Love Does, My Story

Is there such a thing as too much information?

You may be surprised to know that sometimes I struggle with what’s appropriate to share…

I always want to honor the story of our girls, the work God is doing in our lives and the place in your heart that you’ve invited me into.

Over the past four years you’ve carried me through some of the deepest waters, fears and even heartbreaks that you may not have known occurred along the way.  I seek to be transparent in as much as I am able to share, and honest with the depths of my heart as I journey through life.

I’ve gone back and forth with how to share without being totally awkward – because it’s pretty personal.

It’s not that I don’t want you to know, but sometimes I struggle with whether it’s helpful for you to know… but at this point I realize, it’s helpful for me and my girls if you can come along side us and pray this week.

About fifteen years ago I began to really struggle physically with recurring cysts on my ovaries and what we later discovered to be endometriosis.  I had surgery eleven or so years ago and at that time my doctor recommended I decide sooner rather than later if I wanted to have children, because I really needed to consider a hysterectomy.

Now, I know some people have wondered if we have walked a path of infertility which led us to adoption, but I can honestly say that’s not how we ended up here. Whether my uterus worked or not, either way I was convinced I didn’t need to have a baby.  It’s apparent now much of my decision was based in a need for control- but also the simple fact that I wasn’t sure I had what it takes to keep another human alive… especially if they needed to be fed daily.

I’ve always been a bit of a procrastinator, so I delayed making the decision for many years.  But here we are, less than 48 hours away from a major surgery.  Tonight I held each one of my baby girls as they cried at different times, trying not to let their fears be known but they just can’t hold it in any more.

If you read one of my recent stories, you may recall that we don’t have a lot of room in this house for my weakness.  It triggers something I can’t fully understand.  But God does. He sees and knows the depths of their pain, the fears in their hearts and the innocence that has been lost.

On most days I am good, I can be strong and hold it all together.  But if I so much as take a vitamin, I’m questioned about the state of my being.  We had one therapist that suggested the girls “give me medicine” so they could see it’s nothing to be scared of.  As she handed them a bottle of advil and I sat bewildered by her recommendation –  I realized I didn’t want a four year old to be comfortable with pills and decided to fire the therapist.

“It’s not me – it’s you.  Bye Felicia.”

I share this because what I know is a routine procedure also has the potential to be a major emotional event in this house of little women.  It’s already starting to bubble up.

As I’ve sought to prepare my own self for the surgery, recovery and hopefully a new normal, I am faced with my own fears.  If I’m totally honest, it’s not a fear of the surgery itself or even the recovery which I hear is pretty brutal –  at a gut level the question I have stirring is, what if something were to happen to me?

And obviously you can’t see my eyes filled with tears as I write this…  but it paralyzes me. It’s a much deeper pain that I can’t prepare everything for such a situation – and I must not believe God can figure it out either.  Both pain me.  My fears and my underlying doubts.

When I rationally think about this I can bounce back up and know, this is no big deal.  People have surgery every.single.day.  I don’t have cancer. I don’t have major risks.  I just have three kids that have already lost one mother and I feel like I have to do everything in my power to make sure they don’t lose another one.

Clearly I’m not rational anymore.

Don’t worry. I won’t leave you hanging here.

As I walked into church this morning, longing for an encounter with God, my heart found peace as we sang a song I didn’t even know I liked… reminding me who is the King of my Heart and how good he is.  In the bridge the band echoes these words:

You’re never gonna let,
You’re never gonna let me down

With tears falling from my eyes I was reminded of his incredible goodness to my girls – his supernatural provision for things we didn’t even know we needed.  (Have you ever read this story about When God Shows Up ?)  And as I sang these words I could truly believe that not only is he not going to let me down, he will never let my girls down.

Tonight, as I lay next to each one in their bed, I reminded them that it’s ok to be scared – and then I try to point them back to Jesus.  Remember when you were brave before? We can be brave together. Sweet girl, you make me brave.

I’m humbled by God’s goodness to meet me in my own fears so that I’m able to speak truth to the hearts of my little ones.  I’m grateful for the ones who have come along side us with offers to help our family, my mother who will be carrying a heavy load these next two weeks and my sweet husband who has his hands full with a lot of ladies.

I’m at peace going into this.  I trust God with all the things.  I’ve given Daniel a list of all our accounts, passwords and what to do if something happens to me.  I’ve even told him who I’ve picked out to help raise the girls…  but I need to go on record saying – if he shows up with some Brazilian paddle board chick, that is not who I picked out.

And if I didn’t already feel like I have zero control over my life, mother nature decided to throw a stinking hurricane into our week – one day post-op.  If you look at the radar, it clearly says “Abby’s house” on the present course.

Jesus take the wheel.

I’m going to bed.  Sweet friends, please pray for my little people.  Please pray for my doctor and my body.  I kinda need all the things to go right… and the hurricane to turn. No big deal.  I’m totally chill.

and I can’t drink wine.

So here’s a song I leave you with… because I need to be reminded.

Much love, from a broken girl.

PS… we’re kinda hoping once these ovaries are gone I’ll stop crying so much.  fingers crossed!

 

 

 

Love Does

A guide to the pain that slaps you in the face – and what not to do

          “That must be a heavy burden to carry…”

His words touched deeply, as if they uncovered a piece of truth I was trying to keep hidden – but he saw it.

I apologized as another tear made its way down my cheek.  Somewhat embarrassed by my own emotion – somewhat surprised I was even here.

When he first entered my emergency room he was taken aback to find me alone.  He asked a few questions which I simply answered about this unknown pain I was experiencing.  It was minor, yet confusing enough that I needed to make sure there wasn’t something major behind it.

“When did you start feeling the pain?”  –   When I woke up yesterday morning, it was piercing.
“What took you so long to come in?”  – I needed to put my girls to bed first  [the water begins building in my eyes]
“What kept you from coming yesterday?” –   [as a single tear escapes my burning eye, I explain]  I have three little girls, adopted, and I’m not sure why… but they fall apart if anything is wrong with me.

I needed to wait.  I needed our weekend to be a perfect rememberance, a celebration of this family built from a dream.  I needed to make space for the good days that would overcome the ones that are hard.  I just couldn’t be the trigger that makes everything fall apart.

I need to protect them from my pain.

They’ve felt so much.  I can only piece together parts of the story that I read in their case or I’ve heard secondhand.  I don’t know if they even understand what they saw in those early days, or what about it makes them glaze over into a trance-like state that seems void of life.

One time, at our dear chiropractor’s office, I attempted to get an adjustment.  One twin screamed uncontrollably as I lay on the table.  When all was done and I knelt down to calm her, she came close and slapped me across the face – something I had never experienced in my whole life.  Yet it came from a 3 year old and ultimately stung my heart more than my cheek.  She had no idea what she had done.

Another time, when my toe met the black-iron bed built for a queen,  I screamed in pain, certain that I would never walk again… her eyes turned to glass and she began hitting me over and over until she was pulled away.

There’s a place she goes that I cannot see –  there are no words spoken – just a fear that overcomes like a blanket.

And I silently vow… I will never be the cause of her pain.

I realize now the cost of that vow.  I will be strong; there’s no room for weakness. 

I’m setting unrealistic expectations and there’s no way I can deliver.

We can’t be a family that avoids the pain.  Hers or mine.

He spoke gently to me as I tried to pull myself back together.  He laid out our next steps to evaluate and medicate to bring relief from the mystery in my abdomen.  I assured him I was ok with the pain, I can handle it… I just need to know if there’s anything important that could be wrong.

“You are important….  you are important and you are in pain.” 

His words diffuse my deeply ingrained protective strategies and allow me to believe I am worth seeing… even though I can’t seem to make eye contact for fear of more tears.

I can’t take those pain meds that make you sleepy.  There’s a tiny person back home that is bound to wake up because she ate her weight in watermelon… I have to be able to help her sleep walk to the potty – time is of the essence.

They draw all the blood, fill me with fluids, give something mild for pain and deliver a “cocktail” that falls far short of my definition.  All my major organs come back clear, I breathe a sigh of relief and promise if the pain returns I’ll come back for further testing.  He didn’t say it in so many words… but I know the truth… camping is killing me.  [i joke]  The truth is more likely that I’ve given myself an ulcer.

I drive home in the darkness of night turned morning, check on the little people tucked in tight and crawl into my own comfy bed next to the guy that holds my world together.  But I can’t stop hearing the doctor’s words…

…That must be a heavy burden to carry…

They’ve replayed in my head over and over today.  It’s almost as if he saw my dark circled eyes, my clenched jaw, my broken pieces and called out the truth… I’ve taken on a burden that wasn’t mine to carry.

I’m gently reminded of the scripture in Matthew 11

28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Our burden is real, there’s no doubt.  But it isn’t mine to carry alone.  It was an invitation, in the most unexpected place, to come weary and trade this burden for rest.  It was a gentle reminder that I don’t have to hold it all together.  I can’t undo the pain of a past or avoid the pain of the present but I can trust that the one who was there continues to carry the weight and will be faithful to heal.

Sweet friend, you’ve made it this far in our story.  I wonder what burden you may be carrying yourself.  You’ll know what it is when you feel the sting of tears in your eyes.  Like me, you may scramble and try to keep from falling apart.  Dear one, let them fall.  These tears are signs of something deep within.  And there’s an invitation that says, come to me, your burden is heavy, but I have rest.  You do not have to walk alone.

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And just in case the guy in the E.R. offers you a cocktail… don’t fall for it.

Much love,
a broken girl.