A Letter To My Son

Dear Owen,

I don't know if you will ever read this letter, or if it will make smallest bit of sense when you do. Either way, I just wanted to get my thoughts down and free them from their prison, from my heart where they have been for weeks now. Nine and a half weeks now, to be exact. 

First and foremost my sweet Owen, I love you. 

You were the baby that I had prayed for for years. I made some incredibly unwise decisions with my life and my body before I met your Dada and was not positive that I would be able to have any children at all. You are my miracle baby. From the moment I found out that I was pregnant with you, I loved you. From that blurry and tear-filled moment when you first laid in my arms on a cold December afternoon, I praised the Lord for you. There is absolutely nothing you can say or do or be that will change the depth of my love for you Owen. I will always, fully, completely, to the best of my fallen heart's ability, love you.

Right now you are playing with your friends at their house for the afternoon. I'm getting picture updates from Ms. Morgan, so I know that you are sleeping well, and I am quite positive you are enjoying hanging out with your little buddies. God is awesome like that, isn't he? He provides people like Ms. Morgan and the other friends and our families who have brought us meals and taken care of you during these last nine and a half weeks. They have served our little family of three tenderly and sacrificially, and shown us the love of God practically and in more ways than I think they even have realized. 

I miss you though Owen. 

I miss waking up and snuggling you before you go and eat your Cheerios for breakfast. I miss tucking you in for all of your naps, and being the one to go into your room and get you when you are up from those (sometimes incredibly short...) naps. I miss cleaning the house with you, you following me around each room excitedly as I use our vacuum and Swiffer. I miss you cupping my head in your wee little hands and making me look into your eyes when, in some incredibly intuitive way, you knew I was having an OCD attack and I needed to stop cleaning and just be with you. 

My buddy Owen, I miss your excitement as we walked to the park together. Your quick hands trying to grab every single DVD off of the shelves in the children's section of the library next door, and snuggling together with you in my Ergo while we walked to church, or Trader Joe's or to the bus stop. 

It's been too long since we have done any of those things my sweet son. Months in fact. My heart grows lonely and, sadly, more downcast with each day I am sitting here on the couch while you are playing with a grandma or a friend. I feel like I have lost out on so many little moments with you. 

If I'm honest with you Owen, I am scared that I am going to lose you. 

I'm terrified that you will love your grandmas more than me, because they do fun things with you and I just sit here. I'm afraid that you will think I don't want to be on my hands and knees chasing you around the house and playing peek-a-boo, that I am bored of you. 

Oh, my sweet Owen, I am not. Oh, my sweet, sweet baby, I am not.

I long to be able to spend the day with just you, like how we used to, but with a lot less of Mama cleaning the house frantically, and a lot more of laying on the grass in the park and giggling together. 

You see Owen, Mama's sick. I'm not sure with what, or why, or for how long, but I'm sick. Your Dada and I are trying to figure out why, with my doctors and lots of other people that the Lord has blessed with incredible knowledge about how our bodies should work, and what needs to be done if they aren't working properly. We are praying that we figure something out soon, but right now it seems as if it just has to be a "wait and see" time. During this time, I want you to know that I love you and I miss you. I know we've talked about it many times, but I'm pretty sure you don't know what I mean when I hold you close and explain the situation, and that's okay. I'm praying that Jesus would comfort you when I cannot, and that he will give you joy that surpasses anything that I could give you or do with you. 

Owen, I love you. 

It's not your fault if Mama starts crying randomly, or if I just sort of stare off into space thinking about things I pray you never need to worry about in your life. You didn't cause any of this, and nothing you do will make me feel worse or better. If I depended on you to make me feel better, it would crush you and let me down brutally all in one fell swoop. No, Mama just needs Jesus right now. Like she always does. I just need Jesus.

I do want to apologize to you though, Owen. I haven't been willing to tell Jesus that I need him as much as I really do lately. Mama has been trying to do this, and fix this, on her own. It doesn't work, in fact, it will never work that way. But your Mama is prideful and stubborn, and rebellious (so don't let me ever tell you I can't believe you did or said so and so, because I'm a sinner just like you) and resting in Jesus has never come easily to me. But somehow I know that he has me, and is leading me beside still waters and restoring my soul right now (Psalm 23:2,3). Yes, even in this pain and loneliness and missing you, and longing for a present that is different than the present I have now. Even now. 

So buddy, I know things just aren't the same as they used to be. And it's okay if that makes your heart sad, because it makes Mama's heart sad too. But please, oh my dear, please know that how Mama loves you right now has not lessened, it has only just changed how it's seen on the outside. I am not bored of being your Mama, nor will I ever be. I am not wanting to take a break or let someone else raise you. It's just that right now, Mama needs more help than she ever has before, and we get to let God help our family in some crazy awesome ways right now. 

I can't wait to hear about your fun day with your friends. I can't wait to meet you and your Dada at the door in a few hours and give you a big hug and a snuggle and then read you some books before kissing you goodnight. I love you, so, so much Owen. 

And Owen, one day, these tears that Mama's shedding, Jesus will wipe them all away. Sometimes you see Dada doing that - tenderly wiping my cheeks as tears stream down them, warm and salty, but one day I won't even cry again at all. It will be amazing. 

Heavenly, in fact. Absolutely perfect.

Love you always and forever, 

Your Mama

Be Still My Soul

I think I have been waiting to write another blog post until something changed. Either I was suddenly better, getting gradually better, or had a word to describe what has been my life these past two months (as of tomorrow). None of these three apply to me today, but I guess I need to keep writing about what's on my heart, no matter if it's the same thing over and over again.

I'm finding myself saying more often "I can't wait to get back to a normal life" or some rendition of that sentence. Sitting here this afternoon, I literally cannot even remember how a normal daily routine was for me before all of this. Did I really hang out with Owen the entire day by ourselves? Did we really just randomly walk to the park or the library or to get froyo on the Ave? The thought of doing any of these things is something like how I used to think of Christmas or a vacation; my heart skips a beat at how exciting it would be and I am eager to look at my calendar and see the day circled and to count down until said exciting event.

But what happens when there's no count down? What happens when the event, or in this case, the life you're longing for, may or may not happen next week, or in a month, or in a year? How do you couple the longing for what's possibly ahead with the reality of the right now without living completely in a fantasy world or giving into the pain and spiraling into hopelessness?

I'm not sure.

It's this weird tension that I think more often than not I try to ignore and barrel through. And I have been able to barrel through pretty much each time I've been faced with a tension like this, an 'in between' I guess you could call it, because I've found something else to rest my eyes upon.

Unfortunately, most of these things I've found are reactionary and pointless at best. During pregnancy I researched constantly, filling the 'in between' tension with statistics and cribs and recalls and Thomas the Tank Engine onsies. During the years I longed to be married, I filled the 'in between' time with elaborate fantasies of my Prince Charming and a constant comparison and evaluation of nearly every man I came in contact with.

Today I'm in a new 'in between' time. The time between life as I knew it and life as I long for it to be. It's a time of loneliness, of depression, of darkness, of excitement of the possibility of feeling better and then the crash of over exerting myself. It is also a time of snuggles on the couch with my sweet baby, of top-of-the-head kisses from my best friend as he wheels me around in a wheelchair, of having the time to actually watch a book-crazy 16 month-old giggle his way through a pile of books, and of seeing how people around us embody care and encouragement and hope through their sacrifices and generosity and love and prayers.

But even as all of these things describe this 'in between' time, I can't seem to articulate what's really going on in my heart. That longing, no, desperation for answers and for change. The letdown of doctors appointments that confirm nothing but lead to more questions. The fear of nothing changing and of missing out on my life, my marriage, my son. The fear of this not being an 'in between' time.

The idea that this is actually a new normal petrifies me. But then again, at least I would know something, right? It's the not knowing of the 'in between' time that rattles me the most.

In the hours that I have had these last two months to sit and think, I've tried to set my eyes on so many things to distract me. I've pinned a ridiculous amount of pins to boards I may never even look at again. I've checked Facebook far too much and too often and I've posted way too many pictures of random things (and some adorable ones of Owen...) to Instagram. But I've honestly been so scared to just sit. To acknowledge before myself and, more importantly, before Jesus that I am impatient and anxious and scared and frustrated.

I don't want this anymore though.

I want to actually say how this is affecting my heart. I want to not try to cover up my fear with pins about cross stitching necklaces. I want to honestly tell Jesus what he already knows; that I don't want to pick between blowing bubbles with Owen and a lunch out with my mother-in-law because I just want to be able to do both in one day. I want to say aloud that I don't want to have to explain my symptoms one more time to another specialist, because I want them to be gone already. I want to no longer overthink whether or not I am actually sick as much as I think I am, or Andrew thinks I am, or if I am just overreacting.

I want to set my eyes on something other than distractions. Something other than my fears. Something other than myself.

I want to set my eyes on Jesus.

This doesn't mean this 'in between' season gets perfect and I'm all better and totally upbeat and positive about being sick or not being sick or whatever. It just means that I resist the urge to always be put together, to cry when things hurt, and to be vulnerable enough to admit my fears and frustrations. Honestly, all I actually need to do is rest. Rest in Jesus and his already totally finished work on the cross. Rest in the fact hat he was perfect so I don't have to be. Rest in the fact that he is interceding for me right now as I type. That he is my strength when my emotional and physical strength is completely gone and that he understands even when the people I cancel plans on last minute don't.

I'm not sure how to end this post, nothing seems quite sufficient. I know I posted some of the lyrics to a hymn I've been repeating over and over in my mind and soul lately in the previous post, but it seems apropos to end by including them in their entirety.

Until next post,
Sola Dei Gloria

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change, He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake

To guide the future, as He has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know

His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,

And all is darkened in the vale of tears,

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.

Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay

From His own fullness all He takes away.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord.

When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past

All safe and blessèd we shall meet at last.