I always wanted to be a Missionary. Now that I have four children at home, seven in Heaven, I realize that my Mission Field is my backyard and my family and I are a testimony to Life!! Here I recount my musings, my stories, thoughts, and adventures as a Mommy and as a Missionary helping to build the Culture of Life! Won't you join me?
Its that time again! Time for the obligatory Advent post! No seriously folks, I have some things I have been pondering this Advent so far and wanted to share. I have been pondering Christmas Decorations. The outside ones. No no no, wait, I know what you're thinking, Gee Laura, that's really profound..NOT! Just hear me out.
For me, its all about context. You can argue over whether or not Santa comes to your house, Baby Jesus leaves presents, or the Three Wise men bring three gifts and leave them under your tree, the point is that we give, we take joy in giving, and we receive joyfully. In the right context this teaches us about God's Love for us - He freely gave us His only Son, and He chose to do so in a very human, intimate way. Presents under the tree remind us that God's gift to us was free and mysterious, wonderful, anticipated, and yet a surprise. The evergreen of the Tree symbolizes the never-endingness of God and His Love. Advent decorations remind us of this special time of year and they help us wait with anticipation - just as the children of Israel did long ago.
Outside, traditionally, lights and ornaments literally "lit the way" for the Christ Child. Outdoors the flickering candles gave way to colored lights and pretty white lights, but the concept of lighting the way for the Child Jesus to come to your home on Christmas remained. Now, though....
Can anyone tell me what the heck an inflatable Santa in a BATHTUB has to do with ANYTHING? I mean seriously, a bathtub. On your front lawn. With a presumably naked Santa sits. Happily. How in the world is that even Christmas-related!? When did bathing on the front lawn cease to be creepy? Especially in 30 degree weather? Especially for old, bearded men? My friends, we have come a long way from lighting the way and waiting for Christ's birth. For that matter, what does Santa opening the door of a trailer have to do with Christmas? What about Hunting Santa - complete with shot gun and camp print suit? (Yes this is another inflatable decoration I have seen with my own eyes!) Did the designer forget that Santa owns...wait for it...REINDEER? What did he do this year? Go all sportsman and shoot Rudolph? If we put that thing in our yard my kids would be grief stricken - Santa with his own reindeer in his sights. And don't even get me started on Outhouse Santa...(yep saw that one too.) What has this to do with Christmas!?
Courtesy of Lowes.com
Nothing. It has nothing to do with Christmas. Its a gimmick, a marketing ploy, a funny (and tacky) lawn ornament that holds little meaning other than it may get a good laugh from childless neighbors.
It is a symptom of a dumbing down of Christmas. A move to replace what Christmas is really about with commercialism, adult humor, and secularism. I mean why put up an outdoor Nativity when you can have Santa in a bathtub, a giraffe wearing a Santa hat, and light up palm trees instead! All while your house blinks in every color of the spectrum to loud rock music! Now THAT'S Christmasee.
I'm not down on Christmas lights or decorations. Don't get me wrong. We have one of our trees outside wrapped in colored lights and some lights in the windows. Decorations, twinkling lights, they add to the mysterious wonder of Christmastime. This isn't bad. The wonder, the "magic" of Christmas helps us to somehow grasp the wonder and mystery of God-made-man. Its why I encourage our children to experience the wonder and joy and "magicalness" of the season. Someday they will be better able to grasp God's majesty, mystery and awesomeness because I have let them have a taste of it in a way they can grasp. But garish blow up lawn ornaments and lights blinking so fast they cause passing motorists seizures isn't part of the program. No thanks. I'll keep our Christmas in context. After all, if it doesn't somehow point back to Christ's Birth, and God's amazing and Mysterious Love for us, what is the point of it all anyway?
As promised! I want to introduce you to these amazing women!
It has taken me a little longer to post than I would have liked, but sick children demanded my attention!
Now that all are healthy again, I want to take some time and introduce you to the ladies who have become my "Virginia Family." You already met my doula-bestie-extraordinaire, but I absolutely MUST tell you about the rest of the "family!"
After Lolek was born and I was rushed to the hospital, Doula - Bestie -Extraor... wait, how about we use DBE? OK, so she put out the word on Facebook and phone for prayers. Immediately and unbeknownst to me, ladies started praying and organizing. One, we shall call her Fortitude, even came over and checked on the house, made sure Lolek's body was OK (his body needed to be kept on a wet towel in his special box in the refrigerator.) Well, they were preparing to bring meals and to help prepare for Lolek's burial when I ended up BACK in the hospital with the PE and Pneumonia. That's when "Lolek's Friends" was really born.
As I was getting hooked up to heart monitors and being told to not move, my poor shell-shocked husband was left juggling children, and home, and cleaning up the incredible mess almost dying makes. (who knew?!) He was sleep deprived, worried, and all of a sudden Mr. Mom. So DBE started a thread on Facebook. It included friends - some of whom I hadn't met yet - some from out of state, and my mom and mother in law. These ladies got to work. DBE would visit me in the hospital and post updates. They used a meal planning website and organized meals for a MONTH for my family. Dear Hubby was so relieved to not have to cook while I was in the hospital, and I couldn't cook once I was out. They took turns coming to visit and brought me yarn and gummi bears (all I could stomach eating for a while). They prayed with me, they prayed for me, and then they cleaned my house!! Once I was home, one dear "sister" whom we shall call Battwoman (dont ask) drove down from upstate New York with her 3 children and baby to help us out for a week!! Talk about love!
Lolek's burial was approaching, and I was back in the hospital. We wanted to celebrate his short life. My family was driving in, and I KNEW my house must have been a disaster. Poor Hubby could only juggle so much, on top of grieving for his baby son, and worrying about me. Never fear! One night, I am told, women and husbands, kids and acquaintances, descended on my home. They deep cleaned, scrubbed, bagged clothes, organized closets, switched the seasons for the kids' clothes, cleaned out the fridge, nuked my bathroom, vacuumed, dusted, decluttered - my husband said he was in awe. Some of them he had never met before, yet here they were, completely cleaning our house, bringing us meals, watching the kids so he could come visit me. I felt so very loved! I felt taken care of! I was so very humbled.
Most of them attended Lolek's burial. The photos that one of the ladies took - she should be a professional photographer and we shall call her Jules. She is from across the street and our kids are friends - the photos showed so many people! So many children! There were about 20 children at Lolek's burial! Just children! Sitting in the hospital, looking at the photographs I was filled with such gratitude. What a blessing these ladies and their families are!
Soon a facebook group was formed where we could expand and pray and help not just ME but each other. It was suggested that we name it "Lolek's Friends" because he was the person who brought us all together. I cried. How beautiful! My little Lolek had a purpose!
I pray for his intercession daily, and I know others who do too. They have told me he is strong intercessor. One of the ladies, we shall call her Patience, wrote a Litany to Lolek Pio. I have included it at the end of this post.
If only we knew at the time how much we would need each other for support and prayer and help. Each lady, I don't think there were any exceptions, had a cross to bear this last year that required the support and the prayers and the assistance of all of us. We aren't talking small things here either, we're talking big, scary, life changing, and painful things. Its as if God used Lolek's death and my health crisis to bring us together because He, in His Wisdom, knew we ALL would need it.
I am so thankful to Him and so thankful for these ladies! Just this last week I got a call from "Fortitude" who took it upon herself to order a headstone for Lolek to let me know it was in. She knew it was heavy on my heart and God gave her some special Graces that prompted her to order a stone for him. I can't tell you how incredibly happy it made me. I wasn't able to be there for his burial but can now be there for the stone to be set, and then Lolek's Friends can celebrate not only his life, but the comfort and joy and strength that he allows us to give each other.
Before closing, I would like to call your attention to Healer in Your Heart . Vanessa or "Patience" is one of Lolek's Friends. Last December her husband was diagnosed with a Grade 3 Mixed Brain Tumor. Some of Lolek's Friends have formed Team McArthur and we are working and fundraising to help the family through this time. Please take a look at the website and offer your prayers and support.
Vanessa is also the Friend who wrote the Litany of St. Lolek Pio, which I pray daily for these ladies, their intentions, and their families.
Litany of St. Lolek Ricketts
By Vanessa McArthur
Lord, have mercy... Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy... Christ, have mercy
Lord, have mercy... Lord, have mercy
Perfect gift... pray for us
Intention of God... pray for us
Consecrated by God... pray for us
Perfectly formed... pray for us
Fearfully made... pray for us
Fruit of the womb... pray for us
Knitted in the womb... pray for us
Welcomed gift... pray for us
Answer to a petition... pray for us
Fullfillment of a request... pray for us
Arrow in a quiver... pray for us
Gracious blessing... pray for us
Heritage from the Lord... pray for us
Gift from the Lord... pray for us
Dweller of Heaven... pray for us
Saved by Christ's mercy... pray for us
Called from the womb... pray for us
Called by name... pray for us
Baby Green Chocolate... pray for us
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world... Have mercy on us
Let us pray.
Almighty God, in your infinite wisdom and love you brought Lolek Ricketts into
the lives of his parents, siblings, and friends. You chose him to be a beacon
of hope and light to all who longed to meet him, and used his spirit to bring
together a group of faithful friends. As we pray for each other on earth, may
we have the help of his intercession in heaven. We ask this through Christ our
Lord.
Amen.
So I ended the last post by saying that Padre Pio and Pope John Paul II were going to be playing a bigger role in my life "very soon." I have always had a very strong and special devotion to St. John Paul II. As a child I used to ask God for sufferings to offer for the Pope and experienced a closeness with him that is hard to describe. After his death I mourned his loss and started a private devotion to him while praying for his Cause for Canonization. I also asked him if he would accept me as his Spiritual Daughter. His answer was "First you must make My Mother your Mother." Of course he was talking about Mary. I had always had a hard time with the Blessed Mother. I prayed my Rosary, I honored her, I wanted to love her, and perhaps by an act of will I did, but it always felt flat. In my heart I hadn't surrendered to Her Motherhood. Well, Papa JPII got me thinking. I desperately wanted him to accept me as a Spiritual Daughter so if he said to make Mary my Mother well, OK then! I began begging her to help me do this. At the same time I was given an incredibly strong sense that were anything "really bad" to happen to me, BL (now Saint). John Paul II would save me. I didn't know what this meant, and quite frankly was a little rattled by this revelation that I was given while in prayer. I thanked him for looking out for me and asked for his continued intercession.
This all began about 2 month before losing Baby Lolek. Shortly before Lolek's death Padre Pio started "popping up." He does this when he is letting us know we are going to need his help. So I took the hint and began a novena to him asking for his protection. When everything happened with Lolek I knew Padre Pio was interceding, and I clutched a prayer card of his throughout the ordeal.
The day after I was released from the hospital I was experiencing some very intense chest pain. I had felt pretty woozy and lightheaded when they discharged me but was told by the nurse to expect to feel weak and to feel a heavy discomfort in my chest because of all the IV fluid. So when I felt pain I recalled the words of the nurse and tried to ignore it. The pain worsened throughout the day. Perhaps it was my milk coming in? After losing Claire my milk came in and it hurt. Maybe it was anxiety? I always get post-pardum anxiety. Maybe its just my body recovering from trauma? Maybe its all of the above? As the day went on the pain only intensified. It became hard to breathe. I couldn't inhale. I felt like I couldn't catch my breathe. It must be anxiety. This is the worst attack I've ever had.... I thought to myself. Curled up on our big chair with a blanket I just struggled to breathe. Walking made me dizzy and feel faint. Wow. I lost a lot of blood, probably normal....
I coped with these strange symptoms all day. I mentioned them to my husband but tried to assure him that almost dying the day before was enough "badness" for a while - I was sure I'd be OK with some more rest. Except I couldn't breathe! I managed to make it through the day with as little exertion as possible. OK, no exertion at all. I tried to go to sleep that night. My husband was restless and spent the night awake watching some movies in the living room. I think I had given him quite a scare! I lay in bed alone trying to get a good breath. I once again thought of the nurse's warning, "It will be uncomfortable and feel heavy." Boy, she wasn't kidding! I tried to lay still. After the 3rd Rosary I drifted into an uncomfortable sleep. At about 4 am I shot bolt upright in bed - searing pain across my midsection from the bruises I had gotten after all the "mashing" the day before. I was gasping for air and clutching my chest. Blinding pain was ripping into the left side of my chest and I had the distinct feeling that I had stopped breathing. I gulped air, each gulp causing pain that made me dizzy. Pope John Paul II's face flashed in my mind. I tried to steady my breath. I couldn't talk. My heart was pounding so fast! Slow breaths I commanded myself. This must be another anxiety attack. What else could it be? After about 20 minutes of slow deliberate, painful breaths I put my head on my pillow and started another Rosary. I was thinking of John Paul II. I fell back into a fitful sleep only to wake up a short time later with the same awful sensation - gasping for air, clutching my chest in searing pain. John Paul II's face again in my mind. I didn't know what was happening but I DID Know that the "something really bad" had probably just happened. I sat still, heart facing, trying to breathe through the pain in my chest. I couldn't talk, couldn't move. What was going on!? I calmed down and tried to chalk it up to anxiety again, but I was a little scared. And there was NO WAY I was going back to sleep! I sat very still in my bed, waiting for the sun to rise. I may have dozed, in and out. My husband went to sleep as the sun was rising. I told him what happened. He looked concerned. I told him I'd see how I felt and then call the doctor if necessary. He said to wake him if I needed to. I managed to get breakfast for my kids. I walked slowly - every movement made me dizzy and made breathing more difficult.
Once noon hit I couldn't take it anymore. I called the number on my discharge papers from two days before and left a message for the doctor. Then I curled up on the chair with a blanket and tried to breathe. My kids were a great distraction. My husband woke up around 2:30 and at 3pm I got a call back from the doctor. "If you are experiencing shortness of breath or chest pain you need to go to the ER, now." I told her what the discharging nurse had said to me. She wasn't impressed. "You need to go to the ER. What that nurse told you doesn't apply anymore." I didn't really know what that meant but I told Dear Hubby we had to go to the hospital. Our friend came over to keep an eye on the kids and we were off.
I will spare you the details of the Er trip. The highlights included a dubious doctor who thought maybe my hemoglobin was low, and then a full oxygen mask, a heart rate dangerously high, blood pressure issues, X-Rays, a CT Scan (which I HATED!), an ultrasound of everything below my belly button, including my legs and feet, and eventually the dubious doctor poking his head into my room saying, "You're a MESS!" It turned out I had a Pulmonary Embolism AND pneumonia. PE in the right lung, pneumonia in the left. Our priest came and gave me the anointing of the sick. I was instructed to NOT move at all. Apparently my heart rate was so erratic that movement of any kind made it spike dangerously high I was started on heparin, a blood thinner, and given something for the pneumonia, which they said was "hospital induced." I had an OB come and consult because the doctors were afraid the blood thinners would make me hemorrhage again. I was so scared!! After getting started on everything I was admitted and taken to the cardiac ICU. It had been 2 days since I had been in the ICU in the ER after losing Lolek. I couldn't believe it. What in the world was happening to me?!
The doctors were not very forthcoming with information. I had a PE which I knew could kill you, and I was in danger of hemorrhaging, which could kill you. The pneumonia seemed parochial at that point, and I refused to dwell on the fact that my grandfather had died from hospital induced pneumonia. My husband had to go home to take care of the kids and I dictated a list to him of items to bring back in the morning. I assured him I'd be fine and knew the kids needed him. So I put on my brave face and joked through the oxygen mask, "Well I get breakfast in bed tomorrow!" ("If I live that long" I added to myself, fear creeping into my thoughts.) Hubby said good bye and I sat in the bed as a cascade of nurses came in. Apparently in a cardiac ICU you get lots of attention. I tried to adjust myself and my monitor started beeping. A nervous looking nurse ran over. "Honey, you CAN NOT move. Your heart rate is way too high." All I had done was try to adjust my position! Great. So if the PE doesn't kill me, and the anticipated hemorrhage doesn't kill me, and the pneumonia doesn't kill me, I will end up sending myself into cardiac arrest by accident and THAT will kill me. All of a sudden I felt very vulnerable, very out of control, helpless and terrified. I apologized. She looked at me, "Your heart has had a work-out what with the heart attack and all."
Heart attack? What heart attack? I looked at her puzzled. She looked back. The PE is in the right side. It had to go through your heart to get there. You're lucky you are alive." I thought back to the night before- sitting up in bed clutching my chest gasping for air. "OH! THAT'S what that was!" I was stunned. I was 29 years old and had already had my first heart attack. I didn't know whether to be proud or mortified. Instantly I thought of Pope John Paul II and in that moment I understood. He had saved my life. I had absolutely no doubt. That thing was stopping up my heart and through his intercession it didn't kill me. I silently thanked him. So grateful.
I asked the nurse for my purse and slowly and carefully (so as not to speed up my poor heart) took out my worn prayer book. Pieta Prayer Book, in case you were wondering - my favorite. I also took out my rosaries, Padre Pio and JPII prayer cards, and my Holy Water. I clutched them. The nurses explained that my bed had to remain at a certain angle and I couldn't adjust it. They messed around with my IV lines, gave me a catheter (ick), increased my oxygen, and drew some blood. Then they instructed me to yell or press my call button if I thought I was bleeding to death, told me not to move again and left. I was alone.
Now, I won't go into detail about the next 7 days in the hospital. They had to draw blood every few hours, so by day 3 my arms were full of bruises and my veins didn't want to cooperate. My blood thinners took a while to get in the "zone" where its safe (too little thinning and the clot can break free and blood can't move past it, too much thinning and well.... its bad). The first 4 days I wasn't allowed to move more than my arms, and even then I had to be careful. I will never forget laying there at that awful, uncomfortable 30 degree angle and wondering if I was going to die. Would it hurt? Would anyone be there with me? Was I ready? Why wasn't I excited at the prospect of Heaven? What about my kids? That's where I would get stuck. My kids. I was Mommy. I had to take care of them. Sure I thought about dying and getting to meet my three in Heaven, but my ones on earth needed me! I finally understood why so many prayers ask for the "Grace of a happy death." I pray them very sincerely now.
Those first few terrifying days I look back on now with great thanks. God was working on me. I was, for the first time in my life, completely helpless. I couldn't fight my way out of it. I couldn't "suck it up, offer it up, and deal." I couldn't even breathe without the oxygen mask! I realize now that those days are when I learned about contemplative prayer. It was as if God taught me the amazing way to pray under fire. It wasn't until months later that I realized that was what I was doing, how I was praying was contemplative. I was so excited! What a Grace I had been given! I also learned that I needed to surrender. I was afraid to. I knew I was afraid to. I was offering it up for my family and for my husband. I was not complaining. I was thanking God for the pain, for the fear, for the uncertainty, and yet I couldn't completely surrender. I prayed the Stations of the Cross over and over again. I found such comfort in them. I knew I had to mourn my baby, Lolek, but I also knew that I couldn't yet. It was as if my mind said "one crisis at a time, and this one is more immediate." Besides my husband was making arrangements with the funeral home and the Church, I could be at peace knowing he would get the burial a child of God deserved.
One thing that was astounding to me were the insane conversations I would have with doctors. They would come in every day to check on me. I saw about 13 different doctors over the course of the first 7 days I was there. THEY ALL told me I needed to decide what birth control to use. A conversation would go like this:
Doctor: Hello Laura, how are you feeling
Me: Hello. I still can't breathe and I have a lot of chest pain
Doctor: Well that will take a lot of time. Your INR (how thin the blood is) is still off so we have to adjust your dose again.
Me: OK
Doctor: Now, lets talk about Birth Control for a moment.
Me: No, that's OK.
Doctor: Dr. So and So tells me you refused birth control yesterday.
Me: Yes I did! *smile*
Doctor: That is not wise. You see, blood thinners can cause birth defects and pregnancy can cause blood clots.
Me: So can Birth Control
Doctor: Well, that's not exactly true
Me: Yes it is. It says so on the hormonal BC inserts. Why in the world would you want me on BC if it causes them? I ALREADY HAVE ONE!
Doctor: Well, it would be irresponsible of you to take a risk of getting pregnant
Me: BC isn't fool proof. Besides my husband and I use a natural method and we use SELF control instead.
Doctor: That's not really a smart idea.
Me: Excuse me? I am a Roman Catholic. My faith teaches me that Birth Control is not only harmful to me, but its harmful to my marriage, to society, and to my soul. AND I BELIEVE IT. I practice my Faith. I am very upset that every day I get a birth control lecture even after asking the nurses to notate on my chart that it is not to be discussed with me. There is nothing you can say that will ever change my mind.
Doctor: Well its your decision but it is not a smart one. If you get pregnant you have to come off the blood thinners and go on a different medication and you will need a high risk OB/GYN. Plus, how many children do you have now?
Me: Four on earth.
Doctor: My goodness. All with the same man?
ME: YES!
Doctor: Don't you think that's enough?
Me: I think its not for me alone to decide, and its none of your business.
Doctor: Very well, we are done.
At that point a nurse will hurry in and tell me my blood pressure was too high and I would explain that it was the doctor's fault.
So these were my days. Plenty to offer up, and yet, I was still holding something back.
When I was released 7 days later I got home late afternoon. My mom was there with my sister. My kids were so happy. I was exhausted. I was very weak, and still couldn't breathe. I felt like I had been run over by a bus. I got set up on the overstuffed chair and cuddled my kids. I felt terrible. The next day I still felt awful but managed a shower. The kids had an early bedtime. I decided to sleep on the chair because it was comfortable for my breathing. As I tried to doze off an all too familiar sensation made me hurry to the bathroom. I was hemorrhaging again. A lot. In half an hour I was back in an ambulance heading to the hospital. It had been less than 12 hours since I was discharged.
The blood thinners were reversed to stop the bleeding. This put me at risk for another clot and made my pain level higher and difficulty breathing worse. An ultrasound revealed what they thought "might" be a retained bit of tissue. I was told to not eat or drink in case I needed a D and C to remove it. I was admitted again but since the cardiac unit was full I was put on a Bariatric floor.
The poor nurses there didn't know what to do with me. All the equipment was too big for me - it was designed for obese people getting bariatric surgery. After all my problems I weighed about 118 pounds - hardly obese. Still those nurses were wonderful. They knew I was hungry and wasn't allowed to eat, and they didn't have monitors for my vitals so they came in to check as often as they could. Some dear friends came to pray over me. They brought relics of several saints and along with a few other friends, including my amazing "super-doula" best friend we prayed. Through the course of the prayer I began to feel very strange. I had been given a drug that was supposed to help expel the retained tissue, but came with the risk of further hemorrhage. The doctor had told me we still couldn't rule out a D and C and would I consent to placing an IUD while getting the procedure. I practically shouted her out of the room. "NO! STOP TALKING TO ME ABOUT BIRTH CONTROL!" She was very upset with me and told me she hoped I didn't hemorrhage but if I did, at least I could get another transfusion, and she left.
As I began to feel strange, I thought to myself, here it comes. I'm going to bleed to death right here. There are no monitors so the nurses won't see that my BP is dropping and my pulse is racing. I began to feel faint. I hadn't eaten in 36 hours, and I'm sure that didn't help. I couldn't see straight, my heart was pounding. I started to get tunnel vision. "Surrender, Laura." I heard a whisper in my heart. "Make my mother your mother." Papa JPII? My friends were praying. I felt like I was dying. "Mama!!! Mama!!! I surrender! Help me Mama! I give up! God can have me if He wants. I surrender. Please, be my Mother. Help me to love you as my mother, help me surrender completely to God. If its His Will that I die now, then I accept it. Please hold my hand Mama, I give everything to God. Everything. My life, my health, my kids, my husband, everything." I was screaming in my mind. I felt as though I was saying it out loud. And in that moment, Mary became my Heavenly Mother. I had broken through.
My pulse quickened, the dizziness intensified, and I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I could tell I was about to hemorrhage. "Call a nurse," I whispered. My friends looked worried. They pressed the call button and went into the hallway. Two nurses came running. "I'm not OK." I told them. "I feel like I do before I hemorrhage, and I want to pass out." They started checking vitals. The looked worried. Very worried. They called another nurse. One left to make a call. The other two ushered out my friends. They shut the door and brought over a portable commode. Lets prop you up on this and see what happens. I agreed. I prepared myself for the inevitable gush of blood and what I knew would be me passing out afterwards. "You have to hold me up," I said. The nursed could see I was so dizzy I couldn't even sit up without help. "We aren't leaving your side," they said. And so I glanced upward, asked Mary to give me courage, and resigned myself to the very real sense that I was going to die that night.
Then a strange thing happened. I sat propped up waiting for the worst. Instead of a rush of blood the only thing that my body expelled was a piece of tissue. It looked to be the size of the retained tissue that the ultrasound had revealed. I was flabbergasted. So were the nurses. You see, it just doesn't work like that. You don't just expel a bit of tissue and NOTHING else. Not post pardum, not when you have been hemorrhaging. The dizziness began to wane. Tunnel vision went away. The nurses put me back in bed.
"See, I am your Mother." I heard her whisper in my heart. With complete clarity I understood. Mary had just kept me alive. She had saved my life. It was my final act of surrender that made it possible. I was filled with gratitude. Immense gratitude. I can't write this without crying. That night, Mary became my mother, and I learned that surrender - ultimate surrender - is a freedom. Not something to be feared.
Shortly after this experience the nurses came in to tell me I was being transferred to the Cardiac Unit "where I belonged." Soon I was back on the cardiac floor in the ICU for a few days, and then to the regular cardiac floor before being sent home. All told I had been in the hospital for 16 days.
I had an ultrasound the day after the night when Mary saved my life to check on the "retained tissue" and wouldn't you know, they couldn't find it. The whole time I had the distinct feeling of Mary's presence. It was as if she was letting me know that just as I wouldn't leave one of my children's sides were they in the hospital, neither was she leaving mine. I had the most profound peace. I was no longer scared. I didn't really know what would happen to me yet but I was not scared. I was at peace. I was still in a lot of pain and I still couldn't breathe, but I had peace. I remember realizing that I had done as John Paul II said. I made Mary my Mother! And as I thought these things, in my heart I knew I had a new Spiritual Father as well. I was overjoyed! There I was with my oxygen cannula on, the anti-clot balloons on my legs, heart monitors all over, two IVs, and bruises up and down my arms, grinning like a fool. Our God is an amazing God.
In my next post I would like to introduce you to some very amazing, very special, extremely dear friends without whom I couldn't have survived the hospital tedium, or recovered once home. They have become my Virginia Family and I thank God for them every day. So, next time you will meet "Lolek's Friends."
Its been a year. A whole year. I haven't been able to blog about it until now. A year ago tonight my tiny baby son was born at home, Eternally Asleep. He was so tiny. I was only 13 weeks along with him. His nickname was "Baby Green Chocolate" and we gave him the name of Lolek Pio. My dearest friend was there with me. She is a doula by trade and to have her there with me was such a blessing and such a grace. We had found out the night before that Lolek was no longer alive when she accompanied me to the Emergency Room. She held my hand as the ultrasounds tech's silence spoke volumes. She drove me home and we collected supplies. She spent the night at my house as my kids spent the night at hers with her amazing Husband. (My husband was away that weekend and didn't get back until after Lolek had been born). She taught me how to crochet the next day as we waited for contractions to intensify. She helped me clean his tiny body after he was born and she helped me Baptize him. And then she basically saved my life.
After Lolek was born I had about a half an hour with him. I held him, cleaned him, anointed and baptized him and kissed him. I had prepared a tiny coffin for his body and I placed him in it after I had held him as long as I could. My friend took a few pictures of him for me, so I could remember him (like I could ever forget). After half an hour and after he was safely in the coffin, I realized that I didn't feel well and that I hadn't delivered a placenta. When he was born he was attached to his umbilical cord and I had to cut it. So I knew there was a placenta and a cord that needed to be delivered - albeit small ones. Lolek's coffin was placed in the fridge on a shelf I had cleared for him (I know it sounds wrong, but its the best thing to do if you are waiting for a funeral director to come and take the baby's body for burial arrangements.) I told my friend that I hadn't delivered a placenta. Thats when I realized that I was bleeding - a LOT.
Things happened very quickly after that. With Lolek Pio anointed, baptized, and safely awaiting the funeral director my mind was able to shift to survival - and that is exactly what it needed to do because I was hemorrhaging - badly. In an instant my friend switched from concerned bestie to super-doula. She got me into my bed flat on my back. No sign of a placenta or cord. She felt my uterus. Way too soft. She mashed on it - lots more blood. Lots. By now there was blood everywhere. It was in the bathtub it was in a garbage bag we had placed over the toilet for the very purpose of collecting it (midwife trick). It was all over my bedroom - buckets, bowls, if I hadn't been feeling like passing out I would have made a Halloween joke. Doula extraordinaire called my midwife. She talked her through a few things to check. It wasnt looking good. Then my midwife instructed her to measure the blood. Yes, my dear dear friend was elbow deep in my blood. I cannot express to you the very deep humility I felt and appreciation I have for her. She measured: 1 cup, 2 cups, 3 cups, 4 cups, 5 cups, 6 cups....and there was still more. After measuring six cups the midwife cut her off. She was concerned. Still no placenta. By now I was mashing and squeezing my poor uterus - trying to keep it as firm as possible. I knew if I didn't I would quite literally bleed to death on my bed. "I think we need to call 9-11," I said. My friend agreed. She called. I mashed.
She took over mashing as I heard the sirens. Sirens. They must be worried.
The EMTs came in and God bless them, didn't barf. There were two seasoned EMTs and one newbie on the squad. I thought he was gonna pass out. "That's a lot of blood ma'am," he said, ashen. They took some vitals and did NOT look impressed. I was instructed not to move as they made a hammock out of the bedsheets and carried me into the hallway where the stretcher was. My husband was on his way home. I asked my friend's husband, who got to the house just after the ambulance did, to call him and tell him to go to the hospital. Then away we went. I was quite dizzy and very lightheaded but I was determined to keep mashing. I instructed on of the EMTS on how to "mash" on my uterus. He had never done it before. I explained that I would bleed out if he didn't. The poor newbie looked scared again. As soon as the doors closed they rolled out, sirens wailing, speeding. I figured this meant things were pretty bad. Usually the sirens don't go unless there is a real emergency. The driver didn't even slow down for the traintracks!! He just yelled "tracks" and the EMTs in the back with me held me down as we flew over them. Then they got my IVs going - one in each arm and put me on full oxygen. I was having trouble staying awake and fought it as hard as I could. I kept mashing. I could hear the EMT call in to the ER. He sounded gruff. He said a lot of code words I didn't understand but I DID hear "tachycardic" a few times and "crash cart." That was enough to give me a bit of an adrenaline rush. The ambulance sped on.
I remember at one point time sort of stood still. I was laying on the stretcher and I was praying in my mind. I was asking for strength and for God to give me courage. I kept thinking of my children. All of a sudden I "saw" Jesus. I don't exactly know how to describe it. It was in my mind but out of it. Clear as day. Jesus was on a horse. He was dressed as a Knight in Shining Armor. He was wielding a big sword and a lance and He was fighting. I distinctly recall just KNOWING that He was fighting for me. And then it was as if WHOOSH I rushed into the fast paced present again. The ambulance arrived at the hospital and the EMTs jumped out. I kept telling them I was Catholic and that I needed a priest. They were busy. They jogged me into the hospital and we took a route I had never taken before - bypassing all the desks, all the rooms and went into a special room. I found out later it was the ICU "Crash Unit." As they wheeled me in I saw 7 nurses all scrubbed up ready to pounce. One was holding the paddles of a crash cart - ready to go. It dawned on me that the reason I felt so awful was because I was in pretty bad shape. I kept mashing.
They transferred me from the stretcher to the hospital bed and POUNCE! every nurse in the room went to work. I had my clothes cut off me as someone else was putting in another IV, I was being checked all over, vitals taken, oxygen started again, the doctor appeared at my side. Laura, I am doctor so and so. We need to get your permission for a transfusion if you need one. I gave it. I didn't have a choice. Not if I wanted to live. I told him that I had a retained placenta. I kept mashing. I told the nurses they needed to mash on my stomach. They were so busy getting me prepped and waiting for me to flat line that no one heard. So I kept mashing. Eventually they let my friend back. She took over mashing for a few minutes. The doctor asked us to stop mashing to see what would happen. It wasn't pretty. Lets just say I didn't know I could "squirt" blood like that. Poor doc. He told me I could go back to mashing. Then a poor tech said he needed to do a blood draw so they could get my blood type for the transfusion. I was actually snarky and told him he could stand at the edge of the bed and catch it. He turned pale and I apologized, holding out my IV intubated arm to him. He hurried away.
Unfortunately though that last dramatic blood loss made me very woozy. I was seeing double and couldn't tell which way was up. I started to shiver all over. Uncontrollable shivering. I was going into shock. Still I kept mashing. The doctor kept calling for bags a blood. It wasn't coming so he sent a tech to "go and get it. Now!" When the tech came back they started my transfusion - using the biggest needles possible. Then they started a Potassium drip - which burns like nothing I have ever felt before - on the other arm. I kept mashing. I was still hemorrhaging Finally after what seemed like ages but was really about an hour and a half the OB on call came in. Immediately she got me set up. The nurses were trying to keep me awake and the one on "standby" with the crash cart kept moving closer. She said there was no time for a D and C to get the retained placenta, I had lost too much blood and didn't have time to get to an OR. She looked at me, "I am going to have to go in and scrape it out. It's going to hurt, but we don't have a choice." I nodded. They got me set up in a makeshift way. The nurses were afraid to move me as any movement sent my heart rate dangerously high. And God Bless her, that OB, she got the job done. We didn't even have time for pain killers.
I laid there in blinding pain and I kept thinking of the scene in Braveheart where he gets disemboweled at the end. "Freeeeeeeeeedom" I whispered into my oxygen mask, laughing at myself. Then I started shaking again. Finally, finally, after quite a bit of time, the OB was confident that she had gotten everything. She gave my uterus a good hard mash and squeeze. It hurt so badly after being mashed and scraped and pounded on all night long. Then she gave me two shots of pitocin. I could feel the blessed contractions start! FINALLY!! They hurt like heck but I was so happy to feel them that I almost didn't care. If they hurt they were working!!! I didn't have to mash anymore!! I hadn't flat-lined, and I was alive!
My husband eventually arrived and was let back to the ICU with me. I was holding my friend's hand as he walked back. I am sure from his angle it looked like a war zone. (The hospital collected buckets of blood too). I, however, was being cleaned up a bit by some nurses and had blankets piled on my to try to stop the shaking. I felt so cold! The crash cart nurse put the paddle down. She leaned over, "I can't believe you never passed out," she said, "I was watching your vitals the whole time and I am stunned I didn't need those," she referenced the paddles. "Jesus was fighting for me," I whispered. She smiled.
I stayed in the Crash Unit for a while longer as they waited for me to stabilize a bit. They did an ultrasound to make sure there was nothing left behind and gave me some more pitocin. Then they gave me some uber-painkillers. They made me feel like I was floating on the ceiling.
I spent the night on two IV drips. I didn't sleep. The Potassium burned its way through my veins making it impossible to sleep, and my legs felt funny. They hurt and then they would go numb, and then they would ache. Nope, no sleep for me.
The next day my husband went home and met the funeral director. He gave him Lolek Pio's coffin and made arrangements. Later that night he came and picked me up. I was told I need LOTS of rest and to drink and take some iron supplements. I was still on the very low blood volume side of things and needed to take my time as my body caught up with itself.
I went home and saw that my husband had cleaned up the mess. He remarked later that he couldn't believe the odor the blood had. "It smelled like Chrism" is what he said. He was expecting a foul or nauseating odor and instead, he kept insisting it smelled like chrism. "You smell like chrism too" he said to me more than once - even after I had showered! He also said he felt very strongly the presence of Padre Pio. This didn't surprise me. Two weeks before losing Lolek, Padre Pio was making it known that we were going to need him. So when I started to sense that things weren't right with the pregnancy I immediately knew who to ask for intercession! That is why Lolek's middle name is Pio. He was very near me as everything happened.
Little did I know that Padre Pio and Pope John Paul II were about to play an even bigger role in my life.... but that is for another post!
Baby Lolek Pio, I miss you and I long to hold you. I ask that you look down on us and along with your brother and sister who are also in Heaven, pray for us and for our friends and family. Amen.
The other day was my daughter's annual check-up. In the course of the visit her pediatrician was asking the normal questions and I was answering. (Can I take a minute to say that I LOVE our pediatrician? That is saying a LOT since I generally don't get along with any doctors and am one of "those" patients/moms who is educated and outspoken when it comes to medicine and health). So in between the doc's good natured ribbing of my usual refusal to vaccinate and my telling him of my reasons for going mostly Paleo with the kids' diets he asks, "How much TV do your kids watch?" I blinked at him. "We don't have a TV," I responded," but occasionally I allow them to watch a DVD on the computer or a show on Netflix." He got a big grin on his face and held out his hand for a high-five. "Put 'er there," he said as I slapped his hand, "Excellent!"
We wrapped up the appointment with a clean bill of health and his promise to look over the latest info on the connection between vaccines and gut damage and I happily announced that we would see him in a week for the boys' check-ups. (Did I mention that I love this guy?)
"Mommy, why did he ask if we have a TV?"
"Well because TV isn't really good for children."
"Oh."
This got me thinking.
Later in the week I was talking with a friend who asked if I ever let my kids watch TV. I responded the same way I did to my pediatrician. "But," she persisted, "do you ever let them watch too much?"
This got me thinking some more.
During the Olympics we saw some of the games on my inlaw's TV while we were visiting. It was fun to watch the athletes and to see America excel. It was NOT fun to see the commercials for NBC's new show The New Normal. (http://www.nbc.com/the-new-normal/). A show about a gay couple who use a surrogate to gestate the baby they plan to adopt, despite the objection of the surrogate's "uptight, conservative (read "Republican") mother."
More thinking.
I decided to check out the new mini-drama Political Minds and the series Downton Abbey as I had heard good things about both and since I have an interest in politics, and I love a good English Period piece. I was enjoying both of them until the somewhat unexpected "love scenes" between what turned out to be the closeted (and not so closeted) gay characters.
Much more thinking.
I consider myself to be a tolerant person. I don't judge, and quite frankly, I don't care if you wish to label yourself according to your sexual orientation. I prefer to be friends with someone based on WHO they are not WHAT they do in their private moments. This being the case, I am friends with individuals who claim a different orientation than I do, and I am grateful for their friendship, and glad they are part of my life. I do however have to tell you that when I see two men making out I have what others would call a "negative reaction.". Sorry if that offends you, but its the Truth. I literally have to look away. Its not the people who disgust me. Its the action. Let's be clear on that before I start getting called ridiculous names.
So what does all this have to do with TV? Well, the reason we decided to not have one was two fold. The first reason being that there is so much sexualized junk that it didn't seem worth the bill. The second was because we didn't want our children to grow up in front of the television. After reading so much about how detrimental it is to a child's brain development it just didn't seem worth it to me. That's where the mom-guilt comes in. You see, I DO sometimes allow the kids to watch too much on the computer. "Screen time" is what we call it. Whether its my son watching things on Netflix from the Discovery Channel or my daughter watching "Queen Esther" I do let them see too much screen sometimes. And I feel guilty about it. I especially feel guilty about it when I am dealing with a large amount of stress - like recovering from hospitalization or recovering from severe anemia (which exhausts me completely) or trying to deal with a family crisis. These are the times when, yes, I admit it, the screen becomes a babysitter. After they have read through all their books, colored all they can color, played all the games that we can think of, when I need to deal with everything else life is throwing at me without a child hanging on my leg, the screen becomes a lifeboat. There. I admitted it. I feel guilty as heck, but I suspect that I am not alone in this guilt-ridden admission.
Now, my kids are all over the age of three, which is a magic age as far as screens go. Before reaching the age of 2 1/2 I really do keep the kids from the screen....well, except for that one time..... and the time before that.... humpf. Bad Mommy. More guilt.
As I wallow in my self-imposed, guilt-laced thoughts, it occurs to me that at least not having a TV has kept my kids from the other reason we decided to not have a television: content. On the computer I have a filter and parental controls set as strict as they can get. My kids cant even access a search engine. Sorry, Google, my children don't use you. This coupled with the fact that if they are viewing a screen I am IN the room with them means that the content they view is going to be safe and under Mommy's control. In my opinion, especially as my kids get older, THIS becomes more important than having a little too much screen time occasionally.
If we had a TV I would have NO control over content. Sure I could monitor the programming, but commercials? They are a wild card - and from what I have seen and heard, they are getting wilder. If my experience with the new push to mainstream the homosexual lifestyle is any indication, TV programs are just going to get more and more deviant, and push the envelope. This is sadly calculated. TV, media, and movies have always been used to advance a social agenda. They are used to desensitize and normalize lifestyle choices that are not yet mainstream but that are well on their way. Its the media version of cramming a cultural change down our collective throats. This, to me, is disingenuous at best, and down right disgusting at worst. And I won't participate.
Do you know why I have such a strong reaction to two men grasping and clawing and kissing each other? Because I am NOT desensitized and I am having a NATURAL reaction to an unnatural act. (To be fair, if there was a scene between a man and woman and same types of behavior were displayed I would be equally as mortified because I am not desensitized to the types of intimate displays that belong in a married couple's bedroom and are meant to be shared ONLY between the two people - not an audience). THIS is what I want for my children. I WANT them to be sensitive to inappropriate sexual displays, to violence, to evil, to meanness, to ugliness. (Real ugliness, not superficial - see this post for an explanation).
If we are raising children to see with the eyes of Christ than we cannot allow them to be desensitized to things that ought to repulse them. This is sadly the agenda of far too much media programming. It makes our job as parents difficult and unpopular at times.
I remember growing up that I wasn't allowed to view many (OK, ALL) of the TV shows that my peers were. I realize now that my parents were being wise and prudent. Thank God I respected them and heeded their rules. I have a good understanding of right and wrong, good and bad, and a solid command of social issues that would have been confused had I indulged my young and immature mind by consuming the confusing messages of the pop-culture programs. I must now do the same for my kids. Hopefully someday they too will understand!
As many of you know I have been heavily involved in politics for almost 2 years now. I worked on 2 Presidential Campaigns and helped to start a Consulting and Web-based Campaign Solutions Company that is now operating in almost all 50 states. In short, I climbed the political power ladder fast. But I'm sick of it. Politics, at this point, does nothing to excite me and even angers me. i am so disenchanted with the ideologies and polarization. I'm not liberal. Heck, I'm not even Conservative. I'm CATHOLIC!
You see, I never WANTED to be in a position of influence. I had no aspirations of riding in freight elevators and walking through the maze of a hotel kitchen on the way to an event with a Presidential Front-Runner. (Although I WILL admit, that stuff was pretty fun - like living out a scene from The West Wing). I began my foray into politics simply because I was scared for the future of my children and I wanted to do something about it. I started out just tweeting (yes, I tweet - follow me @DOHK!) in support of a candidate and then one thing led to another and before I knew it I was helping with policy and message, organizing volunteers on a National scale and running the State of Virginia for the campaign with 11,000 volunteers waiting for my direction! Yikes! That's a long way from the Twitterverse!! Then that candidate left the race and I began to work for the next front-runner. That was a National role! Double yikes!
Now here I am working on the company that was the brainchild of the collective experience of some of us who worked together through the two campaigns, talking to Senators and Congressman, Governors and Campaign Staffers and I am feeling as though its time for me to move on.
But move on to where?
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my coworkers. I have made some amazing friendships with some Faith-filled people across this nation and for that I am so thankful. I have had experiences I never could have thought up in my imagination and learned a lot of valuable lessons about myself.
The most valuable lesson I have learned is that despite it all, I am still "Mommy."
For almost 2 years I have been juggling homeschooling, the house, the job, the campaigning, and my marriage. That is a lot of juggling. Throw in there that in November I suffered some very serious health problems that almost left my kids without their Mommy and well...... it may be time to simplify! Yet I feel a very deep obligation to my fellow political types who prayed me through my illness and offered me their friendship, their support, their time and even their financial help at times. So if I cut this tie, it will sting.
Still this has been growing on my heart. I find myself seeing more and more reasons why I need to be moving on and leaving all I have set in motion in other (probably more!) capable hands.
I hear it in my son's voice, "Do you have to have another conference call? Now?"
in my daughter's voice, "Why cant we spend more time on the computer - you do, even if its for work."
in my three year old's voice, "Mommy can't do a fun thing now because she has to work."
Some women can do it. I managed it for 2 years. But now that the work I am doing is no longer flexible and cant be confined to naptimes and after bedtimes, my kids feel the difference and that simply can't be.
So in my heart I think I know what I must do. Now I have to make my head listen.
God decided to throw me some help in the form of a very powerful book called "Happy are You Poor." (yep that's us alright!) by Thomas DuBay. Wow. Just Wow.
I will caution you - if you read this book with an attitude of prayer your life will never be the same. It can't be. It will cause you to examine EVERYTHING in a completely different context. The context of the pure, unadulterated Gospel Truth that has been sadly watered down - so much so that we (even us uber-catechized) Catholics have never considered it.
The book deals with Evangelical Radical Poverty. Now you see why so many of us have never considered it? Radical Evangelistic Poverty? I am sure most of you have never heard of it outside the stories of St. Francis. St. Phillip Neri and the Cure d'Ars. ( I know I hadn't!) But it is a Gospel Calling - for ALL Christians.
My husband and I have been pouring over the pages and deciding what we need to change in our lives so that we can live this Gospel calling. Of course this led me to once again consider my position in politics.
I have been saying for a while now that we need to change the Culture here in America if our Nation is going to survive as Founded. I had hoped that I could help bring that about through my political work. That is one of the reasons I stuck with it for so long. Now, however, I have a completely different perspective. Oh yes, America needs a complete cultural re-vamp, but its not going to come through politics. Nor will it come through legislation. It going to be from the inside out.
I am completely convinced that it will happen when we Catholics learn how to live our Faith radically - ALL aspects of it - and through living it, we will encourage change. (Thats why the Radical Poverty that Christ calls us to is called "Evangelical.")
So that is my goal. The problem is where to start! I have so much on my heart that I would like to do, and thanks to my political work a lot of skills that I bring to the table. I have a heart for ministry, and a knack for writing, speaking, running things, organizing and social media. What do I do with all that!?
I have some pretty wild, big ideas about how to really begin living this Evangelistic Poverty and what sort of Ministry I would like to do. Perhaps I will share those in another post.
For now, though, I think its starts with getting back to basics. Making sure that life is centered on Christ. Asking God the Father for guidance, and being open to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. It starts with returning to being "just Mommy" and taking off some of the extra hats. It starts with reading an extra bedtime story to my kids and having a few days go by before any of us pick up a laptop or look at a screen. It begins with prayer. It begins with making the changes that my husband I feel are necessary to live Gospel Poverty. Sitting in Adoration, and teaching my children that we are Pilgrims on this earth, traveling to our real Home. Then slowly the rest will become clear and we will see what amazing adventure God has in store for us next!
“We don’t actually have much control over the way our kids turn out. Genes do a lot of the deciding, and the owner of those genes does most of the rest. Some kids let parents have a great deal of influence; others don’t. Either way, people blossom when we love them, not when we worry about them. Worry just teaches worry.”
I am sitting on the floor in front of our wood burning stove enjoying the warmth. Its a cold, wet day and the house has a chill. We heat our home with the wood stove, and so sitting here I am getting the first of the warmth that is sure to spread throughout the house. My husband has been working odd hours for a few years now and so the bulk of the fire duty falls to me. At first this was exciting. I would trample through the snow and wind to the wood pile, gathering an armful and then trudge back to house, convinced I would have made a great pioneer or first settler. Then I'd build a great fire and be pleased with my pyromania prowess. But sometimes its not that easy to get a roaring fire going. I think of these things as I stare at the flames. This fire stove always gives me something to ponder.
Tonight it has me musing on marriage.
Marriage is a lot like this fire.
To get the fire burning strong, it takes a lot of tending. It takes care and attention. So does a strong marriage.
The fire won't build itself, and left too long alone it will burn itself out. So will a marriage.
Sometimes just one piece of wet wood, or rotted log can ruin a strong burn. Similarly, resentment and misunderstandings can rot a marriage, ruining its flame.
I have noticed that when the wood is wet, when its not perfect, when it hasn't been seasoned, the fire needs MORE tending and MORE attention. This is true for marriage. When you hit the "for worse" (and everyone does) this is when you need to work even harder on your marriage. Its when you tend to each other and each other's needs even more. Its the only way to grow strong again - my fire taught me that.
Sometimes I am fooled when I look at the blaze in the stove. It seems so strong and so steady. So I ignore it. I get distracted, and assume its OK. Soon it is barely a smoldering pile of ash, and it takes even more work to build it back up again. So too with marriage. We have a tendency to take our spouse and our marriage for granted when things are going well, when we feel strong. But this allows for inattention and inattentiveness. Before long, we are in a bad place and our marriage needs even more work than it did before.
Sometimes despite my best efforts, the fire is slow to catch and difficult to burn. But I tend to it anyway. I can't give up! My family relies on the heat from the fire! I can't let them freeze and I can't let them down! Marriage isn't always a fairy tale. In fact it hardly ever is. Instead some marriages are difficult. They require extra tending and care, and sometimes despite the best efforts of one or both spouses, the marriage is slow to grow strong. Don't give up! Just as my difficult, slow to burn fire will eventually become a strong blaze, so will a marriage that is difficult - with enough work, enough patience and tending.
Some things will put out a fire immediately. Throw water on a fire of any size and it will go out, The wet ash will also make it impossible to start a new one. The old, wet ash must be shoveled out and a new fire started. Some things are like water to flame in a marriage: infidelity, bitterness, total neglect, and disrespect will put out the flames completely. A marriage dampened under one of these will take a lot of time and care to rebuild. A lot of "shoveling" and soul searching and trust building has to take place first. But just as a fire can be rebuilt, so can a marriage.
I stare at the fire. It is burning well now. A solid, strong, steady burn. I could keep this fire burning for days, weeks, even years if I give it the right amount of attention, the right amount of patience and the right amount of tending. Despite the setbacks, the damp wood, the distractions and the wrong assumptions I might make about this blaze, I can see that what it needs is perseverance, patience, care, and attention to keep burning. Very much like a marriage.....
**This post is dedicated to my cousins, Caitlin Cardona and Kimberly Sharkey, who are both preparing to start "fires" of their own. <3 **
Its just me and the little man. Awake. At 12:14am. So I guess Lent has officially started. Since I am awake and musing about what the next 40 days have in store I thought I would muse out loud, well, in cyberprint anyway!
The kids and I had a few chances to talk about Lent and what its all about today as we ran our errands. I am excited that the older two are old enough to remember "traditions." For instance when I reminded them that today was "Fat Tuesday" (Mardi Gras) and the day before Ash Wednesday, my 6 year old immediately got out the "sacrifice jar." "Mommy, we have to get the rocks!" He is talking about the small driveway rocks (we have used dried large beans too) that we keep in a big bowl next to the sacrifice jar. Every time one of the kids makes a sacrifice they get to put a rock in the jar. On Easter Sunday when they wake up, the jar will be empty of the rocks and full of jelly beans. Its a great visual reminder of sacrifice and redemption - how God takes our sacrifices, that don't feel good - like rocks - and He turns them into beautiful prayers which obtain Grace, which is good - sort of like jelly beans - for us!
The kids also reminded me that we need to make this year's Stations of the Cross. Every year I print out coloring pages of the Stations. The kids each get a few to color and then we cut and paste them onto construction paper. Every night of Lent we pray the Stations together, with the kids taking turns leading. Its fun to see how their coloring, and their interpretations, change every year. (I am sure "Punch-less Pilot" will "fly his plane" into Jerusalem again this year, and maybe he will "take martial arts lessons to learn how to punch!")
A big change this is year is that the kids are all (well except for Noah) old enough to give up something and understand why its a good thing to do. They collectively decided to give up watching "shows." (We don't have a TV but they do have some shows they are allowed to watch on Netflix and on DVDs on the computer). I am very proud of this Lenten endeavor, and also believe it will greatly benefit them. I promised that we would make more library trips as a way to ease them into the idea of making this sacrifice. What is more important to me, though, is that they understand WHY we give things up. Once again, by explaining it to my kids, I have gotten a glimpse into the pure simplicity and total SENSE that our Faith makes.
At dinner (pancakes with lots of toppings!) I asked them to tell their Daddy what they were doing for Lent. They proudly announced they were giving up "shows." "Why?" I pressed them. The older two explained, "Because when we give up things we like its a sacrifice, and giving things up shows God that we love Him more than we love things." "What else?" I asked. "And it also trains our souls and minds to be able to say no, so when there is something bad we have to say no to, we can! " "Yeah! It makes a good habit in our souls and minds!"
I beamed.
See, its not enough if my kids go through the motions but don't grasp the why . Its the why that makes all the difference. Its the difference between "because Mommy says so" and them wanting to do something because they love God and know He loves them. That's what Lent comes down to for all of us. Do we go through the motions or do we seek to allow God to love us? By removing distractions and bad habits, by practicing penance and abstinence we are opening ourselves more to His Love. We remove those things in ourselves that prevent His love from reaching us, and that prevent us from even noticing that He loves us. THAT is what Lent is for - it prepares us for that scandalous, wondrous, LOVE affair called Easter.
Maybe my kids don't yet grasp the Scandal of the Cross. Maybe they don't fully understand the utter agony Christ suffered on our behalf. But they ARE aware of His love for them. They DO know that something awesome happened on Easter (and it doesn't have to do with a bunny, although I am sure he is coming again this year). As they get older they will understand more fully, and we will make new traditions. For now though, I am happy that as we embark on these 40 days, my little ones will be giving it their all and trying their best to fill up that Sacrifice Jar!
Its not always easy to be on the ball looking for the teachable moments and taking the opportunities to show them God's Love. But these days, when their characters and consciences are forming, when they are developing habits for the Liturgical Year, are too important to waste. All too soon they will be grown and have their own Lenten Traditions. So until then I will be happy to hear more about "Punch-less Pilot" and hear my 4 year old imitate the "weeping women of Jerusalem" (apparently they say "weep weep weep weep"). And I will secretly watch as they raise their stuffed animals from the dead and crucify half naked G.I Joes. They are "getting it" and more importantly, in their own way, they are opening their hearts to the Love that pours forth from the Cross. THAT, my friends, is pretty awesome.
May you all have a Blessed Lenten Season as you look forward to the Joy of Easter.
I survived the "Terrible Twos" with Noah, the star of more than a few of the posts here. I thought it would be smooth sailing - onto potty training and sleeping in his big boy bed! Oops. I forgot about "three." Noah is my fourth and youngest child on earth. You would think by now I would have conquered the Mommy Amnesia and would be hunkered down for the Horrible Threes. The "Twos" are just a practice run - three is when it gets REALLY interesting. Now it is all flooding back.
When my third child and second son turned three he began what we called the "only in public tantrums." He was an angel at home, but as soon as he set foot in a store or market, WHAMMO! He was on the floor writhing and screaming, wailing and yelling. Shoving himself all over the floor with his feet while I hid, waiting for it to pass. (It passed at three and a half.) Yes, those were the "threes" with Ben.
His older brother was never a tantrum thrower, he preferred to climb - and taste - everything. His threes were spent scaling the furniture, scaling the windows, climbing the walls (literally) and then jumping off whatever it was he had conquered; then he would sample everything: 'Oh a rock!' lick. "Hmm, hay," crunch. "Sticky stuff from a caterpillar," slurp. Yes he was the taste-testing climber.
My oldest was a very particular three. She had to have everything arranged just so, and was generally happy - until she wasn't - and it was then that she would throw the most beautiful tantrum - eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open wide AND NO SOUND! She was our "silent tantrum thrower." It was magnificent.
Noah, however, is going to be a whole new experience. He is just plain destructive. Mischievously destructive. He has the benefit of older siblings, so he is QUITE the talker with an impressive (and scary) vocabulary, very inquisitive and curious, and thinks he is older than he really is. This is NOT a good combination. Especially with a sick Mommy.
Yes, I have pneumonia, and am quite under the weather. This, however, doesn't stop Noah. He sees it as an opportunity. "Mommy can't breathe and is stuck on the couch? Excellent!" And there goes the family size grated Parmesan cheese - ALL OVER the kitchen, and in a bowl, and in the computer keyboard..... "Look, Its SNOWING!" and he gleefully licks it off the floor. "MMM delicious!" He smiles at me with grated cheese all over his face. My sick self sighs. Well, its just cheese right? I sink into the chair and let him go to town, burying his trains in piles of "snow", filling bowls up with the cheese so he can stick his face in it and eat it "like a cat." Eventually I summon the strength to get the vacuum. He claps and dances as we "suck up the snow" and then "suck off" his toys, cleaning them of the cheese.
I flop onto the couch, trying to breathe normally, and he is off on another adventure. This one involves spraying the Toy Room with Lemon Juice. It smells very fresh and clean now.
Next its on to stealing gummy bears. I find him hiding in the closet, mouth and fists full of the little bears, about to be eaten. He grins at me and darts out of the closet. I manage to wrestle the candy from his fists, and he is off to bigger and better things.....like shoving play doh in his ears and eyes. "I'm being a pirate!" "Pirates don't put play-doh in their ears." "Oh." and he is off again. This time eating the play-doh. I hear my husband in the next room, "Noah, we don't eat play-doh!" "Oh." and his little feet come running full speed into the living room. He grins at me, with play-doh in his teeth. Yuck!
No worries though, because a few minutes later I find him on top of the kitchen counter stealing more gummy Bears out of the cabinet they were hiding in. The gummy stuff will get the play-doh out of his teeth, right? Because his toothbrush is currently shoved so far down the drain I don't think I can get it out..... and yes, he shoved it down there, clogged the drain, turned on the water and flooded the bathroom..... what is it with Noahs and floods!?
Speaking of floods, I thought a hot bath would help me breathe better. So I filled up the tub, poured in some baking soda, and sat in the quiet steaminess, trying to breathe better. All of a sudden a happy face peers at me. "Hi Mommy! I am going to help you!" and he shuts the bathroom door, trapping the two of us inside. He grins again. "You need toys!" and into the bathtub goes a bunch of toys - dinosaurs, plastic things, and cups. "You need more of this!" and he dumps ALL the baking soda into the tub. "Noah, Mommy doesn't need anymore help!" "Yes you do! Here!" and he squirts a Thomas the Tank Engine bath toy at me - cold, nasty, filmy water hits me in the face. Gross. Cold. Next thing I know he has stripped off his clothes and removed his diaper. "I am coming in too!" And in he climbs before I can feebly call my husband (who is washing dishes and can't hear me anyway). Now its the two of us in a bathtub filled with WAY too much baking soda. He is happy as a squirmy clam. Then come the anatomy questions. "What are these for?" "They feed babies?" "Can I taste?" "Why don't they work right now?" "How come I don't have any?" Then the conversation moves below the belt. This is even more hysterical. "Why don't YOU have anything?" "Why do I have TWO parts than hang down?" "Are they attached?" "Why does it float?" "Can I make it big?" "Will it fall off?" Eventually, anatomy questions exhausted, I get out of the tub and leave my wet, squirmy, newly-minted three year old for my husband to tackle. Soon he is dry and ready for more action!
As I try with futility to rest in quiet, I discover Noah has taken all my candles and built a precarious tower - using a St. Francis statue and a statue of the Blessed Mother to prop it up. I carefully unstack the candles and inspect the statues for damage. That's when I notice that there is salt all over the small alter we have. I follow the salt trail into the kitchen where Noah is emptying the rest of it into one of his toy trains' coal cars. Apparently his trains run on salt.
Out comes the vacuum. Again.
And this is how it goes. One day is more destructive than the next. He gets into everything; his mischievous little grin lights up his face when he has been caught red handed stealing food, or pennies, or his siblings' toys. I know I have even more destructive days ahead, but for now, its time to hunker down, and realize that he is going to grow out of the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very bad Threes all too quickly, and that blessed Mommy Amnesia will hit once again.
We talk about a lot of issues that face our families here. One of the silent killers of family life is pornography and sex addiction. I thought for some perspective I would publish a letter from a Sex Addict's Wife. No names or detailed information is included to protect the identify of this poor, brave woman. (reprinted with permission).
Dear *******,
I can't do this anymore. I have given you almost 10 years of my life and you have wasted them. I have given you children, a clean home, dinner on the table, and encouragement. I have been your biggest cheerleader, your biggest fan, and your biggest support. I have believed in you when no one else has. Yet, here we are. I am at the end of my rope. Your addiction and your inability to really work to fight it have destroyed everything we have. Or did we really have it? Was it an illusion? Have you just been using me all these years? That's what it feels like. I feel like a giant rug that you walk all over. You have stolen the best years of my life and you didn't even notice. All those times I tried to look nice for you. All the wasted effort I put into keeping my body healthy and fit. All the stress I put on myself to lose baby weight and get back that "flat stomach" you say you like. (by the way that is the ONLY compliment you ever have paid me about how I look....and it was 2 years ago.)
Well, I am done. I have children to protect. When I discover that you are looking at porn with them around or in the next room you leave me no choice. I have given EVERYTHING to this marriage. I have sacrificed and cried, prayed and cried some more. I have singlehandedly managed the house, while you wasted our money. I have taught our children and raised them to respect you, even though you don't respect them. I have soothed their broken hearts when you raise your voice or ignore them. I have protected them from you when you were so out of touch reality that you were scary to be around. I am done. NO ONE should be forced to live like this. I have dignity. I am a child of God and you treat me like trash. Maybe you don't intend to, but you do. I have given you chance after chance to heal, to find treatment, to get sober. I have given you more chances that most ever would. Yet you throw them back in my face.
No more. I can't play this game or ride this roller coaster anymore. I love you more than I can possibly articulate, but you are hurting me. Every day. I can't make myself a victim to your addiction, and I can't allow the kids to be victims either. They deserve so much more than that.
So there you go. That's it. After all these years of praying and hoping this is what it comes down to. Leave. It has become obvious that you aren't going to truly find recovery or healing living here with us, so find a place where you can. I pray that you WILL find healing and health and sobriety and come back to us whole and happy. That is in God's Hands.
I will always love you. I still believe you can be healed. I still believe you can find sobriety and recovery. I do not believe you will find those things if something big doesn't change. Obviously being at home isn't working for any of us. I pray that by leaving us you will find what you need, so you can come back to us a whole and changed man. I will pray for you every day.
My heart is broken. I hate that your addiction has forced me into this position and I resent having to be the one who draws a hard line in the sand. I want this 'thing' out of our lives for good. It is poisoning all of us.
I love you.
Your Devoted Wife, **********
I hope that those of you who can identify with this woman's situation will draw strength from knowing you are not alone. We must all pray to end this scourge upon families. If you feel as though you are in a similar situation, please know that there are resources avaible to you and support for you. A google search of "Sanon" will find you a lot of information, as will http://www.purehope.net/ .
