Hi All!
As some of you know, I was asked by Fifth Street Baptist Church to deliver the message of Sanctity of Human Life Sunday this year. Here is the link to the sermon. I hope you enjoy it.
http://www.fifthstreetbaptistchurch.com/Sermons
My Best in Him,
Britt
Showing posts with label Fifth Street Baptist Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fifth Street Baptist Church. Show all posts
Monday, January 28, 2013
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Of Grief and Gifts
It's that time of year again! Holiday gift-giving, festivities and scores of people scratching open those festering emotional wounds so they can reminisce about how miserable they are this time of year, every year and why. I'll usually read enough of those blogs to wonder why I am not like that. I mean, I have been through more loss in the last few years than most but I am not reduced to some Xanax and Vodka filled ball of despair every Christmas. Is there something wrong with me?
I get hate mail and negative comments on this blog and the ministry's site all the time. They don't usually effect me. I delete them, laugh and shake my head at their grinchy dispositions and go about my day. There was one line in a message once that struck me. I was confused by its meaning, then I was bewildered why they'd say that about me, of course never having met me or knowing much about me at all. It took a while to digest. Here it is, "She can't even appreciate her own humanity." The reference was to the fact that I am not living as a shell of a person, like I should be, drowning in my own grief and never ending pain of having placed my daughter, Alex, for adoption. To her and many like her I am supposed to resign myself to being cemented in the moment of placement and to decide to step out of the muck and say, "I can go on" is heresy, a deliberate lie even.
In the widowhood circles I run in we have a coined phrase "a new normal". That means that while we cannot go back and feel the way we felt before our husbands were in our lives, we can go on and live our lives in renewal and happiness. It just won't be the same. To us there is nothing wrong with that. It is what it is. Can't change it, just go on and and live the life you know he'd want you to have.
To me having to let go of Alex was a significant and painful event in my life but it doesn't determine how I am supposed to feel for the rest of my life just like having to say 'goodbye' to my husband didn't. Grief is an interesting thing. Some want to shed it like an overcoat on a warm day and others would sooner have you pry it off of their cold, dead bodies before they'd let it go.
Either case of extremes is not healthy emotional healing. Trying to outrun grief, as I made the mistake of doing when my husband passed away created a backlash of risky behavior, over-spending and spiritual havoc in my life. It also resulted in Alex's conception. No, being honest with where I was at emotionally and spiritually would have been the better avenue. I have found that it can't be any other way. To the other extreme, I have seen widows, parents who have lost or placed children and other significant relationships become completely paralyzed in their grief. They seem unable to see passed a traumatic event that changed their lives. All the therapy, pills, booze, food and whatever else does nothing to improve the emotional and spiritual condition of the sufferer.
I get it. I didn't go through but I understand how someone winds up in that place. I remember when I was a new widow and even a new birthmother, I had an anxiousness about when I wouldn't feel bad any more. As much as I wanted to get better, I still held on to this idea that equated feeling better with not caring about my husband or my daughter any more. There seemed to be an emotional bond between my misery and proving to myself and others that I still loved them.
At some point I started to see my life continuance as something more worthwhile than just feeling grief. There was a part of me that felt an innate drive to make something out of what Id' been through not just live with. I wanted it to be useful instead of hindering. Instead of using pain to display my love, I could use my experiences to prove that it was valuable. I didn't want my daughter to see me as the woman who let her go, I wanted her to see the legacy I am leaving that reminds both of my children that their mother is more than the circumstances of her life and her choices. To me, I want them to say I can rise above the tide when the floods come in because I saw my mother do it. She is a strong, courageous woman who made something of her life and look at all that became of a certain time in her life not that these events became the ruination of her. The biggest insult I could give to Alex and Carli would be for them to see that Alex's adoption destroyed my essence. I want be present for Carli and enjoy her as much as I can because I know how fragile life is. I don't want her so see Mom in a constant state of wishing her life was different. She makes life worth living in the present for and to live in the past robs her of her childhood and a solid relationship with her mother. Children are a gift from God, even if we are not parenting them. We still have a responsibility to be the example we would want them to emulate. I live this every day in hopes that I could be at least a shred of a role model for my girls.
While both of you, Carli and Alex, celebrate Christmas this year with ribbons and bows, my gift to you both is a mother who is healthy, strong in her faith and striving to be someone you'd be proud of and I hope you can receive it with the same thanksgiving that I have for both of you, in grace instead of grief.
I get hate mail and negative comments on this blog and the ministry's site all the time. They don't usually effect me. I delete them, laugh and shake my head at their grinchy dispositions and go about my day. There was one line in a message once that struck me. I was confused by its meaning, then I was bewildered why they'd say that about me, of course never having met me or knowing much about me at all. It took a while to digest. Here it is, "She can't even appreciate her own humanity." The reference was to the fact that I am not living as a shell of a person, like I should be, drowning in my own grief and never ending pain of having placed my daughter, Alex, for adoption. To her and many like her I am supposed to resign myself to being cemented in the moment of placement and to decide to step out of the muck and say, "I can go on" is heresy, a deliberate lie even.
In the widowhood circles I run in we have a coined phrase "a new normal". That means that while we cannot go back and feel the way we felt before our husbands were in our lives, we can go on and live our lives in renewal and happiness. It just won't be the same. To us there is nothing wrong with that. It is what it is. Can't change it, just go on and and live the life you know he'd want you to have.
To me having to let go of Alex was a significant and painful event in my life but it doesn't determine how I am supposed to feel for the rest of my life just like having to say 'goodbye' to my husband didn't. Grief is an interesting thing. Some want to shed it like an overcoat on a warm day and others would sooner have you pry it off of their cold, dead bodies before they'd let it go.
Either case of extremes is not healthy emotional healing. Trying to outrun grief, as I made the mistake of doing when my husband passed away created a backlash of risky behavior, over-spending and spiritual havoc in my life. It also resulted in Alex's conception. No, being honest with where I was at emotionally and spiritually would have been the better avenue. I have found that it can't be any other way. To the other extreme, I have seen widows, parents who have lost or placed children and other significant relationships become completely paralyzed in their grief. They seem unable to see passed a traumatic event that changed their lives. All the therapy, pills, booze, food and whatever else does nothing to improve the emotional and spiritual condition of the sufferer.
I get it. I didn't go through but I understand how someone winds up in that place. I remember when I was a new widow and even a new birthmother, I had an anxiousness about when I wouldn't feel bad any more. As much as I wanted to get better, I still held on to this idea that equated feeling better with not caring about my husband or my daughter any more. There seemed to be an emotional bond between my misery and proving to myself and others that I still loved them.
At some point I started to see my life continuance as something more worthwhile than just feeling grief. There was a part of me that felt an innate drive to make something out of what Id' been through not just live with. I wanted it to be useful instead of hindering. Instead of using pain to display my love, I could use my experiences to prove that it was valuable. I didn't want my daughter to see me as the woman who let her go, I wanted her to see the legacy I am leaving that reminds both of my children that their mother is more than the circumstances of her life and her choices. To me, I want them to say I can rise above the tide when the floods come in because I saw my mother do it. She is a strong, courageous woman who made something of her life and look at all that became of a certain time in her life not that these events became the ruination of her. The biggest insult I could give to Alex and Carli would be for them to see that Alex's adoption destroyed my essence. I want be present for Carli and enjoy her as much as I can because I know how fragile life is. I don't want her so see Mom in a constant state of wishing her life was different. She makes life worth living in the present for and to live in the past robs her of her childhood and a solid relationship with her mother. Children are a gift from God, even if we are not parenting them. We still have a responsibility to be the example we would want them to emulate. I live this every day in hopes that I could be at least a shred of a role model for my girls.
While both of you, Carli and Alex, celebrate Christmas this year with ribbons and bows, my gift to you both is a mother who is healthy, strong in her faith and striving to be someone you'd be proud of and I hope you can receive it with the same thanksgiving that I have for both of you, in grace instead of grief.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Happy Birthmother's Day?
A swirl of emails and phone calls, my life is abuzz with my prospective future. A PR firm interviewed me for promotion of my story. The anticipation that I might be getting "that call" to say a media outlet would like to bring it forth to the public is what I have dreamed of since I started this journey. To make Adoption as easy a discussion as any other in the unplanned pregnancy positions, that is my goal. I am a bit desensitized to the jargon these days. Adoption is a topic I routinely discuss.
"Why do they want to get your story out?", one asked me as I was heralding what was new in my life. "It's Birthmother's Day on the Saturday before Mother's Day", I replied with a bit of an excited tweek as if I were sharing a secret. As a contortion of confusion came to his face, his next question was, "They celebrate that?"
I stumbled a bit in my posturing but trying to maintain a poker face in response to the last remark, I offered up an affirmative with a weak smile. I know why he said what he did and it was by no means an insult or trying to demean what I'd been through. The fact of the matter is, the Birthmother is largely closeted in the discussions of Adoption with most agencies and ministries firmly founded on the mantra of Child and Adoptive Family. There is nothing wrong with that. I do find it comical though that most would prefer to think of the child just materializing into the arms of the adoption counselor to dispatch to the adoptive family like these children are harvested out of a parentless cabbage patch.
While others on Sunday will get flowers, cards and spa gift certificates, the mother who has so lovingly and purposefully chosen for her child that a life apart from her's would be best, Mother's Day can be a tearful reminder of her covenant with her adoptive family. How does one honor the sacrifice but also give room for the grieving that takes place so often on this weekend? Personally, I think a Metal of Valor would be grand but no one gives those out to us. Our awards can't be seen and our stories, for the most part, are never even heard outside of a close knit circle of those with the inside information. That doesn't make them less valid.
If one seeks to be understood, one must seek to understand. Why is the Birthmother so hush, hush? Why wouldn't a person who, aside from dying, made the ultimate sacrifice be out there for others to see? Doesn't being a good mom mean we make the best choices for our children no matter what the cost is to us? When someone does something extraordinary, don't people love to share it that others may benefit?
I counted the costs in my decision and decided that Adoption was the most loving thing that I could do for everyone involved. I haven't regretted my choice. I have a great relationship with Alex's adoptive parents and that is just icing on my cake for Birthmother's Day. She will live a life in love from her adoptive parents and her birth family. How can that not be worth a celebration?
"Why do they want to get your story out?", one asked me as I was heralding what was new in my life. "It's Birthmother's Day on the Saturday before Mother's Day", I replied with a bit of an excited tweek as if I were sharing a secret. As a contortion of confusion came to his face, his next question was, "They celebrate that?"
I stumbled a bit in my posturing but trying to maintain a poker face in response to the last remark, I offered up an affirmative with a weak smile. I know why he said what he did and it was by no means an insult or trying to demean what I'd been through. The fact of the matter is, the Birthmother is largely closeted in the discussions of Adoption with most agencies and ministries firmly founded on the mantra of Child and Adoptive Family. There is nothing wrong with that. I do find it comical though that most would prefer to think of the child just materializing into the arms of the adoption counselor to dispatch to the adoptive family like these children are harvested out of a parentless cabbage patch.
While others on Sunday will get flowers, cards and spa gift certificates, the mother who has so lovingly and purposefully chosen for her child that a life apart from her's would be best, Mother's Day can be a tearful reminder of her covenant with her adoptive family. How does one honor the sacrifice but also give room for the grieving that takes place so often on this weekend? Personally, I think a Metal of Valor would be grand but no one gives those out to us. Our awards can't be seen and our stories, for the most part, are never even heard outside of a close knit circle of those with the inside information. That doesn't make them less valid.
If one seeks to be understood, one must seek to understand. Why is the Birthmother so hush, hush? Why wouldn't a person who, aside from dying, made the ultimate sacrifice be out there for others to see? Doesn't being a good mom mean we make the best choices for our children no matter what the cost is to us? When someone does something extraordinary, don't people love to share it that others may benefit?
I counted the costs in my decision and decided that Adoption was the most loving thing that I could do for everyone involved. I haven't regretted my choice. I have a great relationship with Alex's adoptive parents and that is just icing on my cake for Birthmother's Day. She will live a life in love from her adoptive parents and her birth family. How can that not be worth a celebration?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Was the Gift Worth the Cost?
A birthday party for Jesus at my house this afternoon got me thinking about gifts. We had a cake, sang 'Happy Birthday' and went around the table and told Jesus what we'd like to give Him. I gave my plans. I have lots of things going on and I like to think I can anticipate His next move in my life. He keeps trying to let me know that He can outwit me with out so much as a blink of an eyelash but I like to frustrate myself by playing the game anyway. This year, I'd like the plans to be solely His. My 5 year old daughter wanted to give Jesus a telescope so He could see all the stars.
"Don't you think He can see all the stars from Heaven, Honey?"
"Yes, if He closes one eye.", she replied squinting and contorting her little face to show me how.
As we wound down the party I started to think of who wasn't there. My late husband was one. He would have liked the tradition. Carli was too young when he died to start it but we did talk about it one night. Next I thought of Alex. I thought of what a gift she was to her parents and how much they must have realized that last year, which was their first Christmas with her. I thought about what traditions that she would have with her parents and would they maybe have a birthday party for Jesus as well? It's been a while since I've heard from Alex's parents. Maybe 4 weeks or so. I've been so wrapped up in Christmas chaos that I hardly noticed, until today. I've been evenly keeled about everything but emotions sneak up on me once in a while. I run at too fast a pace for anything to catch up usually.
After everyone left I decided that I needed to head to the gym. My brain was going too fast for comfort and a good workout always does the trick for me. I loaded myself and Carli into the car and headed for the 'Y'. As I drove, I noticed the twinkling Christmas lights adorning the neighborhood houses and shrubs. My mind recalled a recent picture of Alex. She is 14 months now. She was sitting on a hillside in the grass. Her mother had dressed her a prim purple pleated skirt with grey knit tights and brown riding boots. Her hair swept back and to the side by a matching plum colored bow. I focused on her face. Her round chubby face has the sweetest cheeks. I thought of what it would be like to sit her on my lap like I used to do with Carli and kiss her baby little face over and over again. As I continued to daydream, I could almost smell baby lotion and feel her skin on my lips. Before I could bring myself around, I was sobbing in the driver's seat trying to contain myself so I didn't upset Carli.
How am I going to workout like this? I wanted to turn the car around and come back tomorrow. Thankfully my sensibility took over and I resigned to the fact that the workout may be just what I needed. I could cry later. I tried to get the images out of my mind as I checked Carli into KidWatch and walked onto the gym floor. In my distraction and disorganization from being lost in thought, I put everything every where and just sat down in the stretching area to try to get myself warmed up. As I leaned this way and that, I wandered through my social networking sites on my phone and glanced at posts. I came across a post from a man that I highly respect. It was shorter than most of his usual and it didn't look funny so I clicked to see what needed reflection. "God...Your love makes it worth it all" came off of the screen at me. I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds. My mind started rifling through images of what 'it all' was to me. Was His love worth it? Yes! I don't even recognize my relationship with God. I thought I had God all figured out and stored in a tidy box before Greg died. My pregnancy and adoption journey with Alex was what drew me near to Him and got me to ask the one question He was waiting to hear from me, "Who are you, really?". I could never have what I have in Christ today if not for those trials. I didn't choose this but I am strangely grateful for what I gained in the endurance.
I typed a reply but I heard myself say "and I lost a spouse and a child in the same life" most find it puzzling who don't know Jesus to hear me say that I would do it again to have what I have in Him. I wanted to reply again when I was struck by a recollection of a conversation that he and I had in my car in the summer. He had lost a child and a spouse too. The events weren't the same but the pain was. He knows what I mean. I have some idea as to what makes makes him post that statement and know that he can stand behind what he said. Because it's true.
"Don't you think He can see all the stars from Heaven, Honey?"
"Yes, if He closes one eye.", she replied squinting and contorting her little face to show me how.
As we wound down the party I started to think of who wasn't there. My late husband was one. He would have liked the tradition. Carli was too young when he died to start it but we did talk about it one night. Next I thought of Alex. I thought of what a gift she was to her parents and how much they must have realized that last year, which was their first Christmas with her. I thought about what traditions that she would have with her parents and would they maybe have a birthday party for Jesus as well? It's been a while since I've heard from Alex's parents. Maybe 4 weeks or so. I've been so wrapped up in Christmas chaos that I hardly noticed, until today. I've been evenly keeled about everything but emotions sneak up on me once in a while. I run at too fast a pace for anything to catch up usually.
After everyone left I decided that I needed to head to the gym. My brain was going too fast for comfort and a good workout always does the trick for me. I loaded myself and Carli into the car and headed for the 'Y'. As I drove, I noticed the twinkling Christmas lights adorning the neighborhood houses and shrubs. My mind recalled a recent picture of Alex. She is 14 months now. She was sitting on a hillside in the grass. Her mother had dressed her a prim purple pleated skirt with grey knit tights and brown riding boots. Her hair swept back and to the side by a matching plum colored bow. I focused on her face. Her round chubby face has the sweetest cheeks. I thought of what it would be like to sit her on my lap like I used to do with Carli and kiss her baby little face over and over again. As I continued to daydream, I could almost smell baby lotion and feel her skin on my lips. Before I could bring myself around, I was sobbing in the driver's seat trying to contain myself so I didn't upset Carli.
How am I going to workout like this? I wanted to turn the car around and come back tomorrow. Thankfully my sensibility took over and I resigned to the fact that the workout may be just what I needed. I could cry later. I tried to get the images out of my mind as I checked Carli into KidWatch and walked onto the gym floor. In my distraction and disorganization from being lost in thought, I put everything every where and just sat down in the stretching area to try to get myself warmed up. As I leaned this way and that, I wandered through my social networking sites on my phone and glanced at posts. I came across a post from a man that I highly respect. It was shorter than most of his usual and it didn't look funny so I clicked to see what needed reflection. "God...Your love makes it worth it all" came off of the screen at me. I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds. My mind started rifling through images of what 'it all' was to me. Was His love worth it? Yes! I don't even recognize my relationship with God. I thought I had God all figured out and stored in a tidy box before Greg died. My pregnancy and adoption journey with Alex was what drew me near to Him and got me to ask the one question He was waiting to hear from me, "Who are you, really?". I could never have what I have in Christ today if not for those trials. I didn't choose this but I am strangely grateful for what I gained in the endurance.
I typed a reply but I heard myself say "and I lost a spouse and a child in the same life" most find it puzzling who don't know Jesus to hear me say that I would do it again to have what I have in Him. I wanted to reply again when I was struck by a recollection of a conversation that he and I had in my car in the summer. He had lost a child and a spouse too. The events weren't the same but the pain was. He knows what I mean. I have some idea as to what makes makes him post that statement and know that he can stand behind what he said. Because it's true.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Final Countdown
Tests, final paperwork, phone calls to make arrangements and my mother's arrival signaled that I was really at the crest of this wave. Save any early contractions, I had a date and a time for the arrival of Alex. Her parents were deliriously happy. Why wouldn't they be? The end of 5 years of waiting was almost over for them. They were at a crest too. For me, it wasn't as happy as I was waiting my wave to come in to shore. I'd been riding this one for 9 months and I was frankly anxious to get off my board.
I picked up my mom at the airport. The Arrivals area at the Key West International Airport is about the size of a finished basement in a large split level house. You can't miss the luggage carousel, it's the only one they have not mention, it is right next to the door as soon as you walk in from the tarmac. I knew she wouldn't miss me. I was the size of blue whale. I sat and waited until I saw her come through the automatic doors. We hugged and chatted about her trip but it wasn't a happy greeting. We both knew what was coming. It wasn't so much what was happening but the anticipation of the unknown when something big is about to go down.
I wanted to put it out of my mind and just focus on the fact that soon, Alex's father would be out of my life. No more drunken phone calls, tirades, threats, sobbing pleads, and frustration. The idea that I would never have to speak to him again should have made me giddy. When ever I'd get sad, I'd talk out loud to my mom about how happy I was for Brett and Kayla. It was a happy time. Two people were going to become parents! No one was forcing me to do anything, it was my decision so why was I so sad? No matter what I tried to do to rationalize that being sad was selfish, my heart wouldn't have it. I had to accept what I was feeling.
The morning came when it was time for me to go to the hospital. I had to report at 5AM for my c-section. Brett and Kayla would be meeting me there for the big arrival. The plan went that my mom would stay home with my daughter until later and my wonderful miracle of a friend, Angel would drive me to the hospital. I had my bags packed for the hospital from the night before. I sat on my bed in the dark and waiting for Angel's text message to let me know that she'd be downstairs waiting for me. I couldn't help but think of my first pregnancy. The contrast was polar. Carli was not only planned but prayed for. My late husband and I were so thrilled to await her arrival. My onset of contractions kept us up all night and the excitement was tangible between us as my body let us know that our little girl would be joining our family in a matter of hours. It was such a special moment as we drove together in the car to the hospital. He was by my side the whole time and his face let me know that he was elated to share in this and didn't want to miss a moment. This morning, I never felt so alone. I wasn't going to welcome a new baby with her father and bring her home. I wasn't fantasizing about what it would be like to take her into her new room and rock my new little precious as I placidly stared down at her. I was going to deliver a child that would be leave with someone else. The sadness and the reality covered over me like a canopy.
I lumbered down the stairs with my bag after briefly waking my mother to tell her that I was leaving. I made my way into the car and we drove to the hospital. It was still dark and and silent on the island. The revelers and bar staff were all gone. Just me, Angel and her car.
We pulled up to the front door and the bright lights of the main lobby beckoned us from the black of the empty parking lot. I hugged Angel good bye and walked toward the light as the doors parted for me.
I picked up my mom at the airport. The Arrivals area at the Key West International Airport is about the size of a finished basement in a large split level house. You can't miss the luggage carousel, it's the only one they have not mention, it is right next to the door as soon as you walk in from the tarmac. I knew she wouldn't miss me. I was the size of blue whale. I sat and waited until I saw her come through the automatic doors. We hugged and chatted about her trip but it wasn't a happy greeting. We both knew what was coming. It wasn't so much what was happening but the anticipation of the unknown when something big is about to go down.
I wanted to put it out of my mind and just focus on the fact that soon, Alex's father would be out of my life. No more drunken phone calls, tirades, threats, sobbing pleads, and frustration. The idea that I would never have to speak to him again should have made me giddy. When ever I'd get sad, I'd talk out loud to my mom about how happy I was for Brett and Kayla. It was a happy time. Two people were going to become parents! No one was forcing me to do anything, it was my decision so why was I so sad? No matter what I tried to do to rationalize that being sad was selfish, my heart wouldn't have it. I had to accept what I was feeling.
The morning came when it was time for me to go to the hospital. I had to report at 5AM for my c-section. Brett and Kayla would be meeting me there for the big arrival. The plan went that my mom would stay home with my daughter until later and my wonderful miracle of a friend, Angel would drive me to the hospital. I had my bags packed for the hospital from the night before. I sat on my bed in the dark and waiting for Angel's text message to let me know that she'd be downstairs waiting for me. I couldn't help but think of my first pregnancy. The contrast was polar. Carli was not only planned but prayed for. My late husband and I were so thrilled to await her arrival. My onset of contractions kept us up all night and the excitement was tangible between us as my body let us know that our little girl would be joining our family in a matter of hours. It was such a special moment as we drove together in the car to the hospital. He was by my side the whole time and his face let me know that he was elated to share in this and didn't want to miss a moment. This morning, I never felt so alone. I wasn't going to welcome a new baby with her father and bring her home. I wasn't fantasizing about what it would be like to take her into her new room and rock my new little precious as I placidly stared down at her. I was going to deliver a child that would be leave with someone else. The sadness and the reality covered over me like a canopy.
I lumbered down the stairs with my bag after briefly waking my mother to tell her that I was leaving. I made my way into the car and we drove to the hospital. It was still dark and and silent on the island. The revelers and bar staff were all gone. Just me, Angel and her car.
We pulled up to the front door and the bright lights of the main lobby beckoned us from the black of the empty parking lot. I hugged Angel good bye and walked toward the light as the doors parted for me.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Waiting Room Jitters
After my trip to Disney the only thing left to do was wait. I had to sit around for a whole three weeks and think about what was going to happen next. My mother would be coming to stay with me in a few days. She wanted to be there to support me but also to help me care for my daughter. I had an extraordinary church family at Fifth Street Baptist, but I needed more hands on deck than the occasional sitting. More than that, I needed my mom like you do when you are sick in the middle of the night as a kid. I remember my mom sitting next to me, right up close when I would wake with a fever. She'd rub my back and help me get to sleep. The slow, rhythmic stroking, with a warm, light pressure that let you know that she cared. That is the kind of comfort only someone who loves you uncontrollably can give you. I was desperate for soothing.
The days went on like months. I was sometimes counting days by the half day just so I could feel like I was accomplishing something in the waiting. I did have a lot of appointments to keep me busy. Those were also markers of progression. Blood work, pre-registration, doctor's visit, all lined up for the countdown. Out of curiosity I drove across the island to get a view of the hospital. I drove down a long winding road that wrapped around a golf course until I reached a much-smaller-than-expected building that looked dated and lacking in expertise. "I'm gonna die here", was what I surmised after my inspection. My perspective of what a community hospital should be like was off. I am from Boston where you can throw a rock in any direction in the city and hit a world-class medical facility. It is a near impossibility to not get great health care and access to a renowned specialist there. At this hospital, I would was certain that most of the staff had likely just passed their board certifications. I drove home wrought with anxiety over what my care would be like.
My first one appointment on the list was the pre-registration. I needed to go to the hospital and give them all the gory details of who I was and what was going to happen. My counselor prepped me over the phone and sent along paperwork ahead of me so that, hopefully, they would have some semblance of what to do in my case. I was pleasantly surprised at how the inside of the hospital differed from the outside. The inside was clean and new. The staff was smiley and helpful, cheerfully directing me to where I needed to go. I got to the Maternity desk and found a nurse who sweetly directed me to the room that someone would do my interview in and asked me if I wanted something to drink. "Water would be fine", I didn't know what else to ask for anyway.
I dark haired, well groomed nurse, about my age, announced herself and pulled the curtain back as she stated her name and sat down, promptly fluffing the papers and inspecting everything before she turned her eyes to me. I sat blankly, wondering what she would say when she finally stopped her organizing.
She slowly read the information that my adoption counselor faxed over. "Oh, you are going to give the baby up for adoption", she trailed off as she kept reading. I hate that term, "give the baby up". It sounds so much easier than it actually is and I wasn't giving a kitten away because I was moving into a new apartment, I was deciding the fate of a child! Isn't there a better way of putting it than what most people would say? I struggle with it still. Sometimes I say, "processed for adoption" that just sounds so clerical. I sometimes also say, "surrendered for adoption" but that sounds legal. How do you state it in terms that people can understand the gravity but the love that was involved in the decision? I tried to respond to confirm her realization but instead I heard myself gasp as the rushing heat of tears warmed cheeks. My ears burned from embarrassment. She made sympathetic faces as she reached over for tissues. I didn't know what to say. I didn't owe her an explanation but I wanted to plead my case that I wasn't some aimless screw up that couldn't get her head on straight. Instead, I rallied in silence as she patiently waited for me to compose.
Once we got over the adoption hump of the interview, it was a lot easier. The usual stuff, my medical history, the father's history. "Will he be joining you?", I tried not to explode into laughter. I did list his name as a potential visitor but with a caveat that if he showed up intoxicated that he'd need to be escorted out of the building and he would, under no circumstances, be allowed to be alone with the baby or leave my room with her. I made her write it down. I just couldn't underestimate the craziness of a raging, desperate alcoholic.
The days went on like months. I was sometimes counting days by the half day just so I could feel like I was accomplishing something in the waiting. I did have a lot of appointments to keep me busy. Those were also markers of progression. Blood work, pre-registration, doctor's visit, all lined up for the countdown. Out of curiosity I drove across the island to get a view of the hospital. I drove down a long winding road that wrapped around a golf course until I reached a much-smaller-than-expected building that looked dated and lacking in expertise. "I'm gonna die here", was what I surmised after my inspection. My perspective of what a community hospital should be like was off. I am from Boston where you can throw a rock in any direction in the city and hit a world-class medical facility. It is a near impossibility to not get great health care and access to a renowned specialist there. At this hospital, I would was certain that most of the staff had likely just passed their board certifications. I drove home wrought with anxiety over what my care would be like.
My first one appointment on the list was the pre-registration. I needed to go to the hospital and give them all the gory details of who I was and what was going to happen. My counselor prepped me over the phone and sent along paperwork ahead of me so that, hopefully, they would have some semblance of what to do in my case. I was pleasantly surprised at how the inside of the hospital differed from the outside. The inside was clean and new. The staff was smiley and helpful, cheerfully directing me to where I needed to go. I got to the Maternity desk and found a nurse who sweetly directed me to the room that someone would do my interview in and asked me if I wanted something to drink. "Water would be fine", I didn't know what else to ask for anyway.
I dark haired, well groomed nurse, about my age, announced herself and pulled the curtain back as she stated her name and sat down, promptly fluffing the papers and inspecting everything before she turned her eyes to me. I sat blankly, wondering what she would say when she finally stopped her organizing.
She slowly read the information that my adoption counselor faxed over. "Oh, you are going to give the baby up for adoption", she trailed off as she kept reading. I hate that term, "give the baby up". It sounds so much easier than it actually is and I wasn't giving a kitten away because I was moving into a new apartment, I was deciding the fate of a child! Isn't there a better way of putting it than what most people would say? I struggle with it still. Sometimes I say, "processed for adoption" that just sounds so clerical. I sometimes also say, "surrendered for adoption" but that sounds legal. How do you state it in terms that people can understand the gravity but the love that was involved in the decision? I tried to respond to confirm her realization but instead I heard myself gasp as the rushing heat of tears warmed cheeks. My ears burned from embarrassment. She made sympathetic faces as she reached over for tissues. I didn't know what to say. I didn't owe her an explanation but I wanted to plead my case that I wasn't some aimless screw up that couldn't get her head on straight. Instead, I rallied in silence as she patiently waited for me to compose.
Once we got over the adoption hump of the interview, it was a lot easier. The usual stuff, my medical history, the father's history. "Will he be joining you?", I tried not to explode into laughter. I did list his name as a potential visitor but with a caveat that if he showed up intoxicated that he'd need to be escorted out of the building and he would, under no circumstances, be allowed to be alone with the baby or leave my room with her. I made her write it down. I just couldn't underestimate the craziness of a raging, desperate alcoholic.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Brethren
Everyone loves a good solid friendship. The kind of friend who will listen to you for hours and doesn't mind overlooking your flaws. The Brethren are different. They are committed. They are in it for the long haul, no matter where the adventure of life takes you. They know the road gets messy and they've got their hip-waders on. You know the ones, you say I need you and they come running, no matter where or what time. They are like the Special Forces that God sends in when you are in it up to your ears. He sends them to either coach you out of the pit or drag you from it. You have to appreciate another human being who is that willing to invest in you, I found a whole church full of them.
Lest I even dare not to mention the Fifth Street Baptist Church in Key West, Florida, the heart and the love of Jesus billows out of their windows. I walked into their church with my little one in tow and barely showing my trial. I wanted to slide into a pew unnoticed but God had other plans. Within seconds, I found strangers approaching me with warm smiles and outstretched hands. Women gathered around me to direct me to where my daughter would have Sunday School and another asked to me join her family for service so I wouldn't have to sit alone.
It didn't take long before I had gotten to know a few and with my impending breach of belly from my baggy clothes, I felt the need to confide in one, to let them in on my secret. I was met with a wonderful, compassionate reception and a kindness I hadn't felt in years. I needed to be loved and to feel accepted and there were 4 key women in the church who wanted to love me with all they had. Who couldn't be just speechless when you recieve such compassion. I felt more open to letting them in on my hidden life down on their island. I was waiting for someone to give some kind of reaction, a sign that I didn't sit well with them but it never happened. I wondered if they would think that someone in my situation shouldn't still call themselves a Christian but no one ever questioned my faith. I kept waiting for my own judgements against me to materialize in the faces and out the mouths of this congregation but they refused to oblige. I felt cared for. I was desperate for it.
Here it was, after 8 long months with them seeing me every week, loving me through my hurt and my decision and it was winding down to my due date and everyone knew it. There was a little sadness in the air and an uneasy feeling of 'what comes next?'. I was approached by a dear friend there one morning. She gently told me that she was asked to see if I would be okay with the ladies in my congregation throwing a baby shower for Alex's parents. They wanted to bless this couple with gifts to show that they loved me and this child all this time and that this was there way of showing it. They wanted them to know what a gift it was for them to share in this experience with me. I was silent for a lot longer than I should have and her eyes started to dart and her shoulders rolled in as a sign that she was afraid that she'd injured me. I just didn't know how to put to words the awesome sense of gratitude and humility I was feeling that they'd want to do something like this for them. I agreed and we worked out the details of gift giving and how they would get to Brett and Kayla. I couldn't wait to email Kayla to let her know what this sweet group of ladies wanted to do for her. I was bursting with pride over the outpouring of love from my Sisters.
Such and amazing experience, to see these women love on me unconditionally and every bit like the love of Christ. My most humbling and confirming moment in these women came as I was substitute teaching bible study on Sunday. I had finished up and one of my favorites raised her hand and said, "It has been such a blessing to see you live out your testimony". My tears wanted to flow. I had come to that church just hoping I could fade into the crowd, ashamed of what I'd become and completely unaware how greatly I'd be blessed. I couldn't have ever fathomed that I'd be a blessing to others.
Lest I even dare not to mention the Fifth Street Baptist Church in Key West, Florida, the heart and the love of Jesus billows out of their windows. I walked into their church with my little one in tow and barely showing my trial. I wanted to slide into a pew unnoticed but God had other plans. Within seconds, I found strangers approaching me with warm smiles and outstretched hands. Women gathered around me to direct me to where my daughter would have Sunday School and another asked to me join her family for service so I wouldn't have to sit alone.
It didn't take long before I had gotten to know a few and with my impending breach of belly from my baggy clothes, I felt the need to confide in one, to let them in on my secret. I was met with a wonderful, compassionate reception and a kindness I hadn't felt in years. I needed to be loved and to feel accepted and there were 4 key women in the church who wanted to love me with all they had. Who couldn't be just speechless when you recieve such compassion. I felt more open to letting them in on my hidden life down on their island. I was waiting for someone to give some kind of reaction, a sign that I didn't sit well with them but it never happened. I wondered if they would think that someone in my situation shouldn't still call themselves a Christian but no one ever questioned my faith. I kept waiting for my own judgements against me to materialize in the faces and out the mouths of this congregation but they refused to oblige. I felt cared for. I was desperate for it.
Here it was, after 8 long months with them seeing me every week, loving me through my hurt and my decision and it was winding down to my due date and everyone knew it. There was a little sadness in the air and an uneasy feeling of 'what comes next?'. I was approached by a dear friend there one morning. She gently told me that she was asked to see if I would be okay with the ladies in my congregation throwing a baby shower for Alex's parents. They wanted to bless this couple with gifts to show that they loved me and this child all this time and that this was there way of showing it. They wanted them to know what a gift it was for them to share in this experience with me. I was silent for a lot longer than I should have and her eyes started to dart and her shoulders rolled in as a sign that she was afraid that she'd injured me. I just didn't know how to put to words the awesome sense of gratitude and humility I was feeling that they'd want to do something like this for them. I agreed and we worked out the details of gift giving and how they would get to Brett and Kayla. I couldn't wait to email Kayla to let her know what this sweet group of ladies wanted to do for her. I was bursting with pride over the outpouring of love from my Sisters.
Such and amazing experience, to see these women love on me unconditionally and every bit like the love of Christ. My most humbling and confirming moment in these women came as I was substitute teaching bible study on Sunday. I had finished up and one of my favorites raised her hand and said, "It has been such a blessing to see you live out your testimony". My tears wanted to flow. I had come to that church just hoping I could fade into the crowd, ashamed of what I'd become and completely unaware how greatly I'd be blessed. I couldn't have ever fathomed that I'd be a blessing to others.
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