tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5273338132714817522024-03-12T23:09:59.717-05:00Annery at HomeHere I chronicle the struggles, blessings, and daily life of our family. Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.comBlogger316125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-16210462663123199822018-05-04T09:59:00.000-05:002018-05-04T09:59:42.738-05:00Fostering Series: An Open HomeOnce all the boxes have been checked, all the hoops dutifully jumped through, there comes a wait.<br />
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It varies for everyone, depending on your availability for number and age groups. Our family focuses on newborn/infant placements. While it hasn't been possible for us to have a large family with our fertility challenges, we're <i>really good</i> at the baby phase. Our lives are set up to absorb the shock really well.<br />
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I've been self-employed as a contractor for over a decade. I work for my dad and a few of his business partners. My work life is very flexible and able to hit the pause button if I need to because of other life circumstances. I can accept or decline contracts at will, sometimes I don't have much work for months at a time, sometimes I work every spare hour I can squeeze out of the nights and weekends. It's fluid. For the last decade, it's always seemed to ebb and flow perfectly with our family's financial and time needs. It's been an exercise in careful budgeting and trust in the lean times and saving and planning in the flush times.<br />
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This unusual balance allows our home to be a place that newborns can weave in pretty readily. Sometimes I'm working enough that we need a few days of daycare coverage each week, but mostly, it's okay if I can't get anything done during the day for six weeks until daycare is possible.<br />
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Many times, babies coming into the foster care system do so for a short time while extended family arrangements are ironed out. Being the stopping point on the way back to family gives everyone a little breathing room to figure out what's best.<br />
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Most times, there's a component of drug exposure with newborn placements that requires intense physical care. It's rare for a baby to be pulled from a mother's care without some kind of drug exposure because they're just starting out together, and few things can indicate such an early need for intervention, other than drug exposure (previous neglect or abuse histories with older siblings would be another reason).<br />
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Right now, our country is in the grips of an epidemic. Opiate addiction means some states have more babies with exposure history than homes to put them in. These, and other drugs, profoundly affect the neurological, digestive and nervous systems. Concerns can range from profound brain anomalies to poor circulation and food allergies.<br />
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In the case of many of these exposure borne differences, nurture changes the baby's world. Constant and vigilant services, therapy and care can make a change in the baby's ability to heal and develop that changes the trajectory of the rest of their lives.<br />
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This is why we wait for babies. Not because we think they're the cutest, or we don't want to handle other traumas, but because we've discerned this is the mission God gave us with our unique gifts. Our lives can expand to babies who only sleep 45 minutes at a time because their nervous system is so damaged. We have the resources and the support network to advocate well for early intervention therapies.<br />
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So, when we wait for a placement, our home is open a little longer than it might otherwise be, but we wait, with a certainty that God uses our gifts in perfect synchronicity with the special needs of a newborn foster placement.Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-70796859795849584192018-04-27T12:48:00.003-05:002018-04-27T12:48:53.562-05:00An Anxious PregnancyIt's Infertility Awareness Week. Can I tell you it's a really weird week to be pregnant for me?<br />
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Like I'm cheating on my fellow infertility sufferers. I've also been thinking a lot lately about the weight and space this pregnancy is taking in my life and in my emotions.<br />
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After dealing with secondary infertility for more than a decade, I could be trying every single fertility treatment and becoming pregnant is still a stunning occurrence. After two confirmed, and fairly dramatic losses, becoming pregnant doesn't equate to a baby for me.<br />
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It equates to an eternal soul, but when half your children are dead and you suspect you've had some additional early losses that were unconfirmed, the immediate sensation is not HOORAY BABY, it's PLEASE GOD PLEASE.<br />
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At the end of September, we were waiting with an open foster home for the word on placements. I had heard from my licensing rep that an expectant mother was due anytime and we were anticipating being the foster home for this baby. We didn't know gender, ethnicity, anything really, other than that we were on high alert for a hospital trip and it was time to make sure the baby carseat was ready to go.<br />
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On October 3rd, I walked out of the hospital with a baby who needed a foster home for an undefined amount of time. Our days and nights became wrapped in her care. We settled in to the newborn phase of life and a kind of magic surrounded us as I watched our family knit closer around this common purpose of new life.<br />
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A few weeks later, I thought to myself, "that's funny, shouldn't I be starting a new cycle?" New baby fog hadn't made for the best record keeping, but surely sometime around now was the start of the next month, right?<br />
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Feeling unsure what else to do, I took a test on a whim. As it turned immediately in the affirmative, I crumpled over the bathroom counter sobbing. <i>No, God, no. Not again. I can't lose another baby. I can't do this. </i><br />
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I needed to call the doctor, I needed to start checking hormone levels and getting any necessary medications, but I was frozen in terror. The sobs wracked my body as I stood unbelieving in my bathroom. I frantically messaged my close prayer partners, <i>I just got a positive pregnancy test. I can't stop crying. I'm having an anxiety attack and I can't calm down enough to call the doctor. Please pray.</i><br />
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Their love and prayers flooded in, and slowly, my breath stopped catching enough that I could make the call to the doctor with a wobbling voice. Tests were ordered, I went straight out to get them done, newborn in tow.<br />
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Progesterone was prescribed and levels were monitored. Always just on the cusp of sustainability.<br />
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Even as I worried the baby would survive, the waves of nausea rolled in. Standing upright left me shaking and dizzy. All my energy, all my effort was on just the next thing I needed to do to care for the girls.<br />
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In the background of it all, as I fought through the sickness laying over my life, all I could think was, <i>this could all be for no baby. I could just be this sick and then have to survive another ectopic.</i><br />
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As I made it to the day of the first ultrasound at 7 weeks, I walked in with dread. Seeing the baby's little heart beat, I thought, <i>this may be our only time seeing this baby.</i><br />
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At 12 weeks, my progesterone levels dropped dramatically and waves of anxiety rolled over me as I waited for my doctor's appointment that week. The nurse put the Doppler on my abdomen and nothing. No heartbeat could be found. My heart dropped and I focused on all the people who were praying for me at that moment as I struggled to keep my composure on the way to the ultrasound room.<br />
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That wait, those moments, I felt the tangible and physical presence of grace surrounding me. Nothing else kept me from hysterical sobs on that table, as they looked for the baby.<br />
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Expecting this to be the moment where my life crashed down around me once more, it took a minute for it to fully sink in that I was seeing my baby moving on the screen. There, wiggling around, happily alive, was this little warrior. An anterior placenta and scar tissue from a csection had blocked the doppler from hearing this fully alive and moving baby.<br />
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As we publicly announced the pregnancy, elation rolled in from everywhere. Friends who have watched us walk through dark and difficult passages reached out to share their joy at the news. Still, I would think, <i>yeah, but the baby could still die, guys.</i><br />
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Each time these thoughts entered in, I would think about a story my mom told me. When my mom was a young grade schooler, her mother entrusted her to the care of Our Lady of Mount Carmel as she left the house. So I prayed, <i>Mary, this baby is yours to hold. I give you this baby to guard and protect because I know your mother's heart will hold this baby as tightly as my own.</i><br />
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Mary had to take over, I could only rest in the knowledge that her heart, pierced with sorrows, would hold this baby close and mourn with me, if needed.<br />
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At first, I felt guilty to not be excited like my friends about the news of this baby. But, the Holy Spirit spoke clearly into me, <i>let them hold the excitement for you until you can carry it too</i>. This is the Communion of Saints at work in the Church. They can hold my excitement in their hearts as I walk a harder path set before me.<br />
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Each phase of pregnancy has carried different worries, and slowly, the baby coming home sneaks in as a possibility. At week 17, I drove to school pick up and was suddenly assaulted with the thought <i>if the baby dies now, we're going to have to do a full funeral with everyone. </i>That overwhelming thought settled in me and I answered it, <i>that's true, and everyone will surround us if that happens</i>.<br />
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Slowly, I counted weeks/days until that mark of survival, Week 24. Finally, if something happened with the contractions that had been sneaking in, the baby might not die. Each week past that moment was a weight removed, <i>closer, closer, more possible, we might make it.</i><br />
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Each week was a practice in asking for help, letting others take on more for me as my body told me to slow down more and more.<br />
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Finally, now, I'm here in the third trimester, 31 weeks. Even more things have to be taken off my plate as I honor the baby's needs and my body. We need to keep baby in at least 4 more weeks, according to this week's doctor's visit. Almost there, closer, closer, and there, standing with me, are all the friends holding the excitement, loving us, caring for me, praying for us.<br />
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The journey through this pregnancy has been hard and heavy and physically painful and emotionally draining. But my interior growth as I've released the anxiety, let go of guilt over how I "should" feel and let others care for us is slowly transforming my interior, in step with the physical transformation of housing a person. So here I sit (or lay most times), waiting out the days until we all rejoice together that the baby is here.Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-6401753271905670152018-04-20T11:50:00.001-05:002018-04-20T11:50:57.772-05:00Fostering Series: Licensing<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The licensing process can work differently from state to state and between agencies; here's a look into our licensing experiences in 2011 and 2017.</i></div>
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Once we knew we wanted to pursue fostering, the next step was finding an agency. In our area, we have two private and one public agency that handle foster care. We switched agencies between license renewals to find a better fit. Here are some things you should consider when talking with agencies:</div>
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<li>How quickly do they respond to your questions and inquiries about fostering? Every caseworker and licensing representative I've ever met is overwhelmed with a very heavy caseload, so there's going to be a lag everywhere, but really pay attention to how well you feel heard when inquiring about foster care. </li>
<li>Ask about what resources they have to support foster parents. Do they plan monthly support and educational meetings? Do they have dedicated staff for visit transport? Will you be expected to provide all transportation? It might seem small to do a little extra driving for visits, but you have to guard your downtime against burnout, and you'll be driving to many, many doctor's appointments probably, so a support person to drive for visits is a big plus.</li>
<li>Do you feel camaraderie with the workers at the agency? These are going to be your teammates, you should feel comfortable talking to them. They're going to be in and out of your house and a part of your life.</li>
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We didn't find our best fit the first time with an agency. It was manageable, but the process has been so much smoother and our comfort level so much higher being in an agency where we feel like we just <i>fit </i>as part of the team.<br />
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After the initial inquiries and decision to pursue our license with an agency, we moved on to basic data collection, physical check ups with a doctor and home and background checks.<br />
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The licensing process is the first step in kind of laying your whole life out in front of others. Not just the cute pictures you'd share on social media, but the details of how you were parented, how you parent, what traumas you've been through in life, all of it. In my state, there's a pretty intense questionnaire around 30 pages long that's your whole life story, your relationship with your family members, everything, put in a file for the agency's review and records.<br />
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It gets personal when you open up your life to the state and an agency.<br />
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A licensing representative walks you through the initial process, interviews you, inspects your entire home for safety concerns, talks to you about foster care and what to expect.<br />
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I remember <i>frantically</i> scrubbing baseboards and cabinet doors before our first licensing inspection. Seriously, my house shone like the top of the Chrysler Building. Then, the licensing rep walked through with a glance around, and I thought <i>she didn't even notice how clean my baseboards are!!!!</i><br />
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After we moved houses and switched agencies, we had our new licensing rep out. I still cleaned and tidied, but I felt so much more relaxed having learned my lesson; they're not going to glove test my baseboards.<br />
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Once all the initial questionnaires, interviews and paperwork are filed, you'll need to be fingerprinted, have a physical and have a background check. Obviously fingerprints and background checks are a safety requirement you may have already considered. The physical isn't as obvious, but it's also a precaution to make sure you're in good health to provide the kind of physically demanding care of young children.<br />
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Finally, there's the training. This varies from state to state, and the requirements and methods even changed in my state between our licenses.<br />
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The first time around, we attended an in-class session of 3 hours at a time for 9 weeks. It was a great place to ask questions and really get to know the material. During our second licensing, we were part of the pilot group taking the online classes. We completed two modules a week and had the whole process completed in about 5 weeks.<br />
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While it was mostly a repeat of information for us, and the convenience of online classes really worked with my husband's work schedule, I think if it had been our first time through, being in the classroom is really where it's at. I say this as someone who designs online learning for a living, so I'd really urge you to consider the classroom if you're discerning this process.<br />
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Sitting with other foster parents helps you gain future support people, and the classes are usually led by veteran foster parents who can help answer your questions.<br />
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Once we'd completed all of our interviews, safety checks and training, one day, a paper arrived in the mail. There is was, we were an active foster home. Thus began the wait for a call.<i> </i> Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-23494712631004381092018-04-09T11:21:00.001-05:002018-04-09T11:21:02.079-05:00Fostering Series: DiscernmentDiscernment is different for everyone, we all walk such a unique path in our journey to heaven.<br />
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For me, the first whisper of fostering I remember came around 19-20 years old. I was watching a news story about children aging out of the system, and a small seed was planted.<br />
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<i>How could these children be alone?</i></div>
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<i>Where are the families to take them in? </i></div>
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<i> </i>It worked in my heart for years, slowly distilling into an urgent calling. Each Sunday, I would kneel after communion and a weight would settle onto my heart, <i>my children are out there</i>.<br />
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Following an ectopic rupture in 2010, I felt a firm push that now, now was the time. After nearly a decade of slowly growing in intensity, the call was sounding loudly. I felt we'd done what we could with what we knew in terms of my fertility and God was saying that we needed to look outside our own biology with our family. The answer wasn't in us, it was outside us.<br />
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So, slowly, my husband and I began talking about fostering, what it would look like in our lives, whether we both felt comfortable with it. I somewhat jokingly refer to myself as the "gas pedal" and my husband as "the brake". You need both for a safely moving car, so it's a good pairing, but one that can cause tension. Perhaps the holy tension of two souls making their path to heaven, perhaps a little less holy and more frustration filled, depending on the day.<br />
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My jump into fostering was a wild leap with abandon. My husband took some time, made sure we had the information and resources we needed, and then he walked into it with the bravery and determination of a man who knows he's embarking on a difficult journey.<br />
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Our foster placements have taught me the hard lesson many parents learn in the loss of a child, these souls aren't <i>mine</i>. There is no guarantee. They are the purest form of what God is calling us to with each of our children, care for them, all in, all the way until they don't need us anymore. Slam straight into the wall of love and loss so that they can know the complete love we're all striving to give our children.<br />
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I have heard we are brave for fostering. I have heard people say that they don't know how we could do it because they would get too attached.<br />
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I don't <i>feel</i> brave. I feel worried and uncertain and blind to what my future looks like. But, we all have pieces of our journey that ask bravery, of which we're uncertain. We all walk through some area of our lives with our hands along the wall, feeling for the next step.<br />
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This is my family's, and it maybe looks a little radical if it's not yours. We go in scared of loving and losing, we get too attached, but this is our calling. This is the voice of God that leaves no rest until answered. The Holy Spirit called, increasingly loudly, urging me to jump. I could feel the unrest in my soul building until we leapt. Now, it's the peace of the flight, the landing is left to God. It may be a crash landing where we are built again anew, it may be a sweet story of how our family grew, but always our hearts are growing in the gift of giving them away.<br />
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<br />Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-52392445089384881972017-09-19T13:49:00.002-05:002017-09-19T13:49:43.120-05:00Ignite: A Review<i>Franciscan Media provided a book for my review. All thoughts are my own. Links are non-affiliate.</i><br />
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Over the years, I've tried a number of things over the years to get better at daily devotionals, but it's always a struggle for me.</div>
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I'm not one to rise before I *absolutely* have to. But, this year the girls are both in school all day (aren't they cute?!), so there's been a little more breathing room during the day.</div>
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One of the things that has really inspired my interest in digging back into the Bible is reading <a href="https://shop.franciscanmedia.org/products/ignite-read-the-bible-like-never-before"><u>Ignite</u></a>. The back and forth conversation of Deacon Harold Burke-Sivers and Sonja Corbitt leads the reader through two different perspectives and experiences with the Bible. </div>
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The book is divided out into the the Who, What, Why, Where, When, and How of the Bible, as well as a thoughtful explanation of Lectio Divina.</div>
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<i>Any response is correct, even negative emotions. He's a big God; he can handle your ugly. (pg 8)</i></div>
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This has been one of the biggest insights for me over the last decade of low fertility, pregnancy loss, foster care loss and everyday upset. Offering all of ourselves up, even the hurt and hurting pieces is an offering. The encouragement to let scripture into those places as I read them is a new layer to add to my prayer.</div>
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In reading through the When of the Bible chapter, I loved the anecdotes and ties to our Liturgical Feast days and the rhythm of the Church calendar, and how we can uncover it more fully in reading the Bible. </div>
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As a cradle Catholic of cradle Catholics, I really enjoyed Sonja's insights, especially in Which Voice Is His. Coming from a different faith tradition (Baptist), she takes the reader through her upbringing and impressions of the Catholic Church from the outside, and then dives deeper into the richness of the traditions she found.</div>
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Seeing the Bible from the outside looking in was a unique opportunity to approach the Bible in a new way. The structure and order of the book helped me feel like I had the complete picture of where to start and why. </div>
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If you're looking for a way to inspire your Bible reading, with a healthy dash of conversion story woven through, this is the book to add to your reading list. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ignite-Read-Bible-Never-Before/dp/1632531895/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1505846739&sr=8-2&keywords=ignite+bible">Available in paperback</a>.</div>
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Let me know what you think of the book and share your prayer time habits to help you stay on track!</div>
Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-40488890350992515762017-09-05T14:27:00.001-05:002017-09-05T14:27:48.195-05:00Every Rosary Has a Story<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Franciscan Media provided a book for my review. All thoughts are my own. Links are non-affiliate.</i></div>
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When I was 20, I took a trip to Italy with a group of college students for the Jubilee. There was excitement and newness, wrapped in a trip centered on the oldness and familiarity of the Catholic faith.</div>
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I am a cradle Catholic, from cradle Catholics. Our lives have been punctuated by and woven through with markings of this faith. The smell of an old church at the end of winter, with the boilers keeping time with the falling thermometer, the feel of a wooden pew, aged by generations of hands before yours. These familiar sensations laced through my childhood.</div>
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Always, with these sights, sounds and smells, the rosary. The hard wooden beads or slippery plastic beads dotted the path of my childhood. At the start of a long road trip, at the end of a Sunday, always there.</div>
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As I stood in the beautiful gift shop at the feet of the Vatican, there were rosaries. </div>
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All different styles and materials. This one, though. This metal rosary with the cross of St JPII's papacy was the one I picked out especially for my someday husband. <br />
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And there, in Rome, as I stood in a crowd of hundreds, I held the rosary for a special blessing from St JPII as he called our group by name and prayed a blessing for our families.<br />
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This rosary, I presented to my husband on our wedding day four years ago. This rosary, he keeps with him 13 years later. This same rosary, touched to the relic of St JPII.<br />
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As Catholics, our rosaries can weave a story through our lives, touching our hearts, holding our stories just like the mysteries of the rosary walk us through the stories of Jesus' life.<br />
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Within the greater context of our universal Church, our stories are magnified and held within this simple strand of beads as well.<br />
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In <a href="https://shop.franciscanmedia.org/products/the-rosary-your-weapon-for-spiritual-warfare"><u>The Rosary: Your Weapon for Spiritual Warfare</u></a>, Johnnette Benkovic and Thomas Sullivan dive into the miracles attributed to the rosary, as well as saintly devotions and tools to get our own devotion on track. <br />
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They weave together a complete context and history of our Church's ties to the devotion of the rosary. The book paints such a full understanding of where we are rooted in the history of this tradition that once finished, it feels like you are seated within the stories of the past as you pick up your beads. <br />
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Just as I have the memory of my mother picking up her rosary, or the stories of my great-grandmother praying 15 decades every day, this book gives us all that rich heritage through the retelling of miracles and devotions.<br />
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Savor each piece of our history, and when you're done, share with me what most touched your heart. The stories of St JPII kneeling in prayer as he was in forced labor as a young adult struck me with a pang to deepen my own devotions. <br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Rosary-Your-Weapon-Spiritual-Warfare/dp/1632530007/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1504639532&sr=8-1&keywords=the+rosary+your+spiritual+weapon">Available in Paperback, Kindle or Audio</a>.Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-43064536608907004192017-08-18T10:01:00.000-05:002017-08-18T10:01:10.776-05:007 QT: 101 Places to Pray<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Franciscan Media provided a book for my review. All thoughts are my own. Links are non-affiliate.</i></div>
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When I volunteered to review some books, <u><a href="https://shop.franciscanmedia.org/products/101-places-to-pray-before-you-die-a-roamin-catholics-guide">101 Places to Pray Before You Die: A Roamin' Catholic's </a>Guide</u> was high on my list to check out.</div>
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I love a good road trip and have fond memories of visiting shrines and beautiful cathedrals during youth group pilgrimages. We would take two weeks, travel to work somewhere for a week, visiting holy sites along the way, then go play at an amusement park before heading home. </div>
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Praying somewhere new, seeing the variety of holy, beautiful places in our country that celebrate our Catholic faith were formative, growing experiences as a teen.</div>
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If you're planning a family, individual, or group road trip, this is the guide you'll want to include in your trip planning. From Hawaii to Maine and everywhere in between, our country is filled with treasures to behold. </div>
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Here's my wish list of places I'd like to plan trips to soon. If you've been there, or you know, have a place for me to crash along the way, holler!</div>
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(1) Peosta, Iowa.</div>
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<a href="https://newmelleray.org/">New Meilleray Abbey & Retreat House</a> (pg 62)</div>
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<a href="https://newmelleray.org/xm_client/client_images/headers/guest-house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="105" src="https://newmelleray.org/xm_client/client_images/headers/guest-house.jpg" width="320" /></a>This one hails from close to my neck of the woods, and really, it's on my list to visit as soon as I have a weekend to take for a retreat. This monastery and retreat center has a guest house with twenty-two rooms, so group retreats and individual retreats are both welcome. They also offer structured retreats for those in discernment (not me - but maybe you!?)</div>
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(2) Detroit, Michigan</div>
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<a href="https://assumptiongrotto.files.wordpress.com/2017/07/pict0177-0.jpg?w=345&h=210&crop=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" class="attachment-opti-featured size-opti-featured wp-post-image" data-attachment-id="1587" data-comments-opened="0" data-image-description="" data-image-meta="{"aperture":"0","credit":"","camera":"","caption":"","created_timestamp":"0","copyright":"","focal_length":"0","iso":"0","shutter_speed":"0","title":"","orientation":"0"}" data-image-title="PICT0177.0" data-large-file="https://assumptiongrotto.files.wordpress.com/2017/07/pict0177-0.jpg?w=700" data-medium-file="https://assumptiongrotto.files.wordpress.com/2017/07/pict0177-0.jpg?w=300" data-orig-file="https://assumptiongrotto.files.wordpress.com/2017/07/pict0177-0.jpg" data-orig-size="1024,731" data-permalink="https://assumptiongrotto.wordpress.com/pict0177-0/" height="194" src="https://assumptiongrotto.files.wordpress.com/2017/07/pict0177-0.jpg?w=345&h=210&crop=1" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.assumptiongrotto.com/">Assumption Grotto</a> (pg 101)</div>
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This church has daily Latin masses, something I've never been to, but what a great pilgrimage experience for the whole family! The Gothic architecture and close proximity to other interesting Michigan sites puts this on the list as a great stop for a family trip.</div>
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(3) Fonda, New York</div>
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<a href="http://katerishrine.com/">National Shrine St Kateri Tekawitha Shrine</a> (pg 144)</div>
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I've actually been to this site, and it's gorgeous. It's one of those spaces where nature and Church come together to give you a sense of what it may have been like for our early Church ancestors in this country. The shrine is an restored barn and there's a beautiful outdoor statue.</div>
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When I was there last, she was Blessed Kateri Tekawitha and I was a teen. Since then, she has been canonized and is the patron saint of my oldest, whose name means Lily, and shares her birth month with St Kateri's feast day (July 14th). </div>
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I really want to bring my girl to this place to see the shrine of her patroness. Time to break out the old Almanac and plan a road trip for a summer soon!</div>
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(4) Portland, Oregon</div>
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<a href="https://thegrotto.org/">National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother</a> (pg 173)</div>
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<a href="http://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="About The Grotto" border="0" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-1991 lazyloaded" data-lazy-sizes="(max-width: 750px) 100vw, 750px" data-lazy-src="http://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto.jpg" data-lazy-srcset="https://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto.jpg 750w, https://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto-300x168.jpg 300w, https://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto-250x140.jpg 250w, https://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto-550x309.jpg 550w, https://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto-321x180.jpg 321w, https://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto-534x300.jpg 534w" height="179" src="http://thegrotto.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/About-The-Grotto.jpg" width="320" /></a>I am so drawn to Our Lady of Sorrows. As a child, my parents had a print of the Pierced Heart of Mary with the seven swords representing the seven sorrows. In my adult life, as sorrows have gripped me, I've sought refuge in Mary's Mantle, comforted that she knows my sorrows as a mother and woman. </div>
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Traveling to see the shrine to her sorrows is a dream trip. The sanctuary also has amazing botanical gardens and a marble replica of the Pieta! Go look at their website cover photo and tell me you don't want to join me. So strikingly beautiful.</div>
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(5) Doylestown, PA</div>
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<a href="http://czestochowa.us/images/stories/2017/01-01-our_lady_of_czestochowa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt=" Our Lady of Czestochowa, pray for us." border="0" height="320" src="http://czestochowa.us/images/stories/2017/01-01-our_lady_of_czestochowa.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(136, 166, 203); margin-top: 1px;" title=" Our Lady of Czestochowa, pray for us." width="212" /></a><a href="http://czestochowa.us/">National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa</a> (pg 177)</div>
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My Polish grandmother was such a treasured part of my childhood. Visiting this shrine to Our Lady of Poland and a center for Polish culture would be a chance to visit with her heritage. </div>
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With all my grandparents deceased, presenting some of these experiences and parts of our heritage to my children has become even more treasured.</div>
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(6) Dickinson, Texas </div>
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<a href="http://www.truecrosschurch.org/">Shrine of the True Cross </a> (pg 194)</div>
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<a href="http://www.truecrosschurch.org/slideshows/homeMedium/IMG_3614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" class="slideshowImage" height="164" src="http://www.truecrosschurch.org/slideshows/homeMedium/IMG_3614.JPG" width="320" /></a>This shrine has a relic of the true cross. What an amazing treasure. Texas has a special place in my heart, my brother's family lived there for a number of years, one of my sisters lived there and was married there. </div>
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If only I'd had this book a few years sooner, I would have known to visit this shrine before my family moved back north! Next time Texas, next time.</div>
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(7) Champion, WI</div>
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<a href="https://www.shrineofourladyofgoodhelp.com/">Our Lady of Good Help</a> (pg 214)</div>
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Living in the Midwest, I had heard vaguely of this shrine, but after reading a bit more about the healings that have been attributed to this site, it's moved much higher on the priority list to get out there. </div>
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It's also the only authenticated site of an apparition in the United States. I started looking at when we have off school for teacher in services to take a family trip north sooner, rather than later. </div>
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This book is available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/101-Places-Pray-Before-You/dp/1632530864/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1503067657&sr=8-1&keywords=101+places+to+pray">paperback and Kindle</a>.</div>
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For more quick takes, and Kelly's amazing news this week, check out <a href="http://thisaintthelyceum.org/sqt-i-dont-know-if-i-can-handle-any-more-good-news/">This Ain't the Lyceum.</a></div>
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Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-28562616385124182372017-08-11T09:47:00.002-05:002017-08-11T09:47:47.814-05:007 QT: Wendell Berry and the Given Life<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Franciscan Media provided a book for my review. All thoughts are my own. Links are non-affiliate.</i></div>
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In July, my parents invited my family to head to Michigan with them for the week. One night, we all went out to dinner together and my mom told me a story about my great-grandparents.</div>
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<i> </i>On the end of a dirt road sat an old homestead. Only the stone foundation remains. There, my great-grandparents lived and worked, making their life in tune with their land, a very Wendell Berry kind of life.</div>
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As times changed around them, they remained as they were, an outhouse and no electricity. Finally, the electric company needed a place to run their lines and needed a piece of the old homestead to do it. In return, they would provide electricity to the house.</div>
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One lightbulb. My great-grandparents had one lightbulb installed, because as my mom tells it, anymore would have been just too frivolous.</div>
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I've been rolling this around in my head. I don't know how many lightbulbs I have in my house. As I feel my moral superiority for keeping the air conditioning off on an 80 degree day, I'm reminded, I'm not all that connected to my surroundings.</div>
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With this trip on my mind, I picked up my newest read from Franciscan Media, <a href="https://shop.franciscanmedia.org/products/wendell-berry-and-the-given-life"><u>Wendell Berry and the Given Life</u></a>.</div>
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Seven thoughts on this book:</div>
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<i>(1)</i> This is a book club kind of book. You'll want to talk about it with your friends. You'll want to tease out the complexities and thoughts. It's so packed with big thoughts, big ideas, big dreams for what our lives can be.</div>
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<a 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" style="max-height: 346px; max-width: 228px;" /></a><i>(2)</i> If you love Wendell Berry, you probably need this on your wishlist. This is a structured and thoughtful breakdown of his thoughts and ideals.</div>
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<i>(3)</i> If you, like me, are having a hard time with the mid-30's angst of all the big questions:</div>
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- Where am I going in my career (or relationships or life in general)?</div>
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- Is this what our family looks like forever?</div>
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- Will we have any more big adventures? </div>
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The concept of the given life, rather than the built life is a kind a spiritual salve. Just soaking into the first chapter felt like a deep breath from my center, pulling loose some of those tightened anxieties.</div>
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<i>(4)</i> "...to be at rest is to fit in the place you are meant to be, to accept and work well within the confines of creatureliness." pg 21</div>
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This reminded me very much of the common phrase, "Bloom where you're planted." My constant struggle is wanting more, to do more, to go for more. The thought that sometimes, I may need to stop and evaluate if I want more for the more, or more as I grow into who I am meant to be.</div>
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<i>(5)</i> "We must achieve the character and acquire the skills to live much poorer than we do." pg 29</div>
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There have been times in my life where my first thought upon reading this would have been, "Ummmm, I'm poor enough, thanks very much!" I remember doing the poverty food challenge with my family one year where we lived on what the average person would get on food assistance and I literally changed <i>nothing</i> about my meal planning. </div>
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Certainly others have more extreme versions of poverty. I've always had the blessing of a clean home and more than enough to eat, even if it was beans and rice. </div>
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But, the reality of today is, I do have more than I need. And it's a challenge I need to embrace to live more simply, to be poorer in my living so I can be richer in my giving.</div>
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<i>(6)</i> "There seems to be something in the human condition that is restless unless formed in stability." pg 77</div>
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I was formed in the most stable environment you could imagine. My parents are rocks that have been married 43 years this November. Still, I struggle with an internal wanderlust that will never quiet. Within the bound of my own stable surroundings with my husband of 13 years, I seek constant change. The color of my walls, the pillows on my couches, the rooms each of us sleep in, the arrangement of the furniture, I crave change, need it, can't breathe without it. </div>
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<i>(7)</i> Not every thought resonated with me, but I felt like there were good thoughts to turn over, to pull apart, to examine. I'm not going to leave my lightbulbs behing (sorry Great-Grandpa Dockery!), but I'm thinking about what we could grow in our yard. I'm slowly transitioning to buying meat from local farmers, rather than the grocery store. </div>
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Little steps, thoughtful moves, doing what I can in the live I have been given. Which isn't on acreage, but it is on a yard with enough room for some carrots and potatoes. Not every piece of a Wendell Berry life will fit into your life or my life. But, we can take the pieces that fit. We can pick up our little pieces of land and grow some tomatoes on our balcony. We can rejoice in nature around us. We can plan our errands thoughtfully to conserve gas. Little pieces, little steps, more thoughtfulness.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>This book is available in hardback, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Wendell-Berry-Given-Ragan-Sutterfield/dp/1632531224/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1502392726&sr=8-1&keywords=wendell+berry+and+the+given+life">Kindle</a>, audiobook and CD. If you read it, or have read it, I'd love to pick your brain</i>. </div>
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Stop back over to <a href="https://thisaintthelyceum.org/keeping-a-clean-house-while-homeschooling-the-13th-herculean-task/">Kelly for more Quick Takes</a>!</div>
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Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-26605954592240724092017-07-04T10:06:00.001-05:002017-07-04T10:06:34.674-05:00Waiting in the Hallway<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/7f/4d/797f4d6dcd58ac6f668de65c8b19f02c.jpg" height="320" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/7f/4d/797f4d6dcd58ac6f668de65c8b19f02c.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/7f/4d/797f4d6dcd58ac6f668de65c8b19f02c.jpg">Source</a></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The foster license process was a whirlwind, and then suddenly, the licensing rep walked through our house in May, and it was complete, we were licensed.<br />
<br />
The license completion felt like the end of a long race. We had the pep talks along the way, we had the moments of mind over body to sit through class after class. We set down our privacy, opened up our lives, our family histories, our personal stories to the State.<br />
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As May ended without a call, I thought perhaps June would be the month we got a call. Then, June stretched out in front of us, full of lazy days and crazy camp schedules. Birthday parties and friends filled our days, and the phone didn't ring.<br />
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Now, we sit at the beginning of July. Thoughts are turning to the school year, school supply lists and the final plans for summer. A vacation week is arranged, and in the back of my mind lingers the thought, "Do we need more space in the car? Or will the phone stay silent?"<br />
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On the one hand, the empty spots in our home feel like a happy ending. The reality that a child <i>doesn't</i> need that space because they're home and whole is a good thing. That a parent and child haven't had to be separated is <i>good</i>. <br />
<br />
But I worry about the one who is suffering with no one to speak up. I worry about the child stuck in a dangerous place, isolated from help. Every mass, I pray for those children. "God, send them an intercessor. Help them find help. St Michael, guard these precious little ones." <br />
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Every week, I cry a little and pray there isn't a preschooler hiding under her bed somewhere without us to keep her safe. I pray for the baby, neglected and isolated, losing contact with the world around her. "Mother Mary, wrap them in your mantle."<br />
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On Pentecost, "Holy Spirit, give those who see child abuse and neglect the courage to stand up for those children."<br />
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On Father's Day, "Heavenly Father, help us to go where you lead to protect Your children."<br />
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So we wait, and we pray, and we entrust all those children in need to God, recognizing all the time they were His to start with.<br />
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Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-86542313226995789422017-06-27T11:10:00.000-05:002017-06-27T11:10:05.908-05:00A Phantom Due DateMay was a slow and steady progression in denial. In carrying a weight around my shoulders of every should have been. <br />
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As the days slowly passed on the calendar, the smallest offense was met with fiercest scrutiny. Why couldn't everyone around me see the torture we were living in? How could they not feel the crushing oppression? How could they feel joy in times such as these?<br />
<br />
I should have been pregnant, full term. I should have been in the doctor's office checking that the baby's small head was positioned for birth. I should have been up at night with frequent bathroom trips and heartburn. I should have been washing baby clothes, holding them to me as I smelled the forgotten fragrance of newborn clothing. <br />
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Forgotten, but always longed for. <br />
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Instead, I faced down mornings of unwanted ease. No bag is packed, no special load of laundry necessary. <br />
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The baby isn't coming. The baby died long ago. And while the transition of Fall to Winter to Spring feels like it should have made this long ago loss somehow less weighty, the full weight falls on my shoulders as I scrape my way ever closer to the day that should have been.<br />
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The busyness of school ending for the year dulls the edge of the pain for a while. There are too many places to be, too many ways I need to be present and celebrating the girls I do have to dwell on what I do not.<br />
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But then, the school year ends and it is the final week of May. The May 30th due date looms large above me. Each morning, I feel an internal gong sounding an alarm. Pushing me, propelling me to a sense of urgency, of something forgotten. <br />
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When I remember again, the knot of dread in my chest comes out as angry exclamations at everyone in firing range. No dish is properly placed, no chore promptly completed to the satisfaction of my raw, angry grief. <br />
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Pictures of babies begin to appear in my Facebook feed. Babies born when my baby should have been. <br />
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I throw myself into workouts, into busyness. I carefully take the supplements and medicines to support balanced hormones. Every attempt to keep the full weight of the grief off me. <br />
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It's a weighted ball I throw into the air. Gravity returns it to me time and again. Until, finally, it is May 30th.<br />
<br />
Texts come in from friends, prayers rolling over the waves of sadness. Then, it is all grace. It is the first day of lightness. I have labored through my loss and come out on the other side.<br />
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Not to forget or never feel the grief again, but feeling birthed onto the other side of it. It isn't a present tense loss anymore. I have crossed over into past tense. Finally released from the pregnancy countdowns and babies born where mine should have been.<br />
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Hard days will follow, but the crisis has passed. The final hurdle in completing this segment of the grief journey. The pregnancy is complete in all timelines. Now, the anniversaries and days ahead will be marked with varying degrees of difficulty, but I have passed this time of expectation and longing and the days no longer each carry so much weight.<br />
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The phantom due date has come and gone. I feel to my soul the words of Jesus on the cross, "It is finished". <br />
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On that day, the words that carried me, the grace that sustained me was found in the friends who held vigil with me. Who remembered what May 30th should have been and offered their day for mine. And in that experience, of once again wrapping myself in the offerings of others, I am knit more closely to them, and united through it all in the Body of Christ.<br />
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If you have a sister in Christ who has gone through pregnancy loss, I encourage you to reach out on the day of her due date. She needs to know she does not remember alone. She needs to know you walk beside her. <br />
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<br />Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-47731743636189551512017-05-01T17:38:00.000-05:002017-05-01T17:38:29.757-05:00Pio Prints: A Review<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Pio Prints provided a shirt for my review. All thoughts and opinions are my own.</i> </div>
<br />
With PCOS and my other fertility struggles, diet, nutrition, and exercise are always pretty top of mind. Self-care is generally important, but it's also particularly important in my health challenges.<br />
<br />
So, when <a href="https://www.pioprints.com/product-category/products/clothing/">Pio Prints</a> asked if I'd be interested in a review of their workout tank, I figuratively (because it had been a little bit since my last workout) jumped at the chance to try some new workout gear.....because we all know when you're struggling to get back in the groove of working out, there's nothing like something cute to help you over the hump.<br />
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When it arrived, I was eager to try it on and see how the fit was. It's an A-line cut tank, so it's narrower at the top and widens to the bottom hem. The back center has a gather to help form the shape. I love the fit and cut of this narrower top to wider bottom because it's fitted where it needs to be and then flowing over the reasons I'm out there jogging in the first place.<br />
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The other great thing I love about the cut is that it doesn't come down too low in the front. Because, ladies, when you wear a compression sports bra and hate high collars touching your neck, you generally end up with workout shirts that you have to monitor to make sure they're not slipping down on you in the front. *This* is not one of those shirts. This shirt is high enough in front that you're covered, but also low enough that you don't feel confined or choked by a collar rubbing on you while you work out.<br />
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The weight and feel of the fabric is also great. It's soft and smooth and was perfect for a sunny day jog with a very furry puppy (Ginger).<br />
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<br />The price point for this particular tank is $25, making it the perfect treat for your workout slump, hitting your newest milestone, or a thoughtful birthday present for a friend who loves the saints and fitness. I'm putting another one (or two because I'm having a hard time only working out in my favorite shirt) on my Mother's Day/birthday wishlist.<br />
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If tanks or workout tees aren't your gig, they also have great shirts, cards, journals and mugs. Support a family and shop small. <br />
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Stop by <a href="https://www.pioprints.com/">Pio Prints</a> online or on <a href="http://instagram.com/pioprints">Instagram</a>. <br />
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<br />Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-25161259874867265512017-02-12T17:01:00.000-06:002017-02-12T17:01:38.358-06:00The Pharisee In MeAbout a month ago, I did the thing I shouldn't do and engaged in a Facebook debate.....because we all know that's productive.<br />
<br />
I didn't know it was a debate when I commented, but it's just so darn hard to walk away when it turns into one and you're TRYING TO SAY SOMETHING :P<br />
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A mom asked for opinions on baptism timelines...which seems to be heating up as a conversation piece as we enter Lent and there's a mix of what dioceses do in terms of Baptism during Lent.<br />
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I commented that I appreciated the model of the Greek Orthodox Church giving a set time of six weeks when the mother is then welcomed into the church with a special blessing and baptism can then happen because I feel it honors that need to heal and recover from childbirth, but still moves with prudent haste towards baptism.<br />
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What I got back was pretty strongly worded, and Catechism citing content on why I was basically taking the souls of my children into my own hands if I didn't get it done before I was even up to sitting through mass. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but not by much.<br />
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Commenters went on to tell me that I was presuming on God's mercy to think I could wait what I thought was reasonable because: <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text"><b><a href="http://www.vatican.va/archive/ccc_css/archive/catechism/p2s2c1a1.htm">1257</a></b> The Lord himself affirms that Baptism is necessary for salvation.<sup>60</sup> He also commands his disciples to proclaim the Gospel to all nations and to baptize them.<sup>61</sup>
Baptism is necessary for salvation for those to whom the Gospel has
been proclaimed and who have had the possibility of asking for this
sacrament.<sup>62</sup> The Church does not know of any means other than
Baptism that assures entry into eternal beatitude; this is why she
takes care not to neglect the mission she has received from the Lord to
see that all who can be baptized are "reborn of water and the Spirit." <i>God has bound salvation to the sacrament of Baptism, but he himself is not bound by his sacraments.</i></span></blockquote>
But they skipped the next bit:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="text"><b><a href="http://www.vatican.va/archive/ccc_css/archive/catechism/p2s2c1a1.htm">1261</a></b> As regards <i>children who have died without Baptism</i>,
the Church can only entrust them to the mercy of God, as she does in
her funeral rites for them. Indeed, the great mercy of God who desires
that all men should be saved, and Jesus' tenderness toward children
which caused him to say: "Let the children come to me, do not hinder
them,"<sup>64</sup> allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation
for children who have died without Baptism. All the more urgent is the
Church's call not to prevent little children coming to Christ through
the gift of holy Baptism.
</span></blockquote>
I left that conversation feeling <i>so</i> disheartened. Especially as the mom of two souls who passed in utero and the foster mom of one sweet girl who I took to mass every week for 2.5 years without the ability to baptize her. I was being told my belief in obedience to the pastor on whether or not to baptize during Lent was misplaced obedience and that I was foolhardy to put so much reliance on God's mercy over making haste to baptize....to the point of leaving a parish over it.<br />
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In the moment I blocked the conversation from my feed, I felt something inside me break. I thought <i>this, this is how people leave the Church</i>. I felt so hopeless and sad for my dead babies. I felt like rules were overpowering mercy, and I just cried over it all. As I lay there and dried my tears, I wondered, <i>what if this had been the last thread holding me to the Church? What if this had been the thing that had broken in me that felt unfixable? What if these surely good and holy women were the precipitation of my downfall?</i><br />
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They wouldn't have even known it. But they could have been, even with every good intention. <br />
<i> </i><br />
There's a tension between mercy and truth. We must always always reach for the truth, and the layered beauty of our tradition and Catholic heritage are so so good. But, where are we placing our interpretation of the rules or preferences over compassion? Where am I failing to see that God's mercy is not to be outdone, and I'm not the boss of it?<br />
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Where am I drawing a line in the sand over a timetable that God never put in place?<br />
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I'm struggling with finding those answers inside myself, but I'm trying to move towards a default of seeking to understand before being understood. Because even when it's an inflexible rule, seeking to be heard before listening will never win a heart, and that should be the business we're in. <br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-40035632126845890452016-12-19T14:45:00.002-06:002016-12-19T14:45:19.381-06:00On Choosing to QuitAs we're staring down the calendar at a new year, it's a time of reflection on our choices, a time to evaluate where we are and what's working.<br />
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We've been a homeschooling family for most of our parenting years.<br />
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As our oldest entered sixth grade this year, we made the choice to transition from homeschooling to our local parochial school.<br />
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Our four year old is also in preschool there three mornings a week.<br />
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<br />
LB had been asking for a while to go to traditional school, and SP LOVES her preschool. So much so, she told me she was very sad when I made her stop going after PK3 (otherwise known as Summer Break).<br />
<br />
But the deciding factor for going back to school this year was me. I need some breathing room. I need to not feel like I'm failing to do ALL THE THINGS constantly. I need time to work from home without that precarious balancing act of childcare hanging around my neck.<br />
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I needed to stop trying to do it all, all at once, without a break.<br />
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For over ten years, I've worked sporadically from home as an Instructional Designer, developing online training and tests for companies who would rather hire that out than keep someone on staff. I've balanced working from home and homeschooling through the younger grades, but as schooling became increasingly complex, I constantly felt like I was behind on grading, not following up enough, or just generally not doing enough.<br />
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I felt a lot of peace about making the decision, but I also felt that stereotypical, "we're not doing the most involved thing we possibly can so we're probably failing". Because isn't that the message we get from all the worst parenting gurus? Do all the things and do them my way or you're the worst.<br />
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This school year has solidly reinforced what I've known to be true for a long time. We're all doing our best, and it's going to look different for everyone. <br />
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My best for this year might be different from my best for next year. And it for sure looks different than last year.<br />
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Going back to traditional school has taken the entire burden of LB's education off my shoulders. I still find myself grading homework most evenings, or reviewing upcoming assignments, but all the mental space of planning and organizing it has been freed. <br />
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Choosing to quit the homeschool life has had some downsides - can you say early bird wakeup calls? Mornings will probably always be rough for me, but we're making it. I can't put the school week on hold when life starts to be too much. I can't time the school day around our family life. It all happens on their schedule. <br />
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Still, the hour+ I spend shuttling people back and forth, the early mornings (which my husband helps with A LOT), the homework assignments, the extra committee meetings, it's all been working out. <br />
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It's been a positive shift to have a more rigid structure in our day, and the downtime it's afforded me has allowed me more time to work on my Etsy store, as well as my Instructional Design business, meaning my husband was able to move to a position with fewer hours last month.<br />
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Although the thought of sending SP off five days a week next year still gives me pause, and I'll never rule out homeschooling completely, in all I've learned that sometimes, quitting is the very best choice after all.<br />
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<br />Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-39062247965912132942016-10-12T21:25:00.001-05:002016-10-12T21:25:14.261-05:00Walking Beside YouWalking in the door, I set down my purse and stare at the pile of papers I still need to sort. Later, later I will.<br />
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First, a moment here with you. To share the hardness and joy of this special path God has me walking.<br />
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How could I have known I would stand in this place? It's so humbling and so heartbreaking all at once. Humbling in the blessings constantly raining down on me, heartbreaking for those few most precious drops falling just out of reach.<br />
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When I found out I was pregnant last month, I had this imagery of sitting at the feet of God in overwhelming gratitude at a blessing beyond understanding. When we gave that baby back to God less than two weeks later, I was humbled in a different way, by different blessings.<br />
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I feel more profoundly wrapped in love and grace than I've ever experienced. It's still a hard and heart wrenching path, but I'm in awe of the love and kindness poured out in front of me.<br />
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Just when I thought I was coming to a place in life where I had something more to teach, something more to give, I'm reminded of what a blessing it is to be a gracious receiver.<br />
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Every sorrow refines my soul, and the suffering burns compassion into my heart.<br />
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As I look into the face of another mother awaiting the day she will meet or see once more the face of her child in heaven, I see her more clearly than before. My sorrow can speak to hers, "I know you sister, I see you. I wait with you."<br />
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This road of life is hard, and suffering will meet us along the way. Take heart, sister, you do not walk alone.<br />
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For more reflections from women on varying stages and places in their fertility journey, I invite you to join us at <a href="https://gum.co/NYaFc">Waiting in the Word. </a>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-15717796045535809632016-10-10T10:18:00.000-05:002016-10-10T10:18:54.728-05:00Made for HeavenThis month is Pregnancy Loss Awareness. On October 1st, all the memes and Facebook posts started showing up. While I was reading them, I was laying on my couch, binge watching on Hulu and miscarrying a baby.<br />
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On September 22nd, I took a pregnancy test and hopped in the shower before I read it. After a quick shower, I took a cursory glance at it before pitching what I assumed would be yet another negative test. The faint positive that appeared jolted me, surprised me, and caused me to exclaim, "Oh my God!" I'm an "oh my goodness-don't-take-the-name-in-vain" kind of gal, so the shock value was definitely high.<br />
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The next few days were doctor's phone calls, blood draws, and scheduling additional testing. 35 and previous pregnancy loss adds up to a lot of early testing.<br />
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As I scheduled tests, I had a hard time getting excited by the pregnancy and new life growing. Every time I went to the bathroom, I was waiting for spotting to start, for something to go wrong. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all this waiting, how could dreams finally be coming true?<br />
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In the midst of struggling to find excitement, I had this moment of pure clarity staring at myself in the mirror. No matter what happened with the pregnancy, there was a new soul. A complete, unique soul and person who would exist for all of eternity NO MATTER WHAT.<br />
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After about a week, I finally started allowing myself to hope a little more that this baby wouldn't be just for heaven. As my pants started to feel a little tighter, I added items to the secret Amazon shopping list. I started to plan and dream again.<br />
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Including a dream so vivid, I saw the face of my baby as I delivered him. Bright blue eyes and a bald head with faint glimmers of peachy red hair. Rounder than SP's face and pinker than LB's. A little boy uniquely himself.<br />
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On my second hcg draw, the numbers didn't do what they should, so more testing was indicated. <br />
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Just as I was starting to not check for spotting every time I used the bathroom, the spotting started. On Friday, September 30th, I had some light spotting and as I realized what was happening, I sobbed and said many many many f-bombs. I called Hubby and tried to stay calm as I left multiple messages on the doctor's voicemail.<br />
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The spotting stopped, and the nurse instructed me to continue on with the hcg draw planned for the next morning, as well as gave me worst case scenario instructions.<br />
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On the day I was headed in to do the next draw, the miscarriage started. Testing that day showed that my hcg was in fact dropping rapidly.<br />
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I went home under directions of what worrying signs to watch for and rested all weekend. <br />
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When the bleeding first started Saturday morning, I cried out for a miracle. I prayed for intercession, I told the baby he was wanted and he was welcome. But, I also told him I forgave him if he wasn't strong enough to stay.<br />
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About an hour later, the bleeding increased and the process of miscarrying was in full effect.<br />
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That night I sat on the floor of my shower sobbing and cursing God until the hot water ran out. I said every angry, bitter word inside me and left the shower feeling lighter and spent.<br />
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I waited all weekend for painful cramping and contractions. They never came. Some slight discomfort was relieved by a little medicine, but for the most part, it was physically painless. A small miracle and grace in the middle of a hard weekend.<br />
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As the weekend progressed, I reached out to many friends asking for prayers. And as I did, I felt myself wrapped in grace so tangible as to be beyond understanding. <br />
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I had expected to be so overwrought that I would have a hard time functioning in daily life; instead, I found myself a little tired, but able to manage without much struggle. <br />
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I found myself not wanting to pass on the news because it seemed to upset others more than it upset me. Almost like the whole enormity of what I'd been through was so big, I would need time to absorb it. <br />
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Or maybe, as I told my mom, we've been through so much that it didn't hit high enough on the Richter Scale to be traumatic. <br />
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I think the best explanation is that we've been buoyed in prayers. I've seen blessings and grace everywhere. The way my husband and I walked through this together versus how we managed after Mara was like a terrible and wonderful milestone of how we've grown. <br />
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The last few days, I've noticed myself easily irritated, and while part of that may be hormones realigning, I think it's the grief starting to poke through the cracks.<br />
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I'm sure it's not actually true, but it seems every commercial is pregnancy tests, formula or diapers lately, and if my Kindle doesn't stop showing that baby car seat as the start screen ad, I'm going to lose it. <br />
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I was supposed to have a baby for my 36th birthday. And now I'm not. I was going to buy a new stroller, but there's no need for that now. I saw the bag of cloth diapers in SP's closet that I was daydreaming about putting on a tiny little bottom, but now I'm not.<br />
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So much of what is lost in a miscarriage is the dreams. Still, I feel a surety that another baby is coming. Not to replace the one we lost, but as his or her own unique and wonderful person. <br />
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This pregnancy proved the surgery was successful, at least in part. We're another step down the road on our journey. We're hopeful that next time, it will be a baby we get to hold.<br />
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Until then, here are the few photos I have to mark the life of Francis Therese, named after the feast days we celebrated in the midst of his loss.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uIy3p7h3jv4/V_uvt6XekYI/AAAAAAAAG1Q/ts4MKMymm34xJ-amCK7hi2uJEwq4lk38QCLcB/s1600/IMG_0521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uIy3p7h3jv4/V_uvt6XekYI/AAAAAAAAG1Q/ts4MKMymm34xJ-amCK7hi2uJEwq4lk38QCLcB/s640/IMG_0521.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four days before we lost Francis - I'm so glad I took this - and took the moment to celebrate his life</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K0m4RvCCWuU/V_uvt7vxquI/AAAAAAAAG1I/iSXmB50s8IoB8xIugNkWyhuiJXYtgIIHQCLcB/s1600/IMG_0543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K0m4RvCCWuU/V_uvt7vxquI/AAAAAAAAG1I/iSXmB50s8IoB8xIugNkWyhuiJXYtgIIHQCLcB/s640/IMG_0543.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the weekend on the couch</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxZxavD5TeQ/V_uvt5h8XVI/AAAAAAAAG1M/tCcwDw5_DnAVZMAHQoALxwdyPta-09hEACLcB/s1600/IMG_0549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxZxavD5TeQ/V_uvt5h8XVI/AAAAAAAAG1M/tCcwDw5_DnAVZMAHQoALxwdyPta-09hEACLcB/s640/IMG_0549.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turning back off the pregnancy setting was one of the worst parts</td></tr>
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Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-56065367243990284182016-09-20T19:53:00.001-05:002016-09-20T19:53:58.697-05:00Hope in a Hopeless Place<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Something crazy happened tonight. </span></div><div><br></div><div>There's been a lot of construction around our new house. A. Lot. The main road in and out of our neighborhood has been under construction since well before our move and recently, the progress on the road has caused it to take longer to get down the hill. One of those worse before it's better kind of situations. </div><div><br></div><div>This evening, I sat in traffic, waiting for my turn to creep down the hill and my thoughts were brewing darkly. </div><div><br></div><div>My surgery in early August is healed, and there's now the potential that we may conceive. In fact, earlier this week, I was feeling really hopeful that maybe this would be *the* month. </div><div><br></div><div>I allowed myself to daydream about the stroller I've wanted for ten years and never gotten that I've promised myself I will splurge on if there's a next time. </div><div><br></div><div>I've thought about what it would be like to tell family and friends. How we could surprise them. What joy it would be.</div><div><br></div><div>I've prayed for the intercession of our beloved late priest Fr Logan to bring us a miracle. He loved my husband so much, thought he was so funny. He called me the rose between two thorns when I sang with my dad and another parishioner at healing masses. </div><div><br></div><div>He prayed over me at those same masses when I was pregnant with SP and struggling with complications. I brought him dinner once a week for the months following one of his surgeries. He was the priest at my first communion, and there when LB made hers as well. </div><div><br></div><div>He was woven in a special way into our lives, and it was him I turned to in intercession this month when the inflammation that has plagued me and been non-responsive to all medications and unknown in cause to all testing remained between me and fertility. </div><div><br></div><div>And, for a bit, I felt hopeful. But, as I've crept closer to the start of a new cycle, closer to what experience has taught me will be a hard reality, I've lost hope. </div><div><br></div><div>It was this lost and hopeless feeling that centered in my thoughts as I sat in traffic waiting. </div><div><br></div><div>The dark thoughts were reigning supreme and I was feeling so done. So over finding a way to have any shred of hope left. </div><div><br></div><div>As some traffic slowly made its way up the hill, I glanced over at a car waiting to turn into traffic. And my heart leapt in my chest with a moment of ecstasy. There, in that car waiting ten feet from me, was my lost girl, my SB, sitting in a car with her dad. She looked good. She looked happy. </div><div><br></div><div>I never knew I could hold so much joy and sorrow simultaneously in my soul. She looks good. Somewhere out there, my baby looks happy. </div><div><br></div><div>What's more, there's this fear I've carried deep down in my soul that I wouldn't know her if I saw her. I haven't seen her in over two years, and I feared she would change so much before I ever saw her again that I wouldn't know her even if I saw her. But, I did know her. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure what to make of all those feelings that were swirling inside me when I looked up and added the feelings of seeing SB to the mix. Perhaps the takeaway is even the most hopeless moment can be redeemed. </div><div><br></div><div>Or maybe it was just a moment of straight gift sewn into a hard season of life. </div><div><br></div><div>In the end, I'm struggling to let the joy win out. But I'll take the tears and sorrow. It was worth it just to have that momentary glimpse and knowledge that she's okay. Just a girl, talking to her daddy in the car. </div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-90075834313846504962016-09-06T18:33:00.001-05:002016-09-06T18:33:10.517-05:00Sitting with UncertaintyOur Little House of Dreams has been for sale for about three months now. We've moved on to our idyllic house in the glen, but yet, our little house sits. <div><br></div><div>When we moved, we made the decision to find a forever home without the pressure of an impending sale on our current home. Also, with 800 sq ft and four people, trust me when I say it shows much better without us!</div><div><br></div><div>We spent 10 years in our old house, fixing it up and pouring out time, energy and love into it. We spent years paying off all of our student loans, car loans and the like, and then saving up a separate down payment for the new house, as well as a cushion for carrying two houses for a time. </div><div><br></div><div>Along the path to closing on our new home, we had so many moments of blessing and reassurance that we were doing the right thing, that we had calculated our decisions and all would be well. </div><div><br></div><div>When we finally moved, I spent most days at the old house, cleaning, painting, perfecting every surface because surely(!) someone would fall immediately in love with our special little place of only the walls were soothing tones. </div><div><br></div><div>After two weeks of backbreaking labor l, the house went on the market and I eagerly awaited the news that someone loved it as much as we had. </div><div><br></div><div>I prayed the novena to St Joseph, confident that any minute I would hear the good news. </div><div><br></div><div>And yet, nothing. Very few people have shown interest, and we've had a few silly reasons for passing (a la House Hunters) on the few that have appreciated it. </div><div><br></div><div>Today I went over a tucked St Joseph into the cupboards. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rQ6ZK4SmMtk/V89SNTzNqNI/AAAAAAAAGzs/D9sRqj9qSpQ/s640/blogger-image--1627302228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rQ6ZK4SmMtk/V89SNTzNqNI/AAAAAAAAGzs/D9sRqj9qSpQ/s640/blogger-image--1627302228.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Not for good luck or an assured sale, but as a reminder and dedication that this house is under his guard. </div><div><br></div><div>We have entrusted this sale to St Joseph. We have done all the prudent things to make a sale successful, and now, we wait. And as much as I struggle with being in control, and as much as its a drag writing out two mortgage payments and two utility bills, I feel a peace over this. </div><div><br></div><div>I feel confident that God has this in hand and St Joseph has my back. When I prayed that novena, I prayed that the exact right person who would be blessed by our house would find it. </div><div><br></div><div>I want someone who feels about our little yellow house how we did. I want someone to wake up, look out at the sun rising over that giant fenced in yard and smile, like I did so many mornings. </div><div><br></div><div>I want someone to smile as they pass an open window at lunchtime or in the evening, because you can hear the bells ringing from the nearby church. Many a day I stood in my garden and heard those bells and felt a connection to all the generations past who stopped their work to pray. </div><div><br></div><div>I loved my House of Dreams hard. I cried when we left. The first morning I woke up in our new house, I felt blessing and grace as I felt this certainty in my soul that this new house was where I should be. </div><div><br></div><div>I slipped into life here like a favorite moccasin, comfortable and formed to me as only years of use could manage. I woke up that first morning knowing I was where I was meant to be. </div><div><br></div><div>That certainty has never left. Through months of waiting on our little house to sell, through feedback on all the flaws of the house we spent so many happy years and have so much love for, the peace remains. </div><div><br></div><div>For me, uncertainty is usually a traumatic place to rest. The biggest thorn in my infertility is the not knowing, the uncertainty on how this will all resolve. So, I know this peace can only be from God. </div><div><br></div><div>The little house will sell when it does. Maybe it'll sell tomorrow, maybe we'll find ourselves landlords for a time. Maybe this house is just waiting for the right new owner and we'll land somewhere in between. </div><div><br></div><div>Whichever way the path goes, I'm trying not to feel the irritation and angst of the double bills. I'm trying to rest in this peace and remember, all my resources belong first to God, and if this is the way they should be allotted for now, the updates and new purchases can wait. </div><div><br></div><div>Obedience is hard. Sometimes yield on to God's will means waiting, which is the very hardest thing of all for me. </div><div><br></div><div>So, off St Joseph went to my little House of Dreams, to remind me he's got this and I am not in control beyond my own actions. </div><div><br></div><div>Where are you waiting in your life? How can I lift you up in my own wait?</div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-24131623601050084582016-07-19T20:02:00.001-05:002016-08-02T16:06:06.507-05:00Going Under the LaserI've been working with a NaPro doctor for a couple years now. <div><br></div><div>I've had panels of blood draws, glucose tests, thyroid tests, diet changes. </div><div><br></div><div>I've recently even lost about 35 (!) pounds. </div><div><br></div><div>However, on June 5th, I turned 35, and the volume on my internal clock has become less like listening to the end of an egg timer and more like standing inside Big Ben at midnight. </div><div><br></div><div>Added to that, I've been having some pains I'd like to have investigated, so, I made the trek back down to my doctor. </div><div><br></div><div>When I met with her, she told me I've done the medical side and what remained is the (gulp) surgical side. </div><div><br></div><div>My next best course of treatment is exploratory laparoscopy. They'll put me under, make a few small incisions and poke around looking for cysts, fibroids, endometriosis, anything that could explain this unexplained infertility and pains. </div><div><br></div><div>Since my doctor told me ago, I've been living with varying levels of anxiety. From full blown panic to a low grade hum in the background. </div><div><br></div><div>Now, it's time for surgery. Tomorrow (Wednesday) morning, I'll be getting up bright and early for my husband to drive us down to the surgical center two hours away, sitting in prep for two hours, and then having surgery for however long it takes to fix or repair as best she can whatever is going on inside. </div><div><br></div><div>I've run the full gambit of worst case scenarios. There's a little echo on my ears of the doctor telling me that, as with any surgery, there's a risk of death. However unlikely, the words are spinning on repeat in the back of my head. </div><div><br></div><div>There's also a niggling fear over why I've been having pains. Cysts? Fibroids? Something worse?</div><div><br></div><div>In all likelihood, I'll be uncomfortable for a few days and hopefully have more answers than before. I've been put under general anesthesia a few times and it's always been fine. </div><div><br></div><div>As I was reflecting on it all, it occurred to me that my husband really has the worst end of this. I'm going to go to sleep and it'll all be over when I wake up. My husband, on the other hand, has to watch them wheel me away, wait as they do surgery and then wait to be let into the recovery room. </div><div><br></div><div>Waiting is harder than doing. At least it always has been for me. </div><div><br></div><div>So tomorrow, please keep my husband in your prayers as he waits. </div><div><br></div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-28672703414398661992016-07-16T08:00:00.000-05:002017-08-30T19:24:24.564-05:00Today You Are FiveToday, Sweet Baby turns five. I thought I would be buying her kindergarten uniform, brand new crayons, a backpack with matching lunch box, her favorite toys, a new bike. But, I'm not.<br />
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We haven't seen our sweet girl in two years. It's now been as long without her as we had with her. How could it be? A lifetime ago and the blink of an eye. </div>
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Today will be one of the hard days. But, two and a half years later, the hard days are further apart and fewer. On Tuesday, I cried in the shower. I cried for our broken world and a broken foster care system. But mostly I cried because I want to hug her, see her, hold her. Tell her that I never stopped loving her. </div>
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Never. Yesterday, today and forever. </div>
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I dream of a day I will see her again. A day where I give her the precious baby clothes she wore that I've saved. Where I can show her the photo albums from her earliest days with us. Show her that her picture hangs on our wall. </div>
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Because she is a part of our story, as much as we are a part of hers. </div>
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The gift of time is slowly learning that there is still more story. Our lives have more chapters to be written. For so long, I lingered on the final pages with her. </div>
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Today, I honor her birthday by living fully in this new chapter. In this new home, leaving behind the little house where we shared our lives with her. </div>
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Moving on to new adventures and dreams. All the while, thanking God for the 5 lb little miracle that came into our lives five years ago. </div>
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Happy birthday sweet girl. I love you.<br />
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Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-35596716587092349952016-04-30T14:48:00.001-05:002016-04-30T14:48:07.895-05:00Not Yet FertileI was thinking of laying low this Infertility Awareness Week. <div><br></div><div>Because this is one of those ugly hard months. The ones where it doesn't feel okay that other women are pregnant, where I can barely manage a congratulatory "like" on yet another pregnancy announcement. Because why not me? Why this cross?</div><div><br></div><div>I'm turning 35 in five weeks. Back when I was 22, engaged, and planning out my perfect life, this is the year I would have my final child, probably our fifth or sixth. </div><div><br></div><div>Because surely I would be old and have a big family, so why risk anything less than perfection?</div><div><br></div><div>Man, that girl was not great. </div><div><br></div><div>Instead, I'm watching my minimal fertility sputter out. The cycles with signs of fertility are fewer. Every month, I watch the window slide a little further closed. </div><div><br></div><div>My two girls will turn 11 and 4 this summer and I'm working hard to fully embrace this picture, without daydreaming of another. </div><div><br></div><div>Every day, I pray for peace with my life just this moment as everything is. </div><div><br></div><div>As I am. With the family size I have. I pray to dive down deep - not into accepting where I am, but actually reveling in where I am. </div><div><br></div><div>I pray for joy, even as the crashing wave of another unsuccessful cycle swallows me whole. The cycle where all the things lined up perfectly....and still...no. </div><div><br></div><div>I pray, as I ask you to stand with me just a moment and feel this crushing weight. Imagine with me a moment what it is to take a gift for granted, and then spend the next ten years begging for it. </div><div><br></div><div>Like thirst for water in the desert, it burns. </div><div><br></div><div>Some months, I find an oasis. In the midst of my desert, I find respite. I laugh and cheer those swimming in the ocean. </div><div><br></div><div>I pray for them when the water is so deep it scares them. All the while, happily sitting next to my puddle. </div><div><br></div><div>Other months, the sun has scorched the earth and I'm thirsty. I can see the water, but I can't have it. </div><div><br></div><div>This is that month. Where I'm struggling to stay upright. Not because I'm depressed or unbalanced, but because this cross is heavy. This road is hard. </div><div><br></div><div>Infertility is sad and hard and grief-stricken. The desert can wither your soul, or that heat can become your refining crucible. </div><div><br></div><div>It's who I take into the desert that matters. </div><div><br></div><div>It changes who I will be when I emerge. </div><div><br></div><div>To all my fellow desert wanderers, this week, praying for you is getting me through. </div><div><br></div><div>To all my friends in the ocean, I'm loving you hard and praying you stay afloat. I'll find another oasis I'm sure. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ht3tUgPiEhc/VyUL9iOJwWI/AAAAAAAAGvI/dSvVUdyrGZY/s640/blogger-image-1487631175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ht3tUgPiEhc/VyUL9iOJwWI/AAAAAAAAGvI/dSvVUdyrGZY/s640/blogger-image-1487631175.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-62846796463984455962016-04-26T11:56:00.001-05:002016-04-26T11:56:14.171-05:00The Little Yellow HouseWe've been house hunting. Looking for something that meets the needs of our growing girls - like a second bathroom and a dining room for family gatherings. <div><br></div><div>As we search, a little part of my heart grieves. </div><div><br></div><div>You see, moving on to better things means parting with what we have here and now. </div><div><br></div><div>It means washing away the crayon marks from the wall - the last tangible marks that Sweet Baby lived here - that she touched this space as much as she touched our hearts. </div><div><br></div><div>It means leaving behind the home where I brought my babies home for the first time. One of those babies is no longer with me, and it's like losing her again to lose the place she crawled, walked, and laughed for the first time. </div><div><br></div><div>LB said to me last week, "I just realized we're going to leave my childhood home. The next one will be the one Sweet Pea thinks of that way, but this one is mine."</div><div><br></div><div>Yes. We need more space. Yes. The new home will bring so many moments of happy life. Maybe there will be new babies. Definitely there will be new milestones. </div><div><br></div><div>Still, a part of my heart grieves with every trace of our family I erase from this space. With every box I pack, and nail hole I fill. Every old crayon mark I erase, it stings a little. </div><div><br></div><div>So many times in life, we have to say goodbye to something we love to grow. </div><div><br></div><div>Leaving a home with parents and siblings to join our spouse in a new life. Leaving behind an old home to grow into a new one. Leaving our earthly bodies to embrace eternity. </div><div><br></div><div>Every growing pain hurts. So, I'll cry sometimes while I pack. Not because I don't want to go, but because parting is such sweet sorrow. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vVlnesNhSso/Vx-doBKNBcI/AAAAAAAAGuo/ssDgugX2Ijk/s640/blogger-image-1234335145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vVlnesNhSso/Vx-doBKNBcI/AAAAAAAAGuo/ssDgugX2Ijk/s640/blogger-image-1234335145.jpg"></a></div>The crayon marks I need to erase. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eTBsCHMdjyc/Vx-drWAiUWI/AAAAAAAAGus/mICl60TawlA/s640/blogger-image-1242893582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eTBsCHMdjyc/Vx-drWAiUWI/AAAAAAAAGus/mICl60TawlA/s640/blogger-image-1242893582.jpg"></a></div>The ten years of memories wrapped up in this home we'll be leaving. </div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-9183702305320236282016-04-04T15:36:00.001-05:002016-04-04T15:36:56.788-05:00Weight: A MilestoneToday is a day I've been working for. <div><br></div><div>Today, when I stepped on the scale, I was down to the weight I was before we lost Sweet Baby. </div><div><br></div><div>All week, I've been anticipating this milestone, tearing up at the thought of all I've been through and what I've done to get to this milestone. All the emotions have swirled around me all week. </div><div><br></div><div>Then, this morning, I stepped on the scale, and I didn't feel this surge of great emotions. I felt grace. I felt peace. </div><div><br></div><div>It was a moment of quiet celebration, and a resounding sense of peace. </div><div><br></div><div>The number on the scale reflected an internal truth, and it all just felt happily, calmly, right. </div><div><br></div><div>I've been diligent in my nutrition, working out, and feeling better every day. </div><div><br></div><div>It's fitting that on this day, I finished a project that's been swirling around in my head. Inspiring head wear for working out. Reminders that I'm not punishing my body, I'm honoring it and my Creator in my workouts. </div><div><br></div><div>This new health journey isn't about punishing who or where I've been, it's about remembering I was always worth it. Remembering that I am beloved and wonderfully made. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-82ZcRRidOqk/VwLQZn6qAaI/AAAAAAAAGtg/w_8P4l8v_M4/s640/blogger-image--374094058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-82ZcRRidOqk/VwLQZn6qAaI/AAAAAAAAGtg/w_8P4l8v_M4/s640/blogger-image--374094058.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Tw4y0Louefg/VwLQVIQ2XZI/AAAAAAAAGtc/dbJfppJ9vag/s640/blogger-image-1716073811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Tw4y0Louefg/VwLQVIQ2XZI/AAAAAAAAGtc/dbJfppJ9vag/s640/blogger-image-1716073811.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>For all that "Sparkle" running down my face while I work out :)</div><div><br></div><div>You can find your own inspiring gear at www.etsy.com/shop/Anneryshandmade </div><div><br></div><div>Blessings on your journey, whatever gear you go with ;)</div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-22468402991708700052016-03-25T18:29:00.001-05:002017-08-30T19:21:44.474-05:00God Blesses the FiatToday, for this day, Mary is young, unmarried and proclaiming her Fiat - all the while she is a mourning mother enduring the worst to honor that Fiat. <br />
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The whole arc, from carrying the Son of God and feeling him kick along her ribs to losing a teenager on a family pilgrimage to witnessing the final pilgrimage, bloody and beaten to the cross. </div>
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It was all in that yes. All of the weight in those first words of trust and acceptance. When she gave herself fully over to love, to the love of God for humanity, she held nothing back from it. </div>
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That's what love is. Holding nothing back. Not stopping to cover and hide the vulnerable parts of your heart. </div>
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In 2011, we were called to our own fiat. Early in our placement with Sweet Baby, someone asked me how we were guarding our hearts for the possibility she might leave. </div>
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She said it with true, compassionate concern for our hearts, but I could only think to say, "we're not." And we didn't, because that was our fiat. To dive into the deep end and trust that we wouldn't drown. </div>
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Because we couldn't give her any less than all. Through the sleepless nights or infancy and all the highs and lows of the toddler years. All of it took all of us. </div>
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After two and a half years, we were one hearing away from termination of parental rights....and then everything flipped, and we were suddenly in the process of separating our lives from hers. </div>
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Watching her cry for us as she went away. Calling her a new name. Hearing her stop calling me Mom. And finally, being cut off from her completely. </div>
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And then our heads went under the water, even as grace reached down to pull us through. We knew that's what our fiat could mean, but we didn't fully know the depth and breadth of it until we lived it. Until we walked our own road to Calvary. </div>
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I didn't guard my heart, and it was destroyed. That heart was shattered, but in its place, grace grew a new one. </div>
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Today, I think about the hardness of our story, and I think about the hardness of Mary's story, and I hope they both tell you the same story. </div>
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The fiat is your whole self, it can be crushing, but ultimately, finally, it is the greatest story of your life. And infinitely forever worth every tear. She was worthy of every tear. </div>
Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-37373787203540634422016-03-22T20:40:00.001-05:002016-03-22T20:40:47.404-05:00All the Layers In January, my resolution was a commitment to health. To working on being the best version of me, mental health, emotional health, physical health. <div><br></div><div>It's been like gathering pieces of a puzzle without quite knowing the picture...or even the number of pieces. </div><div><br></div><div>My hormone numbers continue to look good with the intervention of bioidentical progesterone, low dose naltrexone was added to temper the hormonal mood swings and boost endorphins (best. thing. ever). </div><div><br></div><div>All these steps and tests. Thyroid panel came back slightly off, but too close to normal for medicinal intervention. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm waiting on glucose/insulin resistance test results, and hoping if there is a problem, it's easily remedied with intervention. </div><div><br></div><div>In the meantime, I've started another journey. Three weeks ago, I began a ketogenic diet with the blessing of my doctor and the support of a nutrition coach. </div><div><br></div><div>The progress has been painstakingly slow....because three weeks...shouldn't I be done by now?!?! Such impatience. Much frustration. </div><div><br></div><div>Still, the scale has been creeping down. And tonight I'm sitting just a few pounds above where I started before we lost our Sweet Baby. </div><div><br></div><div>Over the last couple years, the layers of grief have enveloped me, and now, slowly slowly, I'm peeling them away. </div><div><br></div><div>Looking forward more days than I look backwards. Dreaming new and different dreams again. </div><div><br></div><div>A few pounds from here isn't my final milestone, but I'd wager it will be one of the most bittersweet.</div>Anneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04954066811992919236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527333813271481752.post-39983676168609096012016-02-23T13:06:00.001-06:002017-03-26T18:37:56.199-05:00When I Thought I Knew This summer will mark 11 years of motherhood for me. Eleven years of changing, growing, and learning that there's so much more I really don't know.<br />
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My mother raised nine children, all natural births (not on purpose every time, she'd be quick to tell you....those doctors and nurses foiling her drug attempts!), all breastfed. <br />
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When I had my first via planned C-section, a little bit of my perfect plan crumbled away. L was frank breech, legs folded up, bottom down. There was no way she was coming out that way. Pioneer days version of me would have labored three days and died. <br />
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Modern day me was crushed and anxious that my body wouldn't be doing things the way I'd always expected to. For a long time, I felt this guilt about telling other moms I had a C-section.....it just seemed like I did something less <i>mom</i> than them. But, time and maturity have taught me something. You know what? Thank God for modern medicine. Thank God for hospitals and skilled surgeons. <br />
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Back in the day, my silver lining of true mom-ness after my C-section was nursing L 17 months. I had no problems with supply, and after the first three weeks of figuring out a good latch and surviving the blistered awfulness of a constantly nursing newborn, everything went smoothly. L nursed pretty constantly for the first six months, and then when she started some solids, I had a respite, and we continued on until it was just a bedtime routine before she self-weaned. <br />
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I was mother, hear me roar. I nursed my baby until <i>she</i> stopped. <br />
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Then, six years of secondary infertility with pregnancy losses along the way and we found ourselves with a foster daughter. It was my first experience with formula feeding, and contrary to recent articles, she thrived. <br />
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She grew from a 5lb preemie to a robust and vibrant toddler. All on that powdered stuff I could get in exchange for currency at the grocery store. Magic.<br />
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Still, I was a bit self-righteous about nursing. After all, I was (finally) expecting again and <i>of course</i> nursing would go just as well the second time around. Maybe better, because, after all, I was now a pro.<br />
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Oh folly of pride. From the moment Sweet Pea was born, I struggled with supply. Every supplement, every home remedy, I tried them all. <br />
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Nursing cookies? Baked. Guinness with dinner? Drank it. Increased water intake? Oh man, I almost floated away. Fenugreek? Check. Brewer's Yeast? Check. All the supplements that everyone who ever nursed or even heard of nursing told me about? Tried them.<br />
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It didn't make a dent. Guinness was by far the most effective, and an evening beer was a great way to unwind, so the excuse of milk supply welcomed. But still, I couldn't keep up with the nutritional needs of this little baby entrusted to me to nourish and care for.<br />
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Finally, it was Sweet Pea who saw reason and ended the madness. At eight months, she had more sense than me and self-weaned. I pumped what meager amounts I could get for another month before finally succumbing to sanity and switching fully to formula.<br />
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Still, every bottle I mixed in front of someone, I felt the need to explain that I had <i>tried everything </i>to avoid this. Why? Because of things like men who know nothing of what it is to nurse <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/faithonthecouch/2016/02/the-myth-of-optional-breastfeeding-why-you-might-not-be-breastfeeding-long-enough/">sharing articles by sketchy moralists</a>. I felt defeated, guilty and shamed. I felt lacking that my body would not cooperate. It could not cooperate. <br />
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Many of the factors contributing to my sub-fertility contribute to low supply and difficulty in breastfeeding. It's a double betrayal by my body.<br />
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Before I knew what it was to feel like a failure, before I knew what it was to try and not succeed, I thought I knew all the answers. I thought I knew that nursing worked because it was natural and women's bodies were made to do it and <i>how could they not</i> because <i>just try harder</i>. <br />
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Until I tried so hard it was insanity in my life. Then I really knew. I'll always try to nurse any babies I have because it may work for a time. But, when it stops working, now I know, formula is a gift, not a curse. <br />
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It is a blessing that we have ways to feed and sustain babies when mental, physical, or emotional challenges prevent breastfeeding.<br />
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Every now and then, I'll meet an expectant mother who has all the answers, who knows all the best ways to labor, who has the best laid plans for nursing into toddlerhood. When I meet her, I try to remember the me that was her, who knew all the things just like her, and I try to extend her grace.<br />
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Because, really I didn't know what I was talking about, but I <i>really</i> thought I did. Now I know how very much I don't know. And I'll think to myself as I walk away from her, "bless her heart" in the Southern-most expression of that phrase and pray she discovers the truth in a gentler way than I did. <br />
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I thought I knew. I thought the answer was just try harder. It's not. The answer is God knows the struggle of that mama's heart and far be it from me to add to her burden, whatever the parenting style, food philosophies or screen time routines. <br />
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When I thought I knew, I judged. Now I know, that judgment in my heart was unfounded and hurtful. <br />
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Still, I'll try to extend grace to those ignorant of the injustice they lay at the feet of all mothers when they criticize any of the things we do in the best interests of our family.....but inside I'll be thinking, "You just don't know that you don't know yet."<br />
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