Right Place, Right Time

I love watching God work. 

My last visit yesterday was supposed to be at 2:00. I had an opening at 1:00, and offered to move my 2:00 to that time slot, and the family agreed (2:00 tends to be right before nap, so 1:00 worked much better for the family anyways). I decided to stop by the gym on my way to the office afterwards, but took my time getting there. Responded to some texts, scheduled work stuff, etc etc. As I was coming out of the bathroom at the gym I saw a man on all fours on the gym floor. I was puzzled, but not overly concerned (people generally want to be left alone while they work out, so I minded my own business). I was putting my bag on the shelf and saw him collapse. I called the gym manager, John, over and we tried to wake him up. It didn't work. I said "we need to call 911," and then directed John to do so. John flips the man onto his back as he talks with 911. I yell at the only other guy in the place (wearing headphones, oblivious) and tell him to straighten the mans legs out because they were crossed. I wanted the blood to flow as well as it could. After he's flipped over I immediately see that his face is purple. He takes a couple very shallow breaths, but nothing consistent. He stares into space, no responses. I check his pulse. He doesn't have one. John is getting the defibrillator and talking with 911 as I'm doing this. When I don't feel a pulse, I immediately start doing compressions. I knew I had to pray for this man, but I didn't have time for words. All I could say was, "please Lord -please Lord!"  After doing several rounds of compressions he inhales very rapidly and deeply, like one coming out of water. I check his pulse again; it is faint, but there. John has the defibrillator out at this point. I keep the man calm and steady until help arrives, about 6-7 minutes after the phone call. 6-7 minutes. He would still be dead if somebody on the scene hadn't done something. 

If I was there five minutes earlier - or had come in five minutes later, that man would still be dead. I would have missed him completely.  I don't say that to boast; I say it to draw attention to the fact that it's so much more than coincidence. John didn't see him go down. The other man in the gym had no idea. I keep playing it over and over again in my head - what if things were different? The man had just joined the gym over the weekend. What if he hadn't been there? What if I hadn't been there? Where else would his heart have stopped? Would somebody else be there to help him in that case? Gods Providential Power was truly evident yesterday - and is evident every day if we just open our eyes. 

We went to the hospital to visit him today. On our way into the hospital we see this:

Yep, that's a full rainbow. You seeing the providence yet? 

He's doing remarkably well. He has an internal defibrillator, but it failed yesterday. He is having it replaced on Tuesday. Please pray for him. You may not know his name, but God does. We brought him balloons, one of which said "Welcome Back." He thought it was funny. 😊 

Moral of the story: take CPR classes. If you can't do that, YouTube how to do compression only CPR. Because you never know when someone needs you to save their life. I'm beyond blessed and jubilant that God chose me to save someone's yesterday.  So blessed. ❤️

Sent by Love

"We love him, because he first loved us." 1 John 4:19

"And we have seen and do testify that the Father sent the Son to be the Savior of the world." 1 John 4:14

The word sent means, to cause, permit, or enable to go. I never understood the significance of that word, in combination with verse 19, until now. 

The scariest thing I've had to send my son into is surgery; knowing full well that there is a chance, albeit small, that he may not wake up from the anesthesia. I have had to send my newborn daughter in for echocardiograms to see how her heart is functioning, knowing full well that there is a chance we would have to stay another night in the NICU (and we did). I can only imagine the feelings a mom may have as she sends her son or daughter off to war.  A dad that sends his only son off to college. The word "send" in a human sense has much emotion tied to it, especially when paired with a person. Imagine, however, how things would be different if we could see into the future, and see what lies ahead - after we have "sent" those we love. Knowing the future with either create hope or chaos. In Gods case- He saw what would happen. He saw all the pain and anguish that his only son would have to suffer on that cross. He saw all of the sin debt put on Jesus' shoulders. He saw the moment that He would have to turn his face away from his Son, in his deepest hour of need, because the sin was too great to look upon. He saw all of that - but sent His Son anyway. Like a sheep headed to the slaughterhouse; completely blameless and innocent. 

God did that for me. God did that for you. That, my friends, is love. Love that I can't understand or fathom - but by Gods example, I can show love to others as well. 

My Normal is not Normal

Having lupus at a young age complicates many matters.
The biggest matter it complicates is my health.

I had a visit with my gynecologist today to check on Ms. McKayla (mind you, this is the third gynecologist I've seen this year).  She is doing well and has a strong heartbeat, which is comforting.  I didn't expect, however, to be so struck with sadness upon my doctor's recommendations in regards to delivery.

With Mr. Micah my pregnancy was pretty much smooth sailing.  The only complication I had was pre-eclampsia, which only occurred during labor.  To combat the high blood pressure, they gave me "mag," (magnesium sulfate), which slowed contractions.  To speed up contractions, they gave me "pit," (pitocin).  Pitocin has been known to cause "monster contractions," and that it did.  The pain could only be equaled to breaking your legs, waiting 60 seconds, then breaking them again.  I'm not exaggerating, either.  I dealt with and worked through that pain for 12 hours with Micah - and I think it spurred on the development of my lupus symptoms afterwards.  My body went through a huge amount of stress that day.

I knew going into this second surprise pregnancy that I would be considered "high risk" again, but thankfully like last time things are smooth-sailing so far.  Even the blood work that my rheumatologist completed a couple weeks ago that showed anemia, elevated liver enzymes, protein in my urine, elevated glucose, and inflammation/infection didn't concern my gynecologist today.  I'm grateful for this.

I had been expecting to deliver Ms. McKayla early, but only because of my moms birth history (which so far I've followed almost exactly).  When my doctor made the suggestion to be induced at 38 weeks, it wasn't exactly a new thought for me; but it was different hearing it being suggested by a doctor.

It may not sound like a big deal - many women get induced, get an epidural, and have a smooth delivery.  That's not my point.  The aspect that hurts is that I so badly want to be a normal pregnant women and give birth the way I want - to labor at home; to have a home birth; to give birth in a warm bath; to let my body do what it was made to do.  My doctor is open to this too, of course; but told me the reality that the chances of having high blood pressure only increase as my due date approaches. He wants to avoid the chance of complications - and so do I!  No doubt - having pre-eclampsia with Micah was miserable, and put both myself and Micah at risk.  Of course I don't want that for McKayla - but still, I just long to be normal.

Being young with lupus makes my "normal" completely different than everyone else's "normal."  My normal workout most days won't be running a mile; it'll be cleaning the house.  My normal amount of sleep will never be eight hours; it will have to be 10-12 (with no guarantee of feeling rested afterwards); my normal baby delivery will probably never be a home birth - and that hurts.  It's a broken dream that's hard to let go of.

My normal is not normal - and that's the hardest part of having lupus.


Choosing to give thanks to God today for a healthy baby and pregnancy - and praying for wisdom in regards to getting her in my arms - safe, secure, and healthy.

Rainbows

Genesis 9:16 "And the (rain)bow shall be in the cloud; and I will look upon it, that I may remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth." 

Now here's something interesting. The homosexual community has long used a rainbow to symbolize it's culture. So much so, in fact, that wearing a rainbow or having one displayed means you associate yourself with that culture. 

I'm sorry - but we've missed something here. God first created the rainbow in Genesis 9 to represent His covenant, His promise, to never destroy the earth with a flood again. Yet we as the human race have taken God's symbol of a promise and twisted it to mis-represent one of the founding principles, the covenant, of a Biblical marriage. Gay marriage is not marriage in the eyes of God. Displaying a rainbow as a means to represent this "tolerant" society is the devils sly way of taking something from God and making it his own. However - if you've ever read Revelation, you'd know that the devil doesn't win. People think they are winning; but in the end they'll lose. 

So if you see me displaying a rainbow, know I'm not supporting gay "marriage." I'm displaying Gods promise - and that is something I'm proud of. 

Miracle Baby

From time to time I like to go into our spare bedroom and reminisce on all the people that have stayed in there.  Some for a day; others for a week; others for months.  About 10 people have stayed in that spare bedroom for one reason or another.  I love that about our house.  I always want to have an open door to someone who needs one.  Now I have something new to think about - preparing that room for another baby.  Not a baby that will come and possibly go back to their birth family - but a baby that will stay forever.

For those that don't know, let me provide a back-story.
When I was a few months pregnant with Micah, I was miserable.  I was gaining too much weight; I was labeled high-risk and had doctors appointments that lasted at least one hour at least every other week.  I was exhausted.  My sinuses were constantly under attack, leading to sneezing fits that pulled muscles in my rib cage.   I wasn't sleeping well, was horribly constipated, my feet were swollen, and everything was just - harder.  As I was laying on the table waiting for the nurse to check for my Micah's heartbeat, I heard God's voice say, "enjoy this moment Lauren - you may never get to experience it again."  Words SO clear and SO profound, they brought tears to my eyes.

When Micah was about 3-4 months old, Ray and I started trying for baby #2.  Yes, we were crazy; but we were crazy in love with this little boy and wanted another SO bad.  Months went by.  Then a year.  Eighteen months.  No pregnancy.  My prayers at that time sounded something like,

God, please let me get pregnant.  Not our wills God - but yours be done.  If you don't want me to have another baby, please show us what we should do.  

Already, God had laid it on our hearts to adopt.  Fostering hadn't quite entered our minds yet.  After 18 months of infertility, I reached my breaking point.  I was so depressed and frustrated.  I just wanted another baby!!! I changed the words God said during my pregnancy with Micah to, "you WILL NEVER get to experience this again."  I changed God's words because it was easier to accept a for-sure "never" then a "maybe."  I didn't like the uncertainty.  God showed me through a study in Genesis that just like Sarah, I should be content with my only son - and grateful to boot!  I started focusing on all the negative things in my pregnancy instead of the positive aspects.  I ruminated on the negative to ease the pain.  Then, as God lead the right people into our path - the pain was replaced with purpose. A purpose to reach out to the fatherless and the afflicted.  Hence, we started our foster care journey.  After six months of paperwork, training, and more paperwork - we were licensed in January of 2014.  My prayers changed then.

God, please lead the right children to our home.  Keep them safe - meet all their needs.  Take care of them and take away their fears.  Help us to be the foster parents we need to be.  

After our first couple placements (three boys, one girl), that all lasted six weeks or less, my prayer changed again.

God, please give me a little girl that will steal my heart and stay forever.  

Then baby A came and she wore me out.  My lupus went into a downward spiral.  I was exhausted.  I was burned out.  I needed a break - and that's exactly what we did.

It wasn't until February 2015 that we decided to go back on the openings list.  After paperwork, time, and more paperwork - we were one week away from having a home inspection and going back on the active list.  My prayers changed again:

God, please let the right little one to our home that will blend in perfectly with our family.  A child that will get along well with Micah and would be a perfect addition to our family.  

Mind you - a biological baby was never, NEVER on my mind.  Having another baby hasn't been on my radar in two years.  So when I came down with severe vomiting and stomach pain - I was concerned (and so was my doctor).  My doctor was concerned I had pancreatitis; not a completely unknown issue with lupus.  He ran stat blood work and ordered a stat CT scan the same day, telling me to come back to his office when I was finished to go over the results.  When I was getting ready to go in for my CT scan, my doctor comes into the room from out of nowhere (seriously - he had to have run from his office to the CT room to get there in time), and he tells me I had a positive pregnancy test.  Was I happy?  Not in the least.  My first words were - "are you kidding me?" and "well my life sucks."  Keep in mind the past two years have been filled with all the negative things about pregnancy.  I thought about the negatives to get through the pain of infertility.  But now that it has sunk in - and I'm nine weeks along - I can truly say that this is a miracle baby.

Four years of infertility.
One of those years on birth control to regulate my hormones (which didn't work).
Two months off of birth control, only one real "cycle" occurring (I didn't have a period in February at all).
I have active lupus.
The chances of pregnancy in my book?  Slim to none.  Even my doctors had never done a pregnancy test before that day.

But it seems God is always on time.  All those prayers I prayed all those years ago - He's answered them.  My heart is joyful.  I am grateful.  I am blessed, because I am chosen.

"He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children.PRAISE YE THE LORD." Psalm 113:9

Least of These

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Matthew 25:34-40

Who doesn't love a baby? Most people do. Sweet chubby cheeks, tender smiles and giggles, that wonderful smell of baby powder after a diaper change. What's not to love? 

But what is the value of a baby in the economy? They can't work. They can't earn a living. Depending on the age, they can do very little to nothing for themselves. They consume, they cry, they demand attention. They could be considered the "least" as far as economical value and worth is concerned. The value is in the eye of the beholder; wrapped with strong ties of emotion and that warm fuzzy feeling you get inside when an innocent baby smiles at you. They may be the least to some - but to someone else, they are the greatest. 

Children in foster care could be considered the least. Most (like 99% as an my non-educated guess) come with serious baggage. They have out-of-control tantrums. They're sick and have a constant runny nose. They scream for no reason at the top of their lungs. They're inconsolable to your touch, because they've never been soothed before. They bang their heads on the floor or self-harm.  You can almost always guarantee they have a history clouded by abuse and neglect in one form or another. They are the least; the smallest thought on our enormous list of things to deal with and consider. But the least should be greatest. 

I was watching an old rerun of the show Reba today, mostly because Ray just happened to stop on that channel. The episode was filmed after hurricane Katrina. Reba had a large black family living under her roof as refugees from the devastation. She was stressed. She wanted to give up. Then the refugee mom pointed to Matthew 25:35 in her Bible and read it aloud. I cried. So much is sacrificed when you open your home to foster children; but it astonishes me to think that those sweet faces I cried over, the runny noses I wiped countless times, the weekly trips to the doctor, the messes, putting up with the screams, the ridiculous tantrums, my fruitless attempts at preventing the self-harming - they were all for Jesus. Good gracious - how quick I would be to wipe the nose of Jesus if He were sick! I would clean up His messes with JOY because He cleaned up the mess I made of my life. To think that everything I dealt with and went through with those five children last year was for Him - it was undeniably worth it. The least of these. Sweet children who didn't have a choice. Children who were forced to cope in whatever way possible, even if that meant eating trash off the floor for some means of sustenance. 

This is real folks. I've been called - you've been called. We're supposed to care for the least of these. Maybe you can't be a foster parent; but can you pray for those that are? Can you provide a meal for a foster mom that just got a new placement? Can you buy diapers? Can you help the single foster mom catch up on housework? You might not be called to be a foster parent - but you've been called to serve the least of these. Not for the foster parents; not for the child; but for Gods Kingdom. For Gods Glory. After all - He did it for us when we were there. We owe Him the same. 

To Cherish, Upon Regret

As I finish up a bedtime story with my Micah-B, he asks, "can we snuggle?" Even though it's late, I can't say no! These four years have flown by so quickly, and no matter how much I wish for those days when I could hold him in one arm, those days will never come back. Not with my Micah-B. With him being our first, I was determined to do everything perfect, enforcing sleeping in his own crib at three weeks (because I wasn't getting ANY sleep with him next to me), putting him on a feeding schedule (largely unsuccessful due to his horrid reflux), etc. etc. Maybe time just changes things - maybe there are things that only experienced mommas know - but if I could turn back the clock, I would have spent more time holding his tiny fragile body; more time caressing his tender, soft skin (which thankfully he still has!); more time breathing in that sweet baby scent; and more time just being close to him. So many regrets! But he's not my only baby I have regrets with. I have regrets with Baby A too. I have regrets with Baby J. I regret not making myself emotionally available to them. I regret seeing "order" and "scheduling" and a clean house more important than their needs. 

Moving forward, I don't want to be afraid to fall in love. I don't want to be afraid that the floor will just NOT get vacuumed this week. I don't want to be afraid that I'll get attached to my fosters. I realized upon finding out that Baby A is getting adopted that I missed out because I sheltered my heart from losing her. The old adage, "it's better to have loved and lost than never loved at all," is true. Because my heart aches for "what could have been" in her short stay with us if I wasn't so harsh. If I wasn't so guarded. If I wasn't so uptight. So many regrets, and it just hurts. 

Several years ago a singer (and momma of 10 children!) came to our church. I was pregnant at the time and asked for her advice.  She told me, "cherish them while they're young." It's something you can't understand until you see them grow, then hope to do better with the next one. Children grow so quickly. There is never enough time. 

If you're being called to foster, don't be afraid to love. God wasn't afraid to love you, even though He already knew you'd break His heart someday. It's selfish to stay out of a ministry that DESPERATELY needs workers because you're afraid you'll get hurt. It's also selfish to hold back love that a child deserves because of the same reason. I've been selfish. Foolishly selfish. But I'm determined to be different the next time around. God, please help me to be different! Help me to love those children the way you love me!

Because life is too short, and each day is a gift. A precious experience that can never be re-lived. 

Cherish:  to care for tenderly; nurture: to cherish a child