Well, my few days' hiatus turned into nearly a month!
Little A and I have arrived in our new state, and lived in our apartment for about a week. And we finally have internet. Thank goodness.
Now, while I get into the swing of things here, I've been praying for you gals. I haven't been keeping up on your blogs, but I'm thinking of you and I promise to catch up as soon as Little A gets into her nap-groove.
Speaking of which, I'm a humble beggar for your prayers as well, because I've got a confession to make:
I am one of those moms who let her child have a binky until she is almost three years old. I'm that mom you see in Tar.get with a three year old who has managed to talk me into taking her binky into the store. And trust me, I'm embarrassed! Let me tell you now, I will NEVER again allow a child of mine to keep a binky for so long. NEVER AGAIN.
So yesterday I decided enough was enough. We are going through major transition right now anyway, so why not almost kill myself by getting rid of the binky too? Well, that's just what we did. We took her binky with us to daily Mass, and offered it to Jesus. We asked Him to take it to the babies in Heaven who really need it, and we left it right there in front of the statue of the Madonna and Child. She was totally on board with the plan. She loved the idea actually. But since then we are living in H. E. DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS. Imagine a near-three year old going through withdrawals from some kind of injectible drug. That is what this is like. I wish I was kidding.
We need some serious prayers to St. Michael up in here. And any others you've got. So please, ladies, while this request is paltry compared to the necessities of the world, I would appreciate your prayers so so much.
In the mean time, I'm praying for you every day and can't wait 'till I'm back in the swing of things.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
Hiatus
Just a quick note to say I'm going to be on hiatus for a few days while I help my hubby pack up the uhaul and enjoy his company.
After six weeks without him, I am soooooooo appreciating him. It's amazing the energy you save when your husband can carry the toddler up three flights of stairs, no problem. What's more amazing is how nicely things run when the family is in order. God's ways are the best ways.
I'll be back after he leaves at the end of the week. My prayers and love to you all.
After six weeks without him, I am soooooooo appreciating him. It's amazing the energy you save when your husband can carry the toddler up three flights of stairs, no problem. What's more amazing is how nicely things run when the family is in order. God's ways are the best ways.
I'll be back after he leaves at the end of the week. My prayers and love to you all.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Heaven
I don't usually permit myself to envision heaven. I don't allow myself to think about what it will be like, or who will be there, or what my experience might be in heaven.
It's partly because the concept of heaven, though I believe it is as real as real can be, is too vast for me to grasp in my mind. It's partly because I don't want to presume something so beautiful, so True, so perfect, can be pictured in the human mind. And it's mostly because I am completely okay with the fact that heaven is a mystery, and I don't need to know what it is like while I'm still at work here on earth.
But sometimes I suddenly have an image in my mind that is heaven. Sometimes it's a sound. And I'm not talking about going to the symphony, and hearing heavenly music, or seeing a beautiful piece of art, and feeling as if "oh, that is heaven!"
These insights are completely unexpected, unprovoked, and unusual. And it usually has nothing to do with any of man's accomplishments (works of art, music, etc.) Rather, these glimpses, when they have happened, have come to me in the middle of the night and they are intensely personal. That is, I don't see heaven on a broad scale, I only see the Lord in some way that is specifically applicable to me.
Now, I'm not claiming to be able to see heaven, or that the Lord has granted me any special visions or anything. I just mean that sometimes I think the Lord allows glimpses of eternity as a sign of His Glory. And I think that, particularly for people who are actively carrying a cross--those trying to carry it in unity with Him--these visions of His glory are such graces, such consolations in the midst of darkness.
The night before our viability ultrasound for this baby, when we were 7 weeks and 3 days along, I was in such agony thinking about the possibility that this baby would also be dead, that I would lose another child. My anxiety was through the roof. I couldn't sleep. I was tossing and turning, trying not to wake my husband, trying to make myself calm down and go to sleep. I prayed and prayed for peace, out of trust in the Lord, knowing that whatever happened the next morning, He would carry me through it. But I was exhausted with worry.
And then, I heard--not imagined, not thought in my head, I heard, "I love you mamma." And suddenly it was like I wasn't experiencing the next minute with my senses. I didn't hear, feel, or see anything. All I felt was Peace. I had heard Romeo Gerard tell me that he loved me, and in so hearing, I knew that he knew how much I love him, how much I miss him, how much I felt like I failed him, that I had done everything I could, that I could never forget him, that he knew he was my son.
Then, as suddenly as it had happened, I came back to my senses, and burst into tears. Was I crazy? Had I imagined the whole thing? Was I being superstitious? Does this kind of thing happen to ordinary people like me?
The thing is, I know it was real. I can't deny it. I might sound completely nutso, but I know the Lord granted me that consolation out of mercy, out of kindness, and most of all for His Glory. Because He knows how much I need to trust in Him, how I need to know how close He is to my heart. And He knows that it is to His Glory that such a consolation is a testament.
Nevertheless, He is so wise. Let it not go unnoticed that He didn't grant me such consolations when I was in the thick of desolation--when I was crying out to Him for a miracle, when I was begging Him to console me in my grief, when I was desperate to know He was there. No, this consolation came after volta. It came when I had already decided to trust in Him, even though it was painful. It came when I had already given my fiat, really and truly.
To be clear, I am not saying that I earned this consolation in any way, by trusting Him or otherwise. What I am saying is that He knew not to grant me such a consolation when I was close to despairing, because it was crucial that I trust in Him in the midst of darkness, when I could see no light, no comfort on the horizon. It was critical that I die to myself, even in the worst pain of my life, to learn to love Him while I was mourning such a loss, to learn (in my small human way) that agape that He, Himself demonstrated on the cross.
If He had granted me such consolation in the midst of my little via dolorosa, I may have never fully given myself to Him in my sorrow. I may have stopped short of the spiritual growth that He was making available to me through this loss. And what's more, I likely wouldn't have appreciated such a consolation for what it was--a true vision of heaven--because I'd still be in the midst of my grief and self-focus.
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the Lord.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Isaiah 55:8-9
It's partly because the concept of heaven, though I believe it is as real as real can be, is too vast for me to grasp in my mind. It's partly because I don't want to presume something so beautiful, so True, so perfect, can be pictured in the human mind. And it's mostly because I am completely okay with the fact that heaven is a mystery, and I don't need to know what it is like while I'm still at work here on earth.
But sometimes I suddenly have an image in my mind that is heaven. Sometimes it's a sound. And I'm not talking about going to the symphony, and hearing heavenly music, or seeing a beautiful piece of art, and feeling as if "oh, that is heaven!"
These insights are completely unexpected, unprovoked, and unusual. And it usually has nothing to do with any of man's accomplishments (works of art, music, etc.) Rather, these glimpses, when they have happened, have come to me in the middle of the night and they are intensely personal. That is, I don't see heaven on a broad scale, I only see the Lord in some way that is specifically applicable to me.
Now, I'm not claiming to be able to see heaven, or that the Lord has granted me any special visions or anything. I just mean that sometimes I think the Lord allows glimpses of eternity as a sign of His Glory. And I think that, particularly for people who are actively carrying a cross--those trying to carry it in unity with Him--these visions of His glory are such graces, such consolations in the midst of darkness.
The night before our viability ultrasound for this baby, when we were 7 weeks and 3 days along, I was in such agony thinking about the possibility that this baby would also be dead, that I would lose another child. My anxiety was through the roof. I couldn't sleep. I was tossing and turning, trying not to wake my husband, trying to make myself calm down and go to sleep. I prayed and prayed for peace, out of trust in the Lord, knowing that whatever happened the next morning, He would carry me through it. But I was exhausted with worry.
And then, I heard--not imagined, not thought in my head, I heard, "I love you mamma." And suddenly it was like I wasn't experiencing the next minute with my senses. I didn't hear, feel, or see anything. All I felt was Peace. I had heard Romeo Gerard tell me that he loved me, and in so hearing, I knew that he knew how much I love him, how much I miss him, how much I felt like I failed him, that I had done everything I could, that I could never forget him, that he knew he was my son.
Then, as suddenly as it had happened, I came back to my senses, and burst into tears. Was I crazy? Had I imagined the whole thing? Was I being superstitious? Does this kind of thing happen to ordinary people like me?
The thing is, I know it was real. I can't deny it. I might sound completely nutso, but I know the Lord granted me that consolation out of mercy, out of kindness, and most of all for His Glory. Because He knows how much I need to trust in Him, how I need to know how close He is to my heart. And He knows that it is to His Glory that such a consolation is a testament.
Nevertheless, He is so wise. Let it not go unnoticed that He didn't grant me such consolations when I was in the thick of desolation--when I was crying out to Him for a miracle, when I was begging Him to console me in my grief, when I was desperate to know He was there. No, this consolation came after volta. It came when I had already decided to trust in Him, even though it was painful. It came when I had already given my fiat, really and truly.
To be clear, I am not saying that I earned this consolation in any way, by trusting Him or otherwise. What I am saying is that He knew not to grant me such a consolation when I was close to despairing, because it was crucial that I trust in Him in the midst of darkness, when I could see no light, no comfort on the horizon. It was critical that I die to myself, even in the worst pain of my life, to learn to love Him while I was mourning such a loss, to learn (in my small human way) that agape that He, Himself demonstrated on the cross.
If He had granted me such consolation in the midst of my little via dolorosa, I may have never fully given myself to Him in my sorrow. I may have stopped short of the spiritual growth that He was making available to me through this loss. And what's more, I likely wouldn't have appreciated such a consolation for what it was--a true vision of heaven--because I'd still be in the midst of my grief and self-focus.
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the Lord.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Isaiah 55:8-9
Friday, May 17, 2013
Getting Pretty Excited About Switching Doctors
So today was my last OB appointment here in my current town. My next appointment will be in our new state, and let me tell ya, after today I'm really looking forward to it.
It wasn't horrible, but it left me really thinking how wonderful it would be to have a doctor who could really care about how I feel about pregnancy and children. A Catholic doctor is an invaluable doctor.
I explained to my doc that I am moving, and that I'll be starting my doctoral work in September. She says, "But your baby is due in September! That's really close timing!"
I said, "Yes, it will be a little stressful, but we've done this before. Last time it was finals week." I tried to laugh it off, hoping the conversation wouldn't go where I knew it was bound.
She says, "Well, do we need to have a little talk about planning? Ha ha!"
You should have seen my face. Straight up GRIMACE. I couldn't even help it.
All the implications of that little question: It implied that I wasn't on or didn't use birth control correctly (I wasn't on birth control thankyouverymuch, and I'd like to keep it that way). It completely disregarded that we did try to have a baby with plenty of time before my program started (but darn it all, that baby died). It also completely overlooks what I think is so obvious here: I trust God with planning my babies, more than you will ever know, lady. We don't get to plan, and losing my second baby really kinda makes that super-evident.
I know I can't expect people to think like I do. To cherish life like I do. To know where I'm coming from and how I feel about this baby. But oh, how I wish I could.
It wasn't horrible, but it left me really thinking how wonderful it would be to have a doctor who could really care about how I feel about pregnancy and children. A Catholic doctor is an invaluable doctor.
I explained to my doc that I am moving, and that I'll be starting my doctoral work in September. She says, "But your baby is due in September! That's really close timing!"
I said, "Yes, it will be a little stressful, but we've done this before. Last time it was finals week." I tried to laugh it off, hoping the conversation wouldn't go where I knew it was bound.
She says, "Well, do we need to have a little talk about planning? Ha ha!"
You should have seen my face. Straight up GRIMACE. I couldn't even help it.
All the implications of that little question: It implied that I wasn't on or didn't use birth control correctly (I wasn't on birth control thankyouverymuch, and I'd like to keep it that way). It completely disregarded that we did try to have a baby with plenty of time before my program started (but darn it all, that baby died). It also completely overlooks what I think is so obvious here: I trust God with planning my babies, more than you will ever know, lady. We don't get to plan, and losing my second baby really kinda makes that super-evident.
I know I can't expect people to think like I do. To cherish life like I do. To know where I'm coming from and how I feel about this baby. But oh, how I wish I could.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
A Letter to Myself Before Motherhood
Self,
Yes. I'm doing this. I'm writing a letter you will never read until it's too late. And it's cliche now, I know. To write a letter to your past self. But I'm writing it for others too--those who might be in your position, that in which you are hopeful, still skinny (even though you don't think so), just married, trying to control everything, and in which you do not yet have children. And I'm writing it for your future, because you think you've been through a lot right now--and you have--but you still don't know what's coming, and you need a reminder that this is all His, not yours, so trust in Him. For your own sanity. Please.
Should I tell you everything that's going to happen to you? Make prophecy, like Simeon made to Mary, and scare the living crap out of you? Should I tell you that a sword shall pierce your own heart, and you will give up much of what you thought your life might be?
Should I tell you of the joy, the wonder, the hope you will experience? Should I spoil it all for you now, in the name of the "planning" you so enjoy?
Should I tell you what emotions and thoughts to expect when you hold her, or when you lose him? When you fall to your knees in thanksgiving for the one you now carry? Should I tell you what a miracle feels like?
You, who likes to plan everything and loves only good surprises, you must give that up. You must learn that His plans are unexpected. His surprises are pure Joy. And He will ask you to do hard things. He will require much of your heart. And you will give it to him, by grace, because you love Him. You do. And He knows it. But oh, how He loves you! How He provides for you! Shall I tell you all of that, too?
Sometimes you are irritated because no one really told you what to expect. You think to yourself, "why didn't anyone tell me I would feel this way? Why didn't anyone prepare me?" You are annoyed at this, and you vow to tell other mothers-to-be what they really want to know.
But, you see, no one--not even your own mom--could have told you these things. And there's a reason why: no one could know what our good and gracious Lord has planned for you. And no one could know how He formed your heart to receive His plans, those joyous, and those sorrowful. The reason you are annoyed is because these things aren't under your control, and darling, you have to let go of that. Trust in Him.
So I won't tell you everything either, because if I do, it will take away the opportunities God gives you to put your trust solely in Him, especially when you can't see. Those opportunities are a gift, a wonderful gift. And humbling your sense of control enough to trust is a great grace. Resist the temptation to throw it away for the sake of your perceived sense of control.
Remember, this is all His. He does everything out of love for you. When you are blind, when you feel inadequate, when you are barren, when you are fruitful, when you are fearful, when you are surprised by evil, remember that the Lord has already cured all these things. He is the one true Good within and without this world, and it is Him you seek over all.
Yes. I'm doing this. I'm writing a letter you will never read until it's too late. And it's cliche now, I know. To write a letter to your past self. But I'm writing it for others too--those who might be in your position, that in which you are hopeful, still skinny (even though you don't think so), just married, trying to control everything, and in which you do not yet have children. And I'm writing it for your future, because you think you've been through a lot right now--and you have--but you still don't know what's coming, and you need a reminder that this is all His, not yours, so trust in Him. For your own sanity. Please.
Should I tell you everything that's going to happen to you? Make prophecy, like Simeon made to Mary, and scare the living crap out of you? Should I tell you that a sword shall pierce your own heart, and you will give up much of what you thought your life might be?
Should I tell you of the joy, the wonder, the hope you will experience? Should I spoil it all for you now, in the name of the "planning" you so enjoy?
Should I tell you what emotions and thoughts to expect when you hold her, or when you lose him? When you fall to your knees in thanksgiving for the one you now carry? Should I tell you what a miracle feels like?
You, who likes to plan everything and loves only good surprises, you must give that up. You must learn that His plans are unexpected. His surprises are pure Joy. And He will ask you to do hard things. He will require much of your heart. And you will give it to him, by grace, because you love Him. You do. And He knows it. But oh, how He loves you! How He provides for you! Shall I tell you all of that, too?
Sometimes you are irritated because no one really told you what to expect. You think to yourself, "why didn't anyone tell me I would feel this way? Why didn't anyone prepare me?" You are annoyed at this, and you vow to tell other mothers-to-be what they really want to know.
But, you see, no one--not even your own mom--could have told you these things. And there's a reason why: no one could know what our good and gracious Lord has planned for you. And no one could know how He formed your heart to receive His plans, those joyous, and those sorrowful. The reason you are annoyed is because these things aren't under your control, and darling, you have to let go of that. Trust in Him.
So I won't tell you everything either, because if I do, it will take away the opportunities God gives you to put your trust solely in Him, especially when you can't see. Those opportunities are a gift, a wonderful gift. And humbling your sense of control enough to trust is a great grace. Resist the temptation to throw it away for the sake of your perceived sense of control.
Remember, this is all His. He does everything out of love for you. When you are blind, when you feel inadequate, when you are barren, when you are fruitful, when you are fearful, when you are surprised by evil, remember that the Lord has already cured all these things. He is the one true Good within and without this world, and it is Him you seek over all.
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