The Hard Truth

Friday is the only day that I work outside the home now, and Tim takes the day off from Pastor work until I get home.  We call it “Daddy Day.” He feeds Libby all her favorite foods, dresses her in the same Avengers t-shirt every week, and if the weather is nice enough, he takes her out to town to run errands.  A few Fridays ago, they surprised me at work.  I love when they come in and I can show her off to the patients who ask about her so much.  Since this was a quick, surprise drop-in and they weren’t staying for a whole appointment, I had to soak up every second I could get with her.  So I lodged her on my hip as I answered a phone call, helped a patient check in, and led another patient back to a treatment room to wait for the doctor.

Daddy's favorite shirt

“How old is she now?” she sweetly asked.  She’s a grandma and I could see the wheels turning as she tried to guess, no doubt comparing her height and hair length with that of her own granddaughters.

“She’s sixteen months already.  It’s going so fast!”

“So I suppose she’s running, not walking, right?” she knowingly asked, winking at me.

Ugh.  That question again.  It’s sweet and curious and well-intentioned every time it’s asked of me. It’s a routine, small-talk question that people ask simply to establish common ground and let you know they understand, they feel for you.  They know you’re physically and mentally exhausted from chasing around a curious toddler all. day. long. Panicking when they’re out of your sight line and you suddenly realize all is eerily quiet.  Every mom they’ve ever known with a child of this age has nodded and smiled and laughed.  And maybe yawned.  They expect me to do the same.

But I’m different.  I pause every time.  If she’s with me, like she was that day, I look at her sweet face and give her a little kiss as I quickly decide how I’m going to handle it this time.  I don’t have a canned answer because every situation is different.  Some days the question brings me to tears; not often, but some days.  Sometimes I know the person asking really doesn’t care, and I’ll never see them again to face awkward questions if, for today, I choose not to go into detail. And sometimes, with some people, I just get a feeling.  I want to share.  Or I really want to run away.

“Actually, she’s not quite crawling yet,” I answered that day. I looked at Libby again instead of the grandma as I answered her.  I didn’t want to see the look in her eyes.  The Look is always a mix of shock, judgment, and curiosity.  The eyes always seem to say, “Go on, tell me more, why on EARTH is your 16-month-old with twelve teeth not CRAWLING?!?!?”

“She’s having a little trouble picking it up,” I continued, “but we’re working hard at it and she’ll be running all over the place before we know it.  For now we’re just saving up our energy until that day!” I shot the grandma a quick smile, gave her the same knowing wink she had given me.  “Dr. Bob will be right in for you,” I told her. “Libby, say bye-bye!”  Libby waved and I helped her blow an adorable kiss and the grandma said “awwwwww” and all was well. 

Whew.  We survived another one.

There were times, not long ago, when I didn’t put so much thought into answering a simple question.  I gave a simple question a simple answer.  That was especially easy when we first brought Libby home in June.  Up until about six, seven months, she was hitting her developmental milestones beautifully.  When people asked me questions with sweet, knowing smiles, I could give sweet, honest, developmentally-appropriate answers.  Exactly the answers they were expecting.

But it didn’t take long for things to get tougher.  Right about the time we brought her home is right about the time most babies get seriously interested in movement.  But for Libby, mobility was, and still is, the farthest thing from her mind.  She just really doesn’t care.  She is so strong and she moves around a LOT but is completely lacking that visual motivation to get somewhere or stick a finger into something or find someone.  She doesn’t feed herself.  She’s learning to guide a spoon to her mouth but is really weirded out by touching food.  She’s SUPER sensitive in noisy environments.  And not “noisy” like you and I perceive noisy.  Noisy for her can simply mean two distinct sounds competing for her attention, a strange voice that confuses her, or a sudden, startling noise.  She clams up and buries her face in my shoulder and I feel I have to pry her off and force a smile out of her just to reassure people that she truly is a happy, well-adjusted baby.  When we’re home.  And it’s quiet and comfortable for her.

So answering simple questions is no longer simple for us.  We can choose 1) to keep things simple and give the expected answer and end the conversation, but that answer is usually a lie.  We can 2) give just enough information to be honest but still try to keep the conversation light and appropriate, but it bothers me to leave people with lingering questions.  It’s like that vague, annoying facebook status that you see posted, just begging for someone to ask details.  We can 3) answer completely honestly with the Hard Truth, which usually results in inappropriate oversharing, and I leave feeling I haven’t protected my daughter’s privacy enough.

So far this has felt more like a rant than a post.  Like I’m telling all of you that I’m sick of questions and just stop asking and caring! But the point that I’m finally reaching is just the opposite.  You, trusted friends and loved ones, are different.  When you ask the questions, it’s not small talk.  You know you’re getting a complicated answer, and you care enough to ask anyway.  You know you’re not just opening the “Parenting” can of worms.  You’re asking about adoption issues and serious medical issues, too.  You truly want to know how she’s doing, and how we’re doing, and even how our dogs are doing.  I know that your prayers are with us and your concern is more than mere curiosity.  And so I LOVE to answer your questions and share much more than I would share with a grandma at my office or the grocery store.

I’m learning, slowly but surely, how much about Libby and her story is appropriate to share.  Perhaps I may have been guilty in the past of oversharing, but there’s no magic formula, and just like every other aspect of parenting, you learn as you go.  Believe me when I say that I am grateful for questions and opportunities to share.  It’s a tremendous release for me to tell Libby’s story and vent my own emotions and know that people care.  It’s a blessing that other people who are suffering in some way can benefit from the lessons we have learned, and still are learning.  We were completely overwhelmed and humbled throughout our adoption process (now officially OVER!!!) as we continued to be supported, as our support even GREW, with each milestone that we reached.

So thank you, a million times over, for caring.  We live in a world that is losing the ability to communicate, empathize, and show compassion.  Small talk is no longer genuine kindness between strangers; it’s often skepticism and guarded answers and “turn the cart the other way, that lady looks like she wants to talk to me.”  What a joy to know I can go home and write 1300 words and tell the Hard Truth about my precious girl… and hundreds of people will read every word and love us and support us and pray for us.

Official

Tomorrow it becomes official.  I stand before a judge, side by side with Daddy, and promise to love and care for you for the rest of my life.  You get a new birth certificate that says I’m your mommy, and a social security number that will make my life so much easier when filing next year’s taxes.  It will be the first “Redfield Family Day” of many more to come.   I don’t know how we’ll celebrate February 28 in future years, but for tomorrow it will probably include lots of singing and dancing and picture-taking and tears of joy.  And a celebratory latte.  Or glass of wine.  Or both.  Yes, tomorrow is a big, beautiful deal.  Tomorrow, your adoption is finalized.  Legal, permanent, indisputable.  It’s the day that every adoptive family dreams about during the all the darker days of the process. 

But for today, I need you to know that I love you so, so much without any of that.  I don’t need a birth certificate with my name on it for my love for you to be official.  I don’t need to promise a judge that I will give you all you need… my heart made that promise the moment I first laid eyes on you.   You have been officially mine for months now, and I have loved every minute of it.

That’s not to say it happened overnight.  Our love has grown over these months together.  And with it, although a little more slowly, the feeling of “officiality.”

I loved you the moment I first heard of you last April.  I loved you as the sweet, helpless baby with a beautiful name and a beautiful story, waiting for your forever family.  But everyone loves a baby.  Everyone loves a beautiful adoption story.  My love for you wasn’t anything special, and it didn’t mean you were mine yet.

Two weeks later things got a little more serious.  We were chosen to be your parents!  My love for you grew and grew as I let my guard down a little and began to imagine an actual life with you.  I went shopping for dresses and headbands and, for the first time in my life, I said “no” to a gift receipt.  The saleslady thought I was crazy as I grinned from ear to ear and my eyes started to well up.  But that little moment was a gift from the Lord and a gift from you that I will never forget.  And I loved you for it.  I paid for the poufy pink dress: it was mine.  But you weren’t mine yet. 
 

The dress that made me cry in Target :)

I met you on Memorial Day.  I was shaking the first moment I held you.  We took “The Picture” of the greatest of moment of my life.  I am trying so hard not to cry, it looks like I am mad.  You’re frowning, too, but you’ve just woken up from a nap and been handed to a stranger.  You probably ARE mad.  I took notes about your schedule and your favorites and every little detail I could possibly soak up.  I signed a piece of paper that made me a guardian, free to take you home and begin my life with you, free to use my last name when visiting doctors, adding you to our insurance, and sending out Christmas cards.  I held you close to me and smelled that sweet baby smell and loved more than I ever knew my heart could love.  But you still didn’t know me at all, and I didn’t know you.  You really weren’t mine.

The first time I held you

Our first three months at home were an endless parade of family visits and doctor appointments.  Sometimes it was all just a little too much for you, and you learned to snuggle in close to me and bury your face in my neck, a little deeper with each passing day.  Your life had been turned upside down, but you were slowly learning that this Mommy would always be there for you.  Meanwhile, this Mommy learned how to function on half the hours of sleep, showers, and workouts that my previous life had so easily accommodated.  It was all a lot for me to take, too, but I learned that watching you sleep could take my breath away and make it all better.  I whispered to you how much I loved you and how I would take care of you for as long as “they” would let me.  You still weren’t “mine” to make promises of forever.  I still feared that somehow it was all too perfect, and someday you would be taken away from me.

In September, little moments began to “feel” official.  You had been home with us for three months.  We had seen highs and lows, triumphs and firsts and utter, mind-numbing frustration.  It felt official when “poop” shot to the top my list of Frequent Conversation Topics.  It felt official when doctors that didn’t know my name called me “Mom.” “How are you doing, Mom?” “Take a seat here, Mom.”  It felt official when I stopped blow-drying my hair EVER.  1) because the extra time it took to get you in a coat, mittens, hat, boots, and then mittens again did not allow me time to dry my hair.  2) because you needed my blow-dryer for the full-body “spa treatment” you love after every bath, and I was sick of always carrying it up and down the stairs, so I started leaving it upstairs in your bathroom. 
 

Happy girl because you're about to get your "spa treatment"!

At some point in the late fall or early winter, I dropped you off at daycare and realized, walking back to my car, that I no longer felt like I was “borrowing” someone else’s life, lucky enough to live in it for a short time.  This was actually my life.  You WOULD BE a permanent part of it.  This was forever.  It felt official - all of it, not just passing moments.  And the most beautiful thing happened along with that: a guard went down that I hadn’t even realized was still up.  You were NOT going to be taken away from me, and I was free to love you with all my heart.  You WERE mine.

Life made you mine.  Time made you mine.  Love made you mine.

God made you mine.

All this time that you were not “officially” mine, a beautiful thing was happening.  God was making you to FEEL like mine more and more each day.  So now when I think about making it “official” tomorrow, it’s not a doubtful, scary, “no-turning-back-now” kind of day.  Instead it’s a celebrating, totally perfect, “of-course-this-is-the-next-step” kind of day.  It’s a lot like the day I married your Daddy.  I walked down the aisle confident and full of love, just like I will walk into the courtroom tomorrow.  I signed the marriage certificate as a mere formality, so I could change my name, and tomorrow I will do the same for you.  You don’t marry someone or finalize an adoption to “make” yourself love them.  You do it because you already love them so much, your heart is about to burst.
 

Sleep tight tonight, precious girl.  Tomorrow you will become mine.  You’ll hear strange voices and cameras clicking and you’ll feel tears on Mommy’s cheeks.  People will call you “Elizabeth” a whole bunch of times instead of “Libby.” A lot will be different and strange tomorrow.  But don’t worry, Pumpkin.   I will love you just as much as I do today.  You will feel my face with your hands and pull my hair and we’ll keep practicing “Mommy kisses, Libby kisses” over and over again. 

It will just be “official.”

More of the Same

The other day I was sitting on the couch with Libby after her morning milk.  Lately she’s been pretty cuddly in the morning, so after milk she kneels in my lap facing me, snuggling her little face deep into my shoulder.  We rock side to side, we sing a little, we whisper about all the tasks of the day ahead… it’s such a little treat for me.  Coffee in the right hand, Libby on the left shoulder, and inevitably something I recorded HGTV is on in the background. 

 

I’m quite obsessed.  I never knew we had HGTV.  We did a major DirecTV downgrade after our first year and lost all the “good” channels.  We don’t even have ESPN.  But as it turns out, we’ve had HGTV all along.  I didn’t make this amazing discovery until I was boooooooored on New Year’s Day 2013, the DVR was empty and for once in my life I was actually channel surfing.  VERY Happy Moment.

 

Aaaaanyway, back to our morning.  She was just kneeling there, cuddled into me, making all her funny tongue-clicking and bubble-blowing noises.  The house was quiet; Tim was not home from his morning run yet and both dogs were passed out at my feet, warm in front of the fire.  The fresh snow we got overnight was beginning to sparkle in the pink glow of an early winter morning.  The Property Brothers (recorded sometime in the wee hours of the night) were about to do a big reveal.  And I was giddy in the knowledge that my “Monday Chore” (laundry washed, dried, folded, and put away all in one day) was well underway, as I had finally been smart enough to sort and even start washing the night before.  Everything felt so cozy and wonderful.  Does it get any better than this?

 

Yup, it does.  Suddenly she was ready to start her day.  She stretches her little arms out to the side, then presses them against my chest, pops up with a HUGE grin on her face, and starts bobbing that little head from side to side.  “Let’s go, Mom! Cuddle time is done!”

 

I’m a happy, happy Mama today.  I’m a happy Mama most days, actually.  In the past, when my blog dropped off completely for the better part of two months, it was not a good sign.  It meant there was no news to share, or I was in a rough state of mind – back then, “more of the same” was not a good thing.  But since Libby came on the scene, "more of the same" is definitely a good thing.

 

I’ve not written since mid-December, because life has been pretty simple, but simply wonderful.  A week before Christmas, our daycare arrangement fell through, which accelerated my already-almost-there decision to stay at home full-time with Libby.  After a couple weeks of generous help from church members, I finished out my three-day-a-week schedule and began my new routine the first week of January.  I work only on Fridays, which Tim and Libby enjoy as “Daddy Day.” The rest of the week, I “attempt” to keep the house clean, catch up on the endless list of paperwork and projects that were so easily shoved off when I went back to work in July, and, most importantly, give Libby the extra work she needs at home to support all the work we’re doing in therapy on motor skills and general development.

 

While it is nice to have the laundry back on a regular schedule and to be crossing things off The List, my favorite part of being home is enjoying those little, “more of the same” moments.  Singing “Wheels on the Bus” over and over and over to get a laugh when the babies on the bus go “wah, wah, wah.” Wide-eyed, hungry hubby asking, “Are those biscuits from scratch?” (Yes, they were, and quite delicious, but can you really use the term “from scratch” when they’re only three ingredients?) And best of all, those morning cuddles on the couch.  Keep that "more of the same" coming, yes please, if those cuddles are a part of it.

 

So that’s my long overdue-update; my news is that there’s no news.  And I love it that way.

 

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

Well, I suppose I can’t say “NO” news, we have had some exciting things happen around there. If you haven’t caught up with us through facebook lately, here are some fun updates from December and January.

 

 

First of all, Libby's first Christmas with us! It was so precious.  Grandma and Grandpa Redfield came to join in the fun.  Of course, Tim and I have so much going on during the Christmas services so it was really nice to have them to help with her.  She was such a doll all dressed up!

 

 

 

Shortly after Christmas, I took advantage of my new work schedule and took Libby up north to my parents' house for a few days.  It was tough to leave Daddy and our puppies at home alone, especially because we would be gone for my birthday, BUT I got to go to the Packer-Viking playoff game with my dad and cousin, AND I was in the right place at the right time for the arrival of our new niece, Reagan Elise.  She was born January 7th, on my 30th birthday, and Libby and I got to visit her just a few hours "new" (and every day thereafter until we had to go home :)

 

 

Back up north for Reagan's baptism on January 26, and this time Tim got to come with us and use some vacation time.  We enjoyed baby snuggles, lots of snow to play in, and a relaxing five days catching up with family.  Libby really loves napping with Grandpa :)

 

I got outside for some beautiful winter photos, both at home and on vacation.  I love winter so much!

Libby dearest has been cutting FOUR molars all at once for the past few weeks.  Poor thing.  She's been really cuddly (which I guess I don't mind) and just kind of mellow and blah! In the evening the teeth really seem to bother her and we just feel so, so sad for her.  She's sleeping lots and lots and is extra-sensitive to loud noise and strange environments. Can't wait until these stinking teeth finish coming through and we can enjoy this smile more often!

 

 

 

 

 

Peace at Christmas

The gifts are bought or made, wrapped, tagged, and ribboned with love.  The tree is up and sparkling and beautiful.  I can’t wait until it gets dark to turn it on each night; I usually cave in about 4:00.  The beautiful cards and letters from family and friends all over the country are on display, bursting with news and greetings and love.  And most of them contain an extra handwritten note, just for us: “Enjoy your first Christmas with that sweet little girl.”

And I am, so, so, so much.  The lights twinkle a little brighter, the daily to-do list is more of a joy, less overwhelming.  The endless stream of Christmas music is slightly less annoying… coming from me, that’s BIG! The Christmas cards were SO MUCH FUN to make and send… the cards I’ve dreamed of sending for years.  Cards from the THREE of us.  Sigh.  Christmas 2012 is dreamy.

So why is that? I’ve been asking myself what it is about Elizabeth that makes this Christmas blow all the others out of the water.  She’s not old enough to enjoy destroying the kitchen making cutout cookies with me.  She can’t experience the twinkling lights.  She loves Christmas music, but then again, she loves all music.  She’s not too sure about opening her gifts; she’s a little uncertain about new, unfamiliar textures, and she can’t see that the paper she’s pulling off is revealing something new and exciting underneath.  The crinkly paper has a strange sound and feel to it.  Everybody’s cheering her on and she doesn’t understand why!

Most people understand that a child who can’t see with her eyes will “see” the world more clearly through her other senses than the rest of us will. Libby experiences much of her world through hearing and through touch.  It’s incredible the way she turns her EAR toward a new person entering the room, much like other children turn their head and stare.  I can’t begin to count the number of different ways I have seen her explore toys and textures through touch.  Those little hands tell a story.  A gentle, hesitant brush of the fingers when given a new object to play with.  Quickly the hands are drawn back into her lap while she processes what she just felt.  What must be running through her head? A quick swat at the toy again.  Is it still there? What can I make it do? A little smirk.  It’s still in the same spot.  It started singing to me.  Then, out of nowhere, BANG! Arms waving, little fists banging… how much noise can I make?

The natural tendency is to plop something new in her lap, grab her hands, and “help” her get used to it.  But we learned quickly that the only thing “force-feeding” does is scare her off.  She needs to experience new things on her own terms.  It would be like if someone grabbed your head and held your eyes open and forced you to stare at something new until they felt you’d spent enough time staring that you should be comfortable with it now.   She needs us to give her the freedom to “look away,” think about what she’s holding, and decide IF, and HOW she wants to play with it.  Much like any other kid :)

We’ve learned to take her by the hand, introduce new toys slowly, ask her permission to try something new “together,” and allow her to pull back if she needs to.  Then we try again slowly, again and again, until the new object is safe and familiar and comfortable, and she’s ready to learn on her own.

What a perfect picture that is of the past few years that Tim and I have experienced, and how God has patiently, graciously, SLOWLY fulfilled our dreams within the timeframe He knew was best for us.  What if He had just plopped His entire plan in our laps on June 10, 2006, the day we were married, and said “You will have a beautiful daughter… six years from now”?

What if He’d laid it all out there and told us the whole story in 2008, when we started to plan for and long for a child? “Guys, don’t get your hopes up, it’s still gonna be four long years.  Oh, and by the way, it’s not going to happen even remotely close to the way you’re thinking… start saving your pennies.  Adoption is your future."

 

What if He’d grabbed us by the hands and shown us the end of the story when our adoption journey began in March 2011? We were excited and relieved and joyful, but also overwhelmed and scared.  Could we have handled the whole truth even then? “Oh, by the way, all those questions about how open you want your adoption to be? Check yes, yes, and yes.  It doesn’t matter how scared you are, that’s the way it’s happening.  And don’t think for a second about any of those special needs on that four-page form that you have to assess what you can handle.  Again, just check yes.  Your daughter has needs that aren’t even on that form!”

Pretty sure that if, at any one of those big moments in my life, God had grabbed me by the hand and shown my all my future holds, I would have started screaming, just like Libby does when I force a new toy or food on her too quickly.  So why, why, why do I forget this lesson over and over again, and find myself demanding that God show me His plan NOW because I just can’t take it anymore? Sigh.  I never learn.

I’m so thankful to my gracious God for knowing and providing what I need WHEN I need it, just enough, never more than I can handle. He revealed his plan for children slowly in our lives, but piece by piece, we grew stronger and stronger, and He was merciful enough to hold pieces of the puzzle back until we were ready.  And now, I can stand back, at least for now, and look at the beautiful masterpiece He has created, and know that my heart is full and blessed and I am exactly where I need to be, because He has carried me there.  The little girl that was always meant to be mine… is mine! The “openness” of domestic adoption that once scared me out of my wits, has blossomed into a beautiful, supportive relationship with not one, but two new families.  The special needs we were once so concerned about as we checked off boxes of what we thought we could handle… we now know it doesn’t matter what we can handle.  All that matters is what God can handle, and He has given us strength and beautiful blessings through this little girl who “sees” with her hands and her ears.

THAT is what makes this Christmas so special.  All of you who keep telling me to “enjoy my first Christmas with Libby…” you’re right! She makes my heart full in ways it has never been.  She brings me peace.  The Redfield Family Journey has reached a little plateau for now… God has guided us to a “scenic overlook” in our lives.  We have the joy this Christmas to look back on the pain of Christmases past, and understand why they had to be that way.  Our hearts are peaceful and quiet, in a way they haven’t been for a while.  I’m sure the journey ahead won’t always be so flat and restful, but at this moment I’m thanking God for fulfilling my greatest NEED in sending His Son to be my Savior, my greatest DESIRE in sending Libby to be our daughter, and a beautiful, calm sense of peace… just in time for Christmas.

I pray and pray and pray for this peace for all my friends and family and all those around me.  Right now in this country, it’s really easy to pray for peace, because we all see the need so clearly, and at the same time it’s really, REALLY hard to pray for peace, but it seems impossible that it will ever come to soothe the broken hearts of the families of the Sandy Hook victims, and our nation as a whole.  I’m not going there tonight.  This little half a paragraph has me in tears already; I’m not ready.  I have so many thoughts on the situation I could write a book, yet it would never say enough.  But we CAN pray, and it WILL help.  I know the first night, the common thread on social media was “saying prayers” and “hugging your kids.” The next day, it seemed the common thread was mocking all the people who, the previous night, had talked about saying prayers and hugging their kids, because it “won’t do any good.” Well, anyone who’s made it this far along my journey, even to the end of this one post, knows my stance.  It WILL do good.  Pray continually – there’s nothing wrong with growing closer to your Savior through tragedy, and imploring His blessings upon those families and our broken nation.  Hug your babies – there’s nothing wrong with loving them a little stronger, bonding a little tighter when you are reminded how fragile life really is.  And enjoy the peace you have this Christmas.  It is absolutely okay to give thanks and appreciate what you have while you have it. 

Birthday Girl: 1

To my precious one-year-old,

Yup.  I’m already welling up.  That’s all it takes - “to my precious one-year-old” – and I’m done for. 

“One-year-old.” It can’t be true! It can’t have been more than I week since I first heard of you, can it? You were five months old at the time.  It was April and you were all smiles for your Nanny and Pops, growing and dancing and giggling and entertaining everyone you met.  And I fell head over heels for you the moment I first heard your name.  Elizabeth.  Oddly enough, the very, very first “girl name” your Daddy ever mentioned to me when we were dating and we would talk about getting married and having children. “I kind of like Elizabeth for a girl name, what do you think? It’s traditional but you can make lots of nicknames from it.  It’s a name you can grow with.”

April seems like just last week.  And May, the beautiful, blessed day I met you and held you close for the first time… that was just yesterday.  You were so small and so perfect.  I was amazed at how you warmed right up to me – or so I thought.  Turns out, you’re the most good-natured baby of all time, and you “warm up” to anyone.  As time has gone by and you’ve learned to need me and love me, you have TRULY warmed up to me: deep belly laughs and endless chatter and the silliest, sloppiest bubble-blowing noises. Ear-to-ear grins when you hear my voice; my heart just melts.

So if May was just yesterday… how can it be that you’re ONE already? You know who really can’t believe it? Your Nanny and Pops.  They SO wish they could be here to celebrate with us.  “Elizabeth,” they wrote in your birthday card, “From the first moment we held you, when you were only hours old, to our last breath on this world, we will love you and cherish you.  You are a special light in this world and anyone that has known you or will know you will be touched by you!” They took you home and turned their lives upside down for you, they named you and made you their own, they love you with all their hearts.  I bet this year has just flown by for them.

You know who else can’t believe it? Your beautiful birthmom and her family.  WOW, I bet they have a whole lot of memories from this day a year ago.  They, too, loved you the moment they saw you.  They say you were perfect, precious, a miracle of God.  It broke their hearts to kiss you goodbye and send you with Nanny and Pops, but they trusted in God’s plan for you… and for them… and look where that faith and trust has put us all today.  Daddy and I can’t imagine our lives without you, after five short little months having you home.  Your grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles love you so, so much, for all that you are, and all the joy and healing that you have brought to us.  We exchange pictures with Nanny and Pops almost every day, and your birth family are the founding members of your Facebook Fan Club.  All of this made possible by God’s grace in giving one brave girl the strength to choose life for you, and His mercy in using you to bring us all together as a big, beautiful, amazing SUPER-FAMILY.

“Precious.” Well, that part of it doesn’t need much explaining.  A picture is worth a thousand words, and since we’ve taken about a thousand precious pictures... you get the point.  But far more precious than a picture is to dance with you, to giggle with you, to sing with you, to rock you to sleep.  These are the moments I have dreamed of for years, some pretty big expectations, and you surpassed every one of them the first day I spent with you.  You are the very definition of precious: invaluable, irreplaceable, breathtaking.

“My.” Really it’s this, the second word, that had me welling up.  How amazing it is that I can call you mine! God is so, so, so good.  When I say I’d dreamed of you for years, that’s not entirely true.  I dreamed of a child to love and to hold and to care for.  But even my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined what it would be like to be your Mommy.  You are more than I ever knew was possible, more than I deserve, and more perfect for me and Daddy than any other baby out there… because you were made for us.  Designed by God to be the answer to our prayers and then some.  You challenge us in ways we never expected, you have shown us strength within ourselves we never knew we had, and you have taught us to love more deeply than we ever knew how before you came along. 

Most mamas have shared 21 months of love with their babies by the first birthday.  I’ve only had six and a half months since you entered my life.  And yet, my precious, one-year-old Libby, I love you with all my heart and soul.  All this after a few short months… how will I feel by your NEXT birthday, when I’ve truly had a full year with you? I think my heart might burst.  Most mamas have beautiful, priceless memories of the day their babies came into the world.  For the life of me, I can’t recall a thing about what I was doing on November 3, 2011.  We were going on a road trip the next day, so I assume I got gas and snacks and packed and called the hotel.  I didn’t make a bank deposit or use the debit card.  I didn’t post a single thing on facebook.  Sometimes I wish I could remember, but most of the time I’m so happy I can’t.  The fact that the day is not memorable to me is a symbol of a lot of my days before you… they were a big, blurred-together, wishing-for-you mess until the day you came into my life.  And what’s truly important is not what happened to me that day you drew your first breath, but what happened to the world and to all the people your life would touch.  You happened.

Thank you for being perfectly, beautifully, wonderfully you.  I love you, Pumpkin Pie.

Mommy

 

Mighty Fortress

Happy Reformation Day! “A mighty fortress is our God, a trusty shield and weapon.”  I love, love, LOVE singing this hymn in church, and I can’t wait until Sunday for our Reformation service to do just that.  Now, I know many of you have seen the pictures I posted on facebook today of our little Honey Bee (also known as Eliza-bee and Lib-bee).  And although the costumes are fun and the candy is right up there, too, I wanted to make sure everybody knows that I started my October 31 with grateful, prayerful thoughts about the blessings of the Lutheran Reformation… due in large part to the many of you posting songs and Scripture and your own devotional thoughts.  So thanks for turning the wheels in motion bright and early this morning and getting me thinking (and now blogging) about our God, our Mighty Fortress, for an appropriate amount of time BEFORE dressing up the cutest little bumblebee the world has ever seen and parading her around town :)

 

I love that Scripture paints so many different pictures of our God.  We follow Him as our Good Shepherd, we pray to Him as our Father and our dear Brother, we collapse into His loving embrace as our Gentle Savior.  And today especially, we praise and honor Him as our Mighty Fortress.  Not a blanket fort that can be quickly folded and put away.  Not a tree-house built of scraps and dreams.  Not even the strongest, most imposing of earthly castles, seemingly impenetrable in its prime, yet today abandoned, rickety, aging, empty.  We’re talking about an everlasting, all-powerful, never-failing God.

 

Early this morning a dear friend gave me some food for thought.  She asked me if I have ever really thought about what a BLESSING infertility has been and thanked God for the experience (she’s recently gone through quite the rigmarole herself). I thought and thought about it, and realized I haven’t.  My mind has acknowledged the beauty of God’s plan in bringing Libby to us, and I’ve thanked Him for the road we had to travel because I was able to support and be supported by some wonderful friends.  But actually THANKED Him for the very thing that tore me up inside for years and caused me so much hurt and shame?

 

It seems crazy.  It’s easy enough to do long after the fact, when we’ve had time to see The Plan unfold and our human minds now comprehend a teeny bit of the plan.  But while it’s going on? While we’re being barraged and assaulted, while the walls are crumbling around us?

 

Yep.  She was right. Because He is right.  Right and good and perfect. We’re instructed in His word to praise Him in all circumstances.  And that doesn’t mean just to praise Him DESPITE our struggles, for all the other blessings apparent in our life.  That means to look those trials straight in the face and say “THANK YOU, LORD,” whether or not you understand why you’re saying it. 

 

What is a fortress? The first and easiest answer that comes to mind is a structure of protection.  God gives many examples in His word and in our lives of how He protects us, and promises that He always will.  He does not promise that we will always understand His every call as our Commander in Chief.  Sometimes He does things to protect us and keep us close to Him that baffle us completely… we’re crushed by pain or hurt or grief and what the sinful world is doing TO us in this trial, rather than recognizing what our God may be doing FOR us through this trial.  But He never stops loving, protecting, and directing all things for our good.  He wraps His everlasting arms around us, mighty as the massive stone walls surrounding a fortress.

 

Life was never perfect inside the walls of those ancient structures, nor are our lives perfect, even with the love of our Lord wrapped around us.  Sin creeps into every corner.  Sometimes the greatest threat to the security of the fortress is internal.  History is full of accounts in which greed, anger, jealousy, or despair crumbled an empire from within, and the same things happen within us.  But he gives us the tools we need to protect the treasure of the faith He has begun in our hearts.

 

Alongside the pain and ugliness that resides within the fortress are some beautiful, wonderful blessings, as well.  A city of believers, full of praise and encouragement, knowing just the right thing to say, exactly what we need to hear.  A loving smile, a warm embrace, a promise that you will be lifted up in prayer.  As I live my life wrapped in God’s protecting arms, I’ve felt His love through my friends and family so many times and am SO THANKFUL that He has let them into my life.  And I cherish the opportunities I am given to be that person to someone else who needs it.

 

And what else does our God, our Mighty Fortress give to us? Yes, He is our “trusty shield,” but he’s also our “weapon.” He gives us both defense AND offense.  He doesn’t just place us His arms to lie still and let Him do all the heavy lifting.  He gives us weapons of our own through His word and sacrament: promises and reassurances and actual, historical accounts of how He has provided for centuries of believers before us.  We take those promises and hurl them at the world.  Occasionally we can zero straight in on our target, understanding perfectly how God will protect us and work for our good.  More often than not, we can’t get a good shot.  We close our eyes, draw back, and let our Savior’s arrow fly, not knowing where it will hit.  “I don’t know, God, HOW you are ever going to get me out of this one, or WHEN I will ever see the other side, but you promised me, you PROMISED, and I’m taking your word for it.”

 

And that’s what I’m determined to do better after talking with my friend this morning: hurl those arrows of God’s word blindly at my earthly troubles.  I don’t have to know where they’re going to hit, I only need to know that they will accomplish their purpose.  I look those trials straight in the face, I thank my Lord for any blessing He has designed here for me, and then I deliver the knock-out punch: God’s promise to ALWAYS work for the good of those who love Him.  Then I close my eyes and lean back on my Savior’s loving arms.  "On earth is not His equal."

 

 

And maybe I also think a bit about my Little Baby Bumblebee :)

Still the Same

 

Six months ago it was April 13, just after Easter.  The weather was damp and cool, the trees were bare, and the fields were dark, muddy brown.  We were both in pretty awesome shape, with a month to go until our spring races.  Blog posts were few and far between; I was busy, busy, busy and bored with waiting for news.  But when inspiration struck, and I could wrestle the computer away from Tim, I could sit in peace and quiet for two hours and whip one out.  We were excited for the next addition to our family: Tim’s sister was due to deliver our second nephew, Lucas, in about six weeks.  I was putting in way more hours than I wanted to at work, but in a week, I would be taking a Friday off and flying to Milwaukee to surprise family for a cousin’s baby shower.  I was big into flying away for quick weekends last spring; flights were cheaper than driving and it was such an easy way to get away by myself.  Tim and I were waiting every day for the phone call that might change our lives. 

 

It would come in three days.  April 16.  Yet another day on the calendar that will be special to Libby’s story.  Adopted kiddos get so many special days to celebrate… it’s wonderful.  Funny enough, April 16 was already a pretty great day in both our families, my dad’s birthday and Tim’s parents’ anniversary.  Now it’s extra-special.

 

Today it’s the middle of October, just after… Columbus Day, I guess.  The weather is cool and lovely, a relief after summer’s heat, but so very dry.  The trees are blazing red and gold and green, and the newly-harvested fields are flat and golden.  I’m in pretty awful shape :) My last race was that Half in May, I rocked over 20 minutes off my 2011 time - now I huff and puff my way through a 5k. Blog posts are still few and far between, because I’m busy, busy, busy.  Inspiration strikes often, but every time I get the computer all to myself, I can sit for about 10 minutes before Little Miss decides that Independent Time is over and it’s now Mommy Play Time (which is wonderful, I’m not complaining).  Sometimes it take me a week to write a post, bit by bit.  As it turns out, Lucas was not the next addition to our family, but he was close: born June 4, the day after we flew home from California with Libby.  I’m back to blissful part-time hours at work, and I have to enforce them strictly because daycare is now a factor.  Going away for a weekend is no longer quick, or easy, or by myself… and never on a plane.   SO MUCH has changed since the day that phone call came that changed our lives.

 

It’s pretty clear from my posts and my statuses and my tripled caffeine intake and the condition of my house and the fact that I wear a ponytail every. single. day that a lot has changed in the last six months.  Of course it has: we brought a baby into our home.  Even strangers in the grocery store smile knowingly when they admire her and guess her age and remember how drastically their lives changed when their first child was brought home.

 

So much is different now, that was no surprise. Of course I knew things would BE different.  The surprise plays out as we learn HOW things are different.  How we can function on three hours of sleep and how baby food is surprisingly delicious and how her laughing and singing and cooing and blowing bubbles can stop us in our tracks and dissolve us in giggles, far more riveting than anything we previously considered “entertainment.”

 

Another big surprise, though, is how certain things will never change.  Things I would have thought I wanted to change… now I’m starting to think it’s really okay that they stay the same.  Like my messy house.  I thought that the with change from working 32 hours a week to 20, my house would look great.  BAHAHAHAHA.  Cue the laughing moms.  Of COURSE it’s still a disaster.  Caring for Libby and carting her around from appointment to appointment, strapping and unstrapping the carseat over and over and over again, diaper breaks, pushing the cart a little slower when she falls asleep, and so much more that I’m not thinking of at this moment… all of that takes WAY more than my newfound 12 hours of “free” time from work.  So the house comes last, which really disappointed me at first.  And while I’ll admit that the messes still bring me to tears from time to time, I’m learning that the stacks of dishes and papers and laundry are signs that my life is full and blessed and beautiful.  I remember a wall hanging my mom had while we were growing up: “A spotless house is the sign of a dull woman.” It’s so hard to remember, and I’m sure I’ll lose it again soon, but I just need to count the blessings, not the “stuff” that’s out of place!

 

I thought I might be able to relax a little more during football season, gaining some perspective as a new parent and become a little more reasonable, less crazy of a Packer fan.  True, we WATCH football a little differently now: we DVR almost every game and end up starting late after a nap or errands or church activity (hence the absence of my gameday play-by-play facebook commentary, much to the relief of my non-Packer or non-football-fan friends). But once it’s on, it’s ON.  It’s more intense than ever, or maybe it just seems that way because the Pack is off to such a sputtering start this year.  I may not scream and yell as loud when Libby’s asleep, but as I sit on that couch and sweat it out, covering my eyes, heart racing, TOTALLY overreacting… I’m so happy it’s still the same.  I need that escape.  Newsflash: I KNOW that football is really not that big of a deal.  But there’s a lot going on in my world that IS a big deal, and it feels so wonderful for three hours (or an entire Sunday afternoon now that we have Sunday Ticket) to completely stress about something relatively insignificant.

 

Here’s something I once thought I might escape, forget, move past once “Future Baby” became a reality: the sting of the years and years that we waited for her.  The pain and the worry and the days of bitter jealousy and despair.  Having her here, home, REAL is the absolute joy of my life.  But she doesn’t “erase” the pain of the past few years.  And I’m realizing not only is that okay, it’s a HUGE blessing.  I always knew God had a reason and a plan in allowing those years of struggle, so it was silly and short-sighted for me to ever think those memories would fade away once our prayers got answered.  Those years served a purpose not only in bringing us together with the precious girl He intended to be ours, but also in learning from the journey itself, and helping others going through the same thing. 

Libby doesn’t bring hope and peace and joy to our family alone.  She, and others like her, are PROOF to those still waiting and hurting that God answers prayers and makes miracles happen.  I will never forget what we went through to bring her home, and I will NEVER stop “needing” the people who got me through it, because they truly understand the daily battles I once faced, and may face again one day.  Some of them are still waiting and struggling, and I continue to pray for them, to hope and to dream for them.  I learned and grew SO MUCH through the experience, and I can’t believe I ever, ever wanted it to all just go away.  Every tear we ever cried made Libby that much more precious.  Every second we waited made her more loved.  Every prayer we raised brought us closer to our Savior, and made it clearer and clearer that she is a Gift from above, nothing we could ever have imagined or believed or made happen on our own.

 

Certainly a lot has changed since April 16, and in three days our family will celebrate all those changes that took place since the day the phone rang and we first heard the name “Elizabeth.” But today (and tomorrow: Game Day) I am thanking and praising God for all the things that are still the same and will probably never change.  Especially His love and mercy.