Testing...1-2...testing....1-2-1-2..

A decision has to be made.  I got a call from my doctor today asking if we wanted to do any genetic testing...Will and I, that is. 


Our insurance would not allow any extensive testing to be done while I was pregnant with Branson, nor did we wish to do any extensive testing on Branson after she was born. They were not able to test any cord blood, and whatever testing they could have done would have been very expensive and very invasive.  We were not even sure if the few tests they could do would even tell us anything. There might have not been an answer anyway.  Therefore, we are left to our own ideas, the doctor's best guesses and physical examination alone.  


The doctors had always been hesitant to diagnose, and Branson's problems did not fit into any genetic code or criteria.  We had a few basic tests done when I was pregnant with Eason in 2006, which had come back normal...and when I think that we may carry some elusive genetic anomalies, I just need to look at this:

to know that the chances of us having a healthy child are more than present.......


So, that being said....why do I still hesitate to move forward with testing....the evidence would come back to me in percentages anyway. What would I do with such ambiguous information......?


It does seem like the responsible thing to do if we decide to try for another child....and if God decides to allow us to conceive....and if we are able to carry that baby to term...alive.....and if God allows that child to live their life on this earth with us........so many "ifs"......


It makes me wonder IF I am even in control of any of it........


Will you pray for us....? That we move into the hallways and through the doors that God wants us to move.....Will you pray we see the step ahead clearly or that He gives us the strength and the faith to step anyway...even when we don't? Thank you, friends.

Bringing things into the light...

A good friend mentioned something this morning.....that light, when brought into dark places, acts as a disinfectant.  That it cleanses things that hide, grow and flourish in the dark.

All day I have been sitting with this....I have been thinking about it in terms of how Branson's story has been played out in the light......so exposed....and sometimes that has been painful.
There have been people that I have passed in the supermarket, that if I had not been so public about my story, would have never known what had transpired.  I would had been able to walk by them with a casual "hello" or a "how is your mom?"......I would have been able to avoid some awkward moments and some raw conversation in the park. I would have been able to hide some of the weaknesses.......

Yet, I cannot imagine the greater pain of walking this out in secret.  I cannot imagine the isolation that would have followed...the almost inevitable depression.....

Therefore, I am glad that the light was able to lay on this, warm it, disinfect even the most diseased parts....I am thankful and grateful for the very simple fact that God SHOWED UP....that He became the stilts I could stand on.  I am honored to be a part of His story...of Branson's story.

The "story" is a novel that this story is a part of....a subplot of an anthology....Branson's story, although magnified greatly in my life, is only a glimpse at what God is trying to say to us.

The message is simple:

Bring your story to the light.

Abuse....Abortion...Bad Decisions....An indiscretion...
Mistakes...Adultery...Miscarriage..
.Affairs...Lies...
Separation...Heartbreak...
..all of it.....
things that you have done....things that have been done to you....

The story has purpose.....unless it is kept out of the light....
There, in the dark, it only has dominion over you.
It is only there as a tool that the enemy uses to destroy you....

Nowhere is this more necessary than from parent to child....in time...in process....in relationship.
Open.
Reveal.
Restore.
It is the story He created in you.

Like I said, this is huge....a much larger, even EPIC journey that I am only teetering on the verge of......

I leave you with the first hints of summer in our family.  They are a breath of fresh air as we begin the next chapter of our lives...as we expect great things from the Lord.

The first person she thinks about in the morning is not herself.  You may have been, at one time or another, the person she thought of when she awoke.  I know I have been.  My mama thrives on care.  It is what she made her profession.  It is why she can still say after 35 years that she enjoys her work.  It has always been more than work to her.  She cares. It is who she is.  

This year, like many other years, I have needed her incessantly.  This year, like many other years, others have needed her as well.  She balances.  She prioritizes. She leans on some underground stream of strength from which she is  able to continue to love on me.  She is honest, often truth seeking, and occasionally exhausted.  She does not pretend to be able to go forever. She is able to say no, but mostly wants to say yes.   

She has given her time, her money and her life to me.  She laid down her pride and did what was best for me.  She sacrificed much so that I could be whole, could flourish, could be healthy inside. She has gifted me over and over and over.

Her greatest and most influential gift to me has been her story.  Her truthful account of her life- inside and out.  Her tears as she told of her shortcomings, her failures, her brokenness.  Her hero tales, her inside jokes, her childhood fears and her history. She left no rock unturned.  I never was met with the heavy realization that my mother wasn't perfect.  She was always real, always human, always honest, always open. I was able to be real. I was able to be authentic. I was able to relate and to reflect on accomplishment, on relationships, on sin- Her stories, her truth and reality kept me from disaster more than once.  

It is not thankfulness that I feel.  It is the core of who I am reflected in her.  It is being able to be who God made me because the tree from which I came was not too shady nor too bare.  It was full of all experience, clean or unclean....all of it.

Somewhere in her history, many times, in fact, my mother encountered her Savior.  It was in the deep wooden benches of her back road church, under the baritone praise of a long-legged Daddy.  It was riding in cars with new dresses to the store.  It was riding bareback and picking daisies and playing with beagles.  It was in sewing machines and dances with red-headed sweethearts.  It was in wading through wild and being broken and used. It was in fix-er-up shacks and black curls.  It was in heartache and mistake and abuse and laughter and Christmases alone and together and wondering and waiting and seeking.  It was in prayer and gathered women.  It was in Chinese food and blue chairs and Friday nights and Fresca.  It was in broken hearts and sleepless nights and baby cries.  It was in long mountain walks and photographs.




I love her....and it never feels that I will ever be able to adequately help her understand that I have listened.  That I have tasted her honesty, her truth, her ability to see what I am thinking and not saying......I tell my story because she told hers when noone else would....I love her...and not for what she gives me, but for what she allowed me- freedom to be the me that God intended, freedom for that journey, and love along the way.  

Babies

Babies are everywhere.
Yesterday, my niece Evelyn Ann was born. She and my Branson were to have been the best of friends. Melanie and I were so excited at the thought of having our girls together, just like we had done with our "boys"

This loss is one of the greatest gaping wounds that I have ever experienced... Not the blessing of "Evie", not jealousy, not anger... Just the fact that such a beautiful experience was missed... Was taken from me: to raise our girls side by side.

I held her today.

I had wondered what it would feel like. I had wondered if I would be angry or jealous or even so weepy and broken that I wouldn't be able to experience HER.
But I did. I did see her. Her dark black hair. Her button nose and sweet little tounge moving and searching in her mouth. Her wrinkled toes:).
She was magnificent.

In the car, later, I wept. I wept for me... For the loss of something I wanted... A plan I had... A dream I wanted to share.

My niece will know when she came into my life. She will know what it meant to me, and what she is to me. She will know that God used her little lips and eyebrows and pinky fingers to bless me and comfort me today. She will be loved just a teensy bit more than usual... And I don't apologize for needing to snuggle her a little more than normal.

Being a Rose

I forget sometimes that people are reading this. 
Sometimes I am simply writing out of exhaustion or relief or even excitement.  It seems that when I am overflowing, this is where I come.  At the same time, when I am empty or barely moving, this is where I find myself as well. It is not a testament of faithfulness to myself, but a coping mechanism.  
That said, I forget that there isn't a thread that combines these writings.   Reading my posts means that you are coming with me on the journey, and unlike a novel or story, they are without climax or resolution.  Rather, they swing like the pendulum they are- from healing, to devastation, from hopeful to immobilized.  It is exhausting, isn't it.  
I forget that this is a story meant to be seen from far away....like viewing the constellation from the earth, rather than telescopically studying the stars themselves.


Today, I am barely making it.  Today, my arms feel heavy with loss. Today, I am stuck, still, listening, waiting, wanting to crawl in bed and sleep...escape.  Today makes me fear tomorrow because it may mean that I am retreating....could things get worse before they get better? yes...they could.  Of course, His mercies are new every morning, and tomorrow could bring unexplained relief, peace and joy.  It is always the not knowing that makes the day harder.


My cousin bought me two roses in memory of Branson.  She doesn't know that I kill plants.  All plants...plants that read "resilient". "do not overwater." "needs minimal care."
I have not potted them yet.  I have been reading how to do it.  They have survived two storms, been knocked over, dirt spilled out, leaves blown off, forgotten for 2 to 3 days.  
Today, when I left the house, a bright pink and yellow rose, faced the sun with confidence, admiration and purpose.  She was exactly as she was created to be.  God is so pleased with this rose.  She is a survivor.  He blessed it even though it seemed to be forgotten.  


This rose doesn't symbolize Branson. This rose symbolizes me.  I do not feel like this rose today, just like I don't see what God sees when I look in the mirror.  This is how God sees me.  When I have felt forgotten, He waters me still.  
So, I will stretch towards Him, facing the Son, with confidence and admiration for my Savior.  I will reach and search for purpose, even when I feel like sinking and withering.






Isaiah 35:1 The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.

Cloudy Skies

Two months ago today, we buried Branson under a cloud-filled rainy sky.  As the air became filled with praise, the clouds broke.  There was sunlight.  Today, it rains....memories, blessings, release.


There is a discrepancy between what I feel and what I feel allowed to feel.  A brick wall separating reality and perception.  We went for a hike last weekend.  It was strenuous- a quick, elevated ascent to a beautiful tip-top experience. I was absolutely dying.  My lungs screamed for mercy and my heart seemed to beat out of my chest.  I had never felt more physically unable in all my life.  As I struggled, a thought arose in my mind: 


You delivered a baby 7 weeks ago........


The thought physically choked me.  The tears begged to flow.....But, instead, I swallowed hard.  I felt I couldn't allow such a thought. Unlike a mother who nurses a 7 week old, I was here without her. 
My body was not the body of a mother who had just given birth...for I have no 7 week old.


My heart and soul and body don't align.  Nothing aligns....I am left feeling like the chasm between what I do feel and what I am allowed to feel will forever be bridge-less.


Just as I stood at her grave wondering how God was going to use this, I stand today wondering how God is going to use my weakness. 
 I cling to Him.....for He makes sense from senselessness.
He makes strength from brokenness.
He makes beauty from ashes.
He makes purpose from wandering.


He makes sunlight break free from cloudy skies.

An Easter Story

I was lost.
He found me.


I was aching.
He held me.


I was immobilized and numb.
He stirred me.


I was confused.
He showed me.


I was worried.
He comforted me.


I was dirty.
He washed me.


I was without purpose.
He guided me.


I was condemned.
He rescued me.


This was not a specific moment of my life, but a continuous process that I walk.  He does it day after day after day because I fall, retreat, hide and forget. 
 He reminds me with His love that He paid the price once and for all, yet He continually comes to my side and pursues me.......
My Easter Story is just beginning....the sun is rising in my life....