Remembering and Looking Forward: Come, Little Jubilee

O come, little children, O come one and all,

To Bethlehem haste, to the manger so small,
God's son for a gift has been sent you this night
To be your redeemer, your joy and delight.



I've avoided taking a family photo this Christmas.
Partially because I'm behemoth at this point, and our usual "jammie picture" would not end up being excessively flattering.
Partially because we don't know if Jubilee will be here for Christmas or not, so we might as well wait.
And partially because this will be our first year with a forever-on-this-earth-incomplete family picture.

I've waited for a day when I wasn't feeling hormonal or excessive amounts of self-pity to type that, because I really want to give people an honest picture of miscarriage loss and not just a lot of words driven by emotion.

This loss is odd.  Because it's so intertwined with our expectancy of Jubilee.
We couldn't have our Jubilee if we didn't have the loss.

At the very base of her name, it means joy or celebration.  But the reason we chose her name was because it was a time of remembrance, a time devoted to freedom and restoration in the Bible.

And as we expect our Jubilee, we remember our other child.

We also remember that we weren't promised an entire lifetime with our kids.  We've known that from the very beginning, having missed part of Million's life.  But death kind of sinks it in differently--especially death when there are constant reminders of the lack of a person's life.

We remember that our lives can be filled with joy and that grief doesn't have to imprison us.

We remember that the one that binds up the brokenhearted and sets the captives free is the one who tenderly leads us through the various seasons and stages of our lives.

We remember as we look forward.  We look forward to the day when heaven and nature will truly sing.  We look forward to hopefully years with our new little one.  We look forward to excitement and adventure and living our lives with intentionality.  We remember and look forward to walking in the grace and freedom we have inherited as children of a King.

So come, little Jubilee.
Grace our house with your life....however long it may be.
We will live lives of joy.  We will walk in freedom.
We will celebrate the gift of life.

About Holidays I'd Rather Not Celebrate

It's been a tough month so far in terms of grief.

Earlier this month, I spent time with three babies who were all born within a month of what our due date would have been.

In early October, I did have a visit with the midwife that was the one to inform me, in January, that our baby would likely die if there were no miraculous intervention.
I was nervous about that visit, but it didn't go badly at all.
I did walk alone down a hospital hallway toward my car... whenever I walk alone down that particular hallway, I remember walking alone out of the hospital, tears openly streaming down my face, with news for Michael that our baby was dead.
And on that day, the hallway walk went okay.

And then all of these miscarriage or stillbirth posts started popping up in my facebook feed.

In case you weren't aware, it's National Infant Loss Awareness Month....
Yesterday was Infant Loss Awareness day.

This facebook bit?
It hit nerves I didn't even know I had.
I would have rather moved on and forgotten....not memorialized something painful.

Maybe the women that are posting the cute little "light a candle for my baby" memes are six or seven years out.  Maybe they grieve differently.
But each time I see a post about having an "angel baby" or a "rainbow baby" (which I will never refer to Jubilee as), I just want to hide.  I would rather not copy and paste things flippantly to garner awareness for the loss of a life.  I would rather not raise my hand or stand up and be counted among the women who have lost a child.  I don't want that kind of attention.  (The only reason I blog about it is because I promised honesty through this whole process....and the only people I really have a moment to talk to on a daily basis are almost 2 and 4-1/2.  This is my free therapy. )

In a week and a half, I have another visit with the head midwife, who was the person to inform me that our baby/babies* were dead and counseled me through the couple months of followup hormonal testing I had to do.  I've visited with her twice, and she's the one who seems to understand the most this complex and nuanced dance of grief and joy we're going through.

This grief thing is complicated.  There are days that it hits me all over again, as if it just happened.  There are days I don't think about it.  Maybe next year's October will be better.  (Maybe I'll stay off of Facebook?)

I guess I'm just posting to say that holidays are weird.  Some holidays are sad for Million, by virtue of his background of trauma.  Some holidays are sad for me, because of what I know of Million's past.  Some holidays are just weirdly complicated (a lot of bad things have happened on both Michael and my birthdays in the past eight or nine years).   And this new "holiday" is sad.  Sad because it's not a holiday we signed up for.

Going to hug my boys a little tighter today and give them each a piece of chocolate caramel that I made this morning.  I still have no speaking voice, but they will know that their mama loves them.  Then we'll move on with the day-to-day rhythms of life: cleaning house, potty training, and getting ready for daddy to come home.  And we will celebrate our time as a family.  Being together, just the four of us for now, is our own kind of holiday.


*not an issue I bring up here frequently, or ever, but we will never know if it was one baby or two babies that I miscarried.  I prefer to think in the singular, but in the context of this memory, I chose to be a little more honest about my wording.

Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Adoption, and How to Count Your Children

We are adding another little one to our family.  I was fairly cautious about putting this out on public media until I realized I had miscalculated our trimester dates, and that we were already out of the first trimester.  I also waited until my most recent midwife appointment, when we again heard the baby's heartbeat.

We are joyous about this new life.  He or she will make their appearance around the 1st of the year.
We're very thrilled. I cannot wait to see the boys embrace brotherhood once again.


But we're also sad.
It's so difficult to describe.

If I could change one insensitive thing I've ever done, I would have learned this: pregnancy does not automatically "fix" the pain of a miscarriage. There are some women I know that got pregnant after miscarriage.  And until I experienced this, I just kind of went on thinking "Oh, yay for them!  Now they get the baby they wanted."  But that's not how it worked.  Both babies were/are wanted.  And one is separated from their mommy and daddy forever.

I read recently a statement that said that babies who were miscarried have two "birthdays" for families to remember.  The first is their original due date, and the second is the date of their departure.  We're getting closer to our original due date, and I don't know how I'm going to handle that---if it will be a Big Deal or not so big of a deal.  The date of our baby's departure will be three weeks after this baby will be born, so I might still be in the throes of postpartum hormones, and it might become a very BIG DEAL.  I just don't know.  Or I might be so sleep-deprived that I won't even know it passed.

The other thing that makes me sad is not knowing how to count my children when people ask me how many kids I have.  I only have two at home.  But I have one in heaven.  And I have one in the womb.  And one somewhere in adoption-maybe-not-born-yet-we-really-don't-know land.  So do we count the one in my womb and not the one in adoption-land?  Do we leave out the miscarriage entirely?  The general public around me will acknowledge my pregnancy but not our current adoption process or my miscarriage, but that feels so stilted to me.

So this is a sad post.
But a happy post too.
Because baby number whatever is hopefully going to come our way in January.  

Cinnamon Rolls for Hurting Hearts

"Mama, will there be tears in his eyes because God took his baby to heaven?"

"There might be.  Sometimes people cry; sometimes people don't.  Remember when God took our baby to heaven?  I cried a lot, didn't I?"  

"Yeah, and I did too."

"Do you think  ______ and his wife would like some cinnamon rolls?"  

"Yeah, but I don't know if they will help the tears in his eyes."

Truth be told, I don't either.

Four and a half months after our little one went to heaven, and God has thrown about four other families directly into our path as they process miscarriage.

And to be honest, I don't know what to do.  

You would think having gone through it, that there would be some magic answer.

There's not. 

So today, I just get to pray that the cinnamon rolls my tender-hearted boy helped me make will help in some fashion, if only to let this family know that we're there for them.  

Using our Pain: Miscarriage and Adoption Pain

This has been a post I've contemplated over and over.  It's one that I admit that I've wanted to write several times before, but in each instance it's always been directed mean-spiritedly at someone in my head.  I've elected not to type it before, because I try to use whatever measures of self-control God has given me to NOT direct my anger into the blogosphere.

Today, however, I have an occasion where I'm not directing this post negatively at anyone.  So I thought I should grab the chance, while I had it...  (smirk)

Michael and I always have a strict "use your pain" philosophy.  That being said, we don't always use our pain well.  But it's our philosophy.  And I thought I'd share a bit about it, since it's been a... trying day.  What do I mean by using our pain?  I mean, when we've encountered an experience that was painful for us, or that we noted was painful for those around us, we do our best to learn from that experience and use our education in the future.

i.e. waiting for a child.  We do our best to be sensitive to those experiencing infertility and those who are in the midst of long and arduous adoption processes, simply because we've gone through a long and painful wait for a child.

I've been questioning lately and have not come up with any ideas about how God is going to allow us to use our miscarriage pain.  But I'm certain it will not be the most glamorous of circumstances.  And I'm open to whatever He wants.  It's a painful process.  Still is.  I constantly feel like the party pooper when I type about it, with so many people in joyous stages of life around me.  It's only been two months, but the world has gone on around me, and in many cases, people have forgotten it ever happened and have lost their sensitivity.

And then there's just general day-to-day life pain.  Living with a child who has a past history of trauma is difficult.  Daily.  With Million, however, I hesitate to be open about his pain, even to our closest family members.  He has an awful lot of pain in his little self.  But today I have a fairly harmless example.

Yesterday, we watched Frozen for the first time.  I'd avoided it because a.) I'd already heard all of the songs anyway....b)  I knew that the parents died, and I hate the gilding of death in children's movies and c.) I'd simply avoided it because Disney has not come out with a classy and intelligent female character who doesn't reek of sensuality or sassiness for a long time.  But we watched it anyway.  There were positives.  It was nice to see a movie as a family.  We do that so rarely.  It was cute and funny at points, I will give it that.  But neither Michael nor I could understand why it seems to have taken the world by storm (other than an insanely well-laid-out marketing plan...)

Then today, we had some issues. I don't want to go into a lot of detail here, but Million is now concerned that we are going to die or never come back if we go away on a trip.  He's been having a lot of Scary Dreams lately, and this is now compounded into daytime contemplation. The unfortunate bit about this whole situation is that we have a one-night getaway planned very shortly.  He has only been out of our care for three nights total.

So how do we use this pain in his life?  Obviously, we have a lot of strategies on a daily basis, that I don't want to get into here... but for right now, we've been talking a lot about who would be responsible for the boys' care should we die.  I've also been talking with him a lot about the feelings in the movie (and the feelings the movie failed to properly display about death.) He's got a really good vocabulary and is an extraordinarily intelligent child, but he doesn't understand a lot of feeling words very well, which is typical, given his age, gender, and life circumstances.

So, this is my silent prayer about daily pain and miscarriage pain, being posted into the blogosphere.... "God, use this pain.  Use it for good.  Bring your light and image to bear in our family, and through us the world.  Let beauty be brought forth from the ashes.  Make all things new."  

Slathering People With Love When They've Hurt You

My heart has been wincing a lot lately.
Perhaps I'm more sensitive than I used to be. 
It could just be the weather...
But I find myself needing to be more forgiving, more loving, and more peaceable than I remember having been in the past.

We've taught Million many definitions for character qualities that we want him to emulate.  (We used the definitions found in this family devotional, and I made up songs so that he---and I---could remember them better.)

The one that I've been singing over and over again is the definition for peacemaker.  "Being a peacemaker is finding a way to avoid or end a disagreement rather than begin or win it." 

I think this sensitive spirit that has foisted itself upon me lately could be summed up as a spirit who easily takes offense.  Whether it's still an issue of hormonal readjustment (or an issue of too much time on Facebook recently), I don't know.  But I've been slighted many times in the last few weeks after our miscarriage.  I'm certainly hopeful that none of it was intentional, and I'm nearly positive that most of the issuers of the comments don't even realize they're injuring me with their words. 

So in order for me to be a peacemaker, I need to avoid engaging.  Were I to engage, I would only be injuring others by pointing out their insensitivity.  That'd be a really top-notch argument.  "Hey there, you're insensitive."  Not winning any points.  So I need to choose to respond in love. 

When Michael and I used to work together at a Bible camp, the director used to talk about how the verse "love covers a multitude of sins" reminded him of the word "slather."  His mom used to say, "now don't just slather all of the jelly on your bread; your brother needs some too!" 

But I need to slather my love onto those who are hurting me.  Instead of beginning a disagreement, I need to cover over their words that wounded me.

Have you ever experienced a situation where you just needed to slather love one someone when you would rather respond with anger? Share how you handled the situation.  (audience participation points!)

Not Just Two

Today, I had some blood tests to determine something about the miscarriage.  Two hours before the blood tests, we got the bill for my hospital experience in the mail.  And a misdirected "baby startup" package from Gerber. The first people I saw getting off the elevator in the lobby was a couple bringing their brand-new baby home.  And I was plagued with memories of the last time I walked alone down the hallway to the parking garage with silent tears streaming down my face.

I wanted to pity myself.  I really did.  I wanted to spew out bitterness at the venipuncture specialist.  
But as she asked me how many kids I had, I replied "just two". 
Two.
Two boys.

And I was suddenly awash with gratitude for what I do have, once again.
It's not "just two."
It's "two spectacularly brilliant, uniquely special, highly confident, and gregarious creatures that God has equipped me to love and nurture."   
And one in heaven. 

"Mama, I feel like crying."
"Why are you sad, sweetie?"
"I'm sad, and I feel like crying, because I don't have a baby in my tummy----just food."

And life goes on.
Somehow my baby is walking.  And taking only one nap a day now.

I really can't wrap my mind around that.

Battles for the Mind When You Feel Like You've Lost Hope

I'm nearly done writing about our miscarriage.  I just thought I'd write out a few more thoughts in case you need something to think about if you or anyone close to you ever experiences this.

A few nights ago, I realized what makes me the most sad: the loss of expectant hope.
Pregnancy brings such anticipation.  Everyone around you is asking questions, teasing you, you're wondering what color the baby's eyes will be, you wonder and imagine and dream and anticipate.

And to have that snatched from you is.... blech.  There are no words.
Now the most exciting things I have to look forward to are blueberry bushes and the possibility of backyard chickens.

But I was reminded, in my verging on self-pity that I am not relieved of all expectant hope.  I will get to see my baby.  I will get to hold his or her hands.  It will just take many many many more years than I expected.

Michael and I were discussing how hard it is not to fall into bitterness.  I said "I believe I've got the proper mindframe and I believe I'm honoring God by remembering His character qualities, but what do I do with this sadness?  How does God want me to handle this?"

In the midst of my discussion, I was reminded of the verse in Philippians that instructs us what to think and how to think.

Philippians 4:4-9
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.

Of course, there are days when I think to myself "How is there any loveliness or excellence in a baby dying?"  But I am doing my best to think about the good and pure and true things in this situation.  How I am blessed.  How God is kind.  

And that's all I can do.

Post-Miscarriage Hedonism and Second Portion of Conference Notes

I'm afraid this week is turning me into a bit of a hedonist.
(John Piper would say I'm fine, as long as I'm a Christian hedonist...so I'm excusing myself for now.)

Right now, I've got a cup of coffee in hand--- the first cup of our second pot for the morning.  Michael has Creedence downstairs while he works on tearing off the ceiling in the basement.  (Just trust me, Creedence will be fine.)  And Million is napping.

So I have a little time to myself.  And I'm wrestling with my desires.  As Million said recently "I wish somebody would buy ME something sometime."  It's stupid really.

I just want a new shirt.  It's absolutely not necessary.  But my emotions are telling me that I want one because I was looking forward to possibly even buying some maternity clothes this pregnancy.  (I never ended up using maternity pants with Creedence, and I only bought one maternity shirt for myself....the other shirts were lent to me.) Sigh.  And I know that it's not necessary, and that I should be practicing the contentment I just preached to Million...I also know that if I ask Michael, he'll say "just buy a shirt." 

Okay. Back to the topic I'm *supposed* to be writing about.  The notes from the conference.  Now that I've blathered about my shirt desires, I don't have as much time to type... So here are a bunch of quotes or questions I wrote down from the weekend.  If you have questions about any in particular, I could expound on them.  There are Bible verse references too, which I have not included, for want of time.  I've bolded the ones that I thought would be the most useful for you.

How free is the holy spirit to be radical in your heart?

Consistently declaring "Be good" and "stop that!" doesn't captivate the hearts of your children.  Speak positive words into their hearts.  i.e. "I wonder how God is going to use you to change the world.  Don't ever forget that God has created you with a specific story."

God's desire is to take a normal person and use them to change the world.

Fill your home with good because that is what God did for His children.

When Adam and Eve sinned, they were forced into a pattern of brokenness that made them self-cetered and compelled to attempt to provide for themselves.  We do the same thing today in our rebellion.

What causes Christians to be so weak and impotent in our culture?  Where is the disparity between God's design for Christians and how many Christians become defeated?  Don't look for validation from the world, but look for the favor of God, and you will live freely and confidently.

If you aren't partnering with God, don't expect supernatural results.  You can't live in fear and faith at the same time. 

Sally did personal focused time with each child.  She called it tea-time discipleship.  When she took them aside and made them feel valued and respected, that's when she got to speak into their heart. This honors your children.

Your message is going to come out of the life you live.  She spoke of her "hidden years" of service before any public ministry, constant obedience building her faithfulness and integrity.

If you understand how deeply you're loved, you will love your kids deeply.  You can only have a godly impact if your heart is healthy.  God understands your helplessness in a dark world and has compassion for you.

We live in a culture that can't produce heroism because we are hesitant and fearful.  Heroism is about taking hold of a great story.  We are not called to anything less than heroism.  Emphasize to your children when you read them Scripture that "this is your story."  The way that you can call your children to righteousness is to give them a vision of who they are and what they can become.  Understand yourself as a narrator.  You have the power to narrate the world to your children.  Equip your children to live into the vision you have cast for them.  We cannot be people of faith without imagination. 

Technology is not bad or evil, but it is also not a neutral thing.

The more impersonal Satan can make us, the less influence we have.

If you don't have the shared language of ther values you want to transmit to your children, your character training will be ineffective.

Feasting is about the "it-is-goodness" of the world.
Creation is filled with variety, color, tastes, sounds, beauty, humor, textures, interest, fun.  Return to the Earth and nature to understand how to incarnate the living God.  You are a co-creator with God and called to create life, beauty, variety in your life to reflect Him to others----He is beyond just a thought to be known.  Therefore, we are to honor the Earth, our bodies, and our garden or domain.

Christians should be the finest, most excellent artists, doctors, teachers, mothers, politicians, builders---the best people overall, excellent in all of their ways.  Be a co-creator, co-redeemer, thinker, and lover, because you know the real creator, redeemer, knowledge, and lover.

If your God is too small, your joy will be miniscule. 

Okay.  That's it, for now.  I'll get some links later.  I have an amazing book resource for you that I'd love to talk about, but we do have weekend plans that require some travel.  And I just might go shirt shopping later on. 

Throwing Myself Into New Tasks

It seems that every time we're in the midst of a life change, I take up some new hobby.
I'm one of "those" people.
I just need to create.
Need to be doing something that can cause a broken and messy world to be a little more beautiful.

I can't even count how many hobbies I took up in the wait for Million, but the ones I remember off the top of my head are: having so many potted herbs that our kitchen window ledge looked positively tropical; jelly making; canning; making vanilla extract; spinning yarn; buying dirty fleeces and cleaning them; then carding and dying the wool; knitting; making a king-size quilt; mural painting; and house renovation.

While waiting for Creedence, I took up candle making, and then I decided we should open an Etsy shop for crates which Michael and I built, distressed, and stained, which ended up being more than a part-time job and earned us several thousand, but cost us part of our sanity.

On Tuesday, I sewed on paper for the first time in my life.

I made these paper heart garlands and hung them all around the house.  I was tired of the paper snowflakes hanging off the ceiling. (Apologies for the extra nails and screws STILL in the walls that our previous owners left.  I have desire, but no motivation.)

My other project that I'm going to take up is one I've been intending for a while.  I bought three wingback chairs from a hotel that was getting new furniture.  They were $5 a piece.  And their ugliness explains the low price.  Wednesday, I decided to order fabric, or our house will forevermore have evidence of the-road-to-hell-being-paved-with-good-intentions.  Or something like that.

Don't expect a tutorial.  I'm going to follow this one. But you may get to see some nasty progress pictures, if I feel inspired.

We'll also be flower gardening along with regular gardening.  We weren't going to do flowers...but I need them.

And I'll likely convince Michael to let me make another round of candles.  I'm toying with learning how to do pillar candles instead of jar candles. (My argument to convince Michael is that pillars are cheaper...and since it's a new learning process, it will keep me out of trouble.  Hardy har har.)

I guess there's no time like the present to rip off some fabric off a nasty wingback.  Or watch the tutorials again.

the days following

Today is a quiet day. Like most days lately, it's too cold to go outside.  

My mom came the last two days, and helped get our house under control after I was gone the last few days at a mothering conference and then in the hospital. The way she shows love is acts of service, and she's really good at it.

I'd really like to thank all of you who were reading during our most recent journey.  I don't know how many of you there are, but I did notice a much larger blog readership during the course of our pregnancy and then eventual miscarriage.  I appreciate your "listening."  It's been difficult to be candid, but it's been good for me.

Today I was reading a little Madeline L'Engle, and I came across this line that was so perfectly timed for us: "A comprehensible God is no more than an idol." 

Last night, I cried in the middle of supper, because Michael prayed and thanked God for the boys, and it was the first time we vocally omitted the baby from our prayers.  I had been so used to hearing "and please help the baby in mommy's tummy grow strong and healthy", and now that I didn't hear it, I started crying.

Most of you are probably my facebook friends, so you'll know this story, but after I got done crying, Million said "Mama is sad."  Michael suggested "Why don't you sing her a song like Creed (by Rich Mullins) to try to cheer her up?"  Million piped up "Or how about 'I'm Just a Love Machine And I Won't Work For Nobody But You'?"  I laughed so hard.  (For the record, Michael only taught him that line because the jammies they're wearing in the picture above say "Love Machine" on them...)

I have three very thoughtful sisters.

The boys were happy to do crafts again.

Two new children's devotionals I picked up at the conference for Million.  Beautiful illustrations, and simple, well-chosen wording.

I really do want to get a post up here summarizing some of the amazing parts of the conference.  (I got to sit at the keynote speaker table the ENTIRE time, because for once in my little introverted life I snatched an opportunity boldly.) 

For school today, Million's only lesson that he was instructed to repeat three times was "An opera singer is good, if he or she makes you cry happy tears."  We're not setting the bar super-high this week, obviously.

And now my time reflecting is done, because I hear crying in two different rooms.  And, unfortunately, they're not opera-induced happy tears.

The Choice I Had To Make

"You have a choice to make: either accept that God does things for your good and reap the blessings He offers in your life, or don't accept that and become embittered and experience the consequences from Him that will naturally follow."

I heard these words this past weekend in the midst of fear of the unknown.  I was all by myself, 800 or so miles from my dear husband and sons, and I was going through what I felt must be the beginning of a miscarriage.  I was scared.  I was sad.  But God was speaking to me.  I had a choice to make. 

Throughout the whole weekend, there was a resounding theme of faithfulness and perseverance.  I was exhorted repeatedly to live the story that God has intended for me and to allow Him to work through me radically.  I was also reminded several times that culture (internet, facebook, even my fellow Christians) will give me permission to do all manner of things.  They will give me permission to be bitter, sarcastic, complacent, to ignore my kids while bowing before the idol of technology, to complain.  I was also reminded to do what God tells me to do, not what I feel like.  I had a choice to make.

I am choosing to accept that everything God does is for my good.  His power is perfected in my weakness, in my human frailty.  I am fragile.  But my God is good.  He is a wild God, and at the same time, He is kind, gentle, merciful.  His yoke is easy, and His burden is light. 

I returned home and immediately went to our hospital, where we received news that our baby was no longer.  And I had a choice to make.

I choose to believe that the God of beauty; the Creator of cinnamon, coffee, and centipedes; the Author of my story; the God who threw the stars up in the sky and laughs while they dance---that same God tenderly loves me.  That very same God is the God who knit me together, bit by bit, and knew the length of my days before they began.  He is the God that knit the baby that was in my womb together, bit by bit, and knew the length of my baby's days before the baby even came into being.  He knew my baby's story, just as He authors mine.

What does this choice mean?  Does it mean I'm denying myself a grieving process, just shoving any sadness aside?  No. Emphatically, no.  We still are sad.  But we have peace.  It means that I will not allow myself to become shrouded in sadness to the point that truth is invisible or clouded.  I will not allow my heart to become hardened.  Because I have made my choice.

The Two Boy Names That Didn't Make the Cut

I just got done making a Béchamel sauce for dinner (Deconstructed Croque Madame).  My menu binder is really REALLY doing wonders for us.  There have been some meals that have been....less flavorful.  (Really, oh internet cooks, do you use anything other than garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper?  Budget-cooking doesn't have to mean flavorless cooking!) Both boys aren't picky eaters, but last night's French Onion soup was pretty bland. I will change that up next time. 

But, it's saving us money.  And it's helping preserve my sanity.

We bought three girl clothing items at Savers on Sunday.  We're rewards card members there, so we got 50% off, and spent $3 on a whim.  Because someday I will have a daughter.  Whether by birth or adoption.  And if Ethiopia closes, I will still have a daughter somehow.   Michael and the boys are praying for a sister with this baby, but I keep instructing them to not be too disappointed with a boy.  Million assures me he will love another brother.

We also bought Million a star-and-planet comforter for his big-boy bed when we complete our basement remodel (starting in a month or so and ending....hopefully soonish.)  He's going to have a Gallileo-themed room.  Creedence's room is going to stay undecorated...because, really, nurseries just need to be functional. 

We have our names picked out for either gender.  We had a three-way tie for the boys, but the ousted contenders are Benedict Deliverance and Story Emmanuel (Million's favorite of the three...he kept making a joke "let's read a story to Story.") I don't know if Michael wants me to post our names, but let me assure you, they are super-cool (as my ninth grade self would say.)  I suppose I could post initials.  For the girl, it would be JSJ.  (Our leftover name because Creedence didn't get to use it.)  For the boy, it would be MCJ. 

A New Baby and Trusting In God

There's a song that we made up for Million that says "Trust in God is remembering every day that God loves me and will take care of me."

It's one of those songs that I need to hear.  Every day.
One of those reminder songs.




This morning I had an ultrasound appointment.  (Surprise, surprise! We are pregnant.  This is not exactly the way I had envisioned this announcement post.)

However, the baby is measuring several weeks behind, and they weren't sure if they saw a heartbeat or not.  So we'll have a repeat ultrasound in two weeks to see if this is a "viable pregnancy" or not.

Any doctor appointment where they hug you at the end (and do the "comforting" back rub) and tell you "just pray that everything will be better in two weeks" kind of sucks.

Trusting in God seems to be the theme of my week.  We'll be finding out later on this week what the state of Ethiopian adoptions will be.  We'll also be finding out next week whether or not Creedence needs some surgery.

Because I'm an introvert, I would rather just curl up in a ball, under the covers, and not see anyone in the entire world (aside from Michael and the boys) for two weeks (or three).  I'm not good at being vulnerable and transparent.  I'm also not entirely predictable in how I respond emotionally to tough circumstances.  (I absolutely *hate* hugs and "comforting" back rubs, and that seems to be what people around me like to give.)

This is one of those topics that I wouldn't *typically* blog about, considering how vulnerable and transparent it demands that I be.  But I thought it would be a good exercise for me in being open, and I thought it might bring some balance to how I portray life on this blog---with the temptation to skew it in favor of a Pinterest-worthy life. Our life as a family holds a lot of challenges that I don't address, but as this one doesn't violate Michael or the boys' privacy, I couldn't see a reason NOT to blog about it.

So in any case, here we sit...We got disappointing news.  And we're trusting God.  Not trusting Him that everything will turn out perfectly.  But that everything will turn out according to His will.