that we came to the hospital at the perfect hour to have the perfect Doctor operate at the pivotal time for my daughter. Anyone can mock my faith and my beliefs and my practices and my values. Anyone can say whatever they want to, but I know what truth is. And truth is that God prepared us for that moment. We knew what signs to look for: the swelling, discoloration and streaking. We knew because we had been through that with my husband’s infections numerous times. He prepared us by giving us the knowledge through my husband’s experiences. He designated that Doctor to be available to operate on my daughter. And now, her finger is fine, her hand is fine and the scars are barely visible.
There are people out there that will attribute my daughter’s recovery to the Doctor’s aggressive response to infection. There are people that will say it’s due to the Doctor’s training, our wisdom and coincidences of time/place/convenience. But I know that my sovereign God intervened on our behalf. And although I am thankful for the Doctor and the education he received to enable him to give my daughter the appropriate care, I am more so thankful to my God for keeping His hand on my daughter’s life, for ordaining each moment and each step of our lives. I am thankful for great medical care and we followed through (as always) on the Doctor’s advice, but ultimately it is to God I give the glory of keeping my precious baby girl safe and sound and healed.
And to those that disagree, I respect your opinion and I value your input, but in times like these we will just have to agree to disagree.
Here's another game of Whodunit to boggle your mind and sharpen your detective skills! (See the last Whodunit here!)
Saturday: The life-sized Barbie was given a permanent marker beauty treatment of eyeshadow, lip gloss & finger nails all in goth-black.
Sunday: Cotton was plucked from the tops of Q-tips just for their scalps to be brazenly thrown all over the floor. Then the Q-tips were maliciously tortured by being sliced in half and collected in a wallet-photo-sized black mesh-fabric bag.
This Morning: A fleur de lis was inked on a small left arm to mimic daddy's new tattoo.
This Afternoon: Bandaids were found lovingly applied to the living room lamps.
Tonight: Orange juice was squirted all over the kitchen floor, just to 'make it shiny'.
I am working on making some big changes in my life. Things that require learned discipline, tried practice and painstaking effort. I'm seeing changes, I'm noticing differences and it's exciting, but it's still difficult. I have a long road ahead of me, but I'm positive I can get to where I want to be. I know I can. It's funny how working on one part of yourself can inspire you to work on other parts of you too.
"I am a work in progress" is one of my common statements about myself. I see more than anyone else (except maybe my husband... and God) the many flaws that I carry. My imperfections, my challenges, my inconsistencies... ugh. Sometimes it's just downright depressing to think of all that needs to be changed, tweaked & adjusted in my life! And so sometimes (okay, a lot of times) I run the other way and pretend those issues aren't even there. But of course, they are. Besides, this time of year always places me in a pensive state of mind. Between reminiscing about my mom and thinking of my own role as a mother and how I'm doing at that job, I've got a ton of things swirling through my head. I think about the kind of mother, the kind of woman I'd like to be and how I've never really set goals to become that woman, because I've always felt extremely inadequate.
I think about the passage in Proverbs 31 and the Biblical definition of a woman, wife and mother that it gives. Honestly, I have avoided that passage of scripture as much as possible over the years, reading it only on rare occasion and then banishing it from my reading list for sometimes years at a time.
Proverbs 31:10-30 (The Message)
A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds. Her husband trusts her without reserve, and never has reason to regret it. Never spiteful, she treats him generously all her life long. She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. She's like a trading ship that sails to faraway places and brings back exotic surprises.
She's up before dawn, preparing breakfast for her family and organizing her day. She looks over a field and buys it, then, with money she's put aside, plants a garden. First thing in the morning, she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started. She senses the worth of her work, is in no hurry to call it quits for the day. She's skilled in the crafts of home and hearth, diligent in homemaking.
She's quick to assist anyone in need, reaches out to help the poor. She doesn't worry about her family when it snows; their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear. She makes her own clothing, and dresses in colorful linens and silks. Her husband is greatly respected hen he deliberates with the city fathers. She designs gowns and sells them, brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops. Her clothes are well-made and elegant, and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.
When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say, and she always says it kindly. She keeps an eye on everyone in her household, and keeps them all busy and productive. Her children respect and bless her; her husband joins in with words of praise: "Many women have done wonderful things, but you've outclassed them all!" Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades. The woman to be admired and praised is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.
When I think of that specific passage of scripture, it always makes me think of an old friend. I remember how she posted these scriptures in her room and talked to me about her desperation to be 'that woman' described in those words. She and I are not as close as we once were, but from my view on the outside looking in, she seems to have succeeded at many of those qualities. I can tell that she has committed herself to her dream of becoming that woman. It's glaringly obvious and simply evident from the details of her life that she measures herself against those words. And in my opinion, she has done very well at meeting those goals.
Me? Not so much. But now that I'm all grown up and admittedly rather behind the ball on this one... I think I've got to do something about this. I'm not satisfied with who I am: as a mother, as a wife, as a friend, as a sister or even as a daughter. There are days I am a huge stubborn fear-filled piece of work. There is so much more I can be, so much more I can become. Now, I'm not saying I'm going to start sewing and making my own clothes or getting up before dawn (God forbid!)... but I think you get the idea.
I'm sharing this today so I can come back here and remind myself of this goal. So I can stop playing hide and seek with who I want to be and actually find that woman through hard work and discipline and extreme efforts. I have a long road ahead of me, but I'm positive I can get to where I want to be. I know I can.
