Merry Christmas.... From the police?

We got a knock on our door at 9 PM tonight, after just getting back from (even more) Christmas shopping. I opened the door, and there was a Marshfield police officer standing there. At first I figured he was there about one of the addicts we work with ~ I thought maybe something had happened. He started talking to me and asked me if I remembered him ~ he took the report when our camping equipment was stolen this past summer. I invited him in, and figured they had found our camping equipment from this summer and were  returning it. Ben came out of the bedroom and the officer began talking to both of us. 

What happened next is honestly something I have never experienced in my life. He told us that they hadn't found the camping equipment, but he was there to wish us a marry Christmas, and apologized for coming so late. He started telling us that every year, the police department gives a card to people who are making a big impact on the community. He thanked us for everthing we do in the community  (which is ironic coming from an officer and all HE does ~ I felt like I should be telling him that), and said the police department wanted to let us know that our efforts and work are appreciated and much needed, then he handed us a Christmas card from the police department and wished us a merry Christmas. He stayed for about ten minutes chatting, and kept thanking us over and over again for what we do.

We were, to put it lightly ~ speechless. Just when we were going through  a time when we weren't sure if we were making enough of a difference, God sent a message to let us know that we are. We are so humbled and thankful ~ and it is an honor to be able to do what we do in the community for drug addicts, because God has put it on our hearts. The fact that God uses us to reach people despite how messed up are is something that we are thankful for every day, and that's why we give back. To be recognized for it is not expected, but it is very appreciated  and gives us the stamina to keep going even when things get hard. Knowing that other people see what we sometimes can't keeps us focused on God's calling and the path we need to stay on. .

God is good, and he knows just when to send a pick me up to the weary. He knows how to encourage us in ways that no human could ever know. By  the way, God sure has a sense of humor. Ten years ago, if the police were knocking on my door at 9pm (or at all for that matter), it would have been to arrest me. In fact, I probably would have ran as soon as I opened the door. To have a uniformed officer hand deliver a Christmas card and thank us for our work in the community is a hilarious display of just how much God can change your circumstances. He is good ~ he is SO good! Trust me when I say that he can change your life in an instant beyond your wildest dreams! From being a drug addicted criminal to working alongside the police force and getting Christmas cards hand delivered by them ~ God can do far beyond what we could ever ask or think!

The last time....

I am one of those mothers who stills sees my 3 year old son as "my baby". To me, he is still little. I am one of those mothers who did "attachment parenting"- breastfeeding, holding and comforting him when he cries instead of trying to "toughen him up", I am almost NEVER away from him (in fact, he is going with me and my husband on a marriage retreat next month even though it was recommended that we get a sitter because I just can't bear the thought of parting from him that long), and he slept in our bed with us for his first year, and still does sometimes now. I carried him everywhere when he was an infant, and refused to let him "cry it out". People would tell me to let him grow up, but I cherished those baby moments. Due to the fact that there is a ten year age gap between him and my next youngest child, I am very aware that the baby stage passes all too quickly, and I wanted to hang onto every moment that I could. And I still do.

This past weekend, he went with his dad to an indoor water park for the day. He was fearless, going down huge water slides by himself, jumping into the pool with no hesitation. My husband talked about how big he seemed at the waterpark, but I had stayed home to do homework for school. I blew it off- surely he couldn't have grown THAT much since the last time we had him at the pool a few weeks ago. I know he's getting bigger, but he is still a baby. He is fighting for independence, yet he is still dependent on his mommy and daddy. He still wants good night kisses, he still wants to be held and cuddled, he still wants to mommy to kiss his boo-boos. He's not past the baby phase- I was sure of it. My husband sees him as a little boy because he is raising him to be a man. But he will always be a baby to his mommy.

Then I took him to the pool yesterday. He normally jumps off of the edge of the pool into my arms in the water. But yesterday, he didn't. In fact, when I put my arms out to catch him, he walked away from me and cannonballed in by himself. It was such a bittersweet moment. I was so proud of my son and the little boy he is becoming, yet I was mourning the loss of my baby. What is an exciting new stage for him, is a stage of letting go for me. My mind raced with thoughts- the last time he jumped into my arms in the pool, I took it for granted. I didn't realize it was the last time. I was sure there would be more times, that he would stay in that phase of needing me to calm his fears awhile longer. He would need me to catch I'm a little longer. If I had known that it would have been the last time, I would have cherished it more.

I thought of all of the "last times" I have already gone through with him. The last time he breastfed. The last time he crawled. The last time I had him strapped into a baby carrier on my body. The last time he had is amazingly striking troll hair that stuck straight up for his head from the time he was born until he was about 7 months old. The last time I carried him in a baby carrier car seat. The last time I gave him a bottle. The last time he innocently looked up at me and gave me a baby coo. So many last times, so many cherished memories. I didn't realize those were a last time either, until they were gone. I am so glad that we took the advice of so many who told us to take tons of pictures while he was a baby. We have close to 20,000 pictures of him in his first three years. We have a way to remember some of the last times- or at least some of the stages. But you never really realize it's the last time until it's too late. Until there's a new "first time."

 I realize that there will be more "last times", and now I am more prepared. I am cherishing every moment with my little boy. God has blessed us so tremendously with the ability to be parents the right way a second time, after failing our first set of kids. We have been given a tremendous gift to experience all of these first and last times with our little boy.  I realize that each one of these days, each one of these last times, is a gift. A gift that you can't get back once it's gone. My husband and I were talking the other day about how he is 1/6 the way to being an adult already. 1/6 of his life has passed, and eventually he will be 18 and out of our home, and I will miss all of the noise, all of the chaos, all of the toys on the floor, all of the hanging on my legs and not being able to go to the bathroom by myself without him following me in there. And once that happens, I will miss it. As hard as it can be to be a parent from day to day, once that time with your child is gone, it is forever mourned.  I remember when the infant stage felt like it would never end. The nights of no sleep, constant breastfeeding, and dealing with crying seemed endless. Yet now that they are gone, I miss them so much. I vow to start taking life slower to enjoy these times with my little guy, before they are gone for good. Cleaning the house and getting straight A's on every paper can wait. This time is precious like no other, and there is no "redo" button. I vow to cherish each stage that he is in, regardless of the trials and struggles- because one day it will be over, and I will miss it. I vow to thank God for this little man in every moment, even when he is testing my patients and I feel like I no longer have an identity as an individual person- but only as Justin's mommy.

Because "Justin's mommy" is absolutely the greatest title I could ever have. Lest I forget it when I lose my patients, I will think about all of his "last times," and how this stage that seems like it will never end one day will, and I will miss it. I vow that I will be more prepared for the next "last time"- as much as a parent can possibly be prepared for it- and I vow to be thankful for all of the "first times."

Silence that's deafening.

My husband and son during a hospital visit.

This week has been one where silence has spoken extremely loudly. You never really know just how loud silence actually is until you are unwillingly stuck in it. The sound of grief, of fear, of the unknown, can truly speak louder than words ever could. You can feel silence, while words are fleeting.

This week I went the funeral of a gorgeous, perfect 2 month old baby. Her parents led our small group for years, and they are truly good people. As I sat in the church during the service, looking at her perfect little body in the casket, the weight of silence- of stillness- became very apparent. My heart broke for her family. What they would give to have noise instead of silence- baby coos, laughter, and crying- instead of the overwhelming weight of quietness. There are no words that anyone could ever say that will speak louder than the void of not having their baby girl there.

It was an emotional day for me, not only because I was at the funeral of an infant- which is emotionally draining on anyone- but because I don't do well with funerals to begin with. I've been to too many. Too many of people that I was extremely close with- who meant the world to me. Every time I find myself in another funeral, I start envisioning the next one- worrying when I am going to be sitting in those chairs again. Terrified of whose body is going to be in the casket next time. Sometimes death comes with no warning- no clue that anything is wrong, no reason to think that the person that died would have ever been in a casket before you are- like this precious baby girl. But sometimes death comes more slowly. People struggle with long term illnesses and health problems where you can start to prepare yourself for their end. I have grieved both kinds of deaths, and honestly I'm not sure which is worse.

I found myself starting to worry about my husband during this funeral. My husband has chronic health issues, and the thought of him dying before me is almost too much to bear. But, in all reality, that is probably the way it is going to happen. I started hyperventilating and crying over my husband's future death. I started to feel the weight of grief that I have felt so many times before- the same grief this baby girl's parents were feeling at that very moment. I fear death- not for myself- but for the people I love. I don't want to be left to live without them. I've done it too many times before. When you have had so many people that you love dearly die on you, you can't help but worry about who the next one is going to be. I don't know if it's a defense mechanism to prepare myself for it, or a way to try and brace myself so I don't feel it quite as hard- but dwelling on thoughts like that are not a good way to live. It robs you of the joy in the present when you are constantly worried about the future.

I had to force myself to snap out of it. I had to remind myself that God is in control of ALL things- from the time we are born until the time we take our last breath. I kept repeating Romans 8:28 to myself: ALL things work together for the good of those who love God. When my husband's time does come, it will be in God's control, and He will continue to take care of me the same way he has done my entire life. He will be there for me in the valley of the shadow of death the same way He has been in the past. God is faithful, and I had to cast down the thoughts that were coming into my mind from satan- telling me I would be abandoned, not cared for, that my life would be ruined, that God wouldn't see me through it. That's not the truth. Fear is not from God, and I have known God long enough to know that he has a reason for everything that happens, and that He WILL work it out for my good. Like when my fiancé committed suicide. I remember very vividly staring at his casket during his wake, thinking how things were really messed up now. My life was over. There was no fixing this. Yet, years later, it turned out that his death was the very thing that pushed me to the point that I was desperate enough to surrender to God, and he saved me. It's what allowed God to break me out of my addiction. It's what allowed me to share hope with other people who are going through the same thing. It's what ultimately saved my life- though you would have never been able to convince me that any good would come out of it at that moment I was staring at the man I was supposed to marry in a casket.

I brushed my fear of my husband dying off. It's part of the PTSD that still pops its head up every once in awhile from Dave dying. We have too much work to do- too many lives to touch- for God to take him now. I know that. But then, the day after the baby's funeral, we were having dinner with friends at our home, and my husband started having chest pains. I had him chew an aspirin, and he waited another 15 minutes, but the pain got worse. Our friend Chris drove him to the emergency room, while I stayed here with my sleeping baby. A million thoughts started rushing through my head. Was yesterday at the funeral a warning? Was God trying to prepare me for something? Was he warning me? I started to truly panic. The thought of my husband dying- of my son growing up without a father- became much too real. The day before I convinced myself that it was me getting myself worked up, my PTSD resurfacing, my mind playing tricks on me, satan putting thoughts in my head to get me to fear. But this, this was real.

Three days and batteries of tests later, there was still no concrete answer about what was wrong with my husband. Silence. Deafening silence. Silence so loud, that all I could hear were my fears. As I sat in my quiet home at night while the baby was sleeping, the void of my husband not being here became overwhelming. No late night conversations, no dinners together, no watching our favorite tv series together to wind down at the end of the day. The house was void of the sound of him snoring, the sound of him laughing, the sound of him singing his praise songs to God. Just the sound of..... nothingness. A void where my husband used to be. It started to drive me crazy.

But then, I had to re-center myself. I had to remember that I know who God is, and that no matter what happens, God is in control. I recalled the words of a very wise woman- my Pastora from Milwaukee- when her husband Pastor Cano died. I remember telling her that I was so sorry this had happened, and that I didn't know why it had to happen. She looked me straight in the eye and said "Oh no, I don't question God. God is still good, and He knows why." What a woman of strength! I found myself taking solace in those words. God forbid, if my husband were to die- I have to always remember that God is God, and I am not. That He is good, even when the circumstances are bad. I have to rest in the fact that no matter what happens in my life- good or bad- I am God's child, and he will take care of me. I have to remember that my trust is not in men- not even my husband- but God alone. He is the God who gives and takes away, and he sees things that we can't. Satan wants me to fear the unknown. I am determined to not allow him that control over me. Sometimes you just need to step back from your emotions, and step into God's truth. To remember that God has been faithful in the past, and will continue to be. To remember that God knows our every sorrow, our grief, our fear, our hurt, our loneliness- and He is there with us in it.

God is faithful. My husband is coming home today. I am going to pick him up in half an hour.  He has to have a procedure done next month to fix some stuff going on in his heart- and I am trusting God with that. I am trusting God that my husband will be alive until the exact second that God's infinite wisdom says otherwise. My prayers were answered, but that's not always the case. There will come a day when my husband does die, and I will need to cling to God all the more. But for now, the silence in my home is about to be lifted, and I will have the laughter and snoring of my husband back. Glorious sounds. Sounds that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Sounds I much prefer over silence.

Not that silence is a bad thing. Sometimes, when things are the quietest, God will speak to you the loudest. When things are falling apart around you, you can trust that God is there speaking to you, telling you not to fear. The most spiritual growing times in my life have been in devastating times of silence. God will use EVERYTHING- even the heartbreaking, silent times- for good. I am not knocking the silence. But for now, I am SO grateful for the noise, and appreciating it in all its glory.