Dear Daughters: Fall

Lady loves,

It seems like time is running on exponentially quicker by the day.
We're now in November, 2013 is almost over. The next few months will be slightly cooler here, dictated only by a series of cool/cold fronts. Winters are much more mild on the coast.
It seems like God isn't moving slowly with our family. He is moving us swiftly through each transition in our lives. Your daddy got injured at work on his birthday and we were left totally vulnerable. God showed off in a big way getting our bills, groceries and rent paid for when we were completely unable to. How wonderful is it that HE IS ABLE when often, we are not. Don't ever forget that He has been your everything since you were in my belly. He always shows up.
Because of this injury, a new job opened up for daddy at a different company. The hours are long for now, leaving me a bit lonely, and you a bit pent up, but it is temporary. We've had to re-examine our priorities to make this time that is challenging, demanding, and sometimes monotonous, filled with just a little more peace and grace.


Lily,

You are losing the last bit of your baby chub, revealing a young lady that is maturing within you. You are incurably curious, generous, and your budding sense of humor leaves us all rolling. Becoming your school teacher challenges me daily. Watching your eagerness to learn combined with your lack of discipline gives me deeper insight to the Lord's patience with me. You are the best of helpers, when you want to be. You are developing your own taste in what is beautiful and womanly. You bring an innocence and silliness to the groups you play with. I hear you tell your friends about Jesus and my heart explodes with Joy. I am praying for a best friend for you. A loyal, sweet, Jesus claimed girl that will bring you laughter and creative conversations to nurture your growing soul.


Norah,

My sweet girl. Daily I am reminding myself not to define you by your condition or your attitude. Your reactions are intensifying, leaving my mind to constantly worry about what I can "do" for you. You test my faith and show me how often I doubt the ability of Our Father. You give me the courage to pray deeper, more extravagantly than ever before. You are petite, still have the chubbiest fingers and the most adorable pot belly. Your hair is thinning in some places, but it is getting long enough for me to play with when you sit still long enough. You are a spit-fire. You have sass and humor for days. You are enjoying your new role as big sister and getting to know who Lily and Phoebe are in your world. You are learning fast at your sister's side. You are developing a love for food and cooking. I am praying that you know contentment so deeply that you can show me. I am praying for a diagnosis and cure for your ailment.

Phoebe,

I have yet to meet a single human that greets you with anything less than a smile. You spread joy with your chunkalicious rolls and contagious smile. You are my shy girl, you bury your head in my chest with the sweetest smile anytime you meet someone new. You have rounded out our family in such a way that makes us feel a wholeness we didn't know was missing. You exhaust me to no end, but are my breath of fresh air whenever I need it. You are scooting and army crawling around our apartment and are sure to be full on crawling any minute. You have two adorable chompers. You are tiny and I am not wistful for you to grow up in any way.


We have six more months before we have to move out of this apartment. I spend my evenings before I go to bed praying about what that looks like. Moving into another apartment? Finding a home where we can stretch our legs and play in a yard? I know what I want, what I covet, but I am breathing in the Truth that God has something perfect for us. Your daddy and I know this is a time of rebuilding for our family. To bring us to know each other more intimately before He sends us out again. This fall is a time of closeness, and as much as my flesh wants to push you away at times to live selfishly, I will draw your closer to me, to Jesus.

All my love,
Mama

They Do Not Even Know How To Blush

We've all been there, ladies.
Hangin out with your lady friends, trying out clothes at the mall or in someone's living room at a clothing swap, or bathing in our pantaloons near a wild riverside... No, slap out of it, that never happens in real life, weirdo... Anyway there's that one girl with the rockin' bod- long legs, big butt (but not too big) teeny tiny waist, big boobs, appropriately trendy hair- and all the other lady friends are silently hating her (or not silently, if you're into verbally abusive friendships) while she tries on that one pair of jeans that seem to not fit anyone "just right". Except her.
A friend recently recounted one of these scenarios to me at a loss for words. Her friends urged her to try on a crop top. There is little to no evidence that she's grown several giant babies in her Barbie tight tummy so her friends NEEDED to see what this non-complete piece of clothing is "supposed to look like." Since she and everyone else there was saved, she offered up "I'm way too modest to wear something like" to which all of her friends- whom she had prayed with, walked through engagements and marriages with, had pledged to raise up chaste children with- stood in protest. "Noooooo, you are so hot!", "If I had YOUR body..." She just rolled her eyes, threw the shirt back on the "Ain't nobody got time for that" rack and changed the subject.
No one wants to be the wet blanket and kill the Girls Night Out Buzz (except for me, apparently. don't invite me to fun things, your other friends will hate you. I'll probably bring up how the sushi you ordered isn't sustainable, or how slave children mined for your engagement ring diamond. no like, YOURS specifically) so she kept her thoughts to herself, but what she couldn't help but think "What if you DID have my body? Then what? You'd show it off?" Her friends, who know and love Jesus, momentarily let their guard down and mistook modesty for self-hate.
See, we've tricked ourselves into thinking that the calling to not bring attention to our bodies (1 Thess 4:6) brings devastation on our beauty. We've flipped "modesty" on it's head and rather than using it to honor ourselves, we've assigned meekness and unworth to it. We have even over-corrected the attitude of "girls, dress yourselves not like hoes to protect our defenseless men" (wrong) to "men, don't be dawgs, ladies be dressin like hoes if we want, quit yo starin!" (still wrong) instead of embracing the empowerment of handling our beauty in a Godly manner, which produces a righteous shame.
And it's hard to do so, REALLY! I've got bewbs for days. Like, if breasts were a trade-able commodity, I could run a co-op out of my shirt. And according to society, this is what er'ybody wants (men and women) and I need not be ashamed of my "curvy" goods but WORK. IT. OUT. But ladies, in the world of deep v tees, shorts that require underwear that is thinner than most of my favorite pasta types so they don't hang out, and skirts that my toddlers could wear as a headband, we've just got to say no. Let's remember that the Kingdom's riches are far more satisfying than any sideways, stolen gawks- wanted or otherwise. To be "shameful" as Jeremiah pointed out (Jer 6:13-15) is to still have the ability to blush at sinful behavior. To be able to recognize and weep for sin, and that is BEAUTIFUL!

(I'm currently working on a series in my head, "Modesty Matters". If you'd like to pray for my heart as I write this, I would greatly appreciate it.
Be back soon with lots of info about more changes in the Burke home)

"Don't Stand So Close To Me"

I recently asked a young lady to please respect me, my girls, and my husband by wearing more conservative clothes when she is around us. Her response- "He's happily married, isn't he?"
I was floored. All she was saying is if that he wasn't happily married, she was there to give him something to at least look at.

Last Sunday, only a few minutes after getting home from church Eamon's phone rang.
This is a pretty normal occurrence after church since we moved back. Meet new people, hand out our numbers, badda bing, badda boom, friends.
Eamon answered, but whoever it was hung up. He called them right back saying "this is Eamon, sorry I missed your call, give me a call whenever you're free."
Shortly after that he received a text that read
"how old r u? can we b friends?

My red flag went up, but still assuming that it may be one of the kiddos we were talking to after church, Eamon responded. A young woman on the other end of the line proceeded to tell him that she was someone who he knew from high school. Eamon and I didn't remember anyone at church with her name (which was probably, hopefully fake) that he went to high school and responded by telling her he doesn't carry on any type of relationship with women in private, but if she is looking for a friend, he would gladly give her my information or introduce her to some great women at our church and gave her our church's info and service times. She responded with "whatever, I lied. I'm 16" and continued to explain that she was looking for someone to hook up with, and that if he wasn't going to, could he point her in the direction of an available male.

Immediately, I was enraged, then disgusted, then worried for this young lady's safety.
What you are doing, little girl, is very dangerous.
If I were a woman of the world, I would have the right mind to find you and knock some sense into you.
I would find out who your parents are and make sure they do not leave you alone with your phone.
I would tell you that had you reached any other man in our area, that yes, you may have gotten the sex you wanted, but you also may have been kidnapped, beaten, sold...the dangers are numerous.
I would also give you a quick kick in your pants. THAT. IS. MY. HUSBAND. You may not walk up to him, with me or alone, and ask him to meet with you privately, let alone have sex with you. You may not call him, text him, email him, snap chat him, instagram him. None of it. None of these things are appropriate. And if you are sitting there in your room typing random numbers until you find someone, know that you may reach someone else's husband. And though your luck to find a sexual partner may be better, your chances of finding a woman with less restraint is also higher.

Mothers, wives. THIS. IS. REAL.
I've heard of this happening before, but it is all too real.
Yes, your teens and tweens are posting scandalous pictures of themselves on the internet. Yes, they are even tagging their location so anyone can find them. Some of them have a tiny bit of sense and make their various social media accounts private, but in instances like these, they are just looking for a stranger. To validate their sexual desire because they feel this is the only way to create self worth.

When I was 16/17 my husband and I were "forbade" to be dating because I got in some serious, serious trouble. During this time I got a text from a random website asking me if I wanted to know what "hot single guys" in my neighborhood were up to. I'm an intelligent girl. I was a virgin until I got married. I sent "yes" as my response. Months went by and nothing came of it. Eamon and I were released from my parental prison and began to see each other again. And one night, while I was watching tv, I got the text. A man, who I don't know, asked me for a sexual favor and to meet him soon if I'd be willing to "help him out." I was very scared, and very confused. I responded by telling him that I didn't know who he was and to never contact me again and he said "Why would you have signed up for 'such and such' service if *this* isn't what you wanted?" And I cried and cried, not realizing what I got myself into. The next day I confessed to Eamon what I did and he unsubscribed from the service for me.

This young lady (older than my own mother was when she had me) knew what she was doing, however, as most young girls these days. She knew she wanted sex. She knew that she wasn't having any luck at school. And she was alone. I don't know if her mother knows she feels this way, but the awkwardness of having the sex talk is incomparable to the pain she would feel if her daughter were raped, or physically abused because of these actions.


I don't know if young women have always been like this, or if it is just getting worse day by day, but I do know that I'm holding on to my girls' innocence, not naivety until they are able to handle it with a Christ filled heart on their own.

Prov 31:30 "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised."

Jesus In My Bed

Two weeks after Eamon and I got married we had "family dinner" at our apartment with about a dozen of our friends. It was great to have our new friends in our new place soak up the awesomeness of our perfect new love over for a meal.
Then a funny thing happened. A few of my girlfriends came into our room and plopped down onto my our bed in the traditional "SO. Tell us AAAAAALLLL about it" manner. I could feel the eyes pop out of my head, they were nearly dangling out of my sockets.

"PLEASE DON'T SIT ON OUR BED!" I vomited up to very surprised stares.

"I mean you can sit anywhere else" I said gesturing around the room with only a vanity and....nothing else "just not there. That's just...ours. You know?"

Now, if I had been more practical about this whole bed thing, I could have pushed them off of my bed in a far more humorous manner "So, out of the last 14 days, we've spent 10 of them in that bed and don't own a washer and dryer, AYO!" But no, I took the creepy, "sacred marriage bed" stance. It is possible this is why I have such a hard time making friends...

This morning I was cuddling with this hunk of adorableness and reflecting on the role our bed has had in our family. Even though the mattress has changed a few times, Eamon and I became husband in wife in our bed, we made life changing decisions in our bed. While there have been many a shout of praise (went there) there have been soul ripping pleas for grace and direction from our bed. We have made and grew three beautiful baby girls in our bed, and welcomed two of them at the foot of it. We have wept silently over loss in our bed. We have tossed and turned in worry and anticipation, only to thank the Lord for provision the next night in our bed. We have fought in our bed, made up in our bed. And there are times we've been so worn out, that all we can do is lay in our bed, and let Jesus meet us there.

My pastor reminds us almost weekly that we shouldn't have to go back 15 years to tell our testimony. Maybe the story of how we came to Jesus, yes, but our testimony should be alive- What is Jesus doing in your life RIGHT. NOW. Sometimes I feel like we, as Christians, treat our testimonies like I treated my bed in those first weeks of marriage. We like to talk about the beautiful ceremony that was the wedding, but we are full of pride thinking that there is something sacred, unshareable (awesome word I just made up, you're welcome), too good to talk about, or maybe even too shameful to speak of.

This morning, as the sun was coming up over the building in front of us, and Phoebe was scooting around in all her chubby glory, I saw Jesus in my bed. Saw Him there smiling as we welcomed Lily & Norah, saw His broken heart the nights Eamon and I went to bed angry, saw His patience as we were begging for the many answers that He had already given us; and I prayed that just as we've multiplied our family, our love, in our bed through our trials and joy, that we would grow Jesus' disciples through our testimony in our home and out in the world.

Happy Tuesday, Y'all

Mae

Fog

If you've never seen fog roll in over the Gulf, you are missing out on something special.
Millions of tiny bubbles of water collect to cover whatever they feel needs to be hidden, clouding the air above. Usually a storm has just passed and the fog is there to stay. Sometimes it's so thick, if you stand in it long enough, you can feel it move, like rain with no agreed upon direction.

This is where I am now. This dense fog.
It isn't eerie or frightening, but thick and uncertain. A beautiful thunderstorm has passed through complete with electric lightening and trembling thunder, but the ground is taken in what the rain had to offer and the fog has decided to come for a while.

It's hard for me to keep my mind clear as of late.
Where do I take my business, how do I make new friends, when will I feel at peace in my new post baby skin, do the girls need more structure, where do the lines of self awareness and self obsession meet and how do I keep from teetering on it... The thoughts ramble on and on. My heart is simply overflowing with business that refuses to cease. I think back to when I was fasting before Phoebe was born and am envious of my prayer life and concentration. I consider daily deactivating my facebook account because of the unwanted hours I pour into flipping through the screens of redundancy on my phone, but am wary of the attention and unwelcome comments it brings. But I also get words of truth, deep, life-giving truth that seem to balance out the rot.


So what do you do? How do you create a quiet space for your mind that enables the fog to clear focus on what matters? I know that in actual fog, a hot sun and a fierce wind can make it vanish before your eyes.

Lord, let your Son bring his heat, and support my discipline as a fierce wind

12 We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!

(the message "boo, hiss, let's all throw things")

1 Corinthians 13:12

Home Is Wherever I'm With You

I was curled up with Eamon, a bit of his breath still warm in my lungs, his heart loudly beating in my ear on his chest. Phoebe was softly snoring in her nest under the window, the moonlight competing with building lamps for her attention. Sleep I desperatly needed came quickly. It was there, as my body relaxed and my eyelids dropped, I finally felt at home.

For weeks I've encouraged the notion that I am above my surroundings. But with a humbled heart, I've found myself alive in our new abode. The downsizing left us with only the most functional and beautiful of what we owned. The people that dwell in it are my most prized posessions. The words spoken here are life giving when we deny ourselves. Simplicity and Grace have been my two biggest motivators as a mother and wife. They also bring awareness to the ongoing changes of our little temporary home, and I am glad of it.

What God is doing here is important. Being present is imparitive, and I know that I am lacking there, but when Eamon shows me a deeper understanding of Christ's love, or when my heart is softened for a disobedient daughter, I am reminded once again to pay attention.

We are home again. Thank you, Father, you are faithful, indeed.

Systemic Mastocytosis

Many of my friends and regular readers know about the... trouble, for lack of a better word... We've had with Norah since she was about three months old.

She broke out in a rash that was at the time blamed on post partum hormones that were just out of control bc of my PPD.
After getting on an herbal supplement routine with little change, we started on a many month long ellimination diet trying to pin point what could be causing my baby's face to be oozing and bloody.
After about three months I stayed away from eggs, dairy and gluten.
There was a lit of improvement, but anytime I cheated on my diet or ate something unknowingly that even had trace amounts of one of these ingredients, Norah would be scratching for days.
We introduced foods at this time and over the next few weeks more and more things made her react. Red meat, soy, probiotics, chicken broth, EVEN BANANAS sent her body spiraling into a hive induced shock.
At this time I took her to a specialist who tested her for specific allergies and from that point on Norah and I both stayed away from those foods internally and externally.
I lost a ton of weight and Norah was doing night and day better. Unless there was a cross contamination issue, there were no hives. She habitually scratched (...well, sometimes) and that seemed to be a mental issue to me as I had been doing everything I knew to. And then some.

In that time I've been looked at sideways at birthday parties.
I've been asked repeatedly "Have you tried XYZ? It's really the only thing that works"
Norah's been given the "Poor BABY" pout and rub on the back... Or legs or arms or any visible roughed up skin more times than I can count.
Most people haven't even seen Norah in a full blown flare up in over a year, and yet, one woman even had the nerve to tell me "You always complain about her skin, but it doesn't seem like you do anything for her."

Meanwhile, I've gaurded everything she's touched, every bite she's eaten. I've stayed up endless nights holding down her hands as she fought me to scratch.
I've blamed myself for not following certain diets to the T like my peers preasured me to, knowing it would harm her.
I've cried with Eamon all night long wondering how we could be such shitty parents... Consider giving up our baby because of "food allergies"... How worthless could we be?
I had come to accept "This is our life, it won't get any better than this."

When we made the move this summer, her symptoms got worse.
Hives were constantly popping up especially if she got hot. It was also Partially because our friends and family were still learning about her allergies.
Her thighs and calves started to break open and bleed like her face used to. Going to the beach was a miracle cure, but only for a day or two. Certain foods started to make her throw up. And she began telling us that her legs "reawy reawy hurt, but not itchy".

Seeing Norah like this really worried our family and friends who haven't lived with Norah the past few years.
The questions and comments (all in love) made me dizzy with frustration. THIS IS HOW IT IS... This is Norah's itchy little life, just let it be, there's nothing more I can do.

One evening, I got the energy to research a condition one of Norah's doctors mentioned in passing.

Mastocytosis.

I read all night long. Straight through when the sun came up. I was exhausted. My milk supply dropped, but this was my answer. I felt immediate confirmation from the Holy Spirit.

I began looking for doctors who.knew something about this rare, uncurable genetic mutation with only a few options. there was a doctor studying the condition at MD Anderson Cancer Research Center. After talking with him, I found out that he is only studying it as it pertains to adult lukemia patients and that he couldn't help us. But he was quick to reffer us to the pediatric wing of the National Instatute of Health in Maryland. The NAIAID is sponsering a case study specifically to gain knowledge about pediatric systemic (more severe than just confined to the skin) mastocytosis.

I had a long talk with the doctor running the study this afternoon. She thinks we are good candidates for the study and she'll be sending the paperwork to get us started on Monday.

Dear Jesus, THANK YOU, FATHER for answers. I am not weak, I am not incapable, there really is something wrong with my baby girl, Norah Jean. After the small shock of "My heart... My baby is sick... She has a rare, uncurable disease" I thanked Him for the answers. Finally, we are on our way to healing our sweet girl.

Within the next month or two we will take her to see the doctors in Maryland for hee initial tests. Their pediatrics wing is one of the best in the world, and her doctor seems compassionate and invested. She was affirming, kind, and informative.

It seems very... Surreal. Dramatic. Even dream-like to be where we are right now. But I think I'm ready.
Your prayers for our family as we start this adventure are appreciated. I believe we will find relief for Norah and I hope that in some way we can help other babies who may be suffering like she was/is.

Systemic Mastocytosis.
Systemic Mastocytosis.
Systemic Mastocytosis.

And mamas, be affirmed that God gave your baby to YOU. Never doubt that.