Is Your Manger Clean?

It's later than I would like it to be for sitting down to empty my mind of the words tumbling around inside of it.  That's par for the course.  The time just slipped away as I lingered in nursing my sweet (should I use handsome?  Still adjusting to using more masculine baby adjectives) baby boy.  Subdued from a fever, I willing lavished my attention on him, as my mama instincts prescribed extra cuddling to ease any discomforts.  Between that sweet time and catching up on a few e-mails from old friends, my clock changed from the nine o'clock hour to the eleventh hour in a hurry.

There's the "take care of yourself Mama so you can be ready for what comes tomorrow" half of me that says just go to bed.  Before it is REALLY late.  Then there's the other half of me sitting here right now that just wants to get my thoughts on paper. Er, in typing.  On the computer screen.  Whatever it is we do these days to "write."  If my unwritten thoughts from a day were interesting at all, and if those words could be miraculously organized into neat sentences and paragraphs and even chapters...I could probably write several books.  They might not be published or even sold, but they'd be books.

And then there's that reminder, oh so gentle and subtle, of why those books are unwritten.  And might always be.  Never mind that I can't keep the living room floor, the steps, or my kitchen counters free of this life that is happening.  I seemed to have overlooked all of that surrounding me.

As I finished up finding a home for the few groceries we picked up 2 hours ago, there was one misplaced item I didn't miss.  A book.  Left upside down, open to the page where its reader had stopped, lying on the tiny counter next to my stove that is reserved for drinking cups and recyclable containers during the day and nothing after dinner, definitely NOT where that book belongs.  My first thought was along the lines of "she is always leaving her books everywhere and never where they should be."

For some reason, tonight that was a fleeting thought and what I resigned myself to was the reality before me every day, and every moment of every day.  I am so glad that book was left there.  It's a book and what a blessing to have books to read, to engage our minds, to learn from, even to entertain us with stories.  It was left there by my daughter.  One of my daughters.  One of my children.  The reasons I am even called Mama, Mommy, Mom, and now Ma (an addition due to our Little House obsession lately).  Need I go on?

I will...We have counter tops to lay things on, and a lovely and functional kitchen that houses those counter tops, in a warm, character-laden (read:  old and imperfect, but the way we love it) house in a loving and lively community within a country where we are free to home school and live out our faith openly and passionately.

Proverbs 14:4  "Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, But much revenue comes by the strength of the ox."

My oxen, right  now, are my offspring.  Let's face it, children aren't typically clean.  Nor are their mangers or mine for that matter.  Especially when they come in a herd of 8.  I haven't studied the original Hebrew text for the word "revenue" just yet, but I would suggest that my payment comes in blessings through my children.  And I use the term blessings loosely, only because I'm not just referring to those rosy moments when your, OK my, 2 year old sings Bible songs enthusiastically or an older daughter writes loving notes of encouragement for this Mama.  Those are the obvious warm fuzzies of motherhood.

It is also the tough times - disrespectful words, poop blow-outs, broken washers, throwing fits, and spilled milk (cliche, but let's face it, IT IS REALITY) - that represent blessings.    Disguised as trials, but turned to blessings as our Creator uses those moments to mold us into vessels for His own glory.  After 100 cups of spilled milk, I can now usually just grimace, address the foolishness or childishness represented, and calmly clean it up.  It took 100 cups to get there.  Trust me.

So it is that these oxen (I mean children) bring revenue (rather blessings) in stinky mangers (difficult Mom moments and messy homes). And for now, I will cling to that truth and not forget the great gift that is right here in front of me.  Or all around me.


photo credit: Photo Pin

Another chapter, short or long?

Blighted ovum.  That's what they call it when you ovulate, the egg is fertilized and implants, then all development stops.  Many women don't ever know they've conceived as they naturally miscarry around the time of their next period and all seems normal.  Some of us, miss our periods completely and develop full blow pregnancy symptoms...spotting, sickness, positive tests.

Last week I finally ventured into my ob's office to find out if all was well with this pregnancy or not.  I've had abnormal bleeding, for me, and started to feel sick at 3 weeks, not 6 or seven.  Questions hung in my mind, questions that I decided to seek answers for instead of waiting my usual 12 weeks before starting prenatal care.  Blood work showed my hormone levels were elevated normally for a then 5 week pregnancy.  An ultrasound would answer more questions.

As I drove to my ultrasound appointment, unsure of what I would see, or not see, I casually decided that I was probably 8 weeks along instead of 5, and we would embark on the journey of bringing our 8th child into the world.  That would explain being sick so early.  It was simple.

As the ultrasound tech started to take a look at my womb, we chatted casually.  She performed many of my previous ultrasounds, and it felt like catching up with an old friend.  Watching the screen, an unfamiliar line crossed through my womb...what was that?  I asked if she was looking at my uterus.  Yes.  And what was that light in the middle?  Well, it appears as if there are 2 gestational sacs.

My heart skipped 5 beats and I, a bit hysterically (not typical for me), laughed and cried all at once.  She gently assured me that she was double checking things, and immediately informed that she was having difficulty seeing anything in those sacks.  An internal ultrasound exam would show us more clearly.  Same thing.  Empty.  Blackness.  Void of life.  Blighted ovum.

It's hard to really explain my emotions through the appointment, and even now I don't know how to feel, pray, or think.  When I arrived at my appointment, I was confident of new life inside me.  Then I discovered there were 2 new lives.  And just moments later, that there was no life to be found.

The next step is my choice.  They would perform a dne if I preferred, at any point.  I could simply wait it out, and eventually miscarry naturally.  I could have my blood work rechecked, or have another ultrasound, or both.

God's timing and intricate plan for our lives never ceases to amaze me.  The way the news unfolded to me couldn't have been more gracious.  The tech was gentle, open, and honest with me.  The doctor was compassionate, understanding, and gave me time to sort things out with no pressure to pursue any one path.

The length of this chapter was both long and short, depending upon your perspective.  As far as a miscarriage goes, it was drawn out.  We chose to give things time, to see how my body would respond to the lack of life.  In part because I wanted to avoid any procedures.  But the truth was we were clinging to the hope that maybe there was still life there, even just one life.

Though the wondering and hoping was hard at times, it also allowed me to slowly let go of the life that briefly lived inside my womb.  Finally at 13 weeks into the pregnancy, it was time to help my body rid itself of the remaining tissue in order to prevent any damage to my uterus.  I don't know why I didn't naturally miscarry.  I don't know why the twins didn't survive beyond implanting in the uterus.

The end of this chapter is unwritten for me, and the characters yet to be introduced.  I know for certain that there was life present, no matter how brief.  And that one day, on the other side of this life on earth, we will meet two children for the first time.   And what a day of rejoicing that will be.

Who Makes the List Anyway?

I don't know if you are a list person or not.  Some days I am.  Some days I definitely am not.  Some would say that lists are essential for keeping routines and life running smoothly.  I say they help, but sometimes the moment or even the day unravels whether I had that list or not.  Don't get me wrong, unraveling is just fine sometimes.  If the day being knit wasn't turning out too pretty, unraveling may be the perfect solution.  If that "just perfect" sweater project was almost complete and it became half undone...well, that's a different story.

Just the other day, I asked my more than challenging 3 year old (do you have one of those?) to do something for me.  I don't even remember what it was...a simple task, something she probably does everyday.  Her response?  "Mom, that's not on my to-do list."  Really.  You are 3, can't form any letters yet, and you've got a to-do list?

It certainly made me me chuckle, but it also made me think.  Am I writing my to-do list all by myself?  Sure, I'm capable of choosing what goes on it, and in a sense I have the responsibility to make a list and use the time I have wisely.

But in the bigger picture, do I ask God what He has on my to-do list?  Is my heart open, am I listening each day for that voice to guide me, even in the day to day?  I'm not so sure.  I've probably said to God more than a few times, "That's not on my to-do list!"  An unexpected mess, a neighbor who needed a listening ear, a surprise visitor, sickness, character training.  These are just some of the little things.  Then there's the big things that totally shove our lists out of the way and change our day, our week, maybe our lives completely.  Some of you know that kind of list destroyer all too well.

So, while I'm capable of keeping my own to-do list, I think I'll ask God what He's got on my to-do list today.  Tomorrow.  And every day after that. It's better that His way.