Family of Five

Today’s post is a part of the Five Minute Friday link up. We write for just 5 minutes on a 1-word prompt, without heavy editing, and see what we come up with. Today’s prompt is “Five.”

I’m going to tell you a little bit about my family of 5.

My husband, David, and I got married in 1991. That was the start of it all.

Five-plus years later, we added Justin David to the mix. He’s now 22 and a college graduated, restaurant-serving father of my grandson, Zayne. He’s a great dad, learning the ins and outs of a committed relationship, making his way in the world with a bit of advice from his old parents along the way.

A little more than 2 years later, Nathan Allan made his appearance. This 20-year-old college student has spent much of the summer as a counselor at a camp in Alaska. He’s a lover of the outdoors, but not so much in Florida. This opportunity has been so great for him.

Three and a half years and 2 miscarriages later, our daughter, Morgan Claire, came along. She will be 17 in about 7 weeks. She’s currently making biscuits and chocolate gravy (it’s a thing, trust me) in the kitchen. I’m blessed to have her home most of the time doing high school virtually. And she just got her first job!

After having dealt with infertility for several years, we are beyond blessed to have our 3 kids, and now a grandson in the mix. Our family of 5 will keep growing, I’m sure, but the core will remain. So much of what I write about, so much of what I’ve learned, is because of my family. Today, on the 12th anniversary of my mom’s death, it seems apropos. I wish she was here to see it all play out with my family of five and my sisters’ and brother’s families as well.

So there you have it. My little family.

 

When The Womb Runs Dry

I remember with vivid clarity the day we learned I had miscarried our first child. We were traveling home from Colorado to Florida when I started spotting. After 4 years of infertility, the thought of losing this long-awaited baby was terrifying. When the loss was confirmed, it seemed my tears would never stop.

That was almost 21 years ago.

I have 3 healthy children, 13, 17 and 19. Although we lost 2 more babies in the midst, our quiver is as full as we want it. Yet when the realization hit that I was on the downside of menopause, I cried.

I loved being pregnant. I didn’t suffer the nausea of so many of my friends. Although worried during my second pregnancy that the same thing would happen as the first, it got increasingly easier to relax. Nausea-free pregnancies, problem-free births (well, there were 2 short stays in the NICU for #1 and #3, but all was fine in the end), pain-free nursing (although I had to supplement #2 and #3 because they weren’t gaining enough weight). After our infertility struggle, I felt very blessed.

I was 4 days away from being 35 when I had my first child, and I was almost 41 when I had my 3rd, so another pregnancy really wasn’t in the cards for us. But still, the idea that it would never happen again stirred up feelings I didn’t even know were there. Somehow we think childbearing defines us as women and when we find ourselves unable to do that, our self-image takes a hit.

Now, after 2 years of no more visits from Aunt Flo, I am mostly at peace with the situation, knowing that an infant in the house would really throw us for a loop, but the baby boom in the young moms around me causes some melancholy. My friends from high school and college are becoming grandparents, having started parenting a lot sooner than I, and my arms long to cuddle newborns again. I plead for time holding the young mom’s infants, but somehow someone consistently beats me to it.

I know that there are many who cannot bear their own babies. Some opt to remain childless, some adopt infants, some adopt older kids. I have friends in all camps. The struggle is real. When I didn’t know whether I’d be able to have children or not, each new birth around me was painful. Now, each new birth is a joy as I know that it’s my time to be a mentor, to let the younger women have their chance. I’m certainly glad to be able to sleep through the night! And it’s probably a good thing that my daughter and I won’t be hormonal at the same time once she gets in on the act.

Bearing babies isn’t what makes me a woman. It isn’t what gives me worth. It isn’t even what defines me. I am a mom and it’s a wonderful thing. But I am first of all a child of God. Nothing will change that. Instead of being defined by the blood I used to shed each month, I am defined by the blood shed for me on the Cross. It will never run dry.

 

Now excuse me while I go find a baby to hold.

 

 

 

And The Sickness Goes On

As I write this, my littlest, Morgan, is sleeping. It’s 6:42 p.m.

Sigh

Yet another illness has gotten into our house, and I’m baffled as to why. We’ve really been hit hard this season. Some have surmised that it’s the warm winter that set all our allergies aflame, opening our sinuses to other little buggies that have stuck around and made us sick. Only we don’t have the classic signs of allergies; just a little nasal congestion and some coughing. No itchy, watery eyes. No constantly running nose. There have been sore throats, but that’s about it. It’s been a silent stalker and I’m ready to be done with it.

All the kids have missed at least one day of school. My mother-in-law has had to curtail her piano teaching business for the last month, David missed a couple of days of work. I’m the only one who kept up my job(s), even though I had two days where I barely had a voice. But then, that’s typical mom-hood, isn’t it?

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all” (2 Corinthians 4:17).

What really do I have to complain about? My children miss a couple of days of school and have varying fevers and coughing and headaches. They don’t have cancer. They have all their limbs, and those are all in working order. They have never been in any kind of accident causing debilitating injuries. We are blessed with our health the vast majority of the time. I think I know people in all the above categories.

Though we lost three babies to early miscarriages, we have many friends who have lost a child in many different ways: a freak accident; complications from severe disabilities; trisomy 13. Disease, disfigurement, death. Not happy subjects, but a fact of life on this planet. A sad, sad part of life.

Thank God for the Resurrection! We so look forward to heaven where there will be no more death and sickness and pain.

Meanwhile, around our house, we break out the applesauce, ramp up the carrot juice, make everyone as comfortable as possible, and pray that she is the last one to fall.

Amen. Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

Thankful today for:

108. hope

109. colloidal silver

110. Tylenol

Shelter

These are the things I find comforting:
My husband’s arms
My house on a stormy day
My slippers when my feet are cold
But mostly, no matter what, that God is in control. That’s very comforting.

Bad things happen. That’s a reality of life. Bad things happen to good people. That’s just a fact. It’s a sinful world. People
make bad choices, and we suffer the consequences of that. I have a friend whose son got drunk, drove, and seriously injured someone in an accident he caused. He has cut off all ties to his dad because he doesn’t want to be preached to. That’s very sad. And hard. But God is in control.

David and I miscarried three babies. How bad is that? I lost both of my parents within 16 months of each other. How much does that stink? Children die. Friends suffer from cancer. A faithful minister of the gospel loses his home. A family loses everything they own in a house fire. God is in control. And He weeps with us over our losses. But it’s a sinful world. Heaven awaits, do not despair. I don’t want to sound trite and say that these are light and momentary afflictions, but they are.

2 Corinthians 4:17-18 says: “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

Psalm 91: 1-2 says: “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'”

The shelter of His wings; the shadow of the Almighty. My God in whom I trust. I’m here for the long haul, fixing my eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfecter of my faith. Are you with me?

Thankfulness list:

30. a 3-day weekend

31. the beautiful sites of America

32. freedom