Friends of faith,
I would ask you to link to my friend's blog ("Donut's Quiet Corner") in the sidebar. Momrn2's DD has been terribly ill, and we are moving as many people to pray as possible. I have been managing her blog while she's in the hospital with her daughter.
Thank you.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
His Face is Toward You
Once a month I help out at NWCC by doing the communion meditation. I wrote this while reflecting on being separated from my little boy while he was hospitalized. Thought I'd post it. Enjoy.
********************************************************
I have become aware of the power of my face. With three little children around my ankles all day, my face is a secondary communication tool next to my voice. When I’m happy, my face tells my children that there are good things ahead and all is well. When my eyes widen, it’s a cue that there is a surprise about to unfold, or that this is a time of delight. When my eyes narrow and I lock my jaw, the child needs to seriously re-evaluate his or her actions. A parent quickly learns the Creator’s design for the connection of the parent’s face with the heart of the child. There is great comfort when my face is towards them.
Can you imagine the heart of a child that loses the ability to look upon his mother or father? The darkness of abandonment she feels when she can no longer see the face of the one who loves and defines her? Especially in times of trouble or pain? Especially when it’s the one thing left before losing everything? One dark afternoon Christ hung on the cross enduring the most cruel death known to man. He was brutalized, scorned, humiliated - yet - His Father was present with Him and He endured. But as the weight of our sin was heaped upon Him, God the Father had to look away. He removed His gaze from His son, and we read the cry of Christ’s heart as he screamed, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Everything can be endured because God‘s eyes are upon us. Psalm 33:18 says, “The eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in His unfailing love.“ We receive life and forgiveness and wholeness because God’s countenance rests on us. He looks upon us today because one afternoon, two thousand years ago, He looked away from His own dying son.
As you take the bread remember that Jesus received the full weight of our sin upon his body, and it was broken because of it.
As you take the cup remember that Jesus blood poured out when He was utterly alone and forsaken so that we would enjoy the gaze of God forever.
Jesus, thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for enduring the abandonment of the One who loved you most to make a way for me.
Brothers and Sisters, The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.
********************************************************
I have become aware of the power of my face. With three little children around my ankles all day, my face is a secondary communication tool next to my voice. When I’m happy, my face tells my children that there are good things ahead and all is well. When my eyes widen, it’s a cue that there is a surprise about to unfold, or that this is a time of delight. When my eyes narrow and I lock my jaw, the child needs to seriously re-evaluate his or her actions. A parent quickly learns the Creator’s design for the connection of the parent’s face with the heart of the child. There is great comfort when my face is towards them.
Can you imagine the heart of a child that loses the ability to look upon his mother or father? The darkness of abandonment she feels when she can no longer see the face of the one who loves and defines her? Especially in times of trouble or pain? Especially when it’s the one thing left before losing everything? One dark afternoon Christ hung on the cross enduring the most cruel death known to man. He was brutalized, scorned, humiliated - yet - His Father was present with Him and He endured. But as the weight of our sin was heaped upon Him, God the Father had to look away. He removed His gaze from His son, and we read the cry of Christ’s heart as he screamed, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Everything can be endured because God‘s eyes are upon us. Psalm 33:18 says, “The eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in His unfailing love.“ We receive life and forgiveness and wholeness because God’s countenance rests on us. He looks upon us today because one afternoon, two thousand years ago, He looked away from His own dying son.
As you take the bread remember that Jesus received the full weight of our sin upon his body, and it was broken because of it.
As you take the cup remember that Jesus blood poured out when He was utterly alone and forsaken so that we would enjoy the gaze of God forever.
Jesus, thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for enduring the abandonment of the One who loved you most to make a way for me.
Brothers and Sisters, The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Let Me Out
Anyone see "The Perfect Storm"? (If you didn't and you intend to, skip this paragraph.) Right at the end of the movie, after battling wind and wave, the captain looks heaven-ward, there's a stillness, and the clouds part for a brief moment revealing a clear night sky... you think that they might make it. The music become slightly cheerful, the captain smiles, and tension eases for a second. Then music turns minor, the hole in the clouds closes, and the storm grabs ahold of the ship. The captain's smile fades and he growls, "She's not going to let us out!" Then the ship flips and they all die.
There have been times when I find myself uttering, "She's not going to let us out!" Watching my poor little one lay limp on the ER gurney, and even after a fluid bolus he showed no improvement... my hopes of a quick recovery were dashed again and again against the rock of Mother's Guilt. Waited too long. Didn't get it right. Missed the critical nature. For you nursing folks, he was basically in a ketoacidotic state (much more than basic dehydration), not dissimilar to that of a diabetic coma, except he had incredibly low blood glucose. I can only imagine when it set in. He had been so, so sick, probably as bad as I'd ever seen him, but then he seemed to rally Monday evening at 3p. Got up walked around, talked, wanted to help Daddy with lawn mowing. But by 5p, he was in bed, sleeping, still only taking water, water, water... that demon water. 12 hours later he wasn't getting up to pee... ah! I need to stop here. Thank God we had a great ER staff. Thank God he was salvageable with 36 hours of fluid therapy. Thank God.
He looked so little in that big white bed. Not talking. Not smiling. Daddy and I were with him Wednesday morning and afternoon as he was admitted, poked and prodded. He was brave. I was pretending to be a Mommy, though my Nurse-brain was giving me quite the lecture about "How could I have missed the signs...?" That evening I ran home briefly to nurse Levi and give Libby a kiss goodnight. They had been under the care of Miss Bonnie and Aunt Lo all day - what a gift! I was almost paralyzed by Izak's screams for me as I left him "to go away for a little bit." I could hear him way, way down the hall. It was everything I could do to go. He was with Daddy, his hero, his rock. But when I got home I heard Levi on the monitor and ran up to nurse him. I picked him up and he immediately vomited everywhere. The same virus had gotten him too. Now I knew I couldn't go back to the hospital. I had to stay with the baby. My milk was his best chance at making it out. It was like I looked up and saw the sky clouding back over.
God bless Matt. I have new respect for him everyday. He laid aside his schedule for two days to stay by the bedside of his son. No questions. No whining. He sat with Izak and prayed, comforted, conversed. He slept restlessly on a chair/bed/nice-try-but-nothing-like-my-awesome-bed-at-home. He was full of information for me, texting and calling. He redeemed and healed so many old wounds in me in those 48 hours, and created a new legacy for our children. I cannot adequately express my admiration.
So, as of last evening, we are together again. Levi seems to be withstanding the diarrhea. He had minimal vomiting. In a third world country there's a good chance that Izak wouldn't have made it, but tonight he sleeps in a soft bed with a healing body. He's understandably a little clingy now. After he came home and went through his night-time routine, every time I'd go to leave he'd start asking, "Can I go away? Mommy, can I go away? ... Can I?" If I didn't turn back around and lay down with him, he'd start crying. I didn't understand the phrase. I knew it had something to do with his hospital experience. I thought all day about that little request, and then it dawned on me... When I left him at the hospital Wednesday night I had said, "I have to go away for a little bit." Well, if I went Away, then, in his desire to be with me, he wanted to go to Away too. Where ever you're going, Mommy, can I go too?
Yeah... I'll be processing all this for a long time to come. It wasn't a tragedy, like so many friends have experienced, but it was hard. And at some point, Jesus stood on the bow of our ship and simply said, "Be still." And the storm obeyed.
There have been times when I find myself uttering, "She's not going to let us out!" Watching my poor little one lay limp on the ER gurney, and even after a fluid bolus he showed no improvement... my hopes of a quick recovery were dashed again and again against the rock of Mother's Guilt. Waited too long. Didn't get it right. Missed the critical nature. For you nursing folks, he was basically in a ketoacidotic state (much more than basic dehydration), not dissimilar to that of a diabetic coma, except he had incredibly low blood glucose. I can only imagine when it set in. He had been so, so sick, probably as bad as I'd ever seen him, but then he seemed to rally Monday evening at 3p. Got up walked around, talked, wanted to help Daddy with lawn mowing. But by 5p, he was in bed, sleeping, still only taking water, water, water... that demon water. 12 hours later he wasn't getting up to pee... ah! I need to stop here. Thank God we had a great ER staff. Thank God he was salvageable with 36 hours of fluid therapy. Thank God.
He looked so little in that big white bed. Not talking. Not smiling. Daddy and I were with him Wednesday morning and afternoon as he was admitted, poked and prodded. He was brave. I was pretending to be a Mommy, though my Nurse-brain was giving me quite the lecture about "How could I have missed the signs...?" That evening I ran home briefly to nurse Levi and give Libby a kiss goodnight. They had been under the care of Miss Bonnie and Aunt Lo all day - what a gift! I was almost paralyzed by Izak's screams for me as I left him "to go away for a little bit." I could hear him way, way down the hall. It was everything I could do to go. He was with Daddy, his hero, his rock. But when I got home I heard Levi on the monitor and ran up to nurse him. I picked him up and he immediately vomited everywhere. The same virus had gotten him too. Now I knew I couldn't go back to the hospital. I had to stay with the baby. My milk was his best chance at making it out. It was like I looked up and saw the sky clouding back over.
God bless Matt. I have new respect for him everyday. He laid aside his schedule for two days to stay by the bedside of his son. No questions. No whining. He sat with Izak and prayed, comforted, conversed. He slept restlessly on a chair/bed/nice-try-but-nothing-like-my-awesome-bed-at-home. He was full of information for me, texting and calling. He redeemed and healed so many old wounds in me in those 48 hours, and created a new legacy for our children. I cannot adequately express my admiration.
So, as of last evening, we are together again. Levi seems to be withstanding the diarrhea. He had minimal vomiting. In a third world country there's a good chance that Izak wouldn't have made it, but tonight he sleeps in a soft bed with a healing body. He's understandably a little clingy now. After he came home and went through his night-time routine, every time I'd go to leave he'd start asking, "Can I go away? Mommy, can I go away? ... Can I?" If I didn't turn back around and lay down with him, he'd start crying. I didn't understand the phrase. I knew it had something to do with his hospital experience. I thought all day about that little request, and then it dawned on me... When I left him at the hospital Wednesday night I had said, "I have to go away for a little bit." Well, if I went Away, then, in his desire to be with me, he wanted to go to Away too. Where ever you're going, Mommy, can I go too?
Yeah... I'll be processing all this for a long time to come. It wasn't a tragedy, like so many friends have experienced, but it was hard. And at some point, Jesus stood on the bow of our ship and simply said, "Be still." And the storm obeyed.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Mayday, mayday, mayday!
Flu here. stop.
Girl mending. stop.
Boy in 60th hours of vomiting. stop.
Dehydration may win. stop.
Baby still fine. stop.
Mommy freaking out inside and cool cucumber on outside. stop.
Girl mending. stop.
Boy in 60th hours of vomiting. stop.
Dehydration may win. stop.
Baby still fine. stop.
Mommy freaking out inside and cool cucumber on outside. stop.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Furrbabies
I hope this doesn't bog my blog down. Let me know if you cannot download it. I'm working with a new camera and program.
This week at the Furr Funny Farm
New items:
*Matt had a five day trip to Boston at the beginning of the month. He was gone 94.5 hours.
*I still don't feel like I've been able to catch up from when he was gone, hence, the enormous gap in my blogging.
*I received my early Mother's Day gift from Matt and the kids - an amazing new camera with all kinds of bells and whistles. What gorgeous pictures I've been capturing. I may not scrapbook, but I do take lots of pics.
*Libby is starting to try more words. She babbles and gargbles in coversation form, but real live phrases are starting to emerge. The most popular: "Hewp, hewp." (Help, help.)
*Levi is thinking about pushing through some teeth, though I see no real redness yet. I can't believe he's 6 months old and I'm still exclusively breastfeeding, though most days I wonder if I can possible make enough to fill his gullet anymore. I haven't had the time to even think about introducing solids yet. That, and I accidently melted the highchair.
*Izak is very fond of being "the baby" now. Carry me, let me sit on your "yap", sit in Yibby's seat in the car and at the table. Libby doesn't care one bit.
*We're painting. So far, two walls are completed. Only 41 to go.
Things that I'm finding to be over-rated:
*A sparkling clean home.
*My need for sleep.
*Fighting every battle.
*Annuals.
*Play dates.
*Daily showers.
Things that I'm finding to have been comletely under-rated:
*Playing with your children.
*Blowing bubbles - incredibly therapeutic. I would highly recommend it to a few world leaders.
*The power of a pretty pedicure (This month it's red background with beautiful flowers on all toes.)
*The ability to listen.
*Japenese steakhouse restaraunts.
*Winning the war. (I'm speaking as a mom, not making political statements)
*Perennials.
*Fostering friendship among sibilings.
*Matt had a five day trip to Boston at the beginning of the month. He was gone 94.5 hours.
*I still don't feel like I've been able to catch up from when he was gone, hence, the enormous gap in my blogging.
*I received my early Mother's Day gift from Matt and the kids - an amazing new camera with all kinds of bells and whistles. What gorgeous pictures I've been capturing. I may not scrapbook, but I do take lots of pics.
*Libby is starting to try more words. She babbles and gargbles in coversation form, but real live phrases are starting to emerge. The most popular: "Hewp, hewp." (Help, help.)
*Levi is thinking about pushing through some teeth, though I see no real redness yet. I can't believe he's 6 months old and I'm still exclusively breastfeeding, though most days I wonder if I can possible make enough to fill his gullet anymore. I haven't had the time to even think about introducing solids yet. That, and I accidently melted the highchair.
*Izak is very fond of being "the baby" now. Carry me, let me sit on your "yap", sit in Yibby's seat in the car and at the table. Libby doesn't care one bit.
*We're painting. So far, two walls are completed. Only 41 to go.
Things that I'm finding to be over-rated:
*A sparkling clean home.
*My need for sleep.
*Fighting every battle.
*Annuals.
*Play dates.
*Daily showers.
Things that I'm finding to have been comletely under-rated:
*Playing with your children.
*Blowing bubbles - incredibly therapeutic. I would highly recommend it to a few world leaders.
*The power of a pretty pedicure (This month it's red background with beautiful flowers on all toes.)
*The ability to listen.
*Japenese steakhouse restaraunts.
*Winning the war. (I'm speaking as a mom, not making political statements)
*Perennials.
*Fostering friendship among sibilings.
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