Insta-Friday

Check me out--my third post this week!  I'm trying hard to get back into the blog-groove.  I do love it...

It's Friday!  Time for a cell-phone pics only glimpse of the Good life.  It's been a few weeks since I shared some instagram pictures, so these insta-glimpses are highlights from a few weeks of cell-phone photography.  Enjoy!

Labor Day Weekend Balloon Classic-a favorite family tradition.

Bubba's spoon-hanging skills.

I didn't take this one--Dave forwarded this one to be from a high-school football game they attended.  I like it.  :0)

My bird feeder usually attracts little finches and the like--this day I spotted a large magpie sitting on the bird feeder hook.

Bubba stacking cups in Sunday School.  We plan "Anticipate" activities for the kids to do when they arrive--this was a teaser for a lesson on the Tower of Babel.

This lovely colorful shot is of our powder bath door last week--the room was sealed off due to black mold remediation.  Oh yeah--facing a bathroom remodel....but not by choice.

Added the My Sketch app to my phone this week and "sketched " this photo of my kids from the summer.  Fun!

On a totally more serious note--today is 12 years since our son Aidan died.  For the first time I didn't notice the day sneaking up on me...and was hours into the day before I realized it was September 30.  I felt guilty about that, then decided it was just another sign of healing.  We love you sweet Aidan...



Linking up today with jeannett at Life Rearranged for Insta-Friday and with the Company Girls at Home Sanctuary.

It's that day again...

Aidan's birthday.  He would have been 12 today.

Aidan David--May 24, 1999 - September 30 - 1999

Today we remember him.  And miss him.  And rejoice that he is safe and whole in the presence of our Redeemer.  And thank God for the ways we have been shaped because God let him come into our family, and because God let him come Home.

We love you sweet boy.  Happy Birthday.

Genesis 50:20 (from Joseph's story)

...but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done..."

scarred, but whole

It's been a year since I first shared about Aidan in this post.  I thought I would write tons more about him and our journey, but for some reason, it's taking me a while.  But as we arrive on the anniversary of his heavenly homegoing again (11 years!) I have more to say.

People often ask me if you can ever heal from the pain of losing a child.  Just to be clear, I don't claim that losing a child is the worst pain you could ever suffer.  I don't know what it's like to get a terminal diagnosis, to lose a parent or spouse, or to be abused in any way...I know what it is like to lose a 4 month old child.  It absolutely sucks.  (pardon my french, but it fits).

I remember the day Aidan died, we felt a sense of relief at first.  Sadness, yes.  But oddly enough, relief.  We finally weren't worried about him, and he was no longer suffering or facing a long list of surgeries and repairs.  But as we entered our home without the hope of ever bringing him home...the deep pain of grief overwhelmed us.  It actually physically hurt.  We cried like we never have before or since.  We held each other and sobbed the deepest sobs I've ever heard.

It was like a piece of my heart had been torn away,  physically ripped from my body.  What was left was a heart with a gaping wound, one that bled and oozed with each beat.  I know that is a little dramatic, but that is the way I can best describe it.  In the days that followed, I explained it that way several times to kind, listening ears.

Months passed, years passed.  We grieved.  We journeyed some rough roads.  We healed.  God's grace proved sufficient, just as He promised. 

Yet, I did not return to the person I was before I was Aidan's mom.  I never will.  I am changed...in more ways than I could begin to describe, or even comprehend.  And I am whole.  WHOLE.  Really.  My heart has healed completely.  The gaping wound no longer bleeds.

Nor is my heart the same as it was before.  You see, it has a scar.  The evidence of it's wound is there, but it is not at all hindered.  The scar is actually a beautiful part of my heart, and in a way only God could accomplish, the scar has made my heart stronger.

I must admit the scar is a tender spot though, and if it gets hit just right, the pain returns for a time.  The tears flow, and the wound aches.  Yet even in the ache, even in the remembering, my heart is whole.  God has healed me and redeemed the pain.

I wouldn't trade my scarred heart.  It's a gift.  And I'm grateful.  

Perhaps your heart is scarred from pain that God has healed...if so, thank God with me today for His redeeming grace.  If your heart is still bleeding, I ache for you.  Yet I trust (even if you can't at this point) that if you cooperate with God's touch in your life, in His timing, He will knit you a beautiful, strong, scar.

happy 11th anniversary in heaven, sweet aidan. 

Eyes to See

I posted the other day about God Sightings, and the practice of watching for God in our lives.  I believe it's a habit that can be developed--to look for God.  But first, the belief that God is active in our daily lives needs to be fostered, and the expectation of His involvement needs to be nurtured.


During Aidan's life, one of the ways God took care of us was that He gave us eyes to see His presence and His involvement in the whole situation.  This reassured us that He was aware of what was going on, and in control.  We could trust Him, because He was there.  And although He didn't answer our prayers how we wanted Him to, we could rest knowing that He was intimately involved in each aspect of our experience.  He had not forgotten us.


Since that time, when I hear of other's struggles, I have made a point to pray that they would have "eyes to see" God active in their circumstances.  This last week I have been praying that God would give my dear friends Jeff and Karyn eyes to see His work.  {Jeff and I used to work together in IL, and he was also the youth pastor at our church here in CO.}  


You see, Jeff is a pastor now, and a week ago Sunday, right before he was to preach, Jeff suffered a grand mal seizure.  {ummmmm...that's one way to get out of preaching, huh?}  Tests later revealed he had a brain tumor on his right frontal lobe--cause still unknown.  Thursday morning, Jeff had brain surgery, and is currently recovering at a rehab hospital.  Oh, how I pray that in the midst of so much uncertainty their eyes see God's presence.

I popped over to Jeff's blog to grab a link for you all if you are interested--and guess what?  God has already been answering my prayers!  I believe this post is Karyn's account of a God Sighting!  God is just SO cool,  isn't he?

Have you had any God Sightings lately?  I pray, dear bloggies, that whatever you might be facing right now...that God would give you eyes to see Him.  He's there.

it's just a part of their life

Yesterday would have been Aidan's 11th birthday.  He's gone, but very much a part of our family.  On his birthday each year, we honor him by having a family night.  We visit his grave, and usually go out to dinner.  Sometimes we do something fun--just the four of us.

Sitting at the cemetery yesterday, where one child is buried, I watched the other two.  They bopped around, noting names and dates of the little ones buried in "The Garden of Angels"-- a part of the cemetery set aside for babies.  They paused at their brother's grave, as well as at the newer grave of their cousin Sadie.  They placed rocks--on which they wrote messages--on both graves.

As the sun sank in the sky, we couldn't help but notice Pickle's tall silhouette.  She was so small the first time we came to see her brother's "name".  Much time has passed.  Having a brother in heaven is not odd to these two.  It's just part of their life--their reality.

Bubba asked yesterday morning (on his own initiative) if he could bring some mementos he has of Aidan to school--wanting to introduce his classmates to the big brother he never met.  It is important to him to acknowledge Aidan's life.  I understand his teacher read the entire memorial bookmark to the class--including the lyrics to the song we had printed on the back.  Bubba said she cried a bit as she read.  Bless her for allowing Bubba to share this part of his life with his community at school.

It's just a part of their life--my other two.  A normal, but important, part.  God has woven Aidan's story into theirs.  I think it's beautiful.  I'm unwrapping this gift today with emily at chatting at the sky.

Remembering...

11 years ago today we met our second child, Aidan David.  He only shared life on earth with us for four months, but changed us forever.  Today we remember Aidan and we celebrate his life. Happy Birthday to our sweet boy!

You can read a bit of Aidan's story here.

remembering Sadie

I can't let this day pass without acknowledging it's significance to our family.  One year ago today my sister Kerry gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Sadie Grace.  I was in the waiting room, but my heart was in the delivery room, aching so deeply for my sister.  You see, we already knew that Sadie had moved on to her heavenly home.  As we held her precious body that day, and kissed her, and admired her, she was already resting in Jesus' arms.  


I felt so sad, and so numb.  This was a little too familiar.  It had been almost 10 years since we had said hello to our little boy Aidan, only to say goodbye to him 4 short months later.    I couldn't believe that my sister and brother-in-law were experiencing the same grief we had endured.  I couldn't believe my mom and dad had to say goodbye to another grandchild, and watch another daughter grieve.  


But regardless of all the complicated emotions I felt a year ago today, what I KNEW was that God would walk them--us--through.  That the evil of the situation would not be able to harm them.  That amazingly, when facing a parent's worst nightmare, they would not be swallowed up.  Sadie wasn't the only one being held by our loving God--we all were.  The song "Held" by Natalie Grant captures what we experienced when we lost Aidan, and what I trusted Kerry and Jeff would experience too.  The chorus says:


This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held


Yes, we had been held.  I specifically remember during Aidan's life the feeling of Someone outside myself holding me up as bad news threatened to consume me.  I remember the comfort of Jesus' arms as I sat on my couch each day for months and cried and missed my boy.  The holding is very real.  And I'm so thankful.  That I experienced it myself, and could hang on to the fact that Kerry would experience it too.  It was that Hope that propelled me through the blur of days surrounding Sadie's death.


I don't understand why Aidan and Sadie didn't get to stay with us...but I do know that God used their lives to change us, to mold us and to tenderize us.  He is a redeemer,  and is redeeming the suffering.  We choose to accept the loss of these precious ones as Big-G-Good, in spite of the pain of the choice.  With our hearts soft towards Him, He allows us to see glimpses of the reality of the Good.


We love and miss you, sweet Sadie.  Until we see you again, enjoy the love and joy of our Savior.  

the Hope I find in the Garden

picture: www.lostseed.com

"Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."  Matthew 26:39

It's a hard portion of scripture.  The anguish in the garden.  Those He counted on were mere humans and asleep.  He anguished to the point of sweating blood.  I don't like it.  My Savior--all-knowing--knowing what was to come.  It was part of the Plan, yet He struggled with the anticipation, with acceptance.  He was fully God, but He was fully human as well.

Yes, it's hard to read.  Even harder to see depicted. I want to fast forward to the resurrection, to the defeat of pain and death and evil.  To the Hope.  To the realization of the Big-G-Good.  Yet, I miss out if I fast-forward.  I miss out on the hope in the midst of the torment of the garden.

Jesus asked His Father if this cup may be taken from Him...Jesus Himself asked this.

When we were going through my infant son Aidan's illness and death, I remember many moments when I anguished.  When I didn't want to be brave.  When I didn't want God's comfort in the midst of the pain...I wanted the pain to go away.  I wanted the cup to be taken from me, from Aidan, from my family.

And I felt guilty.  Deep down I wanted God's Plan,  God's Good for my life.  But when being brutally honest, I did NOT want God's Plan for me to include losing a son.  The Liar was there to tell me that I must not really love God, that I wasn't satisfied enough with Him to accept His will.

Then my Lord gently pointed me to the Garden.  To where He asked the same thing--please, if there is any other way to accomplish Your purpose, Lord, take this from me.

I find great comfort in knowing that even Jesus felt this way.

The key is that He didn't leave it there.  We know He went on to say--but not my will, but Yours.  And so did I.  So do I.

I don't want my own will (sometimes I think I do--that's for sure!).  I want God's Good.  For me, for those I love, and for His Kingdom.  And sometimes God's Good is hard.

But in the garden, for a brief moment, He asked for a way out of the hard.  It's OK when I do too.  There is no guilt in wanting a way out.  Jesus' example is there.

As long as I am resigned to God's will and not my own.  And through the tears, the anguish that this life sometimes brings, I can freely ask for relief, for another way.  Jesus did.

Current struggles are not as intense as losing my son, or some other life-alterers I've faced.  But I have the same feelings of wanting it to go away, and the brief guilt for not accepting.  For wanting things to be different.  The garden reminds me.

I can rest in knowing a loving Father hears me and loves me and hurts for me in my pain.  He sees it.  He is not offended at my desire for the pain to pass. 


And He rejoices in the offering that doesn't come from feeling--not my will God, but Yours.

Yes, there is Hope in the garden.

This post is linked up with other Holy Week reflections at Holy Experience.

unwrapping the prayer of everyday

There was a time in our lives where I was so aware of how desperate I was for God's help to make it through every moment. Hubby was in a very dark time and unavailable to me emotionally, physically, spiritually. I had an infant and a five year old. I was still grieving the loss of our four month old a year and a half prior. I was lonely and scared and very, very tired in every way.


It was during that time that I learned the practice of falling on my knees at the side of my bed each and every morning--before I even attended to my kids. My head was down, my hands open to receive.


I prayed my everyday prayer. I confessed my sin. I emptied myself of any agenda I had for the day. I asked God to fill me with His Holy Spirit. I pictured Him filling me to the tips of my fingers and the bottom of my feet--and especially filling my mouth. I asked Him to allow me to exhibit the fruit of His Spirit indwelling me (not an easy task for the Holy Spirit in my pitiful state). I asked for His strength to show kindness and gentleness and patience to my kids. For joy as I changed diapers. I asked for His love to flow through me to my husband who had nothing to love me back with. I asked for His encouragement and guidance for the day, for the morning, for the next few minutes. He refreshed me in that quick everyday prayer. And by His strength alone, I got up and was mommy and wife and daughter and friend. In many ways that time was a blur...but I survived. And as far as I remember, I don't think I killed anyone.


Most importantly, I learned in a new way that His grace is sufficient for me.


Over the years my everyday prayer has changed a bit. I still confess and empty myself. I still ask for the Holy Spirit to fill me, and that I could exhibit His fruit. What has changed is that instead of praying for strength to make it through each moment, I pray for sensitivity to hear His leading. That He would control each part of my day--who I run into, conversations, what I accomplish or don't. That He would allow me to complete His agenda for me that day. I want to "keep in step with the Spirit".


Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Galations 5:25


I realized recently that I've gotten away from my everyday prayer. My mornings look different as we hit the ground running. I don't feel as desperate everyday. (I am, just not always as aware of it--yikes). And so, what do I accomplish during the day if I'm not careful? MY agenda. Seeking to fill my needs, my priorities--with my family, and even in ministry.


I do pray in the morning and throughout the day. I talk a lot, and I talk to God a lot. But I'm missing my everyday prayer.


Today I'm celebrating that each day is a new day, and that I can start again. I can pray the prayer of everyday. Have your way, Lord.


Unwrapping the small and sacred gifts of the everyday with Emily at Chatting at the Sky. Click here to read what other gifts are being unwrapped today.

perfect for God's purposes

His imperfections were obvious. He wore some right on his crooked face. Those features were just the tip of the iceberg however, as his biggest struggles came from the problems within his 4 pound body.

one of the first pictures taken of Aidan

Usually when someone hears my short version of Aidan's story, they want to know what was wrong with him. Specifically. So if you are wondering the same thing, here you go--

Before he was born, at our routine find-out-the gender-ultrasound we learned that Aidan had a cleft lip and palate and an omphalocele. Don't worry, I had never heard of an omphalocele either. An omphalocele is when the abdomen doesn't close during development and part of the insides are outside. In Aidan's case it was his liver. Believe it or not, this is usually fixable--they put what is out back in. (It's a bit more complicated than that...but it is done.)

When Aidan was born by emergency c-section, I remember hubby leaning over to me in the operating room and gently saying..."he only has one ear". I didn't care about the ear--I just wanted him. However, finding something else wrong with him confirmed our worst suspicions--we didn't know the whole story yet.

After tests and xrays--the neonatologist looked at the reports and pictures and just shook her head. He was a mystery. The other struggles that surfaced over the next hours and days:

* his larynx and/or trachea was in not in the right position--

they had an extremely difficult time putting in his breathing tube.

* his right lung smaller than his left

* his spine had vertebrae anomalies--spine in an S curve

* one side of his rib cage was not formed properly

* he had a major heart defect (five things wrong with his heart!)

Everything that was wrong with him was "fixable" or he could live with. So, we began the journey of "fixing" him. Of course, fixing one thing impacted another...nothing was isolated. It was rather overwhelming, to say the least.

Through all sorts of tests and examinations by genetic specialists, we never got a diagnosis. He didn't fit any condition they knew of. The doctors used the word "fluke". yuck.

When we first learned of Aidan's issues in utero, my mom cried out to God--"God, why is this happening?? From the moment Dawn was pregnant, I prayed for a healthy, perfect baby." She says it was one of those rare times when God seemed to speak audibly into her ear. She heard "He is perfect for My purposes." We hung on to that word from God. God would redeem the terrible circumstances of Aidan's life. And He has. It looks different than we would have picked, but He has.

thank you bloggies for encouraging me to write more about Aidan--more to come

I haven't held him for a decade...

Ten years ago today we lost our precious son.

I've been wanting to write about my sweet Aidan for a long time, but haven't known where to start. So today, on the anniversary of his heavenly homegoing, it's time. I must confess that I'm afraid to write about him in some ways, because I know there is no way to capture in words how special he was, all his life has meant to me, how I've grown because I was his mom. I don't think I'll ever be able to articulate how proud I am to be his mommy. My utterings will not do him justice...so I trust that you will read between the lines and get to know him, us, and the God who sustains us a little better. Perhaps. Most of all, I pray our story is one that gives HOPE, to others walking their own difficult path...that God is faithful. That He really can redeem a terrible situation and make it Good.

This is bound to be a series of posts. So today I guess I'll start with an overview. Aidan David was born at 35 weeks with multiple birth defects on May 24, 1999. A few of his problems we knew about in advance through ultrasound. Many more were discovered at birth. It had been a rough pregnancy--as we tried to prepare our hearts to meet this little guy who would be so different than our dreams for a healthy baby, as well as navigate all that his problems meant for me physically while he was in the womb. I had many tests, ultrasounds, two amnios, many doctors appointments, surgeon consultations, debates over delivery methods, pre-term labor, bedrest, meds, late night trips to the hospital and worst of all, two hospital admissions complete with iv magnesium sulfate (if you've had it, you know...it's like being microwaved) desperately trying to keep him in.

We were told that everything that was wrong with his little body was "fixable" or things he could live with. So, within a day of being born, Aidan began his journey of many procedures and surgeries to "fix" his little body. He spent his entire life in the hospital, and eventually died from complications of open heart surgery at age 4 months, six days. Ten years ago today.

And although we were SO scared and unsure about our life to come with a special needs child, there wasn't the slightest doubt in our hearts that we wanted him. We loved him so much. Everyone did. His fighting spirit and bright eyes endeared him to all he met. We looked forward to the day where we could tell him his story. The story of how God performed miracles on his behalf. The story of what a fighter he was. Of the challenges overcome. We looked forward to having him tell us what it was like to be Aidan. And to sharing the days ahead--challenging as they might be--together. Trusting God together. And holding him. Yeah...and holding him.

It was not to be. Instead, he completed his earthly tour in just over 4 months. He accomplished the purpose for his life in that short time.

Since that day, he is the only one of my children that I don't need to worry about. I take great comfort in knowing he is eternally safe and completely whole. But I miss him so.

10 years. wow.

To read more about Aidan, click here.