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Remembering the Forgotten Ones

For all those who long for a child lost through miscarriage, stillbirth, abortion, SIDS, or early infant loss...

For all those who mourn alone after the flowers, cards, meals and prayers stop coming...

For all those who regretfully remove a number from the count when a stranger asks how many children they have, simply to avoid awkwardness...

For all those who remember birthdays that were never celebrated...

For all those who joyfully remember all the moments that made that life real...

You are not alone. You are loved. Your child's life matters. Your child's soul still lives. In faith, you will be reunited one glorious day.

The Joyful Burden of Motherhood

Tonight I cried for my son. He is seven years old and oh, how he struggles in school and consequentially in his emotions. I cried because tomorrow he will be evaluated for dyslexia and other learning disorders. It is an evaluation that comes after a seven month wait list, years of speech therapy, six months of vision therapy, and a year of six days a week reading intervention. Tomorrow is his evaluation and two days later he is supposed to start 2^nd grade and I’m worried sick whether he should or repeat 1^st grade. Research supports both options. Research condemns both options. Only I can make the right decision for my child. This evaluation is the final deciding factor.

And my child misplaced his glasses. Not only do they help his eyesight, but they help his confidence—a necessity for the four hour assessment he will face tomorrow.

We’ve turned the house and cars upside down. We’ve called restaurants and friends’ houses. They are gone. And the sands of the hourglass are almost gone.

UPDATE: My neighbor found his glasses in their basement prior to the assessment!

So my tears fell and he didn’t understand why I was so sad. It was so much more than buying a replacement pair. He went to sleep unphased as I sobbed in my office, on my knees before God. It is something I have done many times in this boy’s life.

First, as I prayed for God to bless my hopes for another baby to carry, nourish, and cherish in my womb.

Then again, eighteen weeks into my pregnancy as pains shot through my abdomen, reminiscent of my three prior miscarriages, I prayed for him. I pleaded for God to intervene and save my child.

From the time he was just nine months old until he was two-and-a-half, I cried to God to help him learn to pronounce ANY of the consonant sounds. I begged God to help my frustrated toddler who tried so hard to speak to us.

As a preschooler, when he would scream at me because he couldn't distinguish between a triangle or circle or an A from an S, I came to God in my helplessness.

Now I plead for my sweet and loving son who is ravaged by anger because he thinks he is dumb (even though he can build a 700 piece Avengers Lego set by himself). I cry for my child who doesn’t understand how everyone else in his class can decipher these letters and words and feels isolated even as his many friends gather around him to help him.

The burden to be the mommy he needs is great. His advocate. His protector. His interventionist. And I feel so inadequate. I don’t know the lingo or his rights. Even the things I thought I knew, such as how to comfort my child or ease his fears, seem inadequate in the presence of such mighty challenges.

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. It is as brutal and painful as it is beautiful and life-giving. I once heard is said that choosing to become a mother is like choosing to have your heart walk around outside your body. Just as we have the honor of sharing every joy and excitement in their lives, we also bear every insult, fear, worry, insecurity, and frustration that they endure.

This burden is great. But it is a joyful burden because I can look back and see the triumphs. I remember how it felt to discover I was expecting him and how grateful I was to finally hold him in my arms, living and breathing in the delivery room. I remember the joy of finally hearing him say the m-sounds in Mommy and when he finally learned every shape and every letter.

Those times I’m reminded that God is watching over my Jonathan.  He loves him even more than I do. He is a better advocate, protector and interventionist than I am. He sees him. Just as he saw Ishmael’s life withering away in the desert to the soundtrack of his mother’s weeping, and rescued him, he sees my child. With the love of a father, he sees him. And he sees me, the weeping mother. I am Hagar and He is the God Who Sees Me. He reminds me that this joyful burden of motherhood is a blessed calling--one that I love and cherish, but thankfully don’t have to carry alone.

The Long Way Off, A Novel: Chapter 1

The Long Way Off

Chapter 1

“You are perfectly ordinary. That might be what I love most about you, Liz,” he explained. “You are just a normal girl. I don’t have to worry about you chasing after some big dream someday. You don’t have plans to backpack around Europe or devote your life to curing cancer or anything like that. I know that every day when I come home from work, you’ll be there waiting for me. And I won’t have to worry about another guy trying to steal you away. They can go after those other girls—”

“How is everything?” the waitress asked over her shoulder as she carried a tray of food for another table.

“It’s great. Thanks,” Brian smiled at the waitress. “Like her. The guy who marries her is always going to have to be watching to see if someone else is trying to woo her away.”

Elizabeth stared blankly at him. Flashing only brief moments of a courtesy smile. She pushed her spaghetti around with her fork. It was delicious; this restaurant definitely lived up to the hype surrounding its opening. She just didn’t have much of an appetite. It had been a long day.

“The thing is: life with you will be comfortable and easy. Just what I’ve always imagined. It is like God made you to perfectly fit into my life.”

Elizabeth smiled down at her plate. It was a compliment, she told herself. That had been her goal, after all; to perfectly fit somewhere. She had spent the past three years doing everything in her power to make his life better. She was available when he had time for her. She encouraged him in his studies and his ministry. She stood by his side when he received awards for his scholarship and kissed his cheek after a great speech. She fit the mold precisely. In return for her efforts, she was invited to holiday dinners, vacations, and special occasions with his family. She had someone to sit with at funerals, weddings, and the dinner table. She wasn’t alone and there is a lot to be said for that.

Yet something wasn’t sitting right.

“Well, I have to use the restroom. Excuse me.” He nodded his head, checking a message on his phone.

“Sure,” he said without looking up. “Hey, Seth and the guys say ‘congratulations.’“ He chuckled as his thumbs typed a response.

She pushed back her chair as she stood. The industrial-style heavy metal chair scraped against the stained concrete and made a wretched screech. Brian almost dropped his phone at the noise. Several people nearby turned to see who had dared to ruin their meal. A girl, one of those beautiful girls that men would fight over, sneered in her direction. She rolled her big, heavily lashed eyes and turned back towards her date.

That was the first time she saw him. He was watching Elizabeth as she absorbed the glares of her fellow restaurant-goers. She fidgeted in the center of attention; it was her least favorite place to be. He waited for her to meet his gaze. When she did, they held eye contact. Even though he was fifteen yards away, she could see his striking green eyes. He was very handsome. A great counterpart to the beautiful girl at his table, she thought.

“Jeez,” Brian exclaimed, still looking down at his phone. “Did you leave a rut in the concrete? Maybe you should have ordered that salad instead.”

Elizabeth gave an embarrassed smile as she carefully lifted the chair and placed it under the table. She pivoted on her heels and took a step, nearly colliding with one of the servers. The man fluidly lifted a tray of drinks up and over her, saving them both from causing another scene.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t….” she fumbled for words. People kept watching her.

“Man, Liz. People are going to think you are drunk because of your clumsiness. Great testimony,” Brian joked, shaking his head as he raised his water glass in the air and looked around, as if engaged in an awkward toast with all the disapproving customers.

Elizabeth didn’t respond. Like a magnet her eyes went back to the man on the date. He was staring at Brian with a look of disdain. When he turned his focus back to her, his green eyes didn’t cast a look of frustration or annoyance. Rather, they were steady and unwavering. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a smirk. With a small flick of his chin upwards, it seemed like he was trying to inspire confidence in her.

Trying to take his cue, she straightened and smoothed her dress. She mimicked his smirk and after checking for other servers, she walked confidently yet quickly to the restroom, bypassing tables and restaurant patrons who had already forgotten about her existence. She was content to be invisible again.

She did a double-take in the restroom hallway. This new restaurant was apparently too modern for typical Men and Women labels for their restrooms. Rather, they had abstract drawings signifying each. Thoroughly confused, she stood for a moment trying to decipher the symbols.

“Women’s is right there.” It was the server with whom she had almost collided. He walked briskly past her to the kitchen, the empty tray swinging in his hand.

“Thank you,” she tried to say but he was already gone. Just then two teenage girls, dressed as if they had just finished walking the stage at Fashion Week, pushed their way through the bathroom door, giggling uncontrollably.

“Oh. My. Goodness. Who does that?” one girl laughed to her friend.

Elizabeth let them pass. She recognized them from the high school where she did ministry. They obviously didn’t recognize her, or even see her. They let the heavy door slam in front of Elizabeth. Invisibility has its down sides.

She stepped into the seemingly vacant restroom. It was the first time all day that she had been alone.  Although she was an introvert, she didn’t often like to be alone. Most of her life, she had been alone. She felt more comfortable in large groups. She liked the noise and the feeling of being included, even if it was a facade. Today was a day of lots of noise and a lot of people, yet she felt lonely all the same. Groups of people seemed to talk about her rather than to her. When it came to actual conversation, she preferred small groups and one-on-one conversations. It was in those situations that God could use her to help others. As far as she knew, that was her purpose in life.

As she walked to the sink and mirror, she heard the sobs. In the stall next to the vanity a girl was crying quietly, but everything echoed loudly in this bathroom with its cold, stainless steel and mirrored walls. Elizabeth resisted the desire to call out to the girl. She probably needs the solitude as much as I do right now, she pondered.

Elizabeth braced herself against the sink, closed her eyes and took a deep breath trying to steady her whole being. It reminded her of the time she went on a carnival ride with her grandpa. It spun around and the force pushed her back against the wall and held her there.  At seven years old, she wasn’t strong enough to move her body against the centrifugal force so she just endured. Laughter swirled around her, yet she just closed her eyes and waited for it to end. Her grandpa reached over and held her hand. When the ride ended, he continued to hold her hand as she dizzily walked off of the ride. He helped to steady her. She wished he was there to hold her hand right now. The sink was cold and hard, a poor replacement for a warm hand.

She opened her eyes when she heard the stall door open. The girl walked to the sink next to her. She was wearing the signature white top and black slacks that all the servers wore. Her name tag said, “Grace.” She looked familiar. She thought she might have seen her at church before. Grace adopted the same stance as Elizabeth, flattening her palms against the sink, arms taught as if they were the only things keeping her upright. Her shoulders drooped and she was just staring at herself in the mirror, the tears still streaming out of her swollen eyes and down her wet, red cheeks.

Elizabeth washed her hands thoroughly, more to wash away her discomfort than germs. She could sense Grace shift her eyes to her reflection in the mirror. Elizabeth kept looking down at the water as it splashed off her hands and spiraled down the drain. Finally, she turned off the water and turned to grab a paper towel from the basket sitting between the two sinks. Her hand collided with Grace’s hand as she also reached for a towel.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You go first.” Elizabeth conceded.

“Thank you.” She blotted her cheeks and blew her nose loudly. “I’m quite a sight.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to say.

“Ugh…even my hair is a wreck.” Grace proceeded to pull out the bobby pins that had secured her long auburn locks into a messy bun. One of the pins fell from her shaky hands to the floor. Elizabeth bent down to pick it up and placed it on the sink next to the others.

“Are you okay?” she managed to squeak out.

Fresh tears appeared and the waitress squeezed her eyes tight.

“Some guys are just jerks!” she erupted. “They think they can use a girl to get what they want and then just throw her out like, like trash!” Her face turned to a scowl at the final word.

Elizabeth thought for a moment.

“Look, Grace…” she motioned to her name tag. “I don’t know you but I can promise that you are worth much more than this. No guy should treat you like that.”

“I am so dumb. I thought he really liked me, you know?”

“One day you’ll meet someone who treats you how you deserve,” Elizabeth offered.

“Well, it looks like you already found yours.” She nodded towards the large diamond ring on her left hand, trying to lighten the mood. “Dang, girl! How do you hold your hand up? Does he have a brother?”

They both chuckled. The girl wrapped one last tendril around the bun and secured it with a pin.

“Thanks for making me feel better. I’m sorry for making a scene. My manager is probably writing my pink slip right now.”

“No, you don’t have to apologize. I would do the same,” Elizabeth hesitated at the door. “God bless you, Grace.”

Returning to the table, she wondered how much to explain to Brian.

“Took you long enough. I already paid the bill. Are you ready to go?” He yawned and pulled his hands through his sandy blond hair and up into a stretch. “I’m tired. This has been a long day.”

“Um, sure.” As she pulled her purse out from under the table, she saw the broken-hearted redhead walking proudly and defiantly from the kitchen, past the bathroom doors with a glass of red wine in her hand. She brushed past Elizabeth and whispered, “Watch this.”

Elizabeth turned to see her walk up to the table with the blond and the man with green eyes. Grace stood over him and loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, proclaimed, “I’m worth more than this!”

At that, she poured the glass of wine on the front of his freshly pressed, stark white shirt. There was a gasp across the restaurant. The two teenage girls howled in laughter. One of the hostesses clapped approvingly. A manager near the bar yelled, “Grace!” The blond at the table jumped up.

Grace turned and assuredly sauntered to the kitchen, throwing Elizabeth a sly smile as she passed. The manager wavered between following her to demand her apron or helping his customer attempt to soak up the merlot.

“Do you know her?” Brian asked. Elizabeth didn’t hear him though. She was caught in a stare with the man with the green eyes and burgundy-streaked shirt. The smirk remained, even as his date berated him with questions and demanded their meal be paid for out of that “maniac’s check.” Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile back at the ridiculousness of the situation and his ability to remain cool and calm under these circumstances. Brian grabbed her arm and led her to the door. 

Walking through the front doors, the quiet of the city street welcomed them. The students for the fall semester wouldn’t start arriving until tomorrow. After the commotion of the restaurant, it felt peaceful; a nice end to a chaotic “best day of her life.” At least that is what others might call it. It hadn’t been a bad day by any means. There had been many worse days in her life. She was happy, of course, but she hoped that this was not the pinnacle of her life. If it truly was the best day of her life up until this point, then she chose to be cautiously optimistic that it would not remain so.

They walked to the car parked down the city block. The air was thick and warm. In the flow of the streetlights she saw the end-of-summer bugs swarm above their heads.

“That’s what I was talking about,” Brian began.

“What were you talking about?” Elizabeth smiled at him, proud of having such a man of integrity to marry. She couldn’t imagine him treating a woman the way the man in the restaurant had treated Grace. She wrapped her arm around his.

He continued, “Pretty girls cause so much drama. It makes me all the more thankful for you.” He playfully squeezed her close to him.

Her smile melted away. She looked down at her newly ornamented finger. She thought it might take her whole life to get used to the weight of it. She splayed her fingers out in front of her to get another look at it. In the scurry of the actual proposal, then the gathering of friends, and then dinner, she hadn’t really taken the time to examine the massive diamond. Standing at the stoplight waiting to cross the street, the stone reflected the green light. Her thoughts went back to the man with the green eyes at the restaurant.

**If you liked this chapter and would like access to the entire novel, contact me and I will add you to the facebook group!

Marriage is Hard: An Honest Look at the "Love Your Spouse" Challenge

I was challenged by several of my friends and family to post pictures in a facebook challenge to celebrate my love for my husband. I love this idea and this is not meant to discourage anyone who has already or is currently participating in that challenge. However, for me, this isn’t as easy.

I have been married to a wonderful man for fourteen years. He is a great man. He is highly respected at his work, at our church and in our social circles. And he is a perfect husband. Or at least he would be to a woman with a very different personality than mine. He is an imperfect husband to me though. And the same is true about me.

For some other man, I would be a dream-come-true wife. Although I joke that if I was married to someone more similar to me we would be living in a van down by the river. (Yes, babe, I did just quote Chris Farley—you see, readers, the perfect wife for my husband would ALWAYS appreciate Chris Farley’s humor. I do not. Imperfect Wife, right here.)

If you were a betting man, you would bet against our marriage. We have not had easy circumstances. We have moved eight times, suffered three miscarriages, birthed three baby boys, adopted one baby girl, lost four grandparents and one parent. We have battled Satan over various sins through the years. We have two wildly different personalities that make us see EVERY SINGLE SITUATION differently. Big things and little things.  Every one of the situations listed above were handled differently by each of us. George always took the logical, reasonable approach. I always took the emotional, verge-of-breakdown approach.

Prior to March 15, 2002, we were unaware of the challenges we would face in life or how our differences would impact us. On our first grocery shopping trip after our honeymoon we fought over the shape of tortilla chips. He insisted on round chips. I insisted on restaurant-style triangle chips. (We agreed to disagree and bought both kinds). We also had no idea what demons would be appearing in times of stress. Neither of us knew that I would struggle with various eating disorders or significant bouts of depression that almost destroyed me and us in the process.

People often talk about how marriage gets better with time. Am I the only one that thinks it gets harder? We have added four more strong personalities into our family dynamic, not including our two demanding dogs. Our once simple life has grown from a one bedroom $500 a month apartment to a multiple bedroom, constantly messy and loud single family home.

So with this challenge, I don’t celebrate how perfect my marriage is. I celebrate that in spite of the imperfections, we are still engaged in the battle. And that is what it is. It is not easy. I don’t imagine that my marriage ever will be. As long as I have an emotion in my heart and he has logic in his brain, we will struggle. But I tell you, if we ever figure out how to combine George's wisdom and efficiency with my compassion and heart, then Satan be damned because we will be an unstoppable force in the kingdom. I hope that happens in our time on earth, but if not, it will happen in heaven and it will ALL BE WORTH IT!

Here are a few “Love Your Spouse” pictures that paint a more realistic picture of marriage.

1. Our first post-honeymoon pic in our shoddy apartment. Poor kids...they have no idea what is about to hit them.

2. At first look, this is a beautiful picture of the Great Smoky Mountains on our 6 month anniversary trip. In reality, it was horrible and we fought the whole time and left early. Here I'm wondering what the heck I committed to.

3. After our second miscarriage, George bought me a puppy. A horrible little thing, she was meant to bring peace and she brought puppy-toothed destruction for the first year. Of course, she has redeemed herself the last 11 and Molly has been a great counselor to us in our marital turmoil--mostly because she always takes my side. This is him sleeping with her the first night in our home because she wouldn't stop crying. LOVE!

 4. Jonathan's first birthday. We have no couple picture at this time because we were actually separated for a few months. For me, this picture is draped in sadness. Fortunately, our kids were unaware.

5. A few months after Jonathan's first birthday, we attended a Family Life Weekend to Remember Getaway. We had already reconciled but our struggles had not disappeared. It was a great weekend, but marriage conferences aren't always the solution to marital differences. This is us trying to recreate Family Life's iconic pose for their conference. Notice the strain of muscles. I think George threw out his back.

6. My husband and I don't stay up until 2am talking about our hopes and dreams. That was my definition of love prior to marriage. Now, Love looks like your husband being willing to wear chaps because you decide to dress up like this for Halloween and he needs to match. (Can you tell I had just read Redeeming Love?)

7. Love also looks like sitting in 20 degree weather to watch the Thanksgiving parade in Estes Park because your wife demands that we make happy family memories. Look at that happiness.

 8. (Eight because seven is so cliché.) Running a marathon in New Orleans, together but not together. We both love to do races. George runs. I jog. We will never run together. The last family run we went on, a tornado hit our neighborhood right afterwards. That was our sign. Still, he encourages me to do what I love. He even puts up with me when I spend the whole weekend fawning over Mark Wahlberg because I saw him and we made eye contact.

 9. The most important one, imo. This is a fraction of the books that I have read to try to better our marriage. (I could not find the classic "When Pleasing You is Killing Me"). Some see this as a sign of weakness. I don't. It means I'm fighting. And so is George. A less faithful man would have left long ago.

Note: I have many wonderful friends who despite all their efforts, could not save their marriage. And I watched how God has loved them through it (even when some Christians have not). I do not judge you. I love you and I hope the best for you!

Perhaps one day you will see me showering social media with love-filled pics where no disclaimer is necessary. Until then, I'll be fighting alongside my husband to make this thing called marriage work. Our efforts are worth it. And maybe then we will have that Family life pose nailed down!