Let It Be Done in Me

It was exactly four years ago that I found myself sitting at a stoplight in the darkness of Friday rush hour in Sandy Springs, Georgia. I had just left school and was on my way to Target in search of two things: a pregnancy test and a special gift to announce to Joe we were expecting our first baby. I had taken a pregnancy test early that very morning, before school, but hadn’t shared the outcome with anyone. And I wanted another one — or two — to be sure. As I sat at that red light, so many thoughts were rushing through my head: fear, excitement, disbelief. A song came on the radio, one I had never heard before but found out was Amy Grant’s “Breath of Heaven.” If you haven’t heard the song, it tells the Christmas story from Mary’s perspective. As I listened, not yet knowing I was expecting the son who would be Bert, not knowing all that Joe and I would be called to experience as his parents, one section of lyrics really embedded themselves into my heart:

Do You wonder as You watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of your plan
Help me be strong
Help me be
Help me

Little did I know – LITTLE did I KNOW – how many times over Bert’s short life I would continue to say those same words to God over and over.

And now, another Advent brings another pregnancy, another baby boy – and another diagnosis to face. Many of you know we are expecting our third son in late January, but most do not know that this entire pregnancy has been fraught with fear and questioning. This summer brought a possible diagnosis of Down Syndrome, then early fall suggested perhaps a hole in the baby’s heart. November brought conclusive evidence of what is truly going on with our son: skeletal dysplasia, more commonly known as dwarfism.

 
Many of you probably have lots of questions, and the truth is, so do we. We won’t know what specific kind our son has until he is born and undergoes a genetic test. But what we do understand at this time is that this is not the result of anything in my genes or Joe’s; rather, it is the result of a rare, spontaneous gene mutation that occurs in early pregnancy. This is the second time Joe and I have had a child whose diagnosis, frankly, scares people or makes them uncomfortable, specifically other parents. As humans, we want reasons for things. We want to know why. And, in cases like Bert’s and our new son’s, people want to know why because they want to be able to point to something that is different about our family to ensure that the same thing won’t happen to their family. But the truth is, Bert’s Cerebral Palsy has no known cause, and this baby’s dwarfism is also not the result of anything we had control over as his parents. 

Trust me, Joe and I have been asking God “Why?” for many weeks, months, and years now. And the truth is, we don’t know, and, on this side of Heaven, we likely never will. It’s hard for us, sometimes, to look around at families who have two, three, four, five, six children who are all able-bodied. (Please know that I am aware that not all disabilities are visible, but I do hope you understand what I’m saying.) I understand that parenting of any kind is hard. Every child is a unique creation who has his or her own challenges, strengths, and issues. Nothing about parenting is easy. But as the parent of two disabled children, I do have to tell you that this is just a little bit harder. It’s physically harder, but perhaps more, it is spiritually, mentally, and emotionally harder. Joe and I don’t feel that we are special parents in any way. We don’t feel any stronger, any more equipped, any more qualified to parent our specific children. My brother Thomas, however, did mention something that I have kept in my heart since he said it, and that is that in our family, God knew that this child would be loved. And that is something I know to be true. Joe and I aren’t wealthy, we aren’t superhuman, we aren’t infinitely patient – but what we absolutely can do for our son is love him, and therefore give him the chance to live. We will carry him, labor him, deliver him, and raise him with all the love that we can. 

I do not know why we have two disabled children. I do not believe that this was the result of God’s plan, but I do believe that God has a plan for my children. (If you don’t understand the difference between those two things, please ask me. I’d be glad to talk about it with you.) He is infinitely good and all good things come from Him. And as we approach the Christmas season, something occurred to me that I've been thinking about constantly. Every Christmas Eve, my family of origin watches the movie A Christmas Carol, the version starring George C. Scott as Scrooge. In that movie, as in the novel, there is a scene in which Scrooge, accompanied by the Ghost of Christmas Present, invisibly watches the Cratchit family on Christmas Day. Bob Cratchit has just returned home from church with Tiny Tim, and Mrs. Cratchit asks Bob how Tim behaved. Bob replies that he behaved very well, and goes on to say: 

“He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant for them to remember, on Christmas, Who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see.”

Although I do not know why this is all happening the way it is, all I can think is that maybe God will use my sons to remind others Who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see. Perhaps people will look at my family and be reminded that everyone – regardless of how they look, regardless of how or if they speak, regardless of their age or health status – is created in the image of God. Perhaps people will look at my children and be reminded Who it was that made lame beggars walk and blind men see – be reminded of Jesus. As a mother, could I ask for more? 

As we begin this Advent season, the phrase that I have been holding on to is “Fiat Mihi”; it’s Latin for “Let it be done in me,” which is what Mary says to the angel Gabriel in Luke’s Gospel after he has told her what God would like her to do. I think about Mary, how she couldn’t have seen the future, not been able to fully see everything that God was asking of her, but how she said yes anyways – “Let it be done in me.” I end all my prayers to God with that same thought. I do not know why God is asking this of me, I certainly cannot see the future and everything that this request will include, but all I can say – with faith – is “Fiat Mihi.” Let it be done in me.

If you could, please pray for our family. Pray for Bert who, with his own disability, has been called to be the fearless leader of this band of brothers. Pray for Hank who by the world’s standards is our “normal” child, but who in this family is the “different” one. If you know Bert and Hank, you know they have always been strangely tall and large. Joe is 6’ tall, and of slight build, and both of our fathers are only about 5’7” or 5’8”, so there really aren’t any big people in our families. But perhaps Bert and Hank were created to be so big because God knew He would call them to be defenders and protectors. Pray for our newest son that he will grow to be strong. And pray for Joe and me, too, as we endeavor to raise these children God has entrusted us with. 

Since Bert was little, we have had a lot of paperwork to fill out, and a question that has come up time and again is what our hope is for him. For a long time, we didn’t know what to say. How does a parent sum up their hope for their child in a line or two? But then we figured it out, and it has been our statement about Bert and then Hank, and now it will be for our new son as well. Our hope for them all is this: We hope that they realize the fullness of who God created them to be and that they recognize their purpose in serving God and other people. 

“Now we see through a glass, darkly. But then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.” – 1 Corinthians 13:12 

“The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” – Job 1:21

“I prayed for this child, and the Lord has given me what I asked of Him. Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.” – 1 Samuel 1:27-28

National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day 2022

Today, March 25, is National Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day.

This is our first National Cerebral Palsy Day. Last year on this day, we were in CP limbo. We had had an initial meeting with the neurologist where he told us he believed Bert had spastic diplegia CP, but we had not yet had the MRI or the confirmation meeting with the neurologist. 

I have started and stopped and deleted and edited this post so many times. 

I thought about sharing facts about CP, thought about sending you to various CP sites if you wanted to learn more, thought about re-sharing Bert's complete story. But none of it felt right to me. 

So all I can say is our beloved son, Bert, has Cerebral Palsy. Because of this, he -- and we -- have faced, and continue to face, a lot of tough times, fear, and uncertainty. But also because of this, our family has had the blessing of meeting so many people we would not have met otherwise. We have had to rely on God more than ever before. We have shared our story with others and have been able to (hopefully) encourage them. Joe and I have found something deep within ourselves that I'm not sure we knew was there before. In many ways, our marriage has been strengthened. And both Bert and Hank will never know a life where they had to be taught that all people are different because that is inherent in our family. 

My brother Alex once said the kindest thing anyone has ever said about Bert: “Undoubtedly, God put Bert here to become a Saint like the rest of us, but I think that he is in a select group of people whose purpose is very close to the heart of Christ and St. Mary. I believe his is more beautiful than a ‘normal’ life in that his life will lead others to sanctity and will place Grace in the way of many.”

Like Mary, I have kept these words and pondered them in my heart. As a mother, I could not ask for a better life for my son. 

We believe Bert was made in the image of the God who loves him even more than we do, which means Bert is perfect, just as he is. 

Happy National CP Day! 

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. 

- Job 1:21 

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has given me what I asked of Him. Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord. 

- 1 Samuel 1:27-28

(If you are interested, I wrote a four-part blog series for the Cerebral Palsy Alliance Research Foundation. It is available to read here.)

Hank is Nine Months Old

Hank Kraft. 

That's my second son, my second child. 

His real name is Henry, but I forget that most of the time. In fact, I've only ever called him Henry once, and that was to tell Father Jack how to baptize him. Truly, only about 1 percent of the time do I actually remember his name is really Henry. 

Today, Hank is 9 months old. 

Nine months is such a milestone; I think because "9 months" is what we consider the length of pregnancy, even though it's really more like 10 months. And, in Hank's case, he wasn't born till after 41 weeks, so he did spend longer than 9 months in my belly. Regardless, 9 months just feels really big. 

When I think about Hank, one feeling overwhelms me: guilt. So much guilt. 

You see, I became pregnant with Hank right as Bert was beginning his physical and occupational therapies for what was then his global development delay. We were learning as much as we could about Bert and his needs, taking him various places, and filling out a lot of paperwork. As fall turned into winter, Bert turned 13, 15, 18 months. Despite physical therapy, Bert was still unable to walk at 18 months, and his pediatrician referred us to a neurologist. As winter turned into spring, we saw the neurologist for Bert, he had an MRI, and we saw the neurologist again. Bert was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. There was research, appointments, and paperwork -- lots of paperwork. 

You forgot I was pregnant, too, didn't you? 

Most people, when pregnant, think about what their child might look like, what his personality may be like. I never, not once, wondered this about Hank. My pregnancy with him was marked by two main thoughts: if Hank would have developmental delays, and possibly even CP, like Bert; and if his cord blood would be a match for Bert. 

And that's it. As much as it pains me to admit it, those were really the only things I ever considered when thinking about Hank. 

Hank was born in summer; he started growing. 

I had decided around Bert's one year birthday to no longer chronicle what my children could "do." I never wanted Bert to think that we were embarrassed by his delays, and I never wanted any child of mine to think we cared more about his accomplishments than who he was. While I still stand behind the thought and emotion behind this (for we put FAR too much emphasis as a society on what people do instead of honoring who people are), what it meant for Hank was a lack of celebration around any sort of milestone. When Hank learned to roll over, learned to sit up, learned to crawl, we cheered him on here at home, and I wrote it all down in his baby book, but there were no family alerts or public pictures or announcements. 

The thing is, behind our smiles for Hank's motor development milestones were two overwhelming thoughts: the first was our preoccupation with what he was doing, how he was doing it, how old he was when he started, and if he could do it again. At first his rolling was only in one direction and over one shoulder, and I cannot tell you how Joe and I agonized over that. After going through what we went through (go through) with Bert, watching Hank's motor development like hawks was our default setting. 

The second thing is more confusing for me, personally, and also more painful to admit: the milestones that Hank met with ease took hours and hours and hours of work for Bert to meet. So, in a way, I almost thought well, all of this came naturally to Hank, and it didn't really take him any sort of work, so how big of an accomplishment is it really? 

I know. I know. 

Hank remains a mystery to me in so many ways. I really don't know who he is. I told Joe a couple nights ago that sometimes it feels like Hank is just an afterthought. Now, please don't mistake that for lack of love for our son or joy in his existence, it's just Hank kind of just ... is. He has put us through a few little trials, but compared with Bert's trials, they haven't been anything really. Additionally, like most subsequent children, Hank gets far less one-on-one time with me than Bert did. Also, Bert talks and can be funny, and Hank doesn't and can't. He's very needy, like all infants, and he mostly just lives his life. He just ... is. 

But today, Hank is 9 months old, and that precious baby is ready to step into the spotlight for a little bit. 

Here's what I do know about Hank: he is incredibly smiley, and he loves to laugh. He loves to be tickled. He drools a lot and has been chewing up all our furniture with his two little bottom front teeth. He crawls incredibly fast; he's like a little race car. He gets into EVERYTHING. The only thing he doesn't do quickly is eat. He is the world's slowest and most distracted eater. It's maddening! He ate pureed food for about a week, then decided never to eat again, and then we figured out he was just over purees. Who knew? He loves yogurt, spitting, and Roomba. He has two main settings. The first is go, go, go. He never, ever sits. The moment you set him down in a sitting position, he dives to the floor and takes off. The second is stage five clinger. He loves him some cuddles, and there are some days I’m fairly certain he’d crawl back in my belly if he could. 

And the biggest thing I know about Hank: he LOVES Bert. 

He loves him so much. 

Hank thinks Bert is the funniest, coolest, most entertaining human being on the planet. He follows him everywhere. Honestly, that's probably why Hank is so fast: he's crawling as fast as he can to keep up with Bert. Hank also enjoys making Bert laugh, and Bert thinks it's hilarious when Hank does things that are silly ("No, Hanky Panky! Blibs [bibs] aren't food!"). Bert also likes egging Hank on to do things he shouldn't. ("Want to play with sweeper, Hanky?") And honestly, that is how it should be with little and big brothers. 

Hank, I am so sorry for my lack of attention to you during my pregnancy and for the lack of celebration over your milestones and the lack of intentional time together. The only thing that alleviates the sorrow and guilt is the knowledge that I gave you the best gift I could have ever given: Bert.

I love you so, so much, and I am so excited to find out a little more every day of who it is that God created you to be. I look forward to seeing all the wonderful things you'll do for God and His people. Happy 9 months, Hanky. 

God Loves Him More

A few months ago, right around the time Hank was due actually, Joe and I had to apply for assistance for Bert through the state. It was something that we were fairly certain we would not receive but that we had to apply for as the first step toward getting Bert some other things he needed. 

"Application" is a small word to use for what this really was: a 60-plus page binder that included information on our finances, Bert's medical history, his therapies, etc. It involved his pediatrician filling out several forms and writing letters, us collecting his various medical records and reports, and me collating everything into a binder and driving it to the correct office. It was one of those situations where we were warned that one tiny detail being off, such as me dating one of my signatures 6/10/21 and Joe dating his signature 6/11/21, would be enough to get rejected.

After a few weeks of filling out forms, driving forms to his pediatrician and then picking them up, and collecting necessary documentation, I finished putting everything into the binder, hole punching all the documents and creating a table of contents. Then there was only one thing left: the cover page to slip into the transparent binder cover. I put Bert's full name on it, and then I went to type in his case number, as instructed. As I sat there looking at that page, it made me sad to see Bert's life reduced to a multi-digit case number. So before I hit print, I did one more thing: I inserted a picture of Bert. 

It was not a perfect photo, not professional or even lit particularly well, but it showed that he is a human being, a little boy who is loved by a lot of people. Bert and I drove his binder to the office a couple of days before it was due and handed it off to the woman who met us there. When I got home, I emailed our caseworker to confirm it had been dropped off, and she said, "I got it. It had Robert's picture on it." Yes, it did. 

Any parent wants his or her child to be truly seen, but I think when your child has a disability and there's far more paperwork and assessments and meetings, you are a little extra scared that your precious baby will be reduced to less than a person. Indeed, it is easy to live in constant fear that Bert will be seen as just another patient, just another case number, just another disabled person in need of help. (In some especially scary cases, as just a burden on the state.) But as I was driving Bert to drop off that binder that day, I realized something: I love my child so much, but God loves him more. 

God loves him more. 

God loves him more, and God desires my son's good more than I do. Of course He does, He made Bert in His own image. 

So now every time I have to fight the hospital to allow both Bert's parents to accompany him to his MRI, when I have to fight the state of Georgia to provide Bert with the services he's entitled to, when I have to fight my own (crippling) fear for Bert's future, especially as he will soon age out of early intervention, I hear God's voice whisper to me: "You love him, but I love him more." 

As Bert Turns Two

Last summer, on the morning of Bert's first birthday party, I sat down with a chalk marker and the birthday sign. You know the one: height, weight, number of teeth, "I love ...", "I can ..." 

Height? Got it. Number of teeth? Counted. "I love ..."? Super simple to fill out. 

But "I can ..." 

It became a lot more complicated. 

Like many parents, I spent the first few months of Bert's life documenting his "accomplishments" monthly. I can laugh. I can roll from back to front. I can blow raspberries. But as Bert got older, "I can ..." got a little harder. Bert couldn't sit up at 8 months. He couldn't crawl at 9 months. (Or 10 or 11.) And when his one year birthday came around, Bert could neither stand nor walk. 

So as I sat in front of that birthday sign last summer, I realized something: no longer would I be charting Bert's monthly "accomplishments." And if I had any more children (turns out I did), I would never begin finishing the "I can ..." line with anything related to something my child could do. Not because I was embarrassed or upset. Absolutely not. It's for a much, much bigger and more important reason: my child is not his accomplishments. 

Whether or not Bert can walk, run, score lots of goals, write his name, get straight As ... none of these things has absolutely anything to do with his dignity as a human person. They have nothing at all to do with who he really is. We love Bert because of who he IS not what he can do. It is wonderful to be proud of your child when he or she accomplishes something, but I never want Bert (or Hank) to think that our love for him or pride in him is dependent on his ability to accomplish certain things. 

So this year, as Bert turns two on Wednesday, I would like you to know that Bert can make strangers smile, make his parents laugh, and show concern for Hank when Hank is upset. He calls popsicles "popikeeps," calls TV "TT," calls Hank "Hink," and calls the Bible "Jesus." He is a bit of a class clown. So many, many things that perhaps cannot be quantified like motor development, but, to his dad and me, are much, much more important. 

Happy second birthday my darling boy. We love you because you're you. 

A Pool Called Bethesda

When Bert was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy back in April, one of the biggest challenges we faced was finding supports in the community. This is a different post for a different day, but it really surprised us that a doctor could tell us our son has CP and we would not immediately be provided with a list of things to do or support groups to join or activities for disabled children. We had to do a lot of work to actively seek these things out, and, indeed, we hit a lot of brick walls when email addresses we were given for groups and activities would come back undeliverable and websites would be defunct. 

One group we learned about was called AngelFish Georgia, which is a swim instruction group for children with disabilities of all kinds. We learned through the website that the instructors are specially trained, and what we read all sounded very promising. I didn't see a summer schedule on the website, so I sent an email to the email address listed, inquiring about the schedule and if there might be a spot for Bert. 

The next morning I happened to be up very early; I can't even remember why. But I woke up to an email response from the director of AngelFish. It sounded almost too good to be true: the director was so welcoming and encouraging, the cost was very low, and the information the director provided was thorough. The director informed me that lessons were held at a pool located in a local park called Bethesda. For the first time since Bert's diagnosis I felt hopeful about a community we could become a part of, but I still felt a little apprehensive since, again, it sounded too good to be true. 

After reading the email, I opened my Bible, hoping to get my day started off right. I opened to the Gospel of John to begin reading where I had left off the day before. The scripture that morning was this:

After this, there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep [Gate] a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be well?" The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me." Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

- John 5:1-9 (New American Bible, Revised Edition read in the Blessed is She Bible) 

A pool called Bethesda ... a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled ... Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." 

I couldn't get through it without crying, just as I can't get through it without crying now. I just knew God had His hand in this, and it was yet another reminder that I might love my son more than anything, but God loves him more. 

Father Jack

Bert says several words that he associates with church: God, “cheech” (church), and Jesus. (I attribute this to divine intervention as well as the fact he was born on the feast day of Saint John Vianney and definitely not to anything Joe and I have done. 😂) Lately, though, when talking about “cheech” he has begun saying another word that sounds like “dack.” Honestly, it sounds like what he says for dog and duck, and I have been struggling to figure out how dogs or ducks fit on a list with God, church, and Jesus.

Until yesterday.

As he was reciting his litany: God, cheech, dack, Jesus, I finally realized … “dack” is “Father Jack” the  outstanding priest at our amazing church, Saint Monica. I love how Bert smiles when he knows we have FINALLY realized what it is he’s been trying to tell us all along: God, church, Father Jack, and Jesus. (In that order, I’ll add!)

The Gift of Slowing Down

Our world puts such an emphasis on speed. We want our question answered NOW, we want our drive-thru coffee NOW, and we better not have to wait more than .001 of a second for that webpage to load.

I am so guilty of this myself. Sometimes it is harmless (although patience is a virtue, and it’s one I need to cultivate), but I’ve recently noticed a GLARING place in my life where me wanting things on my schedule is not harmless; in fact, it is extremely harmful. And that is with Bert.

Bert is a toddler, as well as a developing walker, so needless to say he is not bound by any schedule. This means that when I ask him to walk to the car so we can head to the grocery store/library/church, in my head I mean WALK 👏🏻 TO 👏🏻 THE 👏🏻 CAR 👏🏻, but in Bert’s head this means “Collect two monster trucks, say bye to Jane Austen, say ‘car’ 15 times without actually heading there, get sidetracked by three things in the garage, watch the garage door go up, ask if Owen (his friend) is coming, happen to catch a glance of an airplane flying by ...” You get what I’m saying.

This happens any number of times in any number of situations throughout the day: going to the car, walking up the steps for a nap, heading to the kitchen to eat lunch. Bert is just strolling along living his life, while I am usually looking at the ceiling and whining some version of “BERT PLEASE JUST GOOOOOO.”

I’ve been doing this far longer than I care to admit before finally realizing the other day how bad I’ve gotten. I had to take a hard look at myself and ask myself why I am so bothered by Bert’s dilly-dallying and refusal to follow my time schedule (if you ask me) or enjoying a slow pace of life (if you ask him) — the answer was in the question.

Bert is not over here trying to make us late for the doctor. He is a new little person who is learning about and noticing things in the world for the first time. My responsibility is to leave us enough time to get where we need to go on time. And truthfully, how often do we really HAVE to be somewhere on time? Church, therapy, the doctor, sure, but those things are far less frequent than nap, lunch, or playing outside with a friend.

Bert is laid back, and he likes to say goodbye to Jane, take detours to kiss his trucks good night, and touch a few things in the garage on the way to the car. It’s frequently maddening to me — someone who just wants to GET. THINGS. DONE. NOW. — but for Bert, it’s who he is. It’s not a sign of disrespect, lack of caring, or some other negative thing. It’s him enjoying the wonder of a world that is so new and fun to him.

It is likely that, like the rest of us, he will one day experience the stress and anxiety of a fast-paced world where everything is NOW NOW NOW. But I don’t need to force that upon him at age not-quite-two by pressuring him to walk a little faster to the steps for nap time. Even more so, I don’t need to be the cause of his stress or anxiety because he senses I am upset with him but has no idea why. Instead, it is I who should learn from Bert and slow down a bit, maybe take a look at what is just so necessary about making sure you have a monster truck in each hand before getting into the car.

I think there is a beautiful secret there that he knows and has been trying to tell me. Bert, I’m listening now.

Bert

Our son Robert David has been hearing since the hour he was born about all the things that are “wrong” with him: as a newborn, he had the wrong body temperature, the wrong blood sugar level, the wrong amount of bilirubin in his body, the wrong amount of red blood cells in his blood, and the wrong hearing. As he grew, he learned that he was behind in sitting, crawling, transitioning, clapping, standing, cruising, talking, and walking. 

What we know about Bert is that he excels in areas that are not measured at doctors’ offices or on growth charts. Bert is funny, silly, kind, friendly, loving, and personable. He can signal a touchdown, fake sneeze, blow a kiss, and point out his Pap Pap in a picture. Bert loves to dance, look out an open window, and play outside. 

Bert was recently diagnosed with spastic diplegia, which is a common form of Cerebral Palsy. CP is a physical disability that affects movement. This means that he has increased muscle tone in his legs, making his leg muscles stiff. Consequently, his movements may appear stiff or awkward. Cerebral Palsy is caused by a brain injury. As Bert’s physical therapist has said, his legs contain normal muscles that are receiving an abnormal message. Some children with CP have accompanying issues such as seizures, learning differences, and speech and language difficulties. We don’t yet know if Bert will experience any of those things. In most cases, CP is caused by a brain injury that occurs during pregnancy. We do not know what caused Bert’s CP, and it is likely we will never know. A wonderful thing is that CP is not degenerative, which means although his symptoms might manifest differently in the future, his brain cannot get worse. Another positive thing is that Bert’s neurologist has said that Bert is “bright and happy” and that he is “doing great.” 

Right now, Bert has no idea that he is different. All he knows is that he has “dinosaur shoes” (one foot in an SMO and one in an AFO) that will make him “strong like a dinosaur.” He knows that he and his best friend Asha both have stiff leg muscles and a hard time walking. He knows that he and his best friend Jane Austen move through the world in exactly the same way: with four limbs on the ground. (Although Bert is slowly learning to walk on his two legs!) 

While we don’t know what Cerebral Palsy means for Bert — every child who has CP presents in a different way, and it’s impossible for doctors to predict what life will be like for Bert 5, 10, 15 years from now — we know what it DOESN’T mean. It doesn’t mean that he will never go to Catholic school, play football, get married, or run in the backyard with his dogs. 

As Bert’s family and friends, here is what we need from you:

- Please do not speak about Bert’s future any differently. If you have always talked about Bert playing football for the Mountaineers, going skiing, or being an astronaut, please keep saying those things to him and about him. It’s not fair to limit the dreams of a child, especially one who is not yet two. There are lots of athletes, actors, and artists who have CP. 

- Please do not treat Bert any differently than you would if he didn’t have CP. Bert does not need extra toys or gifts, and he needs to learn manners and be lovingly disciplined. Treating him differently is not fair to him, to us, or, especially, to his not-yet-born baby brother. 

- If you have children or know children around Bert’s age, please start talking to them about children who aren’t the same as they are (if you haven’t already). Bert might not walk or run quite the same as his peers, and it would be great if he were surrounded by friends who didn’t care that he was different. There are a lot of great books for this — we’re still discovering them! —  but one we really like is called Giraffes Can’t Dance by Giles Andreae, which is about a giraffe who walks and dances differently than the other animals. We also like a book sent to Bert by his aunts Erin and Emma that is called The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be by Joanna Gaines.

- Don’t read everything on the internet. Many websites about CP are run by law firms that want to help parents sue their birth hospitals or doctors. If you want more information about Bert’s diagnosis, one good website is the Cerebral Palsy Foundation. 

Please pray for Bert. Of course, we’d love a healing miracle (we’re asking for the intercession of Blessed Fulton Sheen), but more importantly we just want Bert to have the best care and the best life. And pray for us, too. Not only do we need prayers to be the best parents we can be for Bert, but also, as you might imagine, it is a little bit scary to think of going back to the hospital to have another baby boy in a few short weeks. 

Thank you for being there for us, for asking about Bert, and for praying for us. Please don’t ever worry about saying the “right” thing — there really is no right thing. We just need you to truly listen and to care. We don’t need toxic positivity (“Everything will be okay! Don’t worry!”) or comparison statements (“You’re lucky it’s not worse!”). If you are a loved one who has a child or is expecting a child or is planning for a child, please don’t hide your child’s milestones from us. Your child sitting, walking, or talking doesn’t take anything from Bert, and we will celebrate your child’s accomplishments with you. 

We are blessed in so many ways: among many other things, we have wonderful family and friends, we have the knowledge and desire to care for Bert, we have the resources and support to help provide Bert with what he needs, we have wonderful doctors and therapists, Bert has a mother who is a teacher and knows other educators, and we have a close family member (Emma) who has a master’s degree in recreational therapy and knows exactly how to help Bert enjoy regular activities.

Our hope is that Bert’s life will be a testimony to — and a reminder of — the One who made lame men walk. 

We really appreciate all of you. Feel free to ask us any questions that you have.

Love,

Joe and Anna 

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. 

- Job 1:21

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has given me what I asked of Him. 

Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.

- 1 Samuel 1:27-28

June 1

Today is June 1. 

We've all been looking forward to this, haven't we? Or just me?

There's something beautiful about the beginning of a new month, and it seems even more magical when the first is on a Monday. It seems like a double fresh start. And, for me, June 1 means summer (even though I know it technically isn't, not yet) which is the best time of the year. And after the dumpster fire that was March, April, and May, I think we were all hoping that June would bring some sort of peace to our lives. 

But it didn't happen, did it? 

I was hopeful this morning when I woke up, hopeful in the far-fetched, no real reason to be kind of way that I sometimes am. Then Joe read aloud some of the news he was looking at this morning. When he got to the part where there are reports that people in Austin, Texas were laughing as a homeless man's possessions were set on fire, I couldn't hear any more. 

I've recently learned that I'm a highly sensitive person. I mean, I've always known that I am really sensitive, but I've recently learned that being a highly sensitive person is actually a thing. Honestly, it helps me to put a name on it because I feel that the more you can learn about yourself, the better you  become at making choices that help you and your mental health. For me, when I hear about a homeless person's belongings being set on fire and people laughing, or a person being literally murdered in the street because of the color of his skin by a law enforcement officer sworn to serve and protect while other people just watched, or any of the other many, many sad and awful things that seem to happen on a daily basis, I am broken up about it for a while, and it affects my daily ability to live life. When Joe told me what he told me this morning, I literally sat there in bed rolling it over again and again in my mind. A HOMELESS man's belongings were set on fire and people were laughing. A HOMELESS man's belongings were SET ON FIRE and people were laughing. A HOMELESS MAN'S BELONGINGS WERE SET ON FIRE AND PEOPLE WERE LAUGHING. That sentence joined the other ones that are still taking up space in my head: A BLACK MAN WAS LITERALLY MURDERED BY A POLICE OFFICER IN THE STREET WHILE PEOPLE WATCHED. PEOPLE ARE DAMAGING AND STEALING FROM SMALL BUSINESSES THAT ARE OWNED BY LOCAL PEOPLE WHO HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG AND HAVE FAMILIES TO SUPPORT. What happens is, it makes me unable to engage with my baby who is smiling and playing right beside me. So I made I decision I have been thinking about for the past couple of days. 

I am getting off Facebook. 

At first it might not sound like Joe telling me something relates to me staying off Facebook, but the truth is I've spent the past couple of days being disturbed all day long by things I see on Facebook. I don't spend much time on it, truthfully, but as a stay at home mom who is isolated at home with a baby who can't talk all day, sometimes I need to see what the world is up to. And lately it's been dragging me down. Probably not just lately. Forever. Joe is not on Facebook -- or on any social media (except Pinterest, long story, and I know it sounds hilarious!) -- and he is always saying how awesome it is to just live his life. And he's right. On Facebook lately all I've seen are people saying awful things, numerous headlines about violence of all kinds, and people posting statuses like they are experts on literally everything and their opinions are the only ones that matter. I can't even get on my neighborhood's Facebook group any more because there are people on that page who say rude and aggressive things to other neighbors. We're supposed to use that page to talk about the hours of the pool and to check in with each other about safety issues and things like that! 

Please don't take what I'm saying as meaning that I plan to bury my head in the sand and just pretend things aren't happening in the world. That's not true. All it means is that I can control the time and place I choose to read news and take in headlines, which will allow me to be more mentally and emotionally available to my husband, son, other family members, and friends. It also gives me the time and clearer head I need to decide how to take action and find out how I can best help. 

I plan to jump on Facebook to update my Happily Ever Krafter Facebook page with any blog updates, but other than that, I won't be there. The app is already gone from my phone. So if you'd like to engage with me via social media, find me on Instagram (which just seems generally to be a nicer place; maybe I'm wrong) where I might be from time to time, or, better yet, on Litsy, my most favorite app because it's all about books, and Goodreads because I will most likely just be online to read about reading all summer.

***

When I came downstairs this morning, I was overcome with the need for a little pleasant company. Joe was getting ready to leave for work (they were cleared to start working outside the house again on Friday), and I just needed a little light company. We don't usually have the TV on during Bert's awake hours (except on Friday mornings when we let him watch a little Batman), but today I decided to turn on Sesame Street. We have access to the HBO Go app courtesy of my parents' cable package, and you can watch classic Sesame Street on that app. I want Bert to watch a little Sesame Street because first, it's a great show that I've always loved, and two, well, his name is Bert! I watched a lot of Sesame Street growing up, and I remember loving Maria, Gordon, Bob, Linda, Luis, Mr. Hooper and all the characters. 

I turned it on and put Bert in his high chair to eat a few Cheerios while I emptied the dishwasher, made coffee, started laundry, and made Bert's breakfast. At one point I looked up, and this is what I saw:

Do you see what I see in this photo? We have Gordon, Olivia, David, and Susan who are African American; Bob, Linda, and Mr. Hooper who are white; Luis who is Mexican; Maria who is Puerto Rican; Mr. Hooper who is Jewish; and Linda who is deaf. This show that started in the 1970s has always had a beautiful and diverse cast, and it is a beloved show. People are all treated the same on Sesame Street and differences are celebrated and used as opportunities to learn about others' races, religions, and cultures. Sesame Street has been getting it right for decades, but in actual America we are still ... well, you see where we are and what's going on. 

EDIT:

Sesame Street is still on, and Bert and Ernie just finished singing a song that goes, "I don't like everything you like, but I like you." 

***

Yesterday we got to go to mass for the first time since March, and it was wonderful. We love our pastor, Father Jack, and he always knows just what to say. He frequently talks about current issues and sensitive topics, but it is always done in a way that is hopeful and centered on Christ. Yesterday, Pentecost, he made the comment that, "They [the apostles] spoke different languages but understood each other. In our country, we speak the same language, but we don't understand each other." That really struck me as so true and so sad. He also reminded us that God has something to say in every situation, and we have to look and see what He is trying to say to us. Father Jack also said that it is our responsibility to stand up for -- and lay our lives down for -- people that are more vulnerable than we are. He said that Christ did not wait for justice, he was willingly crucified and brought justice because He brought mercy. There can be no justice without mercy. 

*** 

My friend Sarah got me a wonderful daily calendar that features scripture or uplifting sayings on each page. Here's today's:

As always, I appreciate the time you take to read what I write and the kindness you show in allowing me to say it. I hope you have a beautiful week. 

EDIT:

I just saw that I posted this post on June 14, 2016, almost exactly four years ago. It begins with a sentence I could have begun with today. In that post, I also cited another post that I wrote in November 2014. It breaks my heart to read it all over again. 

It Came Just the Same

On Friday we found out that our diocese officially cancelled masses through April 19. While I think we all knew this was coming, I have to admit it was truly a gut punch to hear that we will not be assembling for Mass on Easter Sunday. EASTER SUNDAY. 

I am still trying to wrap my mind around this. Easter is the most holy of days in the church year. Easter Sunday is always so beautiful: looking around church at all the people who maybe haven't come in a while, all the people spending time with their families, all the bright and beautiful colors people are wearing after a long Lent and an even longer winter. Even if you don't go to church, I believe Easter is still -- like many holidays -- a time that you want to spend with your extended family, a happy occasion to look forward to. 

After hearing the news, I sat there for a few minutes, just stewing. Easter is cancelled? EASTER is CANCELLED?! I thought about how I won't be able to celebrate Bert's first Easter in the usual way. About how my sweet sister-in-law Alex won't get to join the Catholic church as she has long been planning. My previously upbeat attitude took a sharp turn downward, and I was just ready to throw in the towel. But all of a sudden, out of nowhere as I was mopping the floor, a line popped into my head:

It came just the same. 

You know this line too. Of course, it's from Dr. Seuss's classic book How the Grinch Stole Christmas. And while that story is about another holiday, the more I thought about it the more I realized that the lesson of that book can absolutely be applied to our situation now. More than "can be" -- MUST. 

Remember all the things the Grinch did to "steal" Christmas from the Whos? He thought if he took all their stockings and their toys and their food that Christmas just wouldn't arrive. He would stop them from joining together and singing praises. But remember how confused and surprised the Grinch was when he realized that nothing he did would ruin the Whos' Christmas? Dr. Seuss writes:

Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,

Was singing without any presents at all!

He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

My friends, will this Easter be weird, painfully weird? Oh yes, it will. But the thing is, even without the egg hunts and the Easter baskets and the picnics and, most importantly, church, Easter will come. Easter cannot be cancelled as I first thought. No amount of social distancing, of illness, of empty grocery stores can stop Easter from coming. Jesus will still be risen, a sign of hope in our hurting world. Like the Whos, we must not focus on what we are losing this Easter, but instead we must focus on what we still have, what we are gaining. 

The virus hadn't stopped Easter from coming! It came!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

Springtime Bert with his bunny best friend, Benedict.

Spring

Bert woke up this morning at 7 a.m. as he usually does. Joe went in to pick him up and change him as I began to prepare to feed him. Although Bert wakes up happy, he usually starts crying pretty soon after when his brain catches up with his stomach and he realizes he's starving. As he does, Bert started crying as Joe was changing his diaper, and I heard Joe say, "Buddy, you don't have to cry. We've never let you down."

And I stopped in my tracks because ... Joe is a father reassuring his child that he doesn't have to cry because he's never let him down. And I immediately thought: this is exactly what God is saying to us right now, too.

I admit that I have been rather calm about all this, until yesterday when news began to come out that said that the virus may be more harmful to children than previously believed, specifically to babies and toddlers. Most of you know that my son was born with several health complications that landed him in the children's hospital for several days, and my mind immediately went to seeing my son suffer once again. I had to actively remind myself that God has taken care of my son before, and I have no reason to believe He won't this time, too: He's never let us down.

One of the strangest things about all of this is the lack of Mass. My grandfather, the oldest member of our family, is almost 90, and he has never seen this in his lifetime. As of yesterday evening, there are NO public masses anywhere in the United States. None. I said to Joe last night: did you ever think that here in the United States of America we wouldn't be able to go to Mass? It's so unthinkable that it's laughable. But here we are.

We were blessed this morning because our wonderful parish priest, Father Jack, said a Mass that was broadcast on Facebook Live. Joe, Bert, and I sat on our kitchen stools participating with Father Jack as we watched him on our laptop. Father Jack said something that really struck me. He said that God is using the situation we are in to give us a glimpse of what hell is like. Hell is total physical isolation from God and others; it's the ultimate social distancing. And don't we all hate this? As Father Jack also said, we are made for community and family and this is our time to look at all the things in our lives that we take for granted and begin to show our gratitude for them.

And it really made me think because according to Sister Lucia, one of the Fatima children, the final battle between God and Satan will be over marriage and the family. I think we could all agree that we are having marriage and family problems in the world right now. How else could God shift our focus back to our families and force us to really spend time with them than through a situation like this?

I realized this morning that it's Spring. SPRING. What a miracle. And here in Georgia it will be 77 degrees and sunny today. After we watched Mass this morning, Joe and I opened all our windows. We took the time to really clean our house -- not just the usual Thursday cleaning, but all the things we never make time for like scrubbing out our windowsills (those things are gross!) and really mopping our floor with Pledge and not just a quick wipe with the Swiffer. I put away our Snow Lodge candle and pulled out the spring-smelling Cactus Blossom candle I bought right before all this happened.

Are we scared? Yes. Well, I am. Joe, as always, is calm. But I look around my house and realize that Joe is home, we are healthy, our house is clean and smells fresh, and there is fresh air and sunshine pouring in the windows. Those are all blessings. We have to continue to find them where we can.

And remember: Buddy, you don't have to cry. I've never let you down.

Bert thought his legs looked especially toned and trim in this outfit, so he wanted to share a picture of himself with you!

Go Home and Love Your Family

You know when people are asked the question, "What do you want most?" and we all make fun of that cliche answer "World peace"? The truth is, I think all of us would absolutely like to see world peace, we just truly have no idea how to go about it. Or, perhaps, we have so many ideas that we can't agree on or implement one to see if it would work.

Well, years ago Mother Teresa (now Saint Teresa of Calcutta) told us all very simply what we needed to do to achieve world peace:

This quotation has been on my mind the past couple of days as we have all been trying our best to navigate the unprecedented situation we find ourselves in. Right now, we are all being forced, more or less, to be at home with our families. Only our families.

I would obviously never wish for this virus to happen. The amount of death, sickness, fear, selfishness, and other negative things that are happening is truly awful. Like many, I especially worry about our children, making sure they have enough food and worrying about the ones with questionable home lives. But the truth is, this is where we find ourselves and any amount of wishing we weren't or placing blame or whatever else isn't going to help anyone right now. I think what we're left to do right now is try to find any good we can in this situation. And here's what I've been thinking about that:

I think most of us would agree that Americans are very "busy" people. I think busy is sometimes worn as a badge of honor for people, like we feel if we are not busy busy busy then we're not doing what we're "supposed" to do. I can be very guilty of this also. When I first became a stay-at-home mother this school year, I found myself "justifying" my day to Joe when he got home from work (even though he didn't ask and didn't care): I would enumerate the list of ways I had contributed to our family that day -- laundry, cleaning, making dinner -- as though taking care of 1-month-old baby, or, heck, just simply being a person in this family, wasn't enough. I had to train myself to think differently, and I'm still working on it. I feel like most people I know are always running around: they don't have time to cook dinner or eat as a family, they don't have time to read or rest, they don't have time to do things just for fun. Do you know anyone like this? But think about what's going on now. We are literally being told -- almost ordered -- to just stay home. We can't go to work or school. We can't go to restaurants or bars. We can't go to the movies or the library (sob!). Kids can't go to afterschool activities or sports. Heck, we can't even walk in the park with our friends unless we stand six feet away from them. The only thing left for us to do is to stay at home. That's it. We have to stay at home with our immediate families.

Maybe we could see this aspect as a blessing? A way to promote world peace, as Mother Teresa said.

Again, I know that there are many people who have incredibly difficult home lives. There are also so many people -- many I know and love -- who are doctors, nurses, paramedics, law enforcement, and people who provide products to these industries and who do not have the luxury of deciding to stay at home. But for those of us who are able to stay at home maybe we could take this opportunity to slow down, reset, and rediscover our love of a simple life at home with our families?

Joe is having to work some right now. He is trying to do as much as he can from home and limit his out-of-home work to smaller places and spaces. But he has been here for breakfast these past few days, and it's been so nice. He usually only eats with us on Saturdays and Sundays, but this week Joe has been able to feed Bert his breakfast. It's been so wonderful for both of them. Joe has been here more often, which means instead of seeing Bert only from 7-8 a.m. and then again from 6-7 p.m. Joe gets to see him during a usual day doing his usual things that Joe hardly ever gets to see. I choose to see this as a blessing to our family.

I spent a couple of days being very upset (I mean actually crying upset) over the selfishness I was reading about online and seeing on the news: all of the hoarding of supplies and not leaving things for others. It was really getting me down, but then I realized that there was nothing I could do about it and that I needed to focus on better things. And when I looked around I realized that I was seeing people donate to food banks, the school cooks and bus drivers in my home county of Cabell, West Virginia, making sure that children have food to eat, people offer to do shopping for the elderly and others at-risk, people sharing their toilet paper and paper towels with others, people calling to check on each other to be sure everyone is okay. Personally, many of my friends have checked in with me to be sure we're all doing okay. Our local friends have called and texted to see if they can get anything for us at the store or add anything to their grocery pick ups for us. Guys, this is amazing. What a wonderful display of community.

I was also telling Joe last night that I have already become more grateful for the things I have previously taken for granted. One thing we're low on is paper towels, so Joe and I literally ask each other in a situation now, "Is this a good use of a paper towel?" I'll admit that I am a HUGE over-user of paper towels, and I am learning now not to be. I am also especially grateful for my Walmart grocery pick up I have been doing every Tuesday at 11 a.m. When I couldn't do it this week, it was hard for me. I miss my schedule and my nice pick up guy! (I'm worried about him and hope he's okay. We see him basically every week!) I am no longer taking for granted that if I want a dozen eggs I can just go to the store and get them. As a first-time stay-at-home mom who previously worked outside the home and was "busy" (see above!) and who now is home with a baby all day, I am definitely not going to take for granted the opportunities I have to get outside the house and see people, now that I can't. Most importantly, I will not be taking for granted going to church, now that that has also been taken from us. (Still cannot believe this. I talked to my grandmother yesterday. She is 86 and my grandfather is almost 90, and neither of them has ever known Mass to be cancelled.)

These are indeed tough times. There are so many unknowns. It's easy to let fear and panic take over, but I really don't think that will get us anywhere. I think we have to remember what Mother Teresa said and go home and love our families. We also have to find the best in ourselves and remember our responsibility to each other.

Joe and I do a nightly devotional, and it always starts with a verse. The following verse was last night's. I was simply floored when I saw it. It is not a verse I am familiar with, but I thought it was so pertinent to what is going on right now.

May God continue to bless you, your family, our nation, and our world. If there's anything I can do to help you, please let me know.

I am Like You I am Like You

I was re-reading my favorite poem last night, and it made me think of someone I love very much, and so I shared it with her.

But then I realized, I love you, too, and maybe you should read this also.

It's called "Come Closer" by Anis Mojgani, and you can read it here. I have also included a video below where the poet is reciting this poem himself.

Guys, I beg you ... listen to these words:

He made you and he was happy
You make the Lord happy

Did you hear that? Did you hear that?

It's all lovely. All of it.

May we all remember that everyone -- no matter how happy they look or seem on the outside, no matter how perfect their life looks to you or if you can't believe they'd have any reason in the world to feel bad -- is hurting. Something is hurting them. You would not believe the amount of people you encounter on a daily basis who are not sure they will be able to make it another day. Truly. We must speak life into each person we meet, always. Guys, we have to. We must. People are the only important things in life. Relationships. The rest of it, it doesn't matter. It just does not matter. Loving people is what matters. It's the only thing that matters.

Whatever is hurting you, please know

I too at times am filled with so much fear, so much fear, but like a hallway must find the strength to walk through it.
Walk through this with me.

I am like you 
I am like you

Walk through this with me
Walk through this with me



Dedicated to you. You know who you are. And I love you. So much.

Have Mercy On Me.

In the early afternoon on Sunday, I found out that my cousin died suddenly. It was quite a shock. Yesterday, Monday, around the same time of day, I found out that our former neighbor/friend who has been battling breast cancer for a while died. Both my cousin and my friend were young, not older than 40.

I received the text about our friend -- from her mother -- when Bert and I were driving to a store. When we arrived at the store I just sat in the parking lot in my car and cried. As I sat, listening to the rain pound down on my windshield and hearing the sounds of my son in the backseat, my first thought (after thinking of my friend's family, of course) was

God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

As I sat there thinking of my friend, the only child of the mother she left behind and herself the mother of a 10-year-old daughter, I recalled the things I have complained about lately:

- The dogs shaking their fur on everything
- My bras not fitting (too big)
- My bras not fitting (too small)
- Having to get up early
- Bert whining
- My new cell phone won't fit on the wireless charger as easily as the old one

God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

I mean really, right? Now, please don't misunderstand me. Something that really bothers me is when people respond to others' suffering or pain by saying things like "You're lucky it wasn't worse" or "There are people who have it worse than you do." Responding like this when someone is sharing his or her heart with you only shuts them down and shames them. In fact, I read an article about this very thing the other day, and I couldn't agree more. Suffering is not a contest of who has it worse. 

But guys, look at my list. I wasn't complaining about things that are of any consequence whatsoever. I am getting ACTUALLY PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY IRRITATED because some of my nursing bras are now too large. (Oh, and I actually have ones that fit fine, I just have more that don't fit, so clearly a valid complaint.)

It seems that there has been so much sadness lately, specifically with untimely deaths. This type of tragedy has hit everyone from celebrities such as Kobe Bryant to a 50-something father at Fatima in West Virginia to my cousin and my friend. After each death, Joe and I would just look at each other and say, "You never know." And you don't. I think many people say this sort of thing after hearing about a tragedy, but I am ashamed to say that I think like that for about 30 minutes and then go back to failing to appreciate my husband, son, etc. because, you know, my bras don't fit and I have one more dirty pan than will fit in the dishwasher.

One very ironic thing in my behavior that I've noticed recently is that I will think back to a period of my life or an event that took place in the past and think, "I wish I would have enjoyed that more at the time" or "I wish I could go back there and experience that again." And I think these things WHILE FAILING TO ENJOY EXACTLY WHERE I AM. My son is over 6 months old now. He wears 9-12 month clothes, has two teeth, eats solid food, and is about to sit up on his own. We just packed away some of his things that have been staples since the beginning (like his Boppy Lounger), and it makes me so sad to see these things go because they have been such a big part of our lives. But do you think I loved looking at Bert on that dang thing every day? No I did not. A lot of the time I was probably just wishing he'd stop crying. Will I ever learn?

Today there are two mothers and two fathers who are grieving the loss of their children. There are two daughters and one son grieving the loss of their parents. If I allow myself to put myself in their places for longer than a moment, I will shut down entirely, as I cannot fathom how they must be feeling.

God, please give me the grace and wisdom that I need to appreciate my life: the big things and the little things, the wonderful things and the petty annoyances. Give me the gratitude I need to enjoy every moment and the understanding I need that it could be taken away at any moment. Open my eyes so that I see myself and others the way that you do. Bolster me with the perseverance to always say and do what is right. Bless my words so that they can be used to lift others up and not bring them pain, embarrassment, or stress. Allow me to feel that each day is a gift from you so that I may live life the way You intended: with joy and peace, loving You and loving all of Your children the way you do. 

"I can see Your heart
Eight billion different ways
Every precious one
A child You died to save
If You gave Your life to love them so will I"
- Hillsong UNITED

"I was held in Your arms
Carried for a thousand miles to show
Not for a moment did You forsake me"
- Meredith Andrews


May Chris's and Mona's souls, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. 

Our Neighbors

I was going to write an update today on the 2020 Reading Challenge (read my January book!), but something has come up, and I feel called to write about it on this blog.

Last year (my first in Georgia), Joe and I lived in a townhouse in Sandy Springs. There were several other townhouses in our community, but we never really go to know anyone except for one family that lived next door.

This family is a three-generation, all-female household that includes Mildred, the grandmother, who is 70; Mona, the daughter, who is a middle school teacher; and Chayce, who is 11, is in the 5th grade, and is a ballerina. Early on in our time living in Sandy Springs, Joe and I were taking Jane and Asha for a walk when Mildred introduced herself to us. In the course of our chat, we found out that Mona is (and has been for several years) suffering from breast cancer. We found out that Mildred, a retired schoolteacher, had come out of retirement, sold her home, and moved all of her things into storage to move in with her daughter and granddaughter to help take care of them since Mona could no longer work.

Over the course of the year we lived next to them, I believe we only saw Mona one time because she can so rarely go outside and is constantly ill. We saw Mildred fairly often, on our way in and out during the day, and also because Joe would occasionally work on Mildred's car. Joe actually saw and talked to her more often, due to working on her car and also my pregnancy which kept me in bed for several weeks last winter. When Joe had to tell Mildred we were moving, it was awful. She cried. Honestly, we cried too because, although we are SO HAPPY to be living where we are now, it's about 45 minutes from Mildred's family (without traffic), and they were awesome neighbors.

We keep in touch with Mildred and her family through texts, and we took Bert to visit them in early December so that they could meet him and Joe could work on Mildred's car. It was wonderful for me because I got to sit and visit with all three women, share Bert with them, and really get to talk to and get to know Mona for the first time. That day, I discovered that Mona had been a middle school teacher before she got ill. I also learned the BIGGEST NEWS EVER which is that Chayce was getting pointe shoes for the first time! (If you are a ballerina, or know a ballerina, you know what a big deal this is!) I was so touched when I saw that they were displaying Bert's birth announcement in their living room along with their family photos.

I'm not clear on all the details, but I know that Mona is about to have a surgery which will require an 8-10 day long hospital stay.

I say all this to say, Mildred's family could really benefit from some financial help. I know that the holidays are recently over, and many of us are recovering financially from buying gifts, travelling to see family, and donating to charities. I also know that there are so very many worthy causes that need our financial help and that so many of you reading this are constantly giving to charities, your church, and your neighbors in need. And may God bless you for it. I am going to post a link to a Go Fund Me page for Mildred and her family. I think what has touched me the most about their request is that they are only asking for exactly the amount they need so that Mildred can be with Mona in the hospital and take care of her at home for one week after: $1,520. Exactly. They are not asking for help with medical bills, groceries, rent, or anything of that nature. (Which I would totally understand if they were asking for those things. I lived where they live, and I know how the landlord is, which is terrible, so I know how much their rent must be.) I know this family, and I know how difficult it must be for Mildred to ask people for their money. She is such a hardworking person, and she continues to work hard to be the sole support for her family. It must be very difficult for her to admit she needs help, and I know she is doing all she can. One thing I try to tell other people -- and remind myself when I can -- is that we have the opportunity to bless other people when we ask for their help. If you allow someone to help you with something, it totally blesses their life because it makes them feel good that they can help you. Amazing. So if you need help, please ask!

If you are reading this, could you pray for this family? Guys, I'm going to just say it: we are scared about Mona. It doesn't look good. But we have faith and trust in God to do what He knows is best.

Go Fund Me link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/mvkg5h-medical?fbclid=IwAR1YSONQK-HYK4VaNwZ-BEL_3wD50lECuIU6C2NtIiWY1flabUmqzDdsZrA

*I just want to be clear that I'm not sharing personal details here that were not already publicly shared on the Go Fund Me page. The only non-public information I have shared is about our personal interactions with our neighbors.