True Life : Birthday Kisses, FOR MY sweet Daughter…who would have been one today.
"December 11, 2012"
The world stops on this day…it’s a day that is 9 months in the making, and it’s finally here. As I’m curled up on the couch, as best as I can curl up these days, sitting next to my mom, dad, and siblings watching a movie on the big screen TV that my dad just helped me bring over when I moved back home, they have been glancing over at me every few minutes for the past few days…like I’m a ticking time bomb…and in a matter of speaking, I am. The thought of soon going into labor used to consume my thoughts, but at this point, it hasn’t happened yet…and, for the first time in weeks, I’m able to solely focus on something as small as the characters dancing across the screen in front of me. Absentmindedly my hand runs along the curve of my abdomen…it’s almost second nature…a way to subconsciously soothe both me and the little “me” that resides there. Then it happens…it’s surreal at first, and doesn’t make sense to me…and my initial reaction is panic…something was wrong. I’m sure someday I’ll look back on this and smile, remembering how naive I was to think that something was wrong, when in reality, my water broke. Thankfully my mom snaps into action…getting my overwhelmed and over stimulated siblings under control and reminding my dad that breathing was still important and to grab the keys to the van. Life moves in slow motion as we move from downstairs to the kitchen, throwing on our jackets and boots over our pajamas. My Jacket stopped fitting a long time ago, so my mom wraps a red, long, heavy scarf around my neck and smiles reassuringly. Still in shock, I nod and try my best at a smile back, and follow behind her into the garage and into the front seat of the van. My dad makes sure that my little sister grabbed my travel bag full of a change of clothes for me…and…well, my daughter…and my mom is on the phone with my sister Sam who is not yet home for Christmas Break…telling her that it’s time. My dad drives extra careful on the way over…and on the drive over is when I begin to feel the pain…just minutes apart. I watch the Christmas lights out my window and grab my dads hand next to me as the pain grows, then subsides…grows, and then subsides. This was it. She was right on time…which is funny to me…she was already more punctual than I ever will be…already showing her personality. Hours later, and many tears later…she is here. Her face bright red, screaming at the top of her lungs…her hands curled into tight fists as she cries and cries in protest to this cold new world. My heart stops at the sight of her…I am actually shocked that the heart monitor is still beeping next to me…shouldn’t they be rushing over to me? Making sure I’m okay? Truth is…I’m more than okay. I’m amazed. Her cries begin to subside and her bottom lip pouts a little as she slows her breathing and flexes her fingers. I lift my finger to her hands and she curls her tiny hands around them immediately. She tries to open her eyes to look around…and furrows her eyebrows with the effort…a tear rolls down her round cheek. And suddenly…I’ve never been more in love with anything else in this world. In that moment…my heart was eternally bound to this tiny human being…and even though I’d only seen her face for the first time in the last 5 minutes, I would die for her.
“December 11, 2013"
The world stops on this day…it’s a day that is one year in the making, and it’s finally here. As I’m curled up on the couch, snuggling a napping baby in my arms, sitting next to Emma, my dog, who keeps glancing over at me…clearly jealous of the attention that the purring baby in my arms is getting, watching a movie on the big screen TV that my dad helped me move over into my new apartment earlier in the week. My legs were getting tired standing in the door of her room…waiting anxiously for her to wake up…so I gently removed her from her crib…and still, no luck. She was like me in the sense that she loved sleep too. So I brought her over to the couch and waited. Providing for her has completely consumed my thoughts. I’m willing to work the mundane jobs…I’m willing to stay up late to work crazy shifts so that she can have a good life…and have an even better first birthday. For the first time in a few weeks, I am able to solely focus on the characters dancing on the screen in front of me. But as soon as her arm twitches…and I instantly wonder what she could be dreaming of. Absentmindedly, I brush my fingers across the top of her head, smoothing out her dark, fine hair…it’s almost second nature…a way to subconsciously soothe both me and my mini-me laying in my arms, mouth slightly open. Then it happens…slowly at first, she takes a deep breath and her eyes flicker open…revealing her deep baby blues underneath. A giant grin creeps across my face as I pull her in close…“Happy Birthday, sweetheart” I whisper softly…snuggling her up to my shoulder into a hug. She grunts and yawns softly…rubbing her eyes with her fists, moving them in little circles to wipe the sleep away. I walk over to her room and put on the sparkly pink outfit I found for her at Target earlier in the week. It was worth all of Monday’s tips at the restaurant to get her the outfit…she’s absolutely precious. She takes her hands and pats the sequins on her shirt and bounces in place, singing/humming a song I’ve never heard before…I’m assuming in approval. I take what little hair she has and gather it into a little “Fountain” on top of her head…something my own mother used to do to my hair. Life moves in slow motion as I move from her room to the little nook that holds our coats. I slip into my pea coat and thread her arms into her new bubble coat, little boots, scarf, hat, and mittens. I used to make fun of moms who “went overboard” on the winter gear…but the last thing I want in this world is for her to shiver when I could have prevented it. I savor the little moments these days…even the crying fits, diaper changes, and food that flies across the room. I scoop her into my arms, and give Emma a quick scratch behind the ears and head
Outside, closing and locking the big red door as I leave. My boots squeak and crunch in the snow underneath my feet as we walk toward the car. My daughter squeals with delight as she watches the thick, heavy snowflakes fall from the sky and land softly onto the blanket of snow that already covers the ground. She reaches her little hands out in efforts to catch the snowflakes, the odds greater now that she is wearing her oversized mittens…and she claps whenever she gets one…reveling in the magic of the snowflake disappearing in her own hand once caught. I carefully place her into her car seat, taking care to buckle her in correctly…and as I do, she just beams up at me…as if she knows that today is all about her. That today, everyone was waiting at grandma and grandpas house to celebrate her life…and, of course, to shower her with gifts. I giggle and smile back…giving her a soft kiss on the nose before closing the rear car door and climbing into my own seat up front. I turn the car over and bow my head to pray for a safe journey to my parents house…and begin the 10 minute trek. I listen to my daughter in the back seat…squealing every time she spots some beautiful Christmas lights outside. We turn into my parents neighborhood…and see the line of cars meaning that my family was all there waiting. They saved me a parking spot in the driveway and I take it. I climb out of my seat and take the giddy one year old from her car seat, and walk to the front door. She pats my shoulder eagerly in anticipation…she loves these people…her family. I’m not halfway there when my sister Sam opens the door with a loud “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” and arms extended toward my daughter, who in turn squeals again in delight and reaches back for her. I pass her over and she is carried to the kitchen area where my family waits to get their turn to snuggle this sweet gift…and I smile.
April 1, 2012
The world stops on this day…I’ve known for two days now. And I chickened out of telling my parents…again. Despite the crushing fear that is bringing a human being into this world, this morning I woke up with a strange peace. My heart races when I think about telling them though…how disappointing would I be to them? My mom wanted me to wait until she was 50…at least…to have grandkids. Not to mention me married first. As I’m curled up in bed, savoring the fact that I can still curl up for now, sitting next to my cats and dog, Emma, watching a movie on the big screen TV that I just bought last month, Emma rests her head on my knee, covered by blankets…and she’s seemingly nervous…like I’m a ticking time bomb…and in a matter of speaking, I am. The thought of being pregnant was something that for the last two days had consumed my thoughts…but at this point, there was nothing I could do about it…and for the first time in those two days, I am able to solely focus on something as small as the characters dancing across the screen in front of me. Absentmindedly, my hand runs along my abdomen…it’s almost like second nature…a way to subconsciously soothe myself, and the little being inside of me. Then it happens…it’s surreal at first…and doesn’t make sense to me….and my initial reaction is confusion. And then, it quickly turns into a paralyzing fear. As I look back on that moment now…I wish I could be there to comfort the scared girl who was going through the miscarriage that night. I wish I could hold her and tell her that it would be okay…that it wasn’t her fault. I wish I could make her meals…so that she wouldn’t lay in bed for days afterwards without eating. I wish I could have driven her to the doctors office. I wish I could have convinced her to tell her parents sooner. That in a little over a year, she’d be in a different country, telling people the good news of Jesus…and using her story to reach the unreached. That despite feeling used, and damaged, God would give her a man who wouldn’t judge her for what she’s done, and that he would show her the love of Jesus and choose to love her anyway despite her faults and pain. That this would give her a love and passion for future children that the Lord will bless her with. That she will love them and do anything for them, before she even meets them. That she would mature, and grow through this experience…faster than she would have otherwise. I realize now, sitting here in a hotel in Phnom Penh, Cambodia…that God had other plans for my life.
December 11, 2013
The world stops on this day…it’s a day that is one year in the making. As I’m curled up on my sleeping pad, covered by a blanket but delighting in the air conditioning, sitting next to my teammates who are engrossed in their bibles on their beds for our quiet time…I wipe tears from my eyes, typing this blog toyou. Soon, it will be what would be my daughters first birthday. And it will be the halfway point on this race. It’s been a long road, these past two years or so…and they’ve been by far the hardest. I guess I always figured the Holiday season would be hard this year for me, being on the race, but I didn’t realize just how much it would get to me this year. I’ve grown so much in this past year…through my career, through the miscarriage, and through this race. Jesus has really shown up in my pain and I have even had a vision of meeting her in heaven. And I truly believe that it was real…that I literally went to heaven for the night and sat in a waiting room chair, with her in my arms, singing her hymns and songs praising the Lord. I understand the Lord's timing, and I wouldn’t be sitting here if things hadn’t gone down the way they had. Obviously…I’ve thought about what being a mom would be like…and where my daughter and I would be at this point a year later…what gifts she would get on her birthday, what pictures I could capture of her face covered in cake…but I know that even though my “one year later” looks a lot different than I thought it would be, that I’m exactly where God wants me to be. When I signed up for the race, I remember thinking that I had too much baggage. That good missionaries didn’t make the mistakes that I did…no, that missionaries didn’t make my mistakes at all. Period. That they didn’t almost have a baby out of wedlock. So I intentionally kept that from AIM during my interview. I did so, despite my feeling like I wasn’t being honest and straightforward with them. A few people on my squad knew my story after I was accepted…and I was shocked at their responses of love and acceptance to me and my past. And I wasshocked to hear their stories as well. Maybe missionaries were as broken as normal people? Heck, maybe missionaries were normal people? All of this was confirmed in my first two weeks on the race. In meeting people who had been through what I had been through…and more…things that I never associated with missionaries. Sex outside of marriage, lust, pornography, homosexuality, adultery, eating disorders, low self esteem, dealing with sexual, physical, verbal, emotional abuse…jealousy, rage, addictions…we all struggled with something that directly contradicts everything I ever thought about missionaries…I wish I had known, sitting at the computer before I signed up…before I had judged myself for what I’d done…and inadvertently, judged every single person on this race right now. No human is perfect. Not one. Only Jesus reached that accomplishment…and He reached it because He’s God and totally owned satan in the Face and beat him at his own game of lies and schemes with truth and grace. Because He knew what I would do in my life…and knew that in order for Him to spend eternity with me, that I needed help. And dude, it’s gone. Every stupid thing I’ve done…every mistake…every shortfall and shortcoming. Clean. Gone.
So if you’re sitting there at your computer, blog stalking, memorizing every line of this World Race Website, and are scared that you’ve done too much wrong…let me tell you that you have a clean slate. Everything in your past is a beautiful testimony that needs to be shared. Because of what you’ve been through, you could reach someone that I might not be able to here in Cambodia…just because you “know that feel”. So, to honor the memory of my daughter's "first birthday”…I wanted to tell you that you are forgiven. And your story is beautiful. So apply. Brag about how much God has saved you from…it tells us in the bible to boast in the Lord! So do it! Because He’s awesome, and so is your story.
And if you don't believe…if you are sitting here, wondering why you're reading the blog of some crazy missionary, but moved in a way you can't explain…let me affirm you in this. You are forgiven. The God of the universe, who created YOU, died for you. For your mistakes. For your moral failures. You are not passed saving. Every sin is equal at the foot of the cross…murder…theft…liars…adulterers…every single thing you have ever done is bought and paid for so that you can spend eternity with Jesus Christ in Heaven. I am not a perfect person. No one is. And I can't earn my way to heaven no matter how hard I try. All it takes is for me to let go of the guilt and shame and to trust that Jesus Christ is my savior, and that He is the only way to heaven. That He loves me and has a plan for me. That's it. If you want to know more, please let me know. I would love to talk to you!
Consider this the confirmation that you’ve been looking for. Here’s your sign. Go. Make disciples. Tell your story. And be proud of it. Like I am.
