An Ordinary Day

Life goes on.  This morning I got up and put on my new apron so I could try this iced coffee recipe. Hannah asks if I feel I can do "anything" in my fancy apron.  Hmm...not sure about that.  I'm still dizzy when I walk too much and unfortunately the coffee has to sit for 8 hours before I can drink it....so I will drink it tomorrow.  Cecilia walked in and made me laugh right before I snapped this photo.  She's such a cutie.

 

The nerf guns have resurfaced so there's lots of noise around the house with multiple wars upstairs and downstairs.

More gifts and flowers.  I haven't had time to photograph them all.  I'm so grateful for all those that have worked so hard to make this easier for my family and I.  I know I keep saying thank you but I don't know what else to say.  THANK YOU. 

My newest godchildren will be arriving for a visit soon.  It's a good, ordinary, perfect day.  I'm surrounded by love and blessings.  What more could I ask for?

Grateful Mourning

More friends, gifts, cards, and food today.  I made it down to my computer and found pictures loaded.  Pictures from a day I don't really remember but can never forget no matter how hard I try.  These pictures have smiles, hugs, and love, though, despite what was going on upstairs.  Did I tell you that as all of this was occuring Brandon, his girlfriend, Rose, and her roommate were arriving from Steubenville for a visit?  At the same exact time Katie, Sam, and my parents were returning from a 10 day trip to Texas.  When I say a the same EXACT time I really mean it.  Jesse called them all and asked them to meet up at my mom's house.  Brandon and his friends opted to head to the movies for a bit.  He said as he got the text that I was being taken away to the ER that he thought "She's going to die.  That's why God brought us all together at the same exact time."  He was grateful that I didn't, in fact, die.  He said he wasn't ready to be a "stay at home brother" but that he would have done it in a heartbeat.  God bless him.  Anyway, here I am, downstairs doing small jobs because if I sit for one more minute my mind might explode. 

Neighbors drop off gifts, cards, food, and send prayers and love.  Who am I to deserve such things? Reminders throughout my heart and home that even "out there" in the busy-ness of the world *I* matter to someone.  The outpouring of love humbles me in a way I can't describe.  I worry for the mothers that do this grieving alone and in silence.  I mourn for them.  I pray for them.  I wish I could gather them up and comfort them the way I have been comforted.

I was thinking today about a time waaaaay back when my dear friend, Lydia, whom I admire very much, suggested that I read the book "1000 Gifts" by Ann Vaskomp.  I know I've mentioned the book on numerous occasions but today, especially, I'm grateful for having read it when I did.  At the time when I read it I was newly pregnant with Josie.  I had miscarried twice in the past year.  I didn't have a Kindle then and read it on my ipod.  I was fascinated by the beauty of the author's words and a little embaressed (alot embaressed) at how I had often treated life as some kind of emergency needing to be "gotten over with" as soon as possible.  Nearly 18 months after reading the book I think I've made some progress.  I carry my camera everwhere, as I always have, and I try to snap pictures of the beauty around me.  Even if it's just silly to some it's beauty to me.  When I saw Mary playing this game tonight it made me think of my best friend (who owns the store where all of my cool toys come from!).  The fun we've had, the times we've shared, and our years together bring joy to my heart.  Mary's curls in the sun (and the curl in the middle of her head that she's "had forever" according to her) always make me smile.

I tried to keep my list today as best I could of my blessings (this list is by no means complete).  At times I was overwhelmed with grief and sadness but at other times I felt at peace.  I know that's normal.  I know I'll get through it.  I know I haven't cried my last tears yet but today, for the first time, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel.

Today one of my favorites -Archbishop Fulton Sheen - was declared venerable by the Church.  While poking around the internet I stumbled upon this quote from him.  Painful, dark, sad times happen in life. But as Christians we know that is not the end of the story. 

“Unless there is a Good Friday in your life, there can be no Easter Sunday.”

― Fulton J. Sheen

Finding Grace....Maybe

I'm wired to be a mom.  I enjoy doing laundry, wiping counters, changing diapers (unless the person I'm changing is 4 years old but that's another post), washing faces, and reading stories.  Tea parties on the front porch mid morning in summer?  Yes, please.  Mixing up bread dough with my helpers is my favorite.  Lifting a toddler to push the buttons on the washer is time well spent.  Today I can do none of those things.  I did try to do a couple of those things and learned that I am still too weak.  Too weak.  I don't like the sound of that.  Usually bed ridden means a new baby to cuddle, to change, to admire, to nurse.  There's no new baby and I sit here alone with way too much time to think.  Kids in and kids out.  I get overwhelmed.  I don't want to be overwhelmed.  I want to drink them up because they are such gifts.  But I get tired and they ask alot of questions so after a while they file out waving and leaving me with kisses.  My ultimate goal is to remember how blessed I am.  I recently read the book "Kisses From Katie" and the hardships described in there took my breath away.  I'm not there.  My kids are not there.  We are here and we are so blessed to be here.  I think of those that I know that have lost children, spouses, or are currently suffering other hardships and I pray for them, offer my pain for them, but the grief doesn't leave me.  I'm torn between being self centered and other centered which frustrates me further.  People say to focus on me but if I focus on me then I get lost in my sadness.  I want to focus on others.  I've compiled a list of prayer requests from various sources; emails, facebook, news stories, etc.  When I start to get lost in my grief I think of one or two people who are way worse off than me.  Still....when it's dark and quiet I remember our loss and in spite of my efforts it still hurts.  This wasn't my plan for the summer.  All plans since April 21, 2012 have included this baby.  Now the plan has radically changed and for the next week, at least, I can't even do what I know - be a mom and wife.  My attitude isn't quite where it should be either.  My fuse is short and my words aren't chosen well.  How can those around me, especially my children, understand all of this when I don't?  Why can't I ever just do anything with GRACE?  I see the grace AFTER but I miss it during, always.  Maybe that's my lesson?  I wonder if I share too much here and with friends but it's all I know - to be honest and to share.  I can't cover up my grief or the internal battle I have between wanting to sink down in a hole and give up and wanting to grasp for the GRACE and rise above the pain.  


Today's Sadness - repacking up maternity clothes, taking motrin because I can, seeing the positive pregnancy test (yes, I am weird and save them....)


Today's Blessings - Hannah made me donuts, Josie click clacking her tongue and giggling with delight, *seeing* outside because Brandon cleaned the windows!


Grandma is heading back any minute with a bunch of the kids.  They visited her for the afternoon and played in the water at her house.  More blessings.....


"See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare" - Isaiah 42:9

Receiving, Accepting, and Recovering

"You still sick?" Clare asks with her big, brown eyes wearing a worn out swim suit and a dirty face.  "Yes" I answer not really feeling "sick" so much as completely worn out in a way that I never have before.  Visitors come and go bringing food, treats, hugs, and flowers.  Jesse missed another day of work because I can't quite navigate the stairs alone yet much less toting a baby.  Not that I've tried because getting from the bed to the bathroom is hard enough.  What is the meaning of this I ask about fifty times and hour.  The famous quote from St. Teresa of Avila runs through my mind again and again : "God, if this is how you treat your friends it's no wonder you have so few."  I laugh when I say it but part of me believes it.   So in my many hours of sitting in bed I've caught up on lots of reading and acquired a few new books thanks to those who know me best getting me gift cards for my Kindle.  

Today my best friend swooped in with chocolate, new diapers, and my favorite dinner and then took four of the kids to Greenfield Village with her!  She has supplied me with pictures as well so I can feel like I'm in my favorite place soaking up the sun instead of in my bed.

The baby comes in and plays, giggles, nurses, and naps next to me.  Each sound she makes (even her screech) reminds me of how blessed I am.  When the grief tries to overpower what little energy I have I can look at my kids - big and small - and remember my blessings.

Flowers from friends that Hannah brought in so I could enjoy them too.  They remind me that I'm loved even when I feel alone, sad, depressed, and like one more day might be too much to take.  Notes, emails, phone calls, texts....prayer cards, gifts, food....BLESSINGS too many to count.  

I cannot properly express my gratitude and in my foggy state of thinking have surely forgotten blessings received.  I can only hope to give back to each of you someday.  Finally - posted on my Facebook Wall by my dear friend who's children I am honored to be the Godmother for even though we missed the big day (as Cecilia has reminded me about four hundred times :) ):  

What I Know About Grief

When I say I know something about grief, I’m not saying I understand your pain.
I’m whispering that I have also grieved.

When I speak of God’s grace, I speak of it reverently, confessing that I have stumbled,
doubted, and cried my way to God’s mercy.

When I speak of surviving grief, I am not saying I am strong, I am professing that I am weak and continue to pray daily for strength.

When I share my story, I’m not saying I have all the answers to grief’s questions.
I’m saying I’m willing to let you see inside my pain.

When I offer you my hand, it’s not because I am more courageous than you.
I offer because I understand weakness, imperfect faith, and vulnerability.

When I speak of God’s healing, it doesn’t mean I don’t still feel the sting of grief.
It means I’ve found hope during moments of God’s tender comfort.

When I mention faith, it’s not because I have found a formula for surviving loss.
It means I am here because God helped me find my way through the darkness.

From “Grieving Forward” by Susan Duke

A Different Kind of Gratitude Sunday

Yesterday was to be a day of great joy.  All of my kids home, safe under our roof.  I planned the meal and we cleaned house.  "Not today, God" I said.  I didn't want to miscarry that day.  Or this one.  The day we were supposed to be the Godparents to three fabulous children who's journey into the Church is a while miracle of it's own.  As I'm learning alot in the last few weeks - God has His own script.  And it doesn't seem to be in sync with mine.  The miscarriage started and I thought it would be quick, "easy", and done before my children arrived home. I prayed and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  The pain seemed worse than in the past and it took longer.  It felt wrong from the beginning but one's mind doesn't always think straight in these times.  And I had to "fit this in" before my kids got home.  More waiting.  My energies faded and we called the Dr for the first time.  Hoping not to add a trip the ER to this already painful day we waited longer.  A couple of hours passed.  I missed the homecoming.  I missed dinner. I didn't get to bake the bread.  And things were taking a turn for the worst.  I had done this at home multiple times but it was never like this.  I was in touch with my dear friend who is a home birth midwife.  She urged me to go to the hospital but I wasn't ready yet.  I should have been. But one doesn't think clearly when they've lost the amount of blood I had, I guess.  I finally got to see Sam and Katie.  Just for a minute.  I held my Sam and remembered the joy of the day of his birth in this very same room where I was losing my grip on a tiny baby.  I wanted to be grateful in the midst of the pain.  That's when things went from bad to worse.  I won't go into details but can only say that I don't think I've ever been so close to death and I knew it.  I didn't want to have Jesse call 911 and it took every last ounce of energy I had to tell him to do it.  Even in all of this, as I lay on the bathroom floor unable to feel my hands or feet, unable to hear with my ears I could hear the Holy Spirit telling me to cast aside my anti emergency room ways and get there via ambulance.  Now.  Because great grief and massive blood loss can make a person irrational I kept thinking that I didn't really want the EMT guys to see me or my house in this state.  And I didn't want to spend the money.  So the Holy Spirit went from softly urging me to yelling at me.  For once, I listened.  Thankfully so did Jesse.  Much of what happened next is a blur and too much to write down.  I can only say that while I was torn between being mad at God and begging for my life to be spared He wasn't torn at all.  God is always Faithful.  Always. 

2 Timothy 2:13 if we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot disown himself.

 I feared that I would get a non compassionate ER doctor who would judge my family size, that this was my 18th pregnancy, that I had chosen to miscarry at home.  Instead we got a man from our parish. A compassionate man from our parish.  And I am confident in saying that I have the best OB on the planet.  He was in touch the whole time and came in at 3 a.m. to do the emergency D & C.  He doesn't like to be too invasive and takes great care with the uterus as well as the baby's remains.  I mostly miscarried at home but he said he wasn't sure what was left in there and he was not OK with them just disposing of it.  As Hannah said "You got two doctors from Christ the King (that's our parish).  You'll be fine."  I must say I was terrified.  I've always been afraid of general anesthesia and have avoided it like the plague (hence my painful wisdom teeth that still reside in my mouth).  So my choices were to bleed to death or be put under.  I was put under.

In what seemed like five minutes I was waking up.  Sadly, for the nurses, I was yelling "Bring my baby back" over and over again.  Again, irrational.  Looking back on the last 24 hours I see the miracles, the grace, the gifts.  When I'm feeling more up to it I will share those.  For now I will just say thank you, again, to friends, family, friends of friends, people I've never met, and those that I don't even know about.  Your prayers and support mean so much to my family and I.  Jesse named the baby Veronica.  It's Josie's middle name and a favorite of his.  Saint Veronica Ekblad - Pray for us.

Watching For Rainbows

I planned this day weeks ago.  An OB appointment in the morning where we would see a wiggly baby form dancing on the screen.  The Dr. would make his best guess at gender (because he loves doing that even at 12 weeks) and we'd talk names.  Jesse and I would go to lunch to celebrate.  Hannah had a fun day/night planned with friends.  I'd feel better.  The first trimester would be under my belt and summer would begin.  Instead I cried all night and wished all morning that I didn't have to go back to the Dr. and see our lifeless baby on that screen.  Some friends had suggested I get the Anointing of the Sick a few days ago.  I resisted initially  but late last night I felt very called to contact a particular priest.  Using the wonders of modern technology I contacted a friend who texted him and by God's Grace he was available at the time and place I needed him to be - before my OB appointment.  I sat across from the priest not knowing what to expect and feeling a little afraid.  What if he saw through me?  What if he saw the times I was too sick and forgot to take my vitamins, or the coke that I drank or the coffee?  What if it was MY fault that this baby who's heart we saw flickering on the screen just weeks earlier had died silently under my heart.  The same heart that ached to hold him or her.  "What do you want to ask God for?" the priest asked.  I didn't know what to say.  Who am *I* to ask God for anything?  He has already given me so much yet I'm like a spoiled brat when I don't get my way.  What do I really want?  I want my baby back.  I don't want him up there with God.  I want him here wiggling around in my belly.  I can't have that, though, and I know it.  So I asked for the miscarriage to be quick and for a sign that this is not my fault.  The thought that I did something to kill my baby was too much for me to bear.  The priest anointed me and my guilt lifted almost immediately.  I went straight from there to the OB appointment where my baby lay lifeless on the ultrasound screen again.  The same screen where I saw twins that had gone to be with Jesus and babies that danced around until the day of their birth.  That same screen that brought me joy on some days brought me more sorrow today.  Tonight, though, I got my sign.  The same sign that the Lord sent me not so long ago when I miscarried before Josie.  It was a double rainbow then too.

And when my heart ached as I said goodbye to my grandma last year.  God's comfort.  His love is in abundance.  I stared at the rainbow while the rain drizzled on Josie and I.  And I cried tears of thanksgiving.  I watched the rainbow until it faded away.  And just as quickly as it had come it was gone.  Like the tiny beating heart of our baby just weeks before, the beauty of the rainbow retreated into the clouds saving it's beauty for another day.  Another time.

I know I have to let go now.  I think I'm ready.  As much as I wanted to grab that rainbow and bring it inside with me I couldn't do that.  And I can't hold my baby in this life.  So I'll just keep watching for rainbows.....

Behind The Scenes Miracles

We had planned to go to the parish prayer meeting Friday night but after I found out about the baby I didn't want to go.  Jesse said we should still go so we did.  I sat there half heartedly singing the songs and trying my best to give praise to God but my heart ached.  Near the end the leaders of the group gave a presentation about healing ministry.  I didn't listen 100% and, I must admit, while just a day or two earlier I had great hope for all kinds of healing, at that moment I thought "What a joke.  My baby is dead and he's not coming back.  You can't heal me."  The leaders spoke of miracles and I thought the stories were great for other people but not for me.  As the weekend dragged on I dove into some spiritual reading hoping to find answers.  Of course there are no answers, really, but I read anyway.  As I wait for my body to let go of this little one I can't help but recall June 2009 when I was 13 weeks pregnant with Clare.  There were all kinds of complications and she wasn't expected to survive past 19 weeks.  But survive she did and at the 22 week ultrasound when it was discovered that all the complications had disappeared the doctor announced "It's really a miracle."  I was grateful then but life moved on and I, of course, forgot what God had done for us.  But today I remembered. 
And I looked around at the others, too. All miracles, really, in one way or another. Whether it's the fact that we had closed ourselves off to more children after our 3rd but ended up with 10 blessings or the fact that some of them maybe shouldn't have survived a complicated labor and delivery or when they have wandered off and been brought back by neighbors or friends. These are all "behind the scenes" miracles, right? Just because we may not SEE or know that they are in danger doesn't mean they aren't.
 
When I was pregnant with Josie I read the book "1000 Gifts" and for the first time realized that life is NOT an emergency.  Life is a gift.  Not just for some people but for all people.  All of our children are gifts. Those that are here with us and those that are in the loving arms of our Savior.  I know it's OK to be sad, disappointed, a little angry, and to ask "why" but these losses of life bring back into focus what's important and how short life really is.   

Just For Fun!

A tired mama counting blessings posts alot of blogs, I guess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Josephine is 10 Months Old!

She resisted the hair bow and wouldn't stay in one spot this month so we had to pull the bumbo seat out again.  Her favorite game is peek a boo and she loves knocking down the towers that Jackson builds for her with blocks.

It's hard to believe it's been 10 months already!  What a fast year it's been.  We love you Jo Jo!

 

Faith, Friends, Hope, Love

They show up with flowers, food, hugs, love.  They don't care if my house is a mess or my kids need a bath. They don't care that I can't find anything to wear and I look like I haven't slept in weeks.  They aren't here to get something but to give.  I don't accept well.  I like to do and to give not to receive.  That shows my lack of humility and my swollen pride.  But they show me that when God gives us trials He also gives us help.  Sometimes I look around and think "Where are you, God?"  I didn't feel Him in the room that day at the doctor's office. But how could I?  I only felt the stabbing pain like a sword through my heart.  He was there, though, I know it.  And with each note, email, phone call, smile, hug, and kind word I know He is there.  I just have to accept how He's showing Himself.  I have wondered these last few days how people without faith get through trials like this.  Knowing our baby is safe in Jesus' arms is a comfort beyond measure.  Knowing that one day I will hold our baby gives me courage to go on.  It's times like these that I remember what a GIFT faith is.  Without it I would surely be lost. 

"I will never leave you nor forsake you." Hebrews 13:5

Gratitude Sunday - Father's Day

I'm sandwiched between two of the best dads in the world.  What a blessing.  To know I can call either one at any time and when I say "are you busy" and know that they will both answer "never too busy for you."  To feel loved by them and see the love that they give to their children and grandchildren. To see the sacrifice of time and money that they give and how they make it look like no sacrifice at all.  In a world of chaos where fathers are made to look idiotic and unimportant MY world is one where fathers are very important, invaluable and wise.  A man with no father figure grew up to father 10 children in a way that is truly a gift from God.  And this morning, in the true fashion of my dad, he gave ME a gift.  In my inbox was a note that was a response from my blog from yesterday.  A blog written through tears, disappointment, and the feeling that in some way losing the baby I let everyone around me down.  The note read: 
"Amy: That was beautiful. I'm so proud of you." 
With these two men cheering me on how can I ever be anything but GRATEFUL? 

Happy Father's Day!

Life Is Beautiful (A Video)

Because I needed to do something fun and to be sure of all my blessings....

When God's Plans Aren't Ours

"But mommy I loved that baby in your belly" Cecilia (3) said to me as we lay on the bed staring at the ceiling just hours after I learned that the baby hadn't survived.  "I just really loved it." she said.

Mary (5) looked up from the book she was reading and said "You should name the baby so we know what to call it in heaven."  Then a minute later she said "But we don't know if it's a boy or a girl."  I said that she was right - we didn't know and that we would never really know on this side of heaven.  She suggested that I "send a message to God".  She said "if you ask Him He will tell you."  Perhaps.  I wasn't so sure that I was on speaking terms with God at that point.  I know that's not very pious to say but at that moment I felt  pretty dead inside.  I gained 20lbs, only fit in maternity clothes, I look pregnant and I would have been 12 weeks on Monday.  I suffered through the worst part of pregnancy - the nausea, tiredness, the part where you think you're just going to die but then you don't.  And you make it to 12 weeks and things look up.  Except when they don't.  Three weeks ago we saw a beating heart and little arms and legs moving around "flickering".  Yesterday we were able to see fingers and toes but no movement and no heartbeat.  Just a still baby who's soul had already gone to be with Jesus.  But the tiny body of our child remains safe in my womb until my heart lets him/her go.  When it does my body will follow.  Until then I will cherish the moments of carrying this little one inside of me.

In my rational moments I know I'm blessed.  10 healthy children, a wonderful husband, great parents, a nice home, food, clothes, all of it.  I have done this before and I know my heart will heal.  Before we left the doctor's office yesterday he tucked the only pictures of our baby we'll ever have into my hand.  "I know you can't look right now but it's important to keep and remember." he said.  I know he's right.

Today is the Feast Day of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.  A few miscarriages ago I quoted Luke 2:51 "and His mother kept all these things in her heart."  I know that's where all mothers keep their love and memories of their children no matter if they are lost before birth or not.  I wondered this morning how long it takes to die from a broken heart but I know that's not what God wants for me.   On the way to my dr appointment yesterday the song "Blessed Be Your Name" came on.  I wondered if it was a sign of things to come.  It was.  One line in the song is "when the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say Blessed be Your Name."  Last night Jesse took me to the prayer meeting hoping that being in my favorite place would help.  The first song they played was " Blessed Be Your Name".  So I went back on speaking terms with God and asked Him to give my baby a kiss for me.    "God has a plan here" Jesse said as he tried to comfort me "and someday we'll know what it is."


Thank you all for your prayers and kind words.  Without them I would feel more alone and more empty.  

On Tolerance

The wonderful world of social networking, specifically Facebook, has opened up a whole new world to me. I'm not a news watcher and don't even have "real" TV.  But in my news feed I can sift through articles of interest and catch up with friends right there on my phone while I nurse a fussy baby.  One thing that is somewhat disturbing that I've stumbled upon, however, is how "my kind" is viewed by most of our country (and probably the world).  It's interesting to see in black and white the hate and anger in people's hearts coming out at people they've likely never met.  Some wonderful names I've been called just for being Catholic and offering no other information about myself are:

anti choice
anti woman
pedophile supporter
homosexual hater
bigot

Now those are some pretty strong words, right?  I'm curious as to how spewing those words at people because of their choice of religion is in any way "tolerant".  My favorite has nothing to do with my religion but with my political standing - if I don't gush all over President Obama then I am, of course, racist.  My choice of family size ( you know - choice - from the "pro choice" folks) is insulting to women and is destroying the environment.  So, really, it's not pro choice it's "do what we say or we will call you names".

It never ceases to amaze me that these same tolerant folks resort to obscenities and name calling immediately if you don't respond to their hateful remarks with hateful remarks of your own.   I was recently speaking with a woman who tried every "trick" in the book to bring me down to her level.  After verbally attacking our choice of family size, calling all Priests pedophiles and saying we are putting our children in danger knowingly, mocking Jesus, and calling us basically insane I responded only with kind words and love.  Well, that brought out the string of profanities (as if I'd never heard a swear word before) and comments about my past and the poor choices Jesse and I had made that were contrary to what we believe now.  My only response was "Isn't God amazing?".

I can only imagine what it would be like to live with such hate, anger, and fear in your heart.  These are not bad people they are misled people who will never win the argument because their fights are not rooted in love and peace.  It can never be peaceful to rip a baby from it's mother's womb and tear it apart limb by limb.  It is not tolerant to look at some one's faith and tear it down with words of hate.  Jesus' reign hasn't gone on for more than 2000 years because he came in and told everyone how ignorant they were.  His teachings are rooted in peace and love and kindness.  Not the kind of "kindness" that allows people to go against the natural order of things but the type of kindness that guides, speaks the Truth but in LOVE always.  Did Jesus ever get angry?  Yes, He did.  Should we fear the wrath of God?  Absolutely.  The Bible is very clear about what happens to those that don't follow God's laws.

In our moral relativistic culture it's easy to get caught up thinking that maybe we shouldn't stand up for God or our Faith.  I've often been told that the Church should "get with the times".  God doesn't change.  The Bible will never change.  And no amount of name calling and intolerance from those that call themselves tolerant can change that.

Memories and Peace

There's so much about my life that I'd rather not remember.  I've often thought I would be a better person if I could just forget certain things.  After all, for many of us it's not God that can't forgive us but it's us who cannot forgive ourselves.  Accepting those parts of my life and those memories has been at the top of my prayer list for a while.  My kids are big "Adventures in Odyssey" fans.  I might listen to it even when I'm alone in the van.....and yesterday there was one about a man who lost his memory.  As the man's memory was being restored he hoped to only get the good memories back.  The lead character (Whit) said that God uses our memories to help us grow closer to Him and to keep us from repeating past mistakes.  If we rid ourselves of those memories then we are essentially robbing God of one of His tools.

If you know me then you know I'm constantly digging, reading, and trying to find ways to learn more about myself and God.  I'm hopelessly flawed.(Just ask my husband and kids)  I'll read just about any book put out by Ignatius Press or any other Catholic Publishing Company.  I recently read "My Peace I Give You: Healing Sexual Wounds With the Help of the Saints".  It's mainly for victims of sexual abuse but, really, much of it's contents could be applied to many people's lives.  In it I read about St. Ignatius and his many struggles.  I wanted to know more so did further research on the Internet.  I found a blog post from the author of the book.  Here's an excerpt :

"In Ignatius’s understanding of the human mind, the concept of memory refers to more than just particular memories. Memory includes everything that had entered into his consciousness to make him who he was—whether or not he could actually remember it. It forms the foundation of his present identity, including his hopes for his future.


This is an ancient way of understanding memory, dating back at least to St. Augustine, and it makes particular sense for one who has survived trauma—as Ignatius had, having been wounded during his military days. Often in trauma survivors (and this holds regardless of whether the trauma was the result of sexual abuse or military combat) the brain attempts to protect itself by consigning painful swaths of the past to areas where memory’s tendrils cannot reach them. Yet the memories of traumatic events, whether present to us or not, remain part of us.


That is why there is something very beautiful about St. Ignatius offering his memory to God. The saint acknowledges there are things he cannot change—the events of his past—and at the same time displays the bold hope that his Maker will accept him as he is now, with everything he did and everything that was done to him. Such is true abandonment to divine providence—joyfully accepting in your own life the truth encapsulated in the old proverb, “God writes straight with crooked lines.”

Perhaps this is common sense to some but most of us have things in our past that we cannot forgive ourselves (or others) for.  To truly be free we must work past those things not forget them or stuff them away.  With that thought in mind a friend recommended that I read the book Unbound.  I'm about 35% in. So far I really love it.  I will update my complete thoughts on it when I finish it.  Another friend said this to me yesterday "we have to work through this things on this side or the other".  It's so true.  I hope to work through most of them here so I can get to the other side.....someday.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." John 14:27 

When Life Seems To Be Too Much

The rain today seems to be a reflection of my mood.  The weight of mothering all these children is weighing down hard.  When a young adult calls home close to midnight and he's 5 hours away, upset, and asking for advice that you don't really have the reality sets in - this job only gets harder.  I laid awake for hours praying for him, praying for answers, praying for his safety while Josie nursed periodically and what's left of my nausea hit hard throughout the night.  The morning came and brought with it no relief.  More questions, a kitchen full of chatty kids waiting for breakfast, a migraine headache, dishes and laundry to be done and a birthday party (at the park) to attend.  The week ahead involves play dates and parties, two kids heading off on a trip, more decisions....I wonder why I chose this path?  But, really, I didn't choose it.  It chose me.  I chose a bunch of other paths that lead to dead ends.  This part of life just happened along the way.  These days I just want to shout at God "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO NOW???" but I don't.  I can't.  I know if I'm patient He will show me.  I know the Blessed Mother is silently cheering me on. 
I don't know what will happen tomorrow.  I still don't know how I can help Brandon. But I do know that if I trust God, am honest about my weaknesses, and don't lose hope then I can't go wrong.  Today we went to play at the sprinkler park even though it was raining outside.  It was wet, it was muddy, and it was a little cold.  But in the end we were glad we did it.  I guess mothering is a lot like that.  Even if I feel like I've been in the mud for a REALLY long time.