Sing Over Me

We’ll Always Have Paris…

2010-09-25T10:32:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had a dream that was so vivid, so life-like, that when you woke up, you felt that you really had been “there”, living it out in the moment?

Did that kind of dream make you wonder if maybe God was trying to speak to you in those moments of vivid details and storyline?

I had a dream like that last night, and it’s rocked my conscience world this morning.

Let me give you the characters:

From my real life world – myself, my husband, my children, and a new friend I met at CLASS (Christian Leaders and Speakers Seminar) this week.

From the movies - Gérard Depardieu

Yeah.

Now you may be wondering just who IS Gérard Depardieu? He’s a French actor (click on the link above for more info on him) and his most memorable work here in the U.S. would probably be the movie “Green Card”, though the movie I have with him in it, is Queen Latifah’s Last Holiday.

Oh…and here is a picture for reference:

OK…you have this “cast” of characters in your mind?
Good.

*****
In this dream, my husband, children and I were somewhere in the French countryside touring an ancient castle and the gardens and grounds that surrounded it. While most people took the garden paths that were laid out for them, we decided to be more adventurous by crossing a bridge, going down into a cellar-like area that seemed at one time to house both carriage & horses and perhaps a dusty wine cellar in a dark corner to the rear. While Brent and I found that fascinating, the kids didn’t like being down their in the dark and dank. So we quickly found a way out and made our way to the castle.

I do not remember much about the inside of the castle as far as looks, but I remember that Brent and I were invited by the housekeeper to look into a certain room. The double doors were closed and we could hear quiet voices on the other side. I told the nice housekeeper that we don’t need to see this room and interrupt the meeting that’s going on.

“Nonsense,” she cheerfully replies. “I think of all people here touring, you would understand and have more compassion.”

Against my protest, she opens the doors and bids for Brent and I to look inside.

We look around to see that this room is a library, with shelves lining every wall, except one. On this one wall is a huge panoramic window, almost ceiling to floor, with heavy drapes decorating the sides, soft gauzy panels that float down the middle, filtering soft light inside.

In the middle of that library there is an ornate rich mahogany dinning room table. A group is seated around the table where they take turns talking in soft tones. I cannot tell what they are saying and too embarrassed to ask. After all, I feel like we’re intruding on their discussion and I don’t wish to look nosy or disturb them.

I start to back away, but the housekeeper puts her arm around my waist and drags me with her a little more forward in the room.

“This,” she says with a soft tone, “Is a grief support group. A safe place for those need to come and share their hearts.” She looks Brent and I over and says with a sad smile, “It is always available, if you need it.”
I stat to protest that we’re just fine and don’t need anything like this, and suddenly I’m somewhere totally different. (You know how dreams do - jumping you from one place to the next. At the time, it seems so seamless in a dream and even makes sense at the time, but when you try to recall it later, it seems awkward and odd.)

I’m now at a huge mall. The light that is filtering in the main corridors of the mall from the skylights and the fluorescent lights almost give me a headache. I’ve never seen anything so bright, clean, and brilliantly white.
It’s at this point, I’m with my new friend and we’re trying to decide how we’ll spend this time at this mall in Paris, France. We can’t decide what to do first. It all seems big, intimidating and overwhelming, as if it is too much to take in at once.

I start to feel discouraged that all we’ll do is waste time, when suddenly Gérard Depardieu comes up to us, (I bet you were wondering when he’d come in the picture, didn’t you?), and he’s upset!

“Lay-deez!” he exclaims in a passionate thick French accent. “Why are you here in the middle of this mall (he pronounces “mall” with disgust, as he sweeps the place with a big arm gesture), when you could be seeing the BEST that FRANCE has to offer?!?!!"

Now we’re both feeling embarrassed and intimidated. First an overwhelming mall. Now an overwhelming, passionate French man.

He gets more agitated and excited. Flailing his arms about to show us which directions to take, he shouts, “Lay-deez this is PARIS!! Home of the Louvre! The Arc de Triomphe de l'Etoile! Notre Dame!!”

We look at Gérard, even more frightened than we were before.

Gérard looks at us in disbelief, like we’re a couple of yahoos who do not have a clue about French art and culture.

“The Eiffel Tower?!?” he sputters in exasperation.

I think I’m gonna cry.

He sees the distress on my face and softens.

“Chérie,” he says softly, catching my hand and the hand of my friend. He starts to speak again, but something makes him pause. He seems to be thinking of how to put his next words so we will grasp his passion, but not overwhelm us with it. He squeezes our hands gently.

“Chérie,” he begins again, “Why are you wasting your time in this god-forsaken mall, with it’s trinkets and bobbles, when so MUCH (again gesturing towards the outside, still holding our hands for effect) is waiting for you out THERE? Paris is a place full of diverse culture, exquisite cuisine - filled with things to IGNIGHT your passion…not dull your senses like this place. (He says the word “place” like he wants to spit at the mere mention of the thought.)

“So GO!” he gestures again, squeezing our hands a little more firmly. “Go and experience Paris and all she has to offer you and ENJOY!” he exhorts with a chortle.

And the scene suddenly changes again, and now we’re on a highway– still not sure what direction to take, but somehow, we instinctively knew we would get to our destination.

We’re heading to the heart of Paris.

And then I wake up.

*****
Wow. How many times have I been so afraid to step out into the unknown that I trade the experiences of “Paris” for mere trinkets of safety and a sense of the familiar?

I feel like this past week God handed me a new roadmap, a sense of direction, and a passionate exhortation to go take that “next step” to get out of my comfort zone, and experience a culture and diversity that is totally beyond anything I have experienced before.

No, I’m not necessarily talking about heading to Paris, France. I’m just saying that I see His exhortation to take the next steps in truly accepting that He wants me to consider myself a Trained Speaker, and that I have been equipped to go out and share the stories and songs He has written over me.

Oh sure, I’ve dabbled in it, held onto it like a pipe-dream. But to do this for real? Make deep commitments and pursue it with my whole heart?

Sometimes the thoughts of this makes me giddy. But more often than not, I retreat to the safety of the “mall” – walls I’m familiar with – terms I know and understand – trinkets and bobbles that do not thrill, but pacify (for a time) the restless desire to know God deeper.

It’s time for me to leave the mall. I don’t know exactly what that means or where I’m headed (much like the ending of my dream), but I know that step by step God will lead me to whatever’s next.

It’s time to put my training into practice.

Au revoir to the old way of thinking! Bonjour to the new!

Are there defeating thoughts/idols/fears that God is asking you to leave behind? Want to join me on my “Paris” adventure? Step out of the familiar my friend, and let’s experience the life He has for us together!

Taking My Time…

2010-08-30T21:24:00.001-07:00

I wrote this journal entry in my personal journal a while back and always meant to write it here, but never could find time.

Today I see that this entry is more important than ever, and if you’ll hang with me in this, you’ll see why toward the bottom of today’s blog entry.

God bless you, friend.

Blanked by the drizzle of rain, I make my way to Bo Ling’s restaurant - heart pounding in misgiving. How could I take the time to pamper myself when my family is at home…staring at a practically empty fridge with one pathetic hot dog crouching in the meat keeper? If I know them, they won’t eat at home anyway – hot dog or not. Most likely they will be munching at the local hamburger stand down the street, without a care in the world. They will not be thinking of the lonely hot dog, nor of Momma far away. No – they will be eating ice cream too fast just to see who can get a ‘brain freeze’ first.

So why do I allow myself to feel so ashamed for taking “me time”?

Where is the umbrella to fend off the drenching of guilt anyway? I mutter as I swing open the massive oak door to Bo Lings.

Greeted by a kind host, I’m ushered to a table by a bank of widows. I look out to see rain dancing happily on various patrons heads as they scurry down the sidewalk trying to protect their newly purchased products. Little raindrops bead up on their shiny shopping bags and gleam like little crystals.

“Excuse me, miss?” a beaming waitress intones in a soft Asian accent. “Your menu?”

She hands me a large menu filled with items I had never even heard of before, and I am instantly drawn to three words:

“Chrysanthemum Flower Tea”

Seriously? Like the real kind of flower? Or is this some kind of metaphor?

I order it, more out of curiosity than thirst.

A small metal pot is brought to me with a liquid that almost looks clear when I pour it.

Perhaps the tea is not in the pot yet? I wonder.

So I lift the lid…and behold REAL crushed Chrysanthemum petals in the top of the pot – steeping in hot water.

Holy cow. I’m drinking a FLOWER.

I stare at the light yellow tea and wonder what it is like to drink a flower. I put a sugar crystal in the tea - you know - just in case the flower tastes weird.

It tastes amazing, actually. It’s both woody and floral. And it’s aroma is heavenly! As I lift the cup to my lips, I breathe in a light fragrance of flowers. Incredible. I want to cry. I never felt more feminine and alive and loved as I do right now as that warm soothing liquid warmed me – body AND soul.

Shortly after that wonderful experience, the dish I selected beforehand is brought out: Tai Spring Chicken.

I giggle.

My salad has chop sticks.

Have you ever eaten lettuce with chop sticks? Let me tell you friend, it’s not easy. I don’t care if you try to pick it up delicately or man-handle it by stabbing a leaf, it’s just not that easy to stab or delicately raise to one’s lips. And I could not master picking up more than one leaf at a time.

This is going to be a long, drawn-out meal I see. I’m glad my family can’t see me now! I think as I pick up another slippery leaf.

As I eat, my mind wanders back to my family and the writing I have yet to do. The chore list compiles into my head and I wonder what to make the family for dinner. Hot Dog Surprise? Hot Dog Soufflé? Hot Dog Mac? Hot Dog-A-La-Cart, split four-ways?

The rain comes down heavier outside and so does the rain of guilt within.

“Excuse me,” I hear my smiling waitress say. She hands me a fortune cookie along with the check. “Have a Nice Day!” she cheerfully waves.

How can I have a Nice Day when I can’t lay down this guilt? Will I ever have some time to just enjoy myself and not drown myself with WORRY for once??

I open up my fortune cookie, read the slip of paper and just about choked on what was left of my Chrysanthemum Tea.

There, written in black and white was a simple sentence. And you can think what you will, but I believe God gave me a love-note folded in a cookie.

What did this love note say?

“You’ll accomplish more later if you take some time for yourself.”

(Don’t believe me? Does this convince you?)

Wow…GOD! You always know how to grab my attention.

I’m going to enjoy my day.

The End.

Epilogue: For a while, God’s been speaking to me about laying a ministry down in order to get a time of Rest to hear from Him. As a couple of friends put it, I’ve spent a lot of time helping others seek healing…but now it’s time to seek my own healing.

So starting this past Sunday, I laid that long time ministry aside, along with another ministry dear to my heart. And already I can see the wisdom in why God is asking me to lay these aside for a season of His determining.

But '”Taking My Time…” is already coming with it’s own mental battles, as learning to REST in my Heavenly Father is butting up against what I define as “rest” verses what our Father defines as Rest.

Yet, He brings back up this beautiful time with Him at Bo Lings to remind me that it’s OK to “let go” and just enjoy Him.

And so I am.

I've Got a Newly Published article for "Sanctified Together" Publication

2010-04-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

I'm excited to announce that I have an article published for online publication, "Sanctified Together." :)

Their current publication is titled "Life is a Vapor", and my contributing article is called "Learning To Count Correctly."

Here's a teaser from this publication...

"Learning To Count Correctly" - by Holly Baxley

"I'm still older than you!" my eldest son taunts his sister, towering over her. "I'm eight and you're only seven. I know stuff better than you do. 'Specially how to play this game," he chuckle with self satisfaction.

Angrily, Ari jumps up, nearly knocking her brother down. "I'm seven and a half!" she retorts. "You can't tell me what to do! I know how to play it too!"

Brushing away a tear, Arianna runs up to me and asks, "I'm just almost as old as Anthony, aren't I, Momma? He can't tell me how to play, can he?" Anxiously, she peers at me while I let out a sigh.

"Well, baby, first of all, you're not quite seven and a half yet," I start out.

"HA!" Anthony yells, grinning mischievously from across the room.

"But," I continue, "you've been playing this game for as long as Anthony has and you both know the rules pretty well..."

Not satisfied with this beginning, Arianna interrupts me. "I am TOO seven and a half! I mean, I think I'm a 'half'. Aren't you a half, Momma?"

Well yes, I think. Technically I'm 41 and a half...but who's counting?

Liquid pools of inquisitive brown eyes stare at me - desperate for me to affirm her. It's not that Arianna's interested in me affirming her age. What she wants from me is to..."

Read the rest of the article here! Sanctified Together's April 2010 Publication, "Life Is A Vapor"

Join the email publication list to be blessed by all the talented writers on here. And if you're a writer yourself, check out Sanctified Together's main page to find out how you can contribute. :)

Blessings to you!

It's the cirrrr-cus of liiiiife...and it moves us all!

2010-03-13T19:11:00.000-08:00

Today I had the privilege of sitting with my family as we watched the circus today. Watching my kids ooh and ahhh over every act made the experience so much more fun! Because no matter how good the acts were on their own, in my children's eyes they were stupendous. And therefore, they gained an even greater level of achievement in my eyes, through their admiration and approval.

We ooohed over the ring-master's sparkly goodness...

(not actual ring master here, but she wore a very similar outfit...)

...gasped at the dare-devil archery ...

(look Ma...no hands!)

...clapped over the sweet and very smart bears...

...watched the kids laughing at me

while I freaked out over the motorcycle stunts...

...and watched brave kids ride elephants during the intermission.

Snow cones and cotton candy were devoured (it's a tradition...even in cold temps!) and yes, many parents bought their children sparkly glow in the dark thingies. We watched other people wave their sparkly glow in the dark thingies...AND...we were not envious! (A huge parental bonus!)

And personally, I think Brent was a little TOO fond of the aerial stunt ladies diving up and down on Aerial rings intertwined with scarves. I'm NOT going to put a picture of that on here!

All in all -we had a great time!

You know, sometimes life feels like a circus. All the balls are in the air, we're juggling schedules, taming emotions, and letting each family member do their thing in one of three rings - at the same time. We move through life at a fast pace - one act after another with no stopping till the show is over for the day. Then we rest, get up and start all over again; another show awaits us.

Our acts may not be daring, nor in the spotlight, nor applauded by others and we may wonder why do we do this to ourselves anyway? What's the point of all this hustle and bustle and running the course set for us each day? We may tell ourselves that no one notices and it's not making a difference, so let's just stop - give up. Besides, our lives are too hectic, right? Too much go, go, go and not enough sitting and contemplating?

Well, there is a time for rest - that's true. But a life without purpose, without a drive - well, that leads to despondency and depression. There is a reason for hard work and a reason for hard rest. You can't have one without the other or life would be unbalanced.

However, a life that is balanced (like what is pictured with the beautiful aerial artist above) paints a picture of grace and strength to others. That balance can only be fully expressed in a relationship with Jesus Christ. He gives us both purpose and rest - in ways that only He can.

And when you see your life through others appreciative eyes, it suddenly gets a new perspective and a sense of achievement that you might not have noticed before. So, keep those balls juggling, reach higher in the air, dare to dream those impossible dreams - for with God, nothing is impossible.

May His strength and grace shine through you in all you do.

Glory to God!

Learning to Dance in the Tough Times

2010-02-22T05:00:00.000-08:00

It’s a privilege once again to be blogging for Karen, at http://www.karensthreadsofhope.blogspot.com/ The following is going to be on her site as well as on mine. Enjoy!

As I read Karen’s blog on Friday, Feb 19th, where she poured out her heart about emotionally letting go – symbolized by breaking dishes, I really related to what she was saying. In fact, I’d like to recapture a part of that before I go on…

From Karen’s thread last Friday…

“Trying to stand up, I grabbed the top of the island, which a bowl was sitting near the edge..

The bowl shattered into a few major pieces as it hit the floor - and that, my friends, became the catalyst to other dishes dropping on the floor as cascades of tears, and anger and disappointment, and photographic memories of my past started surfacing. Each broken dish or cup or bowl symbolized wounds that I had held inside for far to long...But the Lord knew it was time , my time to let them go... as the Lord kept whispering to my soul with loud, booming thoughts of what is best for me .. " Yes, Lord, I finally hear ya! "

Oh how I can relate to that! In fact, after Anna died, I really wanted to go to shops where you can paint ceramics and see if they had any rejects I could have. My plan was to buy up all the greenware rejects that no one wanted and then take them home and one by one throw them as hard as I could against a tree. I just LOVED that idea…but never followed thriough on it. (Though even now, I bet someone could make good money on a idea like that. Woudn’t it be fun to have a place where the only intent is to harmlessly destroy something worthless, just to get it out of your system? Ooh..what about getting to smash hammer on an old pc, or an old car motor? Yeah! Just beat the tar out of a keyboar…uh…I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?)

Anyway, there’s something SYMBOLIC about being able to just get out those kinds of feelings that honestly, words CANNOT contain. There are just some emotions too powerful for words.
As I tried to picture Karen crying and smashing dishes, I suddenly had another picture in my head. One where smashing dishes weren’t a picture of anger and sadness, but of joy and plenty. You know what I’m thinking? Do you know a group of people who actually have a tradition of smashing dishes? The ones I think about are the Greek people.

LOL, in the movie, “The Wedding Planner”, the wedding planner’s assistant is trying to get folks to STOPS breaking dishes.

“Stop doing that! That costs money and we' didn’t get permission”, she’d try to dissuade them. “Ohh-paa!” they’d reply with a laugh, and then they’d smash more plates.) But the wedding planner tells her not to worry about it, cause she just got a big gig that she’s been dying to do. “Really??” the assistant squeals. She jumps up and down so hard against a waiter that ALL the dishes break. She looks down momentarily in embarrassment and then throws back her hands and exclaims, “Ohh-paaa!!!”

Makes me laugh. :D

And with that thought in my head, I’d thought I could see if I could show karen a light-hearted approach to looking at smashing dishes. And this is what I found. From: http://gogreece.about.com/cs/folkloreevents/a/smashingplates_2.htm

Break my heart, I'll break your plate
“One Greek singer I know occasionally breaks plates against his head while he sings a song of the pains of love. He enhances the rhythm of the piece with the smash of the plates and, in character for the song, tries to ease the pains of romantic love by countering them with physical pain.

Usually, breaking plates in praise of a musician or dancer is considered a part of "kefi" - the irrepressible expression of emotion and joy.

A plate might also be broken when two lovers parted, so that they would be able to recognize each other by matching the two halves even if many years passed before they met again. Small split versions of the mysterious Phaistos disk are used by modern Greek jewelers this way, with one half kept and worn by each of the couple."

Well, what do you know. Using two halves of a plate to make a whole. Hmm…when I saw that last part about the Phasitos, I was reminded of something similar that my high-school sweetheart and I use to wear. It’s called a Mizpah Coin Necklace. It’s two halves of a coin that has a scripture from Genesis 31:49 on it that says, "May the LORD watch between you and me when we are absent from one another." I wonder if the Greeks got the idea of the Phasitos from the Hebrews Mizpah or if it was the other way around? (Your history lesson study question for the day. ;) )

Here’s a picture of one…

Anyway, it got me thinking about the story of my own little Mizpah and how Brent & I came to wear them when we were in high school. When we bought them, we had our names engraved on the back of each half, and of course, we each wore each other’s name. (“Awww…” you must be thinking. Thank you. I feel the love.)

We wore these for quite a while…until one fateful day, when Brent returned home from his senior trip without his necklace on.

Queue suspenseful music here: Duhn..duhn…duhhhhhhhnnnn!!

He sheepishly told me that he LOST his half of the Mizpah on the beach in Pensacola FL. I was soooooooo upset. I could of broke a dozen plates!!

But I didn’t.

I thought about it after he left.

And then I drove to our local lake.

And threw my half of the Mizpah in the lake.

Yeah.

(Well, that’s what you do when your seventeen and hormonal and angry. )

This upset Brent to no end. “Why would you throw yours in the lake?!” he demanded."

“Well, maybe the fish from the lake will find another fish in the sea that found your half of the Mizpah and they can be together.” I pouted in reply.

“Ok, Holly. First of all, a fresh water fish and a salt water fish couldn’t be togeth…never mind. Why am I going through this with you? What’s wrong with you??”

Well…it was not a happy conversation. While we literally did not break up over it, we ended up having a deeper talk about what commitment really means and we’re we ready for something like that anyway? We’re we making way to big a deal about something when we were so young?

And that question was answered a little over a year later by Brent giving me a different Mizpah in the form of an engagement ring. I guess he figured, I wouldn’t be so quick to throw that puppy in the lake the next time I got mad at him. ;)

Over the 22 years that Brent and I have been together, we’ve broken many things in our relationship to each other. Whether it be in the form of a broken promise or a broken heart, he and I have done things to each other in the heat of a moment, that seemed important at the time, but was as stupid as tossing something meaningful away.

Yet, God is faithful in all things, including our relationship. No matter how deeply our hearts get broken, God’s always there, faithful to heal us, restore us and set us on the right path again.

God can and will use brokenness, but what is awesome is that God doesn’t leave us in our brokenness. He DOES restore. Truly, “what God has joined together, let no man separate.” (Mark 10:9) But rest assured, that even what we think is truly broken and irreparable can even be restored back to us. I am living proof of that.

So the next time you’re tempted to find some green-ware, or pottery to toss at a wall or a tree, remember one thing. God can take even what is broken shattered and transform it into a beautiful mosaic of His love and complete grace. Look at this stained glass. It is many pieces of broken glass fixed in such a way that all you see is Jesus. You don't see brokeness - you see a work of art.

Here’s hoping that your plate smashing days find you in happier circumstances, like a wedding…(where you throw flowers, coins, rice and candy at the couple as a blessing)…

…or for when you find yourself off the coast of Greece at a restaurant where waiters have a propensity for trying to catch themselves on fire as they dance for your pleasure…

Just remember…if you’re gonna throw your plate at the dancing wait staff, be sure to TIP WELL.

Ready???

1-2-3…THROW!!

//smash//

OOOHHHH-PAAA!!!

(Now, isn’t that better than throwing something in the lake?)

Getting all sorts of happy with MuseScore | Free music composition & notation software…and other ramblings of the week

2010-02-21T17:27:00.001-08:00

If you like to write music or have the need to work on musical scores, you should check out this open source (meaning free) software called MuseScore:
MuseScore | Free music composition & notation software
I’ve been looking for a good composition score writing program that I could use with my Windows PC and MuseScore fits the bill. I can either write notations by hand, or I can use a midi cable and plug it into my keyboard to have it notate that way as well. I don’t have a midi cable that will work with my current machine yet, so I don’t know how that capability handles. But as far as writing by hand and having it play back, it’s fantastic. The internal midi instrumentation is very nice too.
I’m so glad I finally have a way to take my “shorthand” written music and expand it to fully written scores. I would love to offer those as well to those who would be interested in playing some of the pieces I’ve written.
I have to admit, it’s very easy to let time get the best of me, when I’m playing on MuseScore, just because I’m so happy to finally have a music editor that helps me understand the rhythms I need to score. I’m really bad at writing rhythms normally. But this editor plays through what I’ve written, and I can stop the playback, scratch my head and go, “Wait. I hold that note out longer than that.” So I add whatever notation I need to extend that note out to it’s full length, play it back again, and voila– the measures now have the correct musical notation!
You see, I have a gift to play by ear, which is all well and good, but when one can’t sight read well…well, one can’t write scores well either. So having this editor allows me to “hear” what I’m writing, and therefore understand if I’ve written it correctly. Kinda like a little internal spell check.
Let’s see, what else is new? Well, this has just been a crazy couple of weeks since I’ve written here last.
First of all, the VoIP (voice over IP) tech work I do for my company has really just boomed over the past couple of weeks. Also, I got to help a sister-friend get a private blog up and going, so she could invite folks to view her blog and be her eyes as she works on a new Bible study. (Woo hoo to that! Love writing-friends who love to write!Maybe they’ll rub their excitement and energy onto me, eh?? :D ) I loved working on the blog, cause I got to experiment with another new template design and that was fun. It’s pretty, I wish you could see it. It’s got a date-timer notebook on it and a coffee cup and a pen, where you can put in a search field. It’s really fun looking.
I also had a friend who’s PC almost died…but we brought it back to life! So that’s good! (Although I told her later, that if she really wanted her machine to “die”, I could //wink// pronounce it dead for her, and then she could go back to her family going, “Oh shoot. Looks like we’ll have to upgrade. Darn.” But then, I’d feel guilty and so would she. LOL, the perils of trying to be more like Christ. He’s got a thing for honesty, you know. ;) )
And…//drum roll please//, I just found out, I got awarded the job of re-designing our county’s website!! Woo hoo!! Dance with me people! And if you need to know what kind of dance to do, come find me at http://www.karensthreadsofhope.blogspot.com/ tomorrow. I got JUST the dance in mind. Oh, I’ll give y’all a tease on this blog tomorrow too. Think “Ohhh-paaa!!”
Anyway, I need to get with the person in charge to find out what all that means, design wise and content wise. I’d get over to her sooner, but holy-snowshoes, Batman…we just can’t seem to get the weather to stop blessing us with snow. Do you remember, how I said that snowflakes are angel kisses?
Well, for Pete sakes, the angels won’t stop kissing our ground. The really LOVE it this year, for some reason. I think my husband is tired of scooping kisses. He does it ever couple of hours it seems. Poor man.
Ohhh..and in other news, I got my LOWER braces put on and a bite plate, and now I’m all sorts of learning how NOT to be lispy. Yes, the “sss” sound has come out many a time as a “shhh” sound instead. It takes a lot of work to pronounce words correctly. And singing is quite a challenge too. In fact, when a friend of mine at church asked if I would help her sing “Follow You” by Leeland & Brandon Heath, it didn’t occur to me that I would get my bite plate first…and THEN I would be singing the song. Ruh-roh Rorge.
I was so nervous that I’d sound stupid, to tell you the truth. And yes, it took a lot of time to teach myself to sing the actual word, “myself” so that the phrase didn’t come out, “And I give all my-shelf….yes, I give all my-shelf to You.”
(Seriously. Wrinkles, adult acne, braces, AND a lisp. yay…)
Yet, as we sang, I just let go and felt God’s presence, and really let the words of that song impact my heart. I thought about all the ways that I’m privileged to follow Him into the homes of the broken, whether in the town I live in, or invited into the hearts of those I meet here on the internet. And I bless God for all those He’s put in my life, who have met me in my brokenness and loved me in Jesus. <3
I’m going to embed that song here. May you hear God’s heart for you in this song. And may we rise together and go all those places He’s asked us to go…in humility, compassion and grace. Lisp or no lisp. It doesn’t matter. If we speak Jesus – all they’ll hear is Jesus. And that’s all anyone needs to know!

(Beautiful video & piano playing, Melissa! God bless you!)
All you need is a willing heart…and see where God leads you. Blessings!

I heart Priceline dot com

2010-02-07T15:19:00.001-08:00

Normally, I wouldn’t put in a plug for any company on a blog, because I believe there is quite enough marketing tools out there that drown consumers like us as it is. (Just thinking about tonight’s Super Bowl commercials already have me drooling.)

But after what happened this weekend, I just have to squeal over the authenticity of Priceline’s “negotiator” promise. They deliver!!

Last year, I was introduced to Priceline by a friend who used it to find a gorgeous hotel room in St Louis for an incredibly low price.

Wanna see that hotel?

Ta da…

Yes, we stayed at the Hyatt downtown where we looked out our window at the St. Louis arch in the morning.

What price did our friend “negotiate” for on Priceline?

I think it was $50 dollars a night.

Oh yeah. We stayed in a really depressing room.

Not! The staff even supplied us with milk and chocolate chip cookies that were waiting for us when we came back to our rooms at night! La…that was amazing.

Thank you Hyatt! You made our time of staying in St. Louis even more memorable!!

So…remembering said trip last year, I wondered, “Can Priceline deliver like that AGAIN? Or was that an amazing fluke or huge blessing that we just happened to get hugged with?)

So…on the day Brent & I needed a hotel room for the night – I got on Priceline that morning to see if I could a)tempt fate b)send a plea to the heavens c)send up a burnt offering d)see how cheap I could get to getting a great hotel room for an inexpensive price.

So, once online, I put in four star hotel, for fifty dollars a night (yeah, that’ll happen), for one night, clicked on the area we wanted to stay in, and clicked to breathlessly await the results.

Here’s the deal with Priceline. It’s kinda like making a blind date. You don’t get to chose your hotel. Your hotel, in a sense, chooses you; that is if it accepts your price offer. And you, for your part, have to accept in blind faith that the money that’s getting billed to your card is to a place that you haven’t even SEEN yet, but once it’s booked – it’s billed. Done deal.

~~For those of you~~ ~~who are a little wary,~~ (OK…who am I kidding?) If your a control freak like me, and the idea of getting your card booked and billed to a place that you have NEVER seen or agreed with staying there ahead of time – this might be a really hard way take a leap of faith that you’re gonna come out OK.

So, I just wanted to show you, from one ~~control freak~~ cautious person to another, how my deal turned out to be.

Here’s what we got for $50 at a four star plus hotel for one night. We stayed at the Hotel Phillips, a beautifully remodeled hotel that recalls the decor of the 1930s.

We stayed in a non-smoking suite that had a king- sized bed.

See the detailed crown molding above the bed that surrounded the whole room?

BEAUTIFUL.

Oh and it was the kind of bed that would put goose-feathers to shame. I’ve never sunk in so much luxury in my life.
The people were amazing friendly; the lobby was spectacular.

A view of the lobby/front desk area

A view from the lobby, where Brent and I sat out, while he worked on his presentation.

(One of the personnel even made us coffee and brought it to us while we were down there! It was so smooth! I liked it, and I’m NOT a coffee drinker. :D )

A view of the statue on the second floor named “Dawn”. Isn’t it beautiful??

I LOVE the architecture of this hotel! Sooo luxurious!

It makes one feel pampered and enveloped in beauty. It turned a good weekend into an incredibly ROMANTIC weekend.

Oh! I almost FORGOT! We were also only two blocks away from the new downtown Kansas City Power & Light District.

I know. You’re feeling really sorry for us by now, aren’t you? I feel the love from over here. :D

We ate at Genghis Khan’s Mongolian Bar and had an all you can eat dinner for two that included dinner, tea AND dessert.

Oh, and we sat in the upstairs area of the restaurant where we watched the snow drift down, captured by laser lights that lit up the sky and made the lights literally sizzle with light steam as it hit. Oh my gosh. Gorgeous.
Oh, did I tell you that all the trees along the district are strung with cobalt blue lights (my favorite color…thank you Kansas City!)

Yes, it was like this whole day was made just for us. Woo woo!! It’s one I will always treasure forever.

Ooh. Gotta head to a Super Bowl party. Son is gripy. Back to reality.

But oh…what a sweet memory to be able to escape too. :D

Have a great night!

Spelling...bane of my existence

2010-02-04T11:53:00.000-08:00

OK, chalk up another one to a "blond moment". Even though blogger itself doesn't show a spell check on this toolbar (that I can see so far), the Google Toolbar does. And it'll spell check any page, including this new post that I'm writing in.

Oh wow. I feel so silly. And enlightened. And I'm so happy that I look enlightened, cause even when I can't spell "enlightened", google spell check can!

I'm going back through my previous posts that I didn't type in Windows Live writer, to see what I missed. Betcha I missed a bunch. Wow. Google spell-check doesn't care about the word "betcha", but oh well. At least some words I have confidence in. Srsly. (Haha...it doesn't like shortened text slang either.)

I don't know why I'm such a horrible speller. Mom always blamed it on the fact that I was raised on the "look and see" method in school, without phonics. She's probably right.

I remember a day in high school where my high school English teacher took me aside one day after class. Frowning, she waves a test paper under my nose saying, "Holly, your reading comprehension and writing skills are so good, we'd like to put you in honors English!"

I look at her puzzled. This sounds like good news. Why does she look so upset?

I didn't have to wait long.

Leaning in close and lowering her voice to a fierce whisper, she hisses, "But your spelling and grammar are so atrocious that we'd like to put you in remedial English! We don't know what to do with you!"

She puts the test paper down with a sigh and announces in defeat, "So we're leaving you alone. You're just gonna stay right where you are."

Uh...thank you...I think?

Twenty something years later, I'm STILL dealing those same issues. Some days, I think I just need to go back to school. **sigh** I heart you, spell check.

Resting and reflecting

2010-02-03T23:33:00.000-08:00

I needed some time to deal with the aftermath of emotions that came after I posted all that I did about going through the miscarriages, failed adoption placement, beautiful adoptions of my children and the loss of Anna. I really needed to plug my way through it and just get it out of my head. But after doing that, for many nights, I kept waking up in the middle of the night, with the song "Glory Baby" by Watermark running through my head.

And I thought about coming in and writing about the effects of this "grief" even now. But honestly, I am so much more than the sum of my past experiences. You know? And I feel like if I stay in this place of deep emotional goo, that eventually - you - my brand new readers, will get frightened and run away. After all, who can handle reading gut wrenching things with almost each post?

So, I took time away, just to get still before the Lord and just rest my brain and my heart in that regard. Not to squish down the feelings, but to give them their proper release. Does that make sense?

Besides, I'm normally a jovial person. I have quite a quirky sense of humor. To show you what I mean, I just had to borrow this delightful snippet from a newspaper clipping I saw a few days ago on a blog called "Jesus. Woman. Words." (Hey Tracy!)

Here's her blog post: Lovin Friday Randomness

And here's the picture. I just have to put it here. It's TOO good NOT to share:

Isn't that awesome?!??

Anyway, this is what I put in poor, unsuspecting Tracy's comment section.

I laughed hard at the newspaper clipping! I use to not get dressed up to go to Wal-Mart till I became a stay at home mom with two babies. Then I realized that besides church, Wal-mart WAS the extent of my social life where people would actually talk to me in complete sentences and not spit up on me. I appreciated that.

Pretty soon, my husband started noticing the difference. "Hey, you're wearing clean jeans today. You must be going to Wal-Mart!" he'd exclaim. "Yep," I'd reply with a wink, "Got a hot date with my shopping list."

I'd hear him call out, "Are you taking the ki...", but I had no clue how that sentence ended, as I'd already be in the car, doors locked and rolling out of the driveway. ;)

Oh, how I NEEDED that laugh and remembrance! It just centers me, somehow.

To this day, I still get dressed up to go to Wal-Mart...and Target...and Walgreen's.

You know why?

Cause otherwise, my seven year old will stop me in the hall, shake her lil' head disapprovingly saying, "Are you really going out in THAT?"

Well I was, Fashionista, but uh...you're making me think twice now. Now where DID I put those car keys?

You can hear the song's I've written!

2010-01-29T11:16:00.000-08:00

Hey all! I'm so excited! I found this really cool place called LaLa that has my CD on it, and you can listen to it on the player I've embedded on here. How cool is that?? Just check out the player that's to the right of this post and a little down.
If you like the songs and want to know more about how each one of them got "birthed" (so to speak), check out my music tab off my website at:

http://www.hollybaxley.com/

I'm still trying to work out the kinks on this website template, but I really like it, and know that eventually I'll get it to look just like I want it. Embedded players and all in their proper spot. But still, I'm doing the happy dance, cause you can hear my songs. Woo hoo!! Let me know what you think of them. I'm thinking about working up some videos too - nothing fancy...just sitting at the piano singing. But I really want to embed the lyrics as I play and sing too. Makes it easier to understand.

My thoughts are jumping everywhere, so I'll close for now. Gotta head out to an ortho surgeon for an opinion. Not fun, so praaaaaaay for me. I feel all squishy like jello.

Will write more soon. :)

Angel Kisses

2010-01-25T22:49:00.000-08:00

Sitting in between my sister and husband at Panera Bread, I stare at the lunch in front of me, despondent and nauseated.

All I want to do is go back. Back to the safety of my cocoon, wrapped up in crisp cotton sheets and pre-warmed blankets, tucked away on the NICU floor where I held Anna for the last time.

But there is no going back.

She’s gone.

Even her tiny body is gone.

She was taken away by kind hands who are now preparing her for burial. She left the hospital even before I did.

After they informed me of that fact, I made a burrow in my bed, wrapping sheets & blankets around me tighter to ward off the chill of death. Another blanket please, I’d beg a nurse. I can still feel the cold aftermath of her demise...can I please have another blanket?

Nothing warmed me.

And yet, I did not want to leave. For to leave meant that I had to leave without her in my arms. Without her in my arms meant that I agreed that she had died. And I don’t agree with this. I do not agree with this at all! She is still here! She is still beating in my heart.

So I need to stay.

Because if I leave...

...I will leave my heart behind.

And how can I live without my heart?

Indeed, I would have protested my case and chained myself to my hospital bed in order to stay a while longer, but Brent had enough foresight to tape pictures to the wall of my room containing some very good reasons to come home.

Many of them contained the same exuberant subject – with dimpled hands in the air, dimpled cheeks that graced a laughing smile, and warm brown eyes that seemed to say, “Hurry home Mommy. I miss you.”

I would have forsaken everybody...even my grieving husband to stay just one more day in that cold, sterile hospital freezing under mountains of blankets. But I could not refuse Anthony.

He needs me.

And I need him.

**Sigh**

But I don’t need this lunch.

Brent had painstakingly ordered all my favorite menu choices to entice me to eat – and I try to – for his sake.

Suddenly, I feel the hand of a stranger slip me a note under my hand. I look up as she towers over me, giving me a sympathetic smile. A young lady stands near her looking a little shocked and embarrassed as she shuffles from one foot to the other. The two of them looked like mirror copies of each other. A daughter, perhaps?

The stranger widened her smile and said, “I am so sorry for your loss. May God bless you.” And just as quickly as she came, she left.

Bewildered I look at Brent and my sister Nan who look a little taken back as well. I unfold the note she gave me. In it, the lady tells me of her own painful loss of a child and later how God blessed her with two daughters. She tells me that though she doesn’t know me, she is praying for me, and for God to bless me for the loss I’ve experienced.

How did she know? How did she know about Anna?

I don’t remember Brent or Nan talking to her. Maybe they did. I don’t remember.

What I do know is that this perfect stranger just handed me warm blankets of grace and hope that wrap around my heart, and right now I don’t feel so frozen any more.

I think...

...I think I can eat.

And live.

**************************

Unfortunately, the frozen feeling came right back the minute I stood on the first step that lead up to our home. I literally “froze”, stopped on the step. Brent thinks it’s because of the soreness from the C-Section, so he stops with me and waits for me to lean on him to go up the next step.

How can I tell him that I don’t want to be here? Even in spite of the beautiful smiling one year old boy that I know is waiting behind that door; I want to go the other way. Because I know what else is behind that door. Another door down the hall that leads to an empty nursery. I knew all along that Anna might never grace that nursery – I tried to prepare my heart with that fact – but in the end, I’m still unprepared.

I feel Brent gently pull on my arms to guide me up to the next step, and then to the next and then the next. Each step slower than the one before.

And then, we were inside.

A delighted squeal is heard from the kitchen, where Brent’s mother is finishing giving Anthony a snack. Anthony starts to totter out, and then drops to all fours to crawl to me. Though he’s walking now, he knows he gets around much faster on all fours. And he’s making good time with all four on the floor.

Standing up, he balances precariously on wobbly legs and lifts his arms in the air. I start to bend down, but then remembered the doctor’s stern warning, (“You can’t lift anything more than 5 lbs after your surgery!”) and realized I can’t pick up my boy.

Brent hauls him up into his arms where Anthony can get a better look. Giggling, Anthony leans out as far as he can over Brent’s arms, reaching his arms out to me for me to hold him while calling “Mamamamamamamama”. But since I’m still standing, I can’t do that either.

“I’m sorry baby, but I have to sit down before I can hold you,” I sputter, tears threatening to take control again. I’m feeling a little light headed too, and Brent notices.

"Maybe you ought to rest right now, Holly. You’ve been up for a while and you look tired. Why don’t you head back to the bedroom and lie down for a bit?” he smiles sadly.

"Good idea,” I rejoinder. I start down the hall listening to Anthony get even louder. He does not like this idea of momma disappearing so quickly. “MaMaMaMaMaMaaaa!”

“You can see her in a minute, son. Whatcha think Memaw is doing now?” Brent counters, trying to distract Anthony.

I walk as fast as I can down the hall to bypass looking in the nursery. But my eyes go there anyway. I see the sunny sunflower border gracing the room. Tears are threatening to turn to sobs. I’ve got to get to my room quick!

My sister follows me to make sure that I can get in bed alright. I learned something very quickly. Tall beds with thick mattresses on frames are high off the ground look very majestic and romantic, but they hurt like fire trying to get into after one has a C-section.

OWWW.

My sister smoothes the covers around me and heads back to the family, giving me space to adjust to being here.

At home.

Without her.

But I’m not alone for long.

I hear shuffling and snuffling coming down the hall. And though the voice is much quieter than last time, it’s far more determined than before, as well as a little more put out too. Like how dare they say I can’t see her.

“maamaamaamaamaaaaa!!”

I look down to see Anthony now trying his best to climb up the quilt that is spread out on the bed. Strong chubby hands cling tightly to the sides, as he tries to raise one little foot. When he sees me spying on him, he starts bouncing joyfully, calling my name with each bounce for emphasis. “MaMAAA..MaMAAA...MaMAAA!!!”

I can’t stop the tears. They’re leaking out everywhere, running down my face as I sob, “Oh Anthony, I’m soooo sorry baby. So sorry. Mommy’s so sorry! I can’t pick you up, honey! I’m sooo sorry!!”

Upon seeing this rather unusual outburst, Anthony stops his joyful tirade and suddenly looks as sad as I feel. I’m not sure if he’s more upset that I can’t pick him up, or that he’s afraid he did something to make me cry. His own chocolate brown eyes well up with tears, and he plops his little padded bottom to the ground with a thud and starts crying too.

And I feel like such a failure.

I can’t even protect my son from my grief.

I’m sure that maybe it really does look like a comical sight when Brent runs down the hall to find Anthony wailing on the floor and me wailing in bed. His bewildered look turned into an amused chuckle as he scoops Anthony up again and places him in bed with me. Anthony immediately stops crying and sits in my lap, leaning hard against me. “Mamamamama...” he coos, comforting me the best way he knows how.

I look at Brent and then back at Anthony who is now snuggling down in my lap. I have the BEST family in the world, I think – blinking through the tears.

Brent leaves the two of us alone, and Anthony is pushing against me, trying to get me to rock him. I try a little, but I hate to admit it, but his sitting on me huts badly, especially with him leaning against the abdominal stitches that are trying to heal.

But how can I let my baby go?? My god, I may not be able to hold one child, but there is NO REASON I can’t hold this one – even if it hurts like crazy.

But I should have known. Anthony is an active little guy. After sitting on my lap for a few minutes, he starts yawning like crazy. And this does not suit him either. He knows he’s starting to fall asleep. And well, there are too many new family members in the house that need visiting, with Aunt Nan here and Memaw too. Besides there are people that seem to keep coming in, bringing food for some reason and well, there’s just too much to SEE to waste it with something useful like a nap.

So off he goes, scooting off my lap and sliding down the side of the bed. And I hear the shuffling and snuffling one work his way back down the hall to where all the action is.

Alone at last, I have time to think, cry, and hopefully fall into oblivion with a nap.
****************
A little while later, my sister comes into my bedroom with the cordless phone in hand. “Someone wants to speak to you,” she says as she hands the phone to me.

Hello?” I call out.

“Hello? Holly? This is Melissa from Bethany calling. How are you feeling?”

"I’m still sore after the surgery and all, but I’m already feeling a lot better than I did at the hospital.”

"That’s great to hear. Are you up to talking right now?”

Sure, I tell her. In fact, I had been somewhat expecting a call from Melissa. Brent informed me that the day that Anna passed away, he called our adoption agency just to keep them informed about what’s going on, so they could pass it along to each other and pray for us. Brent told me that Melissa, our adoption counselor who worked with us on Anthony’s case, would be contacting me sometime just to check on me.

But my conversation with Melissa isn’t anything that I had originally expected.

In fact, when I hang up the phone, I’m crying harder than ever before. And honestly, I didn’t think I had any tears left.

My sister flies down the hall to see what’s going on with me.

Through sobs, I tell her, “Melissa says...Melissa says that A had her baby...two days before we had Anna.”

I stop to try and catch my breath between sobs.

“She says that...that she thought she could parent her, but just cannot. She wants to know if we would be interested in adopting her daughter.”

Sobbing intensifies.

I continue, “When A asked them if...if we’d be interested in adopting her daughter, they told her that they had a letter that they were not allowed to give her, per our instructions, unless she mentioned adoption and us. Remember that?”

Nan nods her head.

“You see...Brent and I felt that if she mentioned adoption and us...that God...that God would have put it on her heart. We didn’t know if she was even going to consider adoption and we didn’t want to hurt or confuse her! The letter said to think of us as a safety net, in case adoption was an option for her and her baby. I was so afr...afrai...afraid that she might not even consider us, considering what we were going through ourselves. And we just couldn’t bear to think of Anthony separated from one more sibling. We were going to do a home study...and everything...jus...just in case A did decide to go through with adoption as a choice. You know, so...so...so the baby wouldn’t have so long to spend in foster care waiting.”

More crying.

My sister is looking mystified and excited, though she is trying hard to contain it. I see it, but I cannot be joyful with her. In fact, I’m more sorrowful than ever.

“She says...she says...oh god, she says that A asked what we named our little girl, and they told her Anna, and she says that made A gasp because when her daughter was born she named her Arianna.”

I study Nan’s face from behind my curtain of tears. The shock of this is starting to sink in. “That’s incredible!” she exclaims in wonder.

“Yeah,” I wail, “I asked her if she cou..coul...could spell it for me, and she said, ‘A-R-I-A-N-N-A”.

And now I am sobbing so hard, I can’t breathe.

“Holly!” my sister exclaims, as she wraps her arms around me. “This is WONDERFUL news! Incredible!! Anthony’s little sister!! Oh my! But Holly, you seem very upset by this news. Why?”

I can hold my anguish no longer.

“Cause I don’t want to be like that woman in the story of Solomon!!” I wail with all my might.

“Whaaat?” my sister responds with confusion.

“That woman! You know?! The story about how wi..wise Solomon became because of what he did?”

Nan is shaking her head. She cannot see how Solomon and some woman have anything to do with the conversation I just had with the adoption specialist.

I look at her incredulously.

“The STORY! You know...two women fighting over one baby? Cause they both had babies and one baby died! And the fought over the other baby and Solomon said to chop the chil...”

My sister stops me right there before I could finish the story of the two women who had fought over one infant, each claiming the baby as her own, so Solomon decided in his wisdom to find out who the natural mother really was by threatening harm to the infant. He told a servant to chop the child in half and to give each half to each woman. The biological mother cried out “No!! Give the child to the other woman.” And the other woman exclaimed, “Yes, give us each half!” Solomon in his wisdom knew that the heart of a mother would rather see her own heart die than to see harm come to her child, and rightly discerned that the woman who was willing to give her child to the other woman, was the child’s natural mother. (1 Kings 3:16-28)

Nan looks at me sternly, but compassionately. “Stop right there, Holly. This is NOT what this is about. You are not like the women of that story. And neither is A.”

“But I don’t want her to feel like she should give me her baby, because mine died!” I wail.

“Holly!! That is NOT what is happening here. Do you hear me? The Letter – remember the LETTER?? You wrote that a long time ago. You didn’t know all that Anna might face – you hadn’t even picked out a name yet! You only knew that you didn’t want Anthony to be without his little brother or sister. You were willing to adopt, even knowing that you might have Anthony, his little brother or sister/ and dealing with the medical needs of a special care infant. You’re NOT the same kind of woman like in that story about Solomon. You’re NOT. OK?”

I nod my head, as I try hard to catch my breath from all the sobbing. Her words are starting to sink in. And as they do, I realize in wonder, that I originally wrote that letter to protect A’s heart – to keep her safe in making a wise and healthy decision without feeling influenced by us. But now I realize too that in God’s wisdom, He’s using that same letter to protect ME from the fears that are trying to influence me into feeling like a horrible, ungrateful, selfish wretch.

“Arianna, wow.” Nan drawls out gently. “Such a pretty name. So perfect. Oh Holly. This is amazing! When was she born?”

“January 16th,” I heave. “Just two days before Anna.”

“They’re the same age.” Nan whispers in wonder. I nod my head. It’s just too much to take in.

************************
Three weeks later, Brent, Anthony and I are getting dressed, preparing to go to another adoption placement ceremony. We’re told this time by the agency that A has elected to not attend. It’s too much for her. I nodded sadly when I heard this. I understand. I would feel exactly the same way if I was called into a room to see Anna, only to have to be forced to say goodbye again.

I look out the window of the hotel and gasp. Brent turns around from where he had been dressing Anthony. “What is it?” he asked anxiously.

I pull back the drapes to reveal a snow shower coming down. Big goose feather type flakes are falling again. Symmetrically. Just like they did when I was in labor with Anna. It looked EXACTLY the same. Same pattern, same quietness, same large flakes falling, falling down.

Amazed, I choked out, “It was snowing like this when Anna was placed in our arms, and it’s snowing now when we’re welcoming Arianna into our arms too.”

Holding Anthony steadily on one arm, Brent draws close to me to examine the snow peacefully floating down.

As I leaned against him, I murmured, “I’ve heard it said that snowflakes are Angel Kisses. It’s coming down so thick; I think all of heaven is kissing us today.”

Brent agreed with a sigh as Anthony patted my head – and then grabbed a fistful of hair, with a chortle. That stinker.

And now there’ll be two of them!

************************
At the adoption placement ceremony we meet Arianna’s foster family. It’s their first time to foster a child and it’s really emotional for all of us. Towards the end of the ceremony, each person in the room takes time to pray over Arianna and to offer a blessing. When it comes to my turn, I can only sob one thing over and over again.

I hold her close, and cry over her saying, “God, I just don’t understand. I don’t understand...I don’t understand...”

But this is not the “I don’t understand” phrase of “Why God??” but more of a sense of overwhelmed AWE at what is taking place in my very arms this afternoon. God has blessed me with TWO daughters – one whole and healthy in heaven...and one in a petite pink footy snoozing peacefully in my arms, despite the bath of tears raining down on her.

Arianna, my daughter.

Before I came to the ceremony, I looked her name up in the same baby book that I used to understand Anthony’s name meaning. Arianna means “Most Holy” or “Most Divine”.

A did not give Arianna a middle name, so we did. We gave her the middle name of Grace, because it’s by God’s Most Holy Grace that she is here in our arms today.

As we drive Arianna and Anthony home on those beautiful angel kissed snowy roads, we know our lives will never be the same.
******************

Epilogue

It’s will be seven years on February 6th when we held Arianna for the first time in our lives. She just celebrated her seventh birthday with a Hello Kitty blow out bash..while Anthony celebrated his eight birthday with a day at the indoor water park for him and a friend.

Life has had its shares of ups and downs, but through it all, we’ve seen God provide for us in amazing, miraculous ways.

And none of them short of what happened, just this past August in 2009.

Our children got to meet their birthmother and birth brothers for the very first time that THEY can remember. Yes, God brought about our dream of opening the adoption come true. What a privilege and blessing to meet them all! I hope this is a sign of many more visits to come in the future!! It was so wonderful watching Anthony & Arianna interact with their brothers and visit with A. Ari was shy at first, but she soon got over it. The boys had a blast playing video games with each other. And I was amazed to see how visiting with A was like visiting with a long lost sister! Incredible! Something that only GOD can truly orchestrate!

I don’t know what the future holds, but this I know – whatever it is – GOD’s name be praised. May He always be glorified. And may we witness His hand of grace and mercy in ways we never dreamed of.

Blessings to each and every one of you!

Ephesians 1:4-6 (The Message)

How blessed is God! And what a blessing he is! He's the Father of our Master, Jesus Christ, and takes us to the high places of blessing in him. Long before he laid down earth's foundations, he had us in mind, had settled on us as the focus of his love, to be made whole and holy by his love. Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!) He wanted us to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son.

Trying out Windows Live Writer today…

2010-01-25T10:24:00.001-08:00

And so far, I like what I see. Pretty interesting to use it to type with instead of the “blogger” interface that comes with blogger. Windows Live Writer (which is free, btw) says that it’s suppose to be easy to see what you’re doing, it edits in real time and shows you the immediate look of your post. So far – so good, on my end. And it has a built in spell check! (Bless you programmers for that one!)

Let’s see if I can imbed video. If I can, what you will see is a song I wrote October 2009 called “Latter Rain”. I love it cause it’s fast paced, got a little techno beat and it’s so joyful! It’s just an instrumental, but to me it just makes me wanna dance in God’s rain of grace!

Wow…that embedding was easy. OK, so far Windows Live Writer is getting a BIG thumbs up from me!

I’ll be back tomorrow to follow up “The Letter”. It too will be on “Karen’s Threads of Hope” just to complete the story. Though Brent laughed at me and said, “You know it doesn’t end there!” when I told him what I wanted to do. He’s right. There’s more to even the ‘ending’, so I’ll add an epilogue to bring you up to where we are at today. Do I think I can do it all in an epilogue? Maybe. ;D

Hmmm…you know what this Windows Live Writer is missing? Emoticons. You know…smiley faces? Maybe “real” bloggers don’t use smiley faces.

I like them. :D

Maybe I don’t look serious enough when I use them. :(]

Oh well. :p

Ooh look. I made a bunny:

(\__/)
(='.'=)
(")_(")

Be back tomorrow….

I gots a blog award!

2010-01-22T16:24:00.000-08:00

Hey Thanks For His Glory for the blog award! Awww. I feel loved!!

Now I need lessons on how to stick it on here. lol! :D

The Letter

2010-01-22T16:19:00.000-08:00

Brent awakes to me tossing and turning. “What’s wrong?” he asks groggily. “I thought that body pillow is supposed to help you get comfortable so you can sleep.”

I roll toward him unsteadily. I haven’t gotten use to the way gravity shifts my pregnant belly around – even in bed. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “It’s not about getting comfortable. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about the letter we got today.”

Brent wakes up a little more, and pulls me toward him. We lay there silently for a moment, listening to Anthony’s light snooze on the baby monitor. “I know,” he breathes into my hair. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”

“Well, you sure have a fine way of showing it,” I tease, giving him a light poke. Even in the dark I can feel the warmth of Brent’s grin, as his arms tighten around me. “Well, staying awake all night thinking about it won’t do any good either,” he soothes.

“I know, but I can’t help it,” I sigh, wriggling myself free in order to get a better view of Brent’s shadowed face in the dark. “Anthony has a little brother or sister on the way.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Brent quips as he pats my belly. “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” I grin, snuggling back down into the quilt. “Mmmm…” is my man’s reply.

Silence resumes between us and soon I feel Brent’s arms relax and go slack. Warm, long puffs from his breath tickling my neck indicate he’s fallen back asleep.

I roll over and face the bedside table where the letter is lying. Even in the night, I can faintly see the familiar slanted curvilinear handwriting from Anthony’s birthmother.

As I had promised A that Anthony would not be lost to her, we now keep up with each other through letters and pictures, as well as videos we’d send out to her through the mediation of our adoption agency. (In the adoption world, this is known as a semi-open adoption.) While we would like to make it fully open with visits, we know that in God’s timing that will happen. For right now, this is what is workable for both of our families’ sakes.

As it is, in my latest letter to her I write of the shock in learning that we’re expecting a baby, but doctors are telling us there are complications. I wanted to share this news with her earlier, but needed to wait until we had confirmed test results back.

Oh what a hard letter that was to write! Besides writing about mixed feelings of elation and fear, I worry about Anthony potentially spending a lot of time in a hospital waiting room instead of getting to be at home with loved ones in comfortable surroundings. Too, I had to be honest and tell her how embarrassed I felt about the fact that our world should be revolving around Anthony right now and here we were in this predicament.

What joy to receive her letter back today! Her response back to us was so sweet and reassuring. I cried tears of relief in reading it. She reaffirmed her decision in choosing us to be Anthony’s parents, and she reminded us that with God everything will be OK, no matter what happens.

Then she then shares that she too is expecting and she’s not sure what this means for her and her family right now, but will we pray for her?

I put down the letter in shock...

...and cry again.

Though our room is mainly enveloped in darkness now, a little moonlight filters through the blinds, fingering its way through our bedroom, and resting on the bedside table. Through heavy eyelids I can see a corner of the letter curled into the air, like a little paper hand waving, “I’m here!”

I know you’re here, and I know you’ll still be here in the morning, I reason groggily.

Anthony’s going to be a big brother. He’s just a baby himself...but he’s gonna...be....a...big...broth.....errr...zzzzzzzz.

And next thing I know, I’m awake to Anthony chattering away on the baby monitor and the sun playfully dancing across my face.

**************

Clutching the letter the next day, I re-read and re-read and re-read. An idea has popped in my head and I can’t let it go. But it’s too crazy – its nuts. Brent’ll never go for it, I rationalize.

So I put the letter down.

And then pick it back up again.

Maybe....just maybe we CAN offer to do this. But what will Brent think? What will others think? What will SHE think?? I’m too crazy to even think. What AM I thinking??

Down the letter goes.

Just within Anthony’s reach. He picks up the letter and starts crunching it in his chubby little hands. His dark brown eyes fill with elation as he waves the letter in the air like a flag, shrieking in delight at the crinkly sound it makes.

“Hey!” I gasp. “Give that back to Mommy. Mommy needs the letter.”

Anthony does not think this is a good idea. He furrows his eyebrows together and his chatter turns to a pouted-garble. The letter crumples in his hands as He clenches his little fists tighter.

“C’mon, baby. Give Mommy back the letter. Mommy needs to show it to Daddy again. OK?”

At the mention of Brent, Anthony raises both arms and squeals his delight. Such a daddy’s boy! The pages of the letter float down around him like large confetti while he kicks lil’ pudgy legs wildly, scattering pieces of letter everywhere.

"Some colicky baby you turned out to be,” I laugh at Anthony as I gather up the pages. Anthony gurgles and raises one eyebrow quizzically as he searches the room for his daddy. He drops to all fours and crawls over where I’m bent over and starts the pouty-garble again.

He’ll be home soon, I promise,” I reply.

I know how to get Anthony happy again. I pick him up off the floor – swinging him high into the air. Anthony belly laughs, flinging his arms and legs out wide like a flying squirrel. Suddenly I feel my weight shift quickly with the gravitational change causing instant vertigo. We landed with a plop on the couch.

“Ooh. Sorry baby. Mommy’s not use to her new body making her dizzy like that.” Anthony just laughs. He likes this game with mommy. He bounces up and down in my arms begging me to stand up and do it all over again. I laugh, but I don’t think I’m ready to feel light headed like that again just yet.

I look over at the coffee table where the letter is now sitting with four deeply crumpled corners sticking up in the air. They all wave at me.

I look back at my gurgling son.

And the idea grows...

*************************
“Of course we should do this!” Brent responds excitedly. “Why would you think I’d feel any differently about this?”

"Well,” I stammer as I shift around in my seat, “we don’t really know what’s in store for us in the future...” My words trail off as my eyes look down at Anthony leaning against my slightly swollen abdomen. I look back up to see Brent’s gray-green eyes filled with compassion and resolve set in his face.

“Holly, it’s going to be OK, you’ll see. Let’s pray about it and ask God how we should go about this and then leave it in His hands.”

For the umpteenth time I wish I had his faith; so direct and simple and FIRM.

Brent starts to grab my hands to pray, but finds Anthony chewing on a couple of my fingers. “Teething again, huh?” he grins. “You think he’ll pop one out before Thanksgiving?”

We look down at Anthony happily gumming away. “It’s hard to say, ‘cause it feels like he’s gonna do it right now!” I wince with a yelp, pulling my hand away. Brent laughs as he pulls Anthony off my lap and encircles him with one arm, while grabbing my hand with the other. We bow our heads and pray for God to give us direction and clarity.

When we get done, we see that Anthony has grabbed the letter off the coffee table and is now gumming the corner of one page, while crinkling the paper with his other dimpled hand.

“Looks like he needs more fiber in his diet,” Brent winks.

*****************************

A few prayers and a few weeks later, two response letters are completed.

One letter is just a general follow up letter sharing Anthony’s latest antics and pictures of his “fish lips” faces that he makes when he chews on his cheeks. He sucks the sides of his cheeks in and chews on them, giving his lips the appearance of “fish lips” that older children and adults try to do in mimicking how a fish looks. It’s hysterical.

Too, I thank Anthony’s birthmother for her love, support and understanding. It helps give me such much peace in some very uncertain days! I let her know that we are praying for her too and realize that even in an uncertain future, God is holding us all.

After much going over, it is now ready to be mailed.

But the second letter...

...

The second letter stays open. I’ve poured over it, edited it, thrown it away, dug it back out of the trash, re-wrote the whole thing again and then had Brent read it and proof read it. He knew my nervousness and how this letter can either make or break our fledgling relationship with A. We do not want to give her any wrong ideas or put ideas in her head that she might not have been thinking about before. We just want to be there for her.

Will she get the wrong idea?

Will she think we’re crazy?

Will she be OK?

Will she still love us?

Over and over again, these thoughts and more tumbled through my head. I almost chunked the re-written letter again. But felt my spirit just yell STOP!

Overwhelmed, I put my head down. I can’t write our hearts any better than this, my heart whimpered. Oh please God, breathe Your life into it. If this is not of You, then make it known, somehow.

Immediately, I was flooded with this sense of peace. The last time I felt this deeply serene was before we knew we were expecting again. It was so unusual to feel this calmness in my spirit that I just soaked it every minute of it. For a while, I didn’t move – just closed my eyes basked in the warmth of feeling completely at peace.

When I opened my eyes, I quickly stuffed the letter in its envelope. Then I got a larger envelope and another sheet of paper. I wrote instructions to the receiver of this letter to make sure that Brent’s and my wishes were carried out, concerning the smaller letter to A. Stuffing both the sealed smaller letter and instruction letter in the larger envelope, I fixed the stamp, sealed it, kissed it, prayed over it, grabbed Anthony and tucked him into his car seat and drove to the post office before I could feel any tinge of fears returning to eat away at the new pervasive calm.

Only...

...the calm doesn’t leave.

I feel the same sense of peace that my husband has had this entire time. I am no longer fearful about the letter or the idea being taken the wrong way. Brent’s right. It really IS going to be OK.

Thank you, God for Your peace. I love this serenit... “OWW!!” I holler as Anthony bites down on my finger again. Startling the poor baby who doesn’t understand why I yelled so loud, he starts to cry.

And the serenity is gone, I mutter under my breath as I hold my howling son.

But not the peace.

It remains.

Psalm 29:11

The LORD gives strength to his people; the LORD blesses his people with peace.

The Grocery List

2010-01-21T08:27:00.000-08:00

Hello all! I'm actually going to do two posts today, as a way of concluing my walk with God in the journey of becoming a mother. Both of them each deserve their own postings, as to give you a clearer picture of how God decided to complete our family, and to show His hand of blessing in that.

Just to give you a little timeline of how the stories have looked so far, it goes something like this:

1. Experienced five miscarriages - w/ six children now waiting for us in heaven (the first miscarriage was fraternal twins)
2. Went on adoption journey to adopt our son. This current posting briefly describes a hard detour along the way.
3. We hold our son Anthony for the first time. You can see that story with "Worthy of Praise" below.
4. When Anthony turned six months old, I discover that I'm expecting Anna. You have read that story in "Furnace or Freedom" below.
5. The conclusion to our family is coming up on the next post after this one. :o)

So now to help keep this story going, here's "The Grocery List"

“Let’s go around the table and say what we’re thankful for, “my friend quipped from across the dining room table one Thanksgiving Day. Everyone nodded in agreement except for me. Perhaps they thought that I didn’t hear or was preoccupied in thought. Not true. I was ignoring the suggestion all together, for I had nothing to be thankful for.

Never mind the fact that I had a wonderful husband, a great job, supportive family, dear friends, good health, and financial stability. My spirit was grieving, for a phone call the day before had broken my world apart.

Looking back at the day before…

I was puttering around the house after work, trying to decide what to bring to my friends’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. My heart was fluttering from the news Brent and I had received earlier in the week from our local adoption agency. The expectant mother who had chosen us as adoptive parents had just delivered by C-Section. The adoption specialist had given us details of what the baby might need, should the placement go through.

Along with my Thanksgiving grocery list were things I thought I’d never write on there: baby formula, bottles, newborn diapers. I glanced at the list again and took a deep breath and wondered, “Is it OK to go ahead and buy these things? Should I wait until I know for sure?” I put the list back down and wrestled with what to do. My husband walked into the kitchen and saw me. “Are you OK?”

I’m just not looking forward to going to the grocery store.” Kneeling down, Brent looked at me tenderly, and then gave me a sympathetic kiss on the cheek. “I think you can wait on some of those items till a little later, Holly”, he said gently. “I know you want to be prepared, but it’s going OK, really. Let’s just wait a little while longer. Alright?”

Actually, it was more than alright. It was a relief. That’s why I had been putting off going to the grocery store all week. I just couldn’t make up my mind about what to do about the list. Get it or don’t get it? The same words swirling in my brain.

Relieved to have an answer, I picked up my list again and grabbed my car keys. Just then, the phone rang.

After hanging up the phone, I sat on the floor and just sobbed. Brent didn’t ask. He didn’t have to ask. He just sat on the floor with me and held me close. Though no tears came from him, I could feel his shoulders shaking. He was trying so hard to be brave for me; for him; for both of us.

My mind throbbed as I recalled the conversation on the phone. I told our adoption specialist how I was glad that the expectant mother had made the decision to parent her son. I went on to explain that she had to make many hard choices in her life and we were so glad that she just never made the choice to abort her son, but to give him life and now to parent him too. This just wasn’t our time right now and though we’re sad, we have peace in knowing we helped a young lady make the best choice that she could for her son and herself. Then I hung up the phone.

I knew the words I had just spoken. I meant every one. And I sobbed uncontrollably in spite of that. Wave after wave of grief just washed over me. It was like a miscarriage all over again. And exactly at seven weeks – just like five previous miscarriages I had previously experienced. Why seven weeks? Why not two or ten? Brent holds on like we’re fixing to slip off a ledge into a dark cavern. And we don’t move for over an hour. Sitting crumpled up on the floor, the only words manageable, a prayer – no a cry to God with only one word, “Why?”

The next day was such a haze. I was so grateful that God prepared the way for us to be with our friends to be with on Thanksgiving Day. We listened to everyone give a glowing report of all that they were thankful for. And then came Brent’s turn. He grabbed my hand and thanked God for our lives together, for our friends and their graciousness. Then he compassionately looks at me and says, “Do you want to add anything, Holly?” Bless his heart, he was always protecting me. I glanced around at my friends who had heard the stories in hushed whispers and said, “Thank you for having us over.” Our friends smiled broadly in a way that says “We understand”. Nothing more is said or even asked. And we ate in peace.

Fast forward a year…

We made plans to be with our friends again on Thanksgiving. The grocery list sat on my table and on it were things like size four diapers and formula. And it wasn’t a question of should we get it; it was more like where can we get it the cheapest? The grocery list was not as neat as last years. It was scribbled in a hurry and it tended to run downhill, because someone was tugging on my arm and pointing at whatever had captured his attention at the moment. His play fishbowl on the floor; the cat meowing outside the door; the half full bottle on the counter. “Just a minute,” I tell him as I gently lowered him to the floor. That wasn’t good enough for him and soon I felt hand over hand running up my pant leg and then the same tugging on my arm; this time accompanied by baby chatter and quizzical brown eyes. I tried to put him on what was left of my seventh month pregnant lap, as he happily grabbed the pen and added his own touches to the grocery list.

And that’s when last year’s memory came in like a flood and I’m sobbing uncontrollably from all the thankfulness that is pouring through my heart – for all the heartache I know my son’s birthmother is feeling right now – for another dearly prayed for and loved little boy who is celebrating his one year birthday with his mother - and for my own personal future of next year’s adventure with two children.

Brent walked into the kitchen in and noticed Anthony bathed in my tears. He asked, “Are those happy tears or sad tears?” I replied through a smile, “Both, actually.” He grinned at me in a way that said I really don’t understand pregnant women and said, “I see you got the grocery list done, but I think you’ll have to do it over.” “Why?” “Well, the tears made your ink run…”

I looked down and sure enough, I can’t read a thing.

I grab two fresh sheets of paper and grab another pen. Anthony and I work on the grocery list together. I can’t help but smile and hold him tighter. And write down the words formula and diapers all over again.

When I shared this story with a friend, she asked, "How old was Anthony when you received him?" "Seven weeks old," I reply. "Holly that's fantastic!" she replies enthusiasticlly.

I'm giving her my watcha-talkin-about-willis look to her.

"Just think about it," she said. "God redeemes even the TIME. Almost all of your miscarriages happened at seven weeks, right? And look! God gave you a seven week old son. Isn't that awesome?!"

Whoa...hadn't thought about that before. :o)

Psalm 62:8

Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.
Selah

Worthy of Praise

2010-01-20T13:17:00.001-08:00

I look into his smiling stone cold eyes and ask, “Momma, who is this?”

“I don’t know honey,” my mom replies hastily as she pushes me past the statue that’s captured my seven year old attention. “We’re not Catholics, so I really don’t know what to tell you.”

While her reply seemed a little edgy, it’s her demeanor that’s catching me off guard. She’s dragging me down the walk like she has a desire to get away from that statue just as fast as she can before I can ask the next questions that are dripping off my lips.

I don’t get it. Why the rush? We’re on vacation in the town that is my birthplace, the view along the river is beautiful, the smells from the nearby cafes are delightful and the sunshine bouncing off the water is invigorating. It makes me happy just to breathe the air. And up till now, Mom was happy. What did I say to make her mood change so quickly?

She continues her mission to lug me down the sidewalk. Twisting my head around, I catch the statue's eyes following me as I disappear from his sight. Sighing, I look back at Mom’s face disappointedly. The questions are still there, but they languish in the air.

Why this city is named after the statue?

Why do they keep him by the river?

Why do these questions seem to make you so upset?

I think a lot about the statue by the river after I get home. I swear to myself that I will find out what I can about him on my own. I will NOT forget to do so!

That lasted all of maybe five minutes.

Hey, give me a break! I’m seven after all.

************

But even when little girls forget to ask poignant questions or search out answers, God Himself does not forget. Sometimes He answers them right away. Other times, He veils the answer so that when the answer does come, the impact of that answer is deeper than one could have previously imagined.

Yes, I had forgotten about the statue of San Antonio greeting the patrons and strollers of the Riverwalk, but God had not forgotten my questions. He would answer them.

In His own way.

*****************

“Don’t you think that God wants you to have children, Holly?” my friend Rhonda gently asks, gazing at me with cornflower-blue eyes. “I think that He does, for look at the scripture that’s right here on your wedding invitations.” She picks up my wedding book, thumbs through till she finds the announcement and reads, “and I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear Me always, for their own good and for the good of their children after them. (Jeremiah 32:39)”

Rhonda puts the book in her lap and looks at me intently. “Why would God press that scripture on your sister in law’s heart to give to Brent and you?” She leans forward excitedly. “I believe that even now, God is telling you that you are meant to have children!”

I squirm in my seat. How do I respond to that? Can I even hang onto this thread of hope? Oh God, I wish I could! But five miscarriages and six babies in heaven later, it seems impossible. I mean, maybe God meant for us to just be spiritual parents to other people’s children. Maybe in His calling my husband to be a pastor, maybe He’s called both of us to just be a spiritual guide and advocate for the children who come across our path. Surely, that’s it.

I want to respond to her. I see her as she gazes at me intently. But the past and grief has now made me mute. I lower my eyes.

Rhonda gets up from her chair and sits beside me. “Holly,” she murmurs, “I know how badly you want this. I’m not trying to hurt you with my words. I just believe that God really does want to fill your arms and your home with children. I just believe it and I believe this word,” (pointing to the invitation), “given to you all those years ago, are still meant to encourage you today.

She slides my wedding book on my lap. I finger the page she has laid out for me with longing. “Do you think it’s really possible?” I whisper in wonder.

“With God, anything is possible,” Rhonda sweetly laughs. “Just probably not in the way you think. I know this is very forward of me, but have you thought of adoption?”

Her words seer me like fire. Hastily I drop the wedding book on the coffee table and startle myself with the thud it makes. “I...uh...I mean, we...uh..Brent and I...have talked some”, I stammer. “He’s really for the idea, but I’m scared. I think all these miscarriages are a sign we’re not meant to be parents.”

Somehow, this does not put Rhonda off. She just leans in closer. Hasn’t the woman ever heard of personal space?

“I know you are scared, Holly. But I encourage you to bring this to the Father and ask Him what He thinks about this for the two of you. Do not let fear keep you from moving forward. Because you’ll miss out on some big blessings, whatever they are.”

“I’ll think about it,” I start to reply, but a knock on the door interrupts our tête-à-tête. My husband comes in with his cousin, ready to take Rhonda back home. As I hug her goodbye, I whisper in her ear that I promise to think about all she said.

*****************

Nine months after that conversation, I am holding my son for the first time in my arms. Oh what a journey I’ve been on to be here in this moment with him! From praying with my husband for confirmation about which adoption agency to pursue, to being chosen by an expectant mother, to having a failed placement and going through the grieving of that process, to being chosen again and this time...on Valentines Day...to be holding him for the very first time.

Our adoption agency holds an adoption placement ceremony where the birth family and foster family join with the adoptive family in celebrating the life of this child. It was so incredible and so wonderful to meet Anthony’s birth mom and oldest brother and the foster family who cared for our precious Anthony. I can’t even begin to describe that day, the joy, the sadness, the tears, and the hugs.

As we talked with each other, I asked Anthony’s birthmother - why she chose his name. With tears slipping down her cheeks she choked out, "My grandmother said to pray to St. Anthony when you lose things."

I told her that her Anthony would never be lost to her. After experiencing so much loss in my life, I cannot imagine another having so much pain and loss in as well.

I told her that when we looked up his name in a couple of baby-books, his meant "Priceless" and "Worthy of Praise". Such an awesome name, how could we ever change it? I have heard Mothers say that when they looked down at their child and looked into his or her eyes, they knew just what to name their child. From the first moment I saw Anthony, I knew there could be no other name for him. His eyes, which are the window of the soul, just spoke it.

I looked down at this peaceful baby in my lap and felt overwhelmed by Anthony’s love and trust for me. And then I looked at his birthmother. The tears and pain in her eyes will haunt me forever. This Valentine’s present was a gift to her son - a sacrificial gift that transcends tawdry candy and roses. I thought I understood what Valentine’s Day was all about. I didn’t. Not until that moment. It is a day to remember unconditional, unwavering love that is worth dying for - just like St. Valentine himself did many centuries ago.

*****************
Many weeks later, I was researching on the internet to see if I could find out information on St. Anthony of Padua. I figured that if Anthony’s birth mom had named him after the Saint, then I should find out all that I could about him. He is an amazing man, and I loved researching about his passion to preach the love of Christ to others. But in my search, something stopped me cold in my tracks. On a webpage I stared at a picture of a friendly face. One that seemed to reach out to my hazy past and held my gaze with his eyes.

I looked at the picture and read, " San Antonio, Texas, is the site of this modern statue of St. Anthony. The child, with arms spread like a cross, stands on the Bible, reverently held by this great preacher of the Word of God." Why St. Anthony Holds the Child Jesus.

It was the same statue that I had stared at as a child on the Riverwalk in San Antonio. That's when it hit me. San Antonio is the Spanish name for "St. Anthony". The town I was born in and my son's name are both namesakes of St. Anthony! And then I heard these words in my heart:

"You may not have gotten to know my servant, but I’d like for you to love and know better your own St. Anthony. Teach him about Me. Teach him about his family. Raise him up to be a Man of God, kind and full of grace like my servant, but his own man."

And I wept.

The journey continues…

And I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear Me always, for their own good and for the good of their children after them. Jeremiah 32:39 (NASB)

Flying with Seabiscuit

2010-01-19T10:08:00.001-08:00

God has a way of gently dealing with me, that I'll never understand fully. He knows exactly what my heart needs in moments of sorrow and grief.

I had been told a while back that I needed to do some kind of exercising to deal with all the grief and underlying anger in my heart - and just get it "out there" so to speak. But I was truly afraid to, because I was afraid it would be like opening a Pandora’s box - and once that box was opened, I was afraid that I'd never get the "lid" back on again. So instead of dealing with the pain, I'd just shove it down further, only to have it explode every once in a while.

Since I refused to listen to sound advice, the Holy Spirit would keep prompt different ones to admonish me to get into some kind of physical routine - both for the needed discipline, and honestly to heal my heart.

Finally I joined a gym that I knew would not just allow me to saunter in and do my own thing (which would be not to push myself) - but a place that would really be checking on me, pushing me while encouraging me. It became a refuge for me. A place where I could emotionally let go and just "get it all out there."

And sure enough, no sooner than I started exercising, something started happening to me. Something I was totally afraid of.

I’d cry.

Not from physical pain.

No, I’d be crying from the mental and emotional stress of the past years of stuffing down my feelings. It became too much for me to hold it in anymore. I just couldn’t. I knew I would snap if I just couldn’t get this out.

Yet, I was mad. Mad at physical fitness. Mad because Mom did all sorts of things to be "healthy" and still ended up with cancer and dying. Mad because I'll never be the model on the TV or in the magazine no matter what I do. Mad because I breathe and Anna doesn't.

Nevertheless, instead of hiding my tears in the shower, or every once in a while, in front of Brent - now, whoever was in the gym at the time this crying fit comes on, got to witness it. Oh joy for that.

The first time it happened was in a yoga class (which was also recommended to me by a counselor, so I could learn to de-stress). At the end where everyone is resting quietly and the piano music is playing softly, I can see Anna's face. At first I wondered, "Why here? Why now?" and I could feel God tell my heart that this is one of the reasons I’ve refused to "be still" in any given part of my day in the past, because I can 'shut Anna out' of my thoughts. When I'm still, truly still and paying attention and being aware of myself and my surroundings, the grief is going to manifest itself, because it's finally being given a place to do so.

Great, I lamented. Looking forward to more of that.

Though there were days when I felt deeply discouraged and low, I’d find encouragement from the most unlikely sources. Like the morning I received encouragement from Red Pollard and Seabiscuit.

Yes – at the gym!

You see, this gym had a room called "Cardio Cinema". It was really cool. They had treadmills and elliptical machines in this very dark room, with a home entertainment theater where they show all sorts of movies. I've found that I could walk and run almost 2 miles in 30 minutes and never know it fully, because I’d get engrossed in whatever's playing.

As I walked in the darkened "cinema" and start working out, I saw that the movie “Seabiscuit” was playing. It was toward the very end of the movie, where Red is begging his boss to let him ride again. His boss doesn't want him to ride because he's afraid that Red is in danger of shattering his leg and making him handicapped. But after some very heart stirring moments between the main players (with my favorite line "I think it's better for a man to break his leg than his heart."), Red and Seabiscuit get one last ride in the Santa Anita - the race that had always eluded them before.

As Seabiscuit began to gallop around the track, I sped up the treadmill, till I was galloping along with Red and Seabiscuit too. And this is what I heard in my heart:

"They were destined to be together. Both of them broken, but healed. Both of them running and racing as one. This isn't about a race; this is about redemption for both of them. You too are broken, you have a ways to go to be healed, but you are running again. Keep going. Do not be afraid of future races, of future challenges. Don't give up. Those healed from brokenness can run. Yes, they can fly."

Seabiscuit is flying. So am I.

And I'm crying.

Again.

I have to slow down the treadmill because my throat is closing up and I can't catch my breath, and when I look up, Seabiscuit's crossed the finish line. And I look at the track where his hoof prints have pounded and tore up the ground. And I look in the triumph in Red's eyes and wipe away the tears from my own.

I keep on pacing. I have many more races to run. Perhaps there is hope for me yet. Maybe this gym membership was worth it after all.

"His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse
nor his delight in the legs of a man
The Lord delights in those who fear him,
who put their hope in his unfailing love."
Psalms 147: 10-11

Furnace or Freedom

2010-01-18T09:47:00.000-08:00

I posted this story on Karen's Threads of Hope as well. Today is a day of remembrance for me. And I'd like to share it with you.

Lean in close to your monitor, because I’m about to whisper you a little secret.

I usually don’t blog on this particular day. Or even try to write in general. In fact, on this day, I usually hide from the world (or at least try to), with Kleenix box in hand and hide out to just reflect on memories, both sweet and painful alone.

Why?

Seven years ago today, my daughter was born.

Three hours later, she was carried to the arms of Jesus.

Saturday, January 18th, 2003. A beautiful, beautiful snowy day. Beautiful and tragic. Amazing and sorrowful. Yet, a miracle just the same.

Ever since I realized what day I would start blogging for Karen, and realized that it coincided with this ‘anniversary’, I knew what I must write about.

I told you – God has a plan. A plan to help Karen and a plan to not let me ‘numb out’ on this day. God knew I wouldn’t do this for myself...but I’d do it for her.

You see?

He knows what each of us needs, when we need it.

To understand the miracle of my little Anna, you have to know that to be pregnant with her at all for the length of time I was able to carry her, was a miracle in and of itself.

You see, I’ve had five miscarriages, with almost all of them ending at seven weeks.

So when I became pregnant again, I uh...didn’t go to the doctor. I figured, what’s the point? Instead I decided to ‘wait it out’.

Only, nothing happened.

At all.

I hadn’t even told my husband I was pregnant. I couldn’t bear to see his eyes fill with apprehensive excitement and fear again. So I waited some more.

Still nothing.

Finally, I confessed to him.

“Whaaaat?? You’ve got to go to a doctor, NOW!” he thundered.

And then his eyes filled with apprehensive excitement and fear.

**sigh**

At the doctor’s visit: “How far along are you?”

Me: “I have no clue. Maybe six or seven weeks?”

They looked at me incredulously and set up a sonogram.

I HATE sonograms.

Every single sonogram I’ve ever had has ended with a tech saying, ‘I’m sorry Holly, but it looks like your pregnancy has terminated. We can see a baby, but no heartbeat.”

HATE sonograms.

And what’s up with, “Your pregnancy has terminated,” anyway? Sounds like “Your life insurance policy has expired.”

I mean, why can’t anyone say, ‘I’m sorry, but your baby died.”

Up on the table, all that goo on my belly, my husband stands to one side and gives me an encouraging grin...with fear in his eyes.

**sigh**

The tech checks the monitor and says, “Your baby looks good! I’m measuring at 8 weeks along, heartbeat strong. This one’s a keeper!”

Brent and I look at each other with wonder.

8 weeks?

Me who has never carried past seven weeks before is now pregnant at 8 weeks??

Really??

We ran outside and fairly danced in the parking lot of the medical center.

Only this celebration was short lived.

A few weeks later, I started bleeding. I won’t go into details, as to spare you both the imagery and the emotional pain, but suffice it to say, I was transferred to neo-natal specialists who found many genetic problems with our baby. As the genetics specialist told us, “You need to be prepared that you might have to decide on surgery which may or may not correct her multitude of problems, or make her as comfortable as possible.”

What a huge, huge blow!

“..make her as comfortable as possible”? What kind of plan is THAT??

Our dancing turned to mourning. Brent and I cried out to God, begging Him to not let us have to make a decision like that. For the genetics counselor said that her little DNA was such that even if we tried to do surgery to correct what’s wrong, her very DNA would think that the corrective surgery was wrong and try to put her back the way it’s coding says to be.

How totally, totally awful.

Because of the complications from the pregnancy, I was told to be on restrictive bed-rest as much as possible. That was FINE by me, for it gave me an excuse to pile my favorite books around my bed and read, read, read, escaping from the pain. Only God wasn’t going to let me hide from Him and the reality of this situation. He would use two works, one fictional, and one not to speak deep words into my soul that would give me the courage to face the future

Besides scouring passages in the Bible for encouragement, I picked put the book “Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring” by J.R.R. Tolkien. I had just seen the movie not too long ago, and became interested in the book. So I dove in and got lost in the tale of Frodo and the One Ring.

Who knew God would meet me there in those pages?

I get to the part where Frodo tells Gandalf, “I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened.” Gandalf replies, “So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

And I stop, for now I am crying so hard I cannot see the page.

I wish I had never gotten pregnant with Anna. I wish she had never come to me only to be taken away.

And I feel God tell me in my heart, “I gave her to you. I gave this time for you to be with her. To experience her growing inside of you. You have tried so hard not to bond with her, because you are so afraid of what it will feel like when she is with Me. Don’t waste this time I have given you to be with her. All you have to decide right now is what to do with the time that is given to you.”

And I knew...I knew He was right. I knew I had been trying not to think about her, or feel her kick (with what I know now, was with one good leg), or feel her turn over. I was trying to act like she didn’t exist when in fact, she DOES exist, she is VERY much alive. Broken, but alive. And I’m wasting time, fearing for the future. I need to enjoy her NOW.

And that was the moment, the dam broke in my heart that I held back. I fell in love with Anna instantly and fiercely. That wall tumbled.

And it’s a good thing, cause the next ‘story’ God used was even a harder lesson to swallow than this one.

In my wanderings of the Bible, He had me sit awhile with the captives of Israel, tucked away in Babylon. And he had me read the story about three guys who’s names I cannot pronounce well, much less read. But for your viewing pleasure, they are: Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego

To me, it’s a familiar story. One I grew up with within the walls of Sunday School & Church. I’ve heard many stories about these three guys and how they refused to bow down to the idol made in the image of the king of Babylon, King Nebuchadnezzar (and yes, I had to look that up. You think I can spell that off the top of my head? ;) )

The story goes that the king sets up this idol, tells everyone in his kingdom that when they hear a certain song play, everyone should stop what they’re doing, face the idol, bow down and pray to it. Only these three guys refuse to do it. When the king finds out about this, he’s furious and has them brought before them.

The following is their defense:

“"O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." (Daniel 3:16b -18)

That phrase, “But even if he does not...” just stood out at me. Why would they say that? I mean, why wouldn’t’ they just say, “Our God’s bigger than your god. And He’s gonna deliver us and we’re gonna dance a dance of victory while you just sit there and glower.”

But even if he does not...wow, do I have THAT kind of faith to say “Even if God doesn’t deliver me from this mess...from this situation that was handed to me, I REFUSE to GIVE IN to you.”

You know what those guys were saying? “Furnace or Freedom – it doesn’t MATTER to me.”

That’s the kind of FAITH they had. Faith that said, Deliverance or Death, I still stand in Faith believing in God and His will over me.

Wow.

And I realized, this is where God is challenging me. “Holly do you trust me, even if this deliverance leads to death? Will you still stand in faith? Will you bow and give into the grief? Will you allow the fires of this trial consume you?”

With what do I answer that?

I answer: “My God I serve is able to deliver and rescue us. But even if He does not, I want everyone to know that I will not serve fear and anxiety, nor worship remorse, bitterness, and regret.”

A hard lesson, but a necessary one, for I ENJOYED every minute of my pregnancy after that. And I LOVED going into labor. I wasn’t fearful, nor really thinking of the sorrow that would eventually come, whenever God called her home.

All I thought about was, “Whoa. This hurts and yet it makes me want to laugh. I’m really going to have a baby!”

Oh, how I wish you could have seen the comedy of my poor groggy husband being awakened to me saying, “I’m having real labor pains and we’ve got to go.” You know what it’s like to wake up a husband at 2 a.m. with those words? He acted like every husband I saw on TV when those words hit. He was disoriented a little delusional and like a wound up spring all at the same time. It was a hoot. That’s one of my FAVORITE memories.

Although I had asked God to please not let it snow, since we had a 40 minute drive from the country, it WAS snowing. Beautiful, huge goose feather-type flakes of snow. So, nobody was no the roads. And it was coming down so symmetrically, that I timed my breathing to the falling snow. It was gorgeous!

I laughed at the ER guy saying, ‘You are NOT having a baby in my waiting room!” and then him whisking me up to labor and delivery.

And the doctor on call was my FAVORITE doctor to visit (so woo hoo to God for that scheduling!). Because Anna was coming to fast, I couldn’t have a localized epidural and because she was breach they had to do a C-Section. I ended up laughing at the anesthesiologists. There were two of them working on me, and by the time the team had gotten me prepped for surgery I was having to will my brain to NOT push, even though my body was telling me to. In order to keep me from getting my heart rate up and getting fearful, I closed my eyes and just started praying, slowing down my breathing and keeping myself as still as possible, while still listening to what’s going on around me. I could feel one of the anesthesiologist’s lean over me and say to the other, “My god, look at that! See her blood pressure numbers?"

And I’m thinking What? WHAT?? Is it really bad?? But I say nothing...

The other doctor looks and says, “Yeah, I do.”

The first doctor: “If I was going through what she’s going through, my blood pressure would be through the roof! Look how LOW her numbers are!”

The other doctor leans over me further. I can feel his breath on my face. “I think she’s doing yoga.”

I pop my eyes open. “No I’m not!” I gasp indignantly through a contraction. “I’m PRAYING.”

Those two guys looked like they were about to jump out of their skin. Haha. I scared them!! I think for a moment, they thought I was truly ‘out of it’. Well I showed them!

They immediately popped that little gas mask on my face and.........//blackness//

I wake up later hearing my husband saying, “Momma. Momma...come and meet your new daughter. Wake up, Momma and hold her.”

I come to and look up to see my husband towering over me with something pink in his arms.

Anna.

He makes sure I’m awake and puts Anna in my arms.

“Hello,” I say softly.

She turns blue eyes to look at me...

...and then...

...she was gone.

I had been passed out for almost three hours after the surgery and the doctors and Brent had done there best to wake me up because Anna was losing precious time. I woke up just in time to say Hello and then Goodbye.

Brent and I both believe that Anna refused to go until she had locked her eyes with mine.

Before she saw Jesus face, the face she really wanted to see...

...was mine.

Happy Birthday, my baby girl. In earth years, you would be seven. I have no idea what life is like for you in heaven. But this I know...

...you are healed and whole, and in God’s everlasting arms.

And I am at peace.

Furnace or Freedom – it doesn’t matter to me.

Wide-eyed Wonder

2010-01-15T20:54:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is a big deal in our household. My little miracle girl turns 7! Wow...Seven. Is it possible? Wasn’t it just yesterday that the director of the adoption agency placed her in my arms at three weeks old? Oh how I cried river of tears on her sweet little sleeping head.

Well, she ain’t sleeping now! As I write this, she is giggling profusely; – though it sounds as if she is trying to muffle the laugh by pulling her bedcovers over her head. She has no idea that I can hear her through the vents that connect her room to mine.

Ahhh...the joys of having a friend spend the night. It’s so much fun! It’s so exciting! It’s so....
...exhausting – for both parent and child the next day. But hey, you only turn seven once. So why not party like tonight’s the last night you’ll ever be six?

I should be cleaning – you know – for all the pint-sized guests that will come flooding in here tomorrow, but what’s the point? They’re all sweet lil’ tornados that will carve a path through our home, hyped up on air and enthusiasm. They won’t care if there’s a layer of dust lying around.

No – they’ll be too busy enjoying the party and each other. Playing games and helping rip open birthday gifts. After they’re loaded with punch and sugary goodies, they’ll sound like Alvin & the Chipmunks on helium.

But this is what it means to turn Seven. To be filled with awe and wonder over the simplest of things – to giggle at absurdities, embrace friendships with gusto and aplomb, to fling open the doors of the heart in faith and embrace what is; living in the moment and reveling in it.

Oh to be a child and SEE the world full of hope and great expectations.

No wonder Jesus tells us to come to Him with faith like a child.

I think sometimes we ‘grow up’ and lose our clear eye sight, as each birthday is not overflowing with wonder and mystery, but is filled instead with griefs and regrets of what we “should have done” or have yet to do.

And Christ calls us to lay these burdens down. To see our lives through HIS life with NEW MERCIES EVERY morning. Not some mornings, or in some season down the road.
But every single day we wake up.

New mercies every day.

Oh Lord, may I be filled with the same kind of awe and wonder as a child, and see possibilities every where I turn. Thank you for my sweet Arianna and how she reminds me to embrace wonder and find joy in the every day. In Jesus name, amen.

First note - working out the kinks

2010-01-14T10:06:00.001-08:00

Woohoo! First note. Still setting this blog up. :)