Thursday, January 19, 2017

No Such Thing As Grown Up

In the midst of the waves of emotions ... Crying and laughing and the transition induced ridiculous meltdowns and manic behavior  - I am also realizing that we don't really grow all the way up - like ever. I keep thinking I know how to adult. I keep finding out I am just making it up as I go.

My Mom and Dad are coming today and the build up to their arrival (my inner excitement and nerves) is similar to nervousness and excitement I felt when I was 5 and 12 and 17 and 26 years old.  

Here I am, a 44 year old grandmother and mother of many and I feel nervy and like a kid on Christmas morning while I wait for my Mom and Dad to arrive. I cleaned some globes around the light fixtures  -- we literally DO NOT clean those.  But for Mom and Dad -- the ones in the bathroom they will use are sparkling clean.

Everything has to be perfect and everyone has to be happy. 
We have to have perfect family time together without any problems what-so-ever. 
Haiti must cooperate.
Grandchildren must cooperate too.  
That is what I want.  
No pressure on anybody at all.  
Just don't screw it up. 
Anyone.  




My parents picked Isaac up in Waco, TX last night and had a chance to meet Abner and see Graham and Paige.  They all slept for seven minutes and headed to the airport at 3am. Paige reports that she felt heavy and sad saying goodbye to her Buddy the Elf Helper Brother Friend.  Thankfully the next brother will arrive to cheer her again in just one week.




Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Please Thank-You Bye

"Please Thank you. Bye."  - Graham, Age 2

*    *     * 

Yesterday, after an emotionally charged 6 days back on Haitian soil, I finally snapped.  

It was a bit of a dramatic scene.  I will take the long way around to arrive at the climax (snap) of this story. 

Let us start at the beginning...

I flew away from the Texas crew and the brand new grand baby on January ninth. (He is therapy I tell you - calm, snuggly, and sssoooo delish - If I sat with him in the sunshine forever, I'd not need my counselor ever again.) 

I left my personal agent, the laundry folding, dish washing, and toddler-wrangling, Isaac there to do all the things I would do if I could remain in Texas longer.  

Isaac was trained and ready for the job.  

We had discussed the idea of seeing what needs to be done and saying to your head, "Okay head with eyes, look around at Paige's house - what can I see that needs to be done without anyone telling me to do it."  

It is possible with (some) children to teach them that dishes can be done without your mother and/or father telling you to do them.
Uncle Ike the Toddler Wrangler

I left Austin and landed in Atlanta where my friend Keight greeted me with wine and a corkscrew and put me to bed in a freezing cold room.  The next morning she took me to have Atlanta-famous grits and some bacon.

After breakfast with Keight and a ride in her truly luxurious car, I headed home to Haiti.  (You guys - Some people have more personal belongings and crap in their car than they have in their house. But her house burned down last year so maybe she keeps stuff in the car to keep it safe.)

On these flights I wear a baseball hat. I keep my head down. I try not to talk to anyone because I am INSANE inside myself in these moments of leaving half my heart behind. 

My body language on the airplane must scream obscenities to everyone around me because I am truly just trying to deal with all my feelings. 

Talking to someone about short term missions or what they are going to go do in Haiti or about the lack of infrastructure ("the roads! CAN YOU BELIEVE THE flippin ROADS?!") in Haiti might make my head pop off and roll all the way down the aisle of Delta Flight 685. 

If someone on said Delta flight reads me wrong and kindly and politely asks, "What do you do in Haiti",  I try to come up with a one word response that will put a stop to any potential follow up question.  

"Survive" is a trusty go-to response.  

It is not that I am always such a grouch - it is just that on transition day, I cannot do small talk. Cannot. Will not. 

Here is the deal, when I need to switch gears between the life and family in America and the life and family in Haiti, there almost always tends to be transmission or clutch failure. 

Gear shifting is not smooth on the roads of my life. 

I assume only robots transition without tears and drama, and a robot I am not. 

I arrive home to Port au Prince where Troy knows that if he is not at the airport on time I will probably lose my shit and cry ugly tears.  

Troy takes me immediately to a place where we can decompress and tell each other everything about everything we missed in two weeks of separation.  (In this case that place is the UN base where loud helicopters and airplanes interrupt our conversation every ten minutes, but beggars cannot be choosers in this city and you get what you get.) 

On our way to the UN base I spot a huge rainbow and think, "Oh, look at this, Jesus is reminding me I'm probably gonna be okay."  I ask Troy to get a photo of the rainbow but immediately I know Troy's photo is going to suck, so I pop my head out of the car to get my own rainbow photo. During the perfect capture of the rainbow behind the cement wall with the barbed wire on top, my baseball hat flies off and rolls behind us into traffic.  

Troy, the expert at stupid-Tara-things, pulls over and parks the truck so he can run into traffic to get my baseball hat back.




(You know what ?? - The rainbow behind the wall is sort of perfect imagery for the feelings of transition. There is hope and the promise of peace available - but it is not something you can just reach out a touch - or photograph, as it were. It's there -- but hidden behind walls and wire.) 

When we arrive at the restaurant I tell him about my trip and the people I saw and many things about Isaac, and Paige, and Britt. I tell him about the Tex-Mex I ate. I tell him how the bank sent our debit cards to an address from years ago and how I tried to pay all the medical bills from this summer but stopped short of the goal.  I tell him about the large amount of cash I have on me to pay our rent. He tells me how the kids he was in charge of are doing and who got fired and who threatened to put curses on him and who was amazing and did beautiful work and what appliances are broken at home and what we have on the calendar in the days ahead.

After our official decompress sesh we head home to see the broken appliances and the excited kids.  

No matter how often I go see the big girls and grandsons in Texas, there is always pandemonium and happy kids to greet me upon my return.  I do not tire of this part of the transition. 

Please. Thank you. Bye.



*     *     *



Wednesday (my first day home), Phoebe had her own epic melt down. Too much emotion, too much puberty, too much of too much. It was one of those melt downs where at the end she feels so much better but all the rest of us felt like we'd just been beaten badly by Mike Tyson.  As I unpacked I cried for Phoebe and for me.  

Wednesday night we had a flood in our downstairs bathroom that spilled into the bedroom next to it.

Thursday we had a busy Prenatal day at the Maternity Center. To list all the things and situations in an average Thursday would take many hours of writing and explaining. It is intense every week.  

Thursday night we had a flood in our downstairs bathroom. 

Friday we had a busy birth control day and did ultra sounds and had a birth in the afternoon. 

Friday night Troy got the snake stuck in the walls/plumbing trying to fix the problem. 

Saturday the 13 year old that lives a few house down went into labor.  She knocked on our gate early in the morning. Her story is so painful and unfair and watching her suffer in order to give birth to a baby she did not ask for or feel ready to have was emotionally intense. We prayed non stop asking God to help the baby come  quickly and allow at least the physical pain to be done.  After the birth we cried when she would not look at her baby girl, but we understood.  Healing requires time. 

Saturday night, another baby was born to an older and very prepared Mom. 

Sunday the kids came to work with me for the post-partum shift and we hung out with the three moms and their baby girls. The baby girls were all named and we got to help choose two of the names. 

Isabelle - Sophia - Lelia 






Yesterday, I woke up grieving.  

I hate when I don't get to control the timing of my grief.  How do you WAKE UP sad? Sleep is supposed to heal sadness. So dumb! I felt sad about everything (some things mentioned here - some things not mentioned here). I dropped KJ off at the airport and tried not to melt down yet.  

When I got home a visitor to Haiti was at our house giving the new puppy a haircut. She taught me how to do a better job with the Chestnut and Walnut grooming. I needed the coaching.

Troy informed me the "plumber" (this term is very loosely applied) had arrived and that the bathroom tile would need be smashed up in order to find the problem and fix the flooding and plumbing issue.  

After the haircut was finished and it was just our family at home, I had an epic meltdown about the tile in the bathroom.  

It was as if all the other things were small, but having the bathroom smashed up was the biggest deal in the whole damn universe.  "I wanted it to be nice when my parents got here" - "I have been redoing that bathroom and it finally looked really cute" - "I put a freakin chandelier in the bathroom that now has smashed walls" - "The world is ending!!!" THE SKY IS FALLING. This will never be okay.

Troy just sits quietly and watches me, as if making a move or saying anything might cause an earthquake or some other natural disaster. 


lighting to accompany smashed walls


this is BEFORE the actual smashing started

In the afternoon after I had finished giving a tour and checking in at the Maternity Center, I decided that I needed to take control of my life.  I do this by moving furniture around.  It heals me.  

Noah and I rearranged the family room together and took charge of our lives.  Doing something to control something that will actually allow me to control it is my therapy.  My living room looks perfect right now.  

The over-reaction and tears have passed for the time being. 

My parents will come in to visit on Thursday and they will still notice that I have a lovely light fixture in the torn up bathroom and everyone will keep inhaling and exhaling and life will in fact - go on.  There are real problems and the bathroom doesn't even make the list.   Down the street from here a 13 year old is trying to bond to a baby that is the product of an assault. She needs to head back to school soon after missing the first half of this school year.

Sigh.

I cannot wrap that ending up nicely.  

Please. Thank you. Bye.


*     *      *

Long before we had drop down menus and computer prompts, we had Mom prompts. Whomever designed the prompt systems on websites and apps must have had a Mom. 

Their experience with Mom taught them how to be intuitive and predict the next prompt needed.

I just spent two weeks in Texas listening in on Paige as she provided the ORIGINAL prompts to her two year old son.

"What do you say, Graham? What do you say?" 

She must say it thirty-million times per day.

Typically she wants to prompt him for a 'please' or a needed 'sorry' or maybe even a thank-you.

One day she said, "What do you say, Graham??!!"- in a bit of a commanding and irritated Mom voice.

Graham looked her in the eye and said as fast as he could, 
"PLEASE -THANK-YOU - BYE!" - He ran off to play.




Wednesday, January 4, 2017

The Arrival of Abner Emmanuel


As with pretty much ALL the THINGS, there is disagreement and debate about women choosing to give birth at home. I am trying to think of something we all agree on and I have been sitting her for four days and have come up with nothing so it feels like it is time to stop trying. 

To quote the American Congress of Obstetrics and Gynecology -  'The relative risk versus benefit of a planned home birth, however, remains the subject of debate.' 

It does.

There are those that are highly opposed to any and all home birth and there are those that think if criteria is met, home birth is a truly safe and lovely thing. Some people think hospitals are for sick folks and healthy women don’t need to give birth in a hospital. I actually fall in the middle of those schools of thought so with this post I can likely tick off either of the far ends of the spectrum. 

When you can make all of the people mad at once, that’s good times. 

I’m sharing for the sake of sharing, not in order to convince anyone of anything. This is a personal choice and I think each individual has the right to choose wisely.  I'm not making a judgment about hospital birth or any other non-home-birth option. 

The goal of labor and delivery is a living mom and living baby. Well, at least that is our goal at Heartline Maternity Center in Port au Prince. It is also my personal goal at any birth I am invited to attend.  As trained and experienced midwives working in a high risk country, we get very very good at knowing the signs and indications for a hospital birth. 

Some people really should never ever consider home birth.  Other women could have a baby all alone in the Alaska wilderness without a single medical tool or human being around and use their teeth to cut the cord and a strand of their own hair to clamp it and do just fine. 

There are enough angry polarized arguments on the interwebs, let us not add to that noise. If you feel you MUST send your horror story or your oh-my-gosh-awesome, please know that I live in grey area. I cannot go black or white with you on this, or most things. I will simply say, I would never participate in something that was not well planned and prayed out, nor would I do so without a transport/emergency option. I think Paige made the right choice for her and I was giddy to help support her decision.

I approached a few folks in the Maternal Health field to run it by them that I was considering being Paige’s primary midwife at a home birth. It was risky, in that putting myself in a position to need to make emergency decisions for a family member and remain objective can be (and is) difficult. Had any of my trusted co-midwives or OB friends told me that they thought I was unwise to agree to a home birth for Paige, I would have reconsidered. 

With all those caveats, I bring you the beautiful SHORT story of the birth of Abner Emmanuel.  His mother also delivered Graham in October 2014. You can read about that utter chaos at this link.

Paige decided for several very respectable and valid reasons that she wanted a home birth with her second pregnancy.  Paige has zero risk factors and is the perfect candidate to consider a home-birth. She and I talked and prayed about it for a couple months. We made back up plans (I was not going to be in TX until late in her 39th week so she needed to have a plan). We found our midwife friend, Betsy, to ask if she could attend too if the baby waited until I could get to Texas.  

In the room at the time of Abner’s entrance into the world was his mom (her role was fairly crucial), his dad, his aunt Britt, his grandma (me), his uncle Isaac, and Midwife Betsy.  Isaac stayed off in the corner and got some photos. His words, "That is something I will never forget (literally)."  When I asked him what he thought about it all he said, "Well, the placenta was very red and blue." 

If at this point you’re thinking, “These people are strange”, that is okay.  We know it is not typical for a 15 year old boy to see his sister give birth. We are not so much aiming for typical.  I figure we were all born and birth is an everyday event and there is no reason to make it a scary or taboo thing. 

Paige is a cervical ninja warrior.  I don’t even understand her way of being female human.  It is astounding.  Her first birth was a wonder. Her second birth just the same. I did not give birth this way.  I know very few people that do. 

She basically started the game at 4cm on December 27th with zero pain and made it to 7cm over a 30 hour period of very little pain.  She went for long walks, she took care of Graham and her house, she did lunges and drank a Castor Oil smoothie, she slept when she wanted.  

On the 28th of December she started having a pattern of not too painful contractions at about 4pm.  We decided to call the other midwife to head to Waco and we played Monopoly and found ways to distract Paige.  Graham left to go to a play date for a few hours. Paige finished up a three mile walk and decided she would go lie down around midnight at the end of December 28th.  

At 1:45am I was in her room checking the little man's heart-tones and woke her up while doing it.  She got up and asked if we could check to see if her power nap had gained her another centimeter.  At 2am she was 7cm, totally effaced, and baby had moved down quite a bit. She had been sleeping soundly for an hour and thirty minutes but once she woke up it was go-time.  At 2:20 she was vomiting. At 2:25 she was yelling at us that she changed her mind and was not interested in having the baby after-all.  

At 2:30 I had to switch from empathetic Mom to bossy midwife when Betsy said "I see the bag" - We moved her (told her she did not have a choice) from the bathroom to her bed and the moment she laid down she said, "I can't this hurts too much to be like this". In the same 30 seconds Abner's head emerged, at that time his amniotic sac tore a bit right at his neck, while still covering his face. All of that happened without much of a push on Paige's part.  That is the part that I find utterly confounding. Oh, Hi, no pushing, here, have a head. In less than one minute another contraction and one push from Paige and we all joyously officially welcomed Abner to the world at 2:35am on December 29th. 

After Abner was dried off and handed up to Paige she said, "Well that did not even hurt that bad."  I think she said that before he was two minutes old. 

For his first hour of life he stayed on his Mom and began to nurse. Michael and Paige announced his name for the first time after his arrival. 

Abner Emmanuel Gonzales was born early in the hours of December 29, weighing 8 pounds 13 ounces, he was 20.5" long. 

Once the adrenaline high wore off a bit, Paige and Michael and Isaac caught a nap while Britt and I went to get pancakes and Betsy headed home.  When Graham woke up he found this other small human being in his house and he is working hard at making sense of how life has forever changed.

The births and adoptions of my own children are key memories and moments of my life. The specific and sharp memories that surround each special day are a part of our family story and a part of me. Not surprisingly, the joy of assisting with the birth of these grand-babies ranks right there at the top, with the other sacred events. I cannot believe how special and holy it was. 

I am so grateful. 
Thank you God for another healthy baby boy. 








 "There days and deliveries where I couldn't believe it either! Birth was and will always be the most commonplace of miracles. An event at once familiar and phenomenal, timeless and immediate, briefly making angels of us all."

Jenny, Call the Midwife


Friday, December 23, 2016

Isaac's Update

my sisters and their babies
Texas Trip:

As you may or may not have heard, I am leaving for Texas on December 26th with my Mom. I was told about this trip just the 16th of Decmember, so it was a big surprise. My biggest job for when I arrive will be taking car of my vigorous nephew, Graham.

Anyway, when we fly into Austin my brother in law, Michael, will be there to pick my mom and I up from the airport. We will not be staying at Paige's house at first. We are staying at an AirBnB place that some friends of friends are letting us use to give Paige and Michael some space without company since Michael is not home very much right now and he heads back to work on January 2nd. By this time, Paige will have had her new born baby boy. For the next seven days Mom will be with me helping me take care of things with Graham and the dogs while Paige is very busy with the baby. On the ninth of January my Mom is going to head back to Haiti. A lot of what we did together to help Paige out will be shifted over to me since Paige will be profoundly engrossed to taking care of her new baby. So I'll be hanging out with Graham and taking him to the park and on walks and playing with him. I'll also be in charge of things around the house, like doing the dishes and cleaning and folding some laundry and whatever else Paige says she needs help with.

Over all I am psyched for this trip it will be awesome.

But wait, it doesn't end there.

On January 19th I will fly home to Haiti with my Grandpa and Grandma Porter. A few days later we will start back to school.  I am thankful for the few days I have between the day I get back and the day I start school. It will be good to be with my Grandparents in Haiti. Noah will be leaving with my Grandparents to go to Texas to help Paige out and take a turn too.  It is very fun that we are able to help our sister.

By late February we will be all done with traveling to Texas and we will all be home.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

O Holy Night

beautiful-christmas-holiday
Every direction you turn, images of Christmas..You need not look far to find beautiful and thoughtful displays, tastefully decorated homes with glowing trees, and rows and rows of symmetrical twinkling lights. Step into one of these homes and the warm fire will greet you as you breathe in fresh scents of pine and cinnamon. It is beautiful and clean and so.very.pristine. 
Looking upon these exquisite arrangements one senses order and peace.
O Holy Night

I’m reflecting on the untidy disorder and chaos in the lives of so many celebrating Christmas around the world this year. They experience vastly different surroundings and a much more simplified version of the annual celebration of the Christ child. 

It looks nothing like the photos in the magazines and has not even the tiniest hint of Martha Stewart. There are no smells of fresh-baked cookies or hot apple cider to entice them. They don’t string lights around a tree, pile colorfully wrapped gifts high, or build gingerbread houses; yet meek and mild – they celebrate.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining,’Til He appear’d and the soul felt its worth

How did our celebration of this day become so clean and crisp and utterly tidy? Where are the smells and  sweat and tears that were most certainly a part of Mary and Joseph’s journey?
It begs the question:  Do ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ scenes with sparkling lights and gorgeous perfectly placed decorations reflect the Christmas story best? Are the experiences of a frightened and ashamed teenage mother-to-be anything like that?

Do the marginalized and suffering in our world experience Christmas more like Mary and Joseph did – or do we?
A thrill of hope – the weary world rejoices

I’m reflecting on these two extremes.  I LOVE the exquisitely ordered and the beautifully arranged. 
While yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
I long for a day when disparity and injustice ends. I dream of a Christmas were no child is enslaved, abused, and sold. Where no refugee is left to sleep another night without clothing and food or a place to lie down. I pray for the glorious morn, where the oppressed are free. I long to wake up to learn that no child is suffering or slowly starving to death. I dream of a day when people from every continent and every nation can freely celebrate Jesus and His birth surrounded by love, joy, dancing, singing and immeasurable peace and beauty and justice.

Truly He taught us to love one another; His law is love and His gospel is peace

Truthfully I also find great inspiration in the simple, dingy, gritty, humble celebrations of those who struggle and toil without access to our unstained images of Christmas. I long for their stripped down total dependence on God. I pray for spiritual wealth like that of the materially poor. I want their depth. I want their undying hope. I want a Christmas less like Oprah’s or the magazines and more like theirs.

Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother; And in His name all oppression shall cease

Our youngest daughter Lydia has been struggling with choices. When offered a choice of two things she’ll often reply, “I want two ones.”  When she says that, she means I want them both.

As I soak in Christmas this year I find myself wanting two ones.  I want the perfect looking, delicious smelling, pain-free and unpolluted Christmas and I want the dirty, stinky, humble, difficult, but miraculous Christmas that Mary and Joseph and the rich in faith experience.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we, Let all within us praise His holy name

While I attempt to reconcile two very different Christmases, the celebrations only make sense to me in the context of good overcoming evil. God coming to earth in the form of a baby, to live a sinless life, to clear our debts for us, to teach us how to love one another … In His resurrection the promise that one day there will be beauty and justice for all.

The end of death. 

The end of suffering.
O Holy Night

(originally written December 2010 - republished at A Life Overseas)

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

I See You

I was in a fluffy white robe sipping high-end-fancy-people flavored coffee and looking out over a beautifully decorated and manicured neighborhood in Dallas when Beth M. and KJ texted and said, "There is a dead man in the street in front of the house, he stole something and was stoned  by a crowd of people right outside earlier this morning. The body is just lying there in the street."  

They went on to tell me that they would guard our kids from seeing him and take a long back road to avoid driving right past his body.

In Haiti, crime increases around Christmas. 
Every year it is the same. 
Reports of theft and mayhem rise as the 25th of December approaches.

Perhaps it is the encouragement of active waiting at Advent, but December always feels more difficult.  We are following the directive and actively waiting and purposefully hoping and it seems to magnify the brokenness all around us. 

A man is stoned to death, a pregnant 20 year old with HIV is homeless and hungry and crying in front of us, a 13 year old across the street is due to deliver a baby in a few weeks, a devastated mother who has already lost one child goes into premature labor with her second pregnancy, a large portion of the country sleeps without a roof two and a half months after a hurricane wipes out their homes. 

Existential anguish is not strong enough a descriptor. It doesn't begin to cover the confusion of the season.  The disorder of our world and the incongruity of drinking a $5 beverage while someone is stoned to death for a petty theft of approximately the value of my cup of coffee is more than impossible to reconcile.

Yesterday we (we, the Maternity Center) drove yet another emergency situation the 35 miles over the mountains because in Port au Prince we must ignore 6 hospitals that are closer in order to arrive at a hospital that gives consistent and kind quality care.  Without advocates, most folks don't get the care they need and don't arrive at the hospital far far outside the city.

Bryan A. Stevenson is an American lawyer, social justice activist, founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, and the author of Just Mercy.   Bryan says the broken, materially poor, and marginalized desperately need us to see them and to be hopeful. He says there is a need for us to choose to be in their hopeless places and situations and be a witness.

I wonder if he is right.  I wonder if bearing witness and fighting against hopelessness is of value. Is it acceptable to fake hope until it actually comes again? It must be. 

In South Africa, there is reportedly a Zulu greeting where upon greeting one says,


"I see you."

When you want someone to know you have taken the time to notice them, that you honor their position, presence, and uniqueness in this world ... And you even celebrate it, you say, "I see you."

Jan Richardson says, "This seeing, this recognition, is the stuff that joy is made of. And heartbreak, too, for seeing comes with a cost. But that place of seeing -- that place where we know, where we refuse to be content with appearances, where we resist the impulse to take things for granted: this is where God lives, and where Christ is born anew.



~           ~~          ~           ~~          ~



To those of you that read the stories and keep up with the work of Heartline Ministries  (sometimes filled with hope, other times filled with lament and pain)  - we understand that you see Haiti, that you see Heartline, that you see  -- and your seeing and giving and praying is what sustains the work and propels it forward.  

This update was from Troy yesterday ... 


Monday at Heartline: 
Nadia transported to hospital for pre-term labor, a beautiful baby girl born to Jolina at the Maternity Center, Discipleship class men leading a worship service, sewing and cooking classes overflowing into the yard at the Womens Education Center, thousands of pieces of bread made by the Beltis Bakery, and Mirana picked up from the hospital for continued care at the MC after her C-Section. 

All of this made possible by your love, prayers, and participation in this Kingdom work in Haiti. Thank you...it is a joy to behold and participate.

We are at 60% of our year-end giving goal to sustain this work in 2017, and generous donors have offered to match your gifts through the end of the year!

Please consider joining and supporting the Heartline Family with a gift and double your impact in Haiti.


www.heartlineministries.org/give 

Monday, December 19, 2016

let us find our rest in thee




Come, Thou long expected Jesus 
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us, 
Let us find our rest in Thee. 
Israel’s Strength and Consolation, 
Hope of all the earth Thou art; 
Dear Desire of every nation, 
Joy of every longing heart. 
Born Thy people to deliver, 
Born a child and yet a King, 
Born to reign in us forever, 
Now Thy gracious kingdom bring. 
By Thine own eternal Spirit Rule in all our hearts alone; 
By Thine all sufficient merit, 
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

December Anxiety Report - Part I

The tree lights are on, several candles are lit. The city power just came back on, meaning automatic and instantaneous joy - BECAUSE - Electricity is life, people! The kids have all gone to pizza with Troy.

Because my head is filled with so.much.snot and aching - and - the last four days 100% kicked my butt, I opted out of pizza or socializing.   I am supposedly attempting to "process" and "integrate" the insanity of the last week. I am attempting "quiet" and "solitude".

I am alone on the front porch with the next door neighbor's music blaring,  in Kreyol the singer says, "This country is sick, Haiti, what is going on? Haiti, Haiti how do you feel?" - That along with Sarah Mclachlan singing "Silent Night, Holy Night, all is calm, all is bright",  on the speaker next to me...  It's really quite something.  Appropriate incongruity. You should be here to experience it with me.

I got back from a 9 day trip to Texas on Tuesday. I arrived in Haiti with a GoldenDoodle puppy and I am VERY famous with my kids and well loved because of it.

I shared this on Instagram  - but the short version if you missed it is this: After Peanut died I was sad and acting like a weirdo and I started begging Troy to get another little dog.  (Big dogs are SO SO expensive to feed  - even when weird and emotional, I am frugal.)  Troy thought I was emotional and dumb (because true) and he said no to another little Chestnut type dog.  (Our 6 pound ShihTzu is Chestnut.)  Troy said he liked Golden Retrievers or  medium dogs.  I quickly wrote my friend in Missouri about her GoldenDoodle to ask about the breeder she used and in like six minutes she was informing us that she was going to buy us a GoldenDoodle.  She took care of our new puppy for us for two weeks and I flew from Austin to St.Louis and picked up our new dog on the first day I was back in the USA. It was a lot of crazy making and fun.  People in airports love Goldendoodles. He was very popular. One lady took a selfie with him.

My trip to TX had been booked months and months ago when Britt told me she would be due to have a baby and ALSO be graduating from UT Southwestern - all at the same time in early December.  

Britt and Chris lost that first baby in May.  It was rough.  Mercifully a lot of grief and pain turned into joy in July when they learned they were pregnant again.

I decided not to cancel my trip because I wanted to see her tummy and I wanted to see her graduate after so SO much hard work. (She is a PA-C now!)

While in TX I managed to get my CPR and NRP stuff updated (required for Midwifery licensing) and it was a trip filled with much joy.  The new puppy, the graduation, the time with my family and with Britt's Dad's family was all so wonderful.  Troy came  to TX for three nights. We got to see Graham and Paige too.  It was so beautiful and encouraging and fun.

The dog needed paperwork to be able to fly to Haiti. (Or SO THE PEOPLE SAID.) Britt and I pretended to be totally fluent in French  -- and pulled it off  -- at the Vet office. We were laughing our buns off at the rules and just decided that we would prefer to claim French fluency over paying someone to translate the dog paperwork.  We were given the Vet Office computer and some time and we translated a French document into English like total b.s.ing bosses.

Stupid and totally predictable thing????  No human person ever ever ever ever asked to see any of the paperwork we paid for to "legally" import the dang dog.  Not JetBlue - not anyone in Haiti. Flushing money down the toilet is our new hobby.

After we left Texas Britt got in a car accident.  That is something my pregnant daughter girls seem to do.  It's a thing I guess.  Thankfully she and baby boy are okay.

Paige is super duper pregnant.  She needs to wait to deliver until December 22 if she wants Michael there and December 27 if she wants me (Tara) there.  I have high high high anxiety over the thought of missing this event, but it is pretty likely I will, in fact, miss the event.  If it seems appropriate, I will film the nervous break-down when it happens.

I have a billion more things to write that are spinning in my head. It needs to wait until my spaz level calms a bit.

Tomorrow is our Maternity Center Staff Christmas party.  It is so so much fun every year and while I tend to be annoyed at the long Christmas parties we have for the ladies in the programs, I truly LOVE the staff Christmas party.  More when sanity levels allow.


Three nuts and their five humans.






Friday, December 16, 2016

Hear the Angels Sing

I don't even need to wonder. I know that lots and lots of us need this word this Advent Season.  

It seems to me that many are at a dark intersection... Like most of the entire planet.

Enjoy our annual posting of Hear the Angels Sing ...


By Rick Porter (Uncle Rick)


Perhaps it’s just the Ebenezer Scrooge in me, but I’m not much of a caroler. When pressed into participation I sing, but rarely with the gusto of those around me. And too often I sing in a rote way, not giving full attention to the words. There is however, one line of one verse of one carol that always captures my attention.

A story is told of a man seasonally employed to bring the presence of Santa to Christmas gatherings for businesses and schools. He was on his way to a gig, an office party, but had been asked to stop by the nursing home to make a quick visit to the residents. This was pro bono work, but if Santa won’t do it who will?

He quickly made his rounds with a “ho, ho, ho” to each room. Just before departing, he peeked into a darkened cubicle where an elderly man lay apparently asleep, curled on his bony side. Santa prepared to leave in a flash. But the man made a feeble beckoning gesture visible in the dim light of a tiny Christmas tree. The volunteer Santa approached. The man whispered something so faintly as to be inaudible. Santa moved his jolly old ear very close to the man’s dry mouth. “Forms are bending low,” the man said. Santa did not connect the phrase, assumed confusion, gave a patronizing pat, and hurried off to his paying job.

As he arrived at the office party, holiday music was filling the room. The words of an old carol floated from the ceiling speakers:

O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.

The song was “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear” written as a poem in 1849 and put to music 10 years later. The essence of the song is that angels did not just appear and sing at the birth of Christ. They show up and serenade regularly and often. 

Just when we are so burdened as to not hear, at the most difficult of times, when life’s loads crush and our forms bend, they minister most. Immanuel, meaning “God-with-us,” attends us as His invisible person, the Holy Spirit, and He is attended by angels. The heart of God is to meet us at life’s darkest intersections with comfort, encouragement, a touch of heaven, and a breath of hope. The old man in the nursing home wasn’t just complaining to Santa about his lot in life. He was acknowledging that in Santa’s visit, no matter how hurried, there was an angelic grace.

Whether or not you sing the carols this year, be encouraged to live the carols. For you, this season may not be one of happiness, good memories, or togetherness. You may be grieving, regretful, or lonely. Life’s road seems crushing and your form is bending low. That does not disqualify you from the true Christmas message. While others scurry in apparent happiness, the invitation to the crushed and the bent still stands:

Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.