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.

Audience of One

A funny thing happened to me last year- I lost my voice.

Not from illness or injury, I guess mostly from lack of use, but suddenly the voice that I'd won competitions with, serenaded my hubby with, led worship with... Was gone.

I remember opening my mouth at our new church and the noises I wanted to make were not the noises that came out of my mouth. I was a little devistated.
I came home and tried singing along to the radio only to find the same story. My vocal chords strained finding new limitations in their range. I was unbelievably embarassed even though I was alone in my kitchen with Lily & Norah paying no attention.

Tonight we took the girls to Padre Island to escape the heat and the trappings of the little apartment (Norah can't go outside because she breaks out in hives once it's over about 90° which happens around 9 am ). I took some pictures, played in the sand, stripped Phoebe down, played in the water with everyone and watched the sun set behind the dunes.

Twilight set in, Lily & Norah continued to play with Eamon along the shore and a lightening storm danced across the sky to the north. I rinsed Phoebe off, swaddled her in a towel, popped up my beach chair and began nursing her as I soaked it all in.
In front of me, over the water, behind my family, the sky started turning the deep blue/black that it gets when fall is around the corner. The moon was vibrant and by the time the first stars started to wake, I began to praise Him. The funny thing about singing at the beach is that you usually feel like the waves are trying to compete with you, drown you out with their crashing and bubbling. The wind will carry your song far as if it's hiding it away.
But tonight, my Lord wanted to hear my broken voice. He hid my missed notes and cracked pitches from eavesdroppers by the waves and lifted up my song to His ears on the wind. I didn't realize that in the midst of moving, and business planning, and teaching, and cleaning that I hadn't spent sufficient time praising Him, let alone with wild abandon! Hadn't my voice been lost by the lack of using it?! My Love wanted to remind me of how He created me to worship Him. Salt air in my lungs, baby at my breast, sand in my toes. It was such a tender gift that was intended to serve as a reminder that I am created for Him.
My reigning audience of One.

(more on our new tiny apartment and homeschooling to come soon!)

Endurance

Some days it's easier to dig into the Word than others. Some days I can't get through a chapter without it ripping me to shreds. Today was one of those days.

During the girls nap I sat down with Eamon's bible. Lily & Norah had been fighting all morning, I'd been on the phone taking care of various business matters, impatiently waiting to hear back from a leasing department about an apartment... It had been a rough one. I chose joy ever minute of the day, but it was exhausting.

Eamon had mentioned (while I was glued to my mom's tv, waiting for the Prince & Dutchess to show off the new babe) that the royal fam was conaidering one of "his" boy names, "James". (oh no they di'ent) so I flipped over to James to see what the Lord inspired this Saint to write.

" 2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. 4 Let endurance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God,who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.
9 Believers in humble circumstances ought to take pride in their high position.10 But the rich should take pride in their humiliation—since they will pass away like a wild flower. 11 For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich will fade away even while they go about their business.
12 Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

Line by line, a painful blow that broke through to some long sought after clarity. I've read James... I don't know how many times, but today my heart felt something new.
My stubborness and unwillingness to take joy in our circumatances finally stung. I reflected on the dozens of times where friends or family have said "Wow, that's gotta be rough" and my reaction was "rough... ROUGH?!You're freakin kidding me, right? Betrayal by your father leaving you and your family of five, FIVE, living in your MIL'S craft room without a penny to your name, praying that you can get into a 950 sq ft, 2 bedroom appartment in government housing when you had a cute house with a yard and happy little life... Yeah. ROUGH's the word. Bitch." I didn't ever actually call anyone a bitch... I just felt like that should be there...
^That, my friends, is the response of a heart who has not let Endurance do it's work. Who has yet to see the fruits of Maturity.
"Oh, Lord, forgive that heart. Break it more, rip it away, help me LET. THIS. GO."
And then immediate affirmation of receiving no answers... My doubt. My ever reoccuring, pitiful, unfounded doubt. I thought about the seaweed that washes up at Padre Island. The waves bring it to shore from the depths of the Gulf. Before it is beached, it's tossed from surf, to sand over and over, incapable of controlling which direction it will take. To the shore if the wind is angry enough to blow it there, or back out to sea if the tide decides to reclaim what is her's. The seaweed cares not. It goes as it's surroundings dictate.

I got to verse 9 and remembered my plea to Jesus in the monthals preceeding Phoebe'a birth, begging him to strip me of my wants, my need of THINGS, my love.of my possessions, and then remembered crying at Eamon over the fact that our STUFF was too big and too much for an apartment and too "important" to let go of. I could only hang my head and shake it. My own greed, filling me with ugly pride.

And verse 12... A prayer answered.
I have been fighting bitterness over Phoebe's birth for months. "Why so long, Jesus? Why didn't you show up sooner? Why didn't you "redeem" Norah's birth? Why couldn't I have a normal "third time mom" birth?"
It has become very, very clear to me God has done for me, ever so sweetly, in my births. Lily's- cake. Lily's labor and birth could not have been hard, or fear inducing, if it were, I wouldn't have had the confidence *or endurance* to make it through 8 hours of painful transition with Norah. And now I truly believe that I made it through Phoebe's day long non progression because I knew that it was nothing compared to my pain with Norah and that Jesus WAS there, and she would come. I had two births worth of endurance under my belt to get me through it. Thank you, Jesus, for building that endurance in me, and for the lives of my sweet girls that it produced.

In truth, endurance scares me. It gaurantees that fruitful maturity is being grown, yes, but also that there is even more on the horizon. But in these past few weeks and months of trial, and having a hard time finding where God's promise is in all of this- I will cling to this:
"...that person will receive the crown of Life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

I love Him, and I will take that crown for me and my house.

XO,
Mae

Doubt

I don't know how to write all of this out honestly and put a happy "I'm such a good Christian" spin on it all. So I won't. This is my heart today. It hurts, it's tired, it's impatient.

I prayed from the night we got pregnant with Phoebe that she wouldn't have allergies.
So far she is allergic to dairy, eggs, and gluten.
I prayed almost as long that she would have a less difficult labor than Norah.
No such luck.
We have now been in Rockport for two months instead of one week without a home. Any glimmer of "opportunity" here being long deminished.

Today (and the last few days) I feel that prayer is useless.

I feel like we have just screwed ourselves over by coming here. Like years of damage control are ahead of us.

I feel like my friends who are far away are sick of hearing my sob story and I wish I had a real friend here.

Every house we've found we haven't been able to get bc we don't have money for a deposit.
And those are few and far between because it's summer in a beach town which means that every vacancy is immediately filled.

Lily needs tons more attention.
Norah's skin is out of control. I wish I had somewhere to just keep her safe.
Phoebe is having trouble nursing and pooping.
Eamon's doing all that he can and more to make us some money.

I read Prov 31 again this morning, bc it usually recharges me, but when I came to verse 25
"She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come."
I felt... slapped. The only laughter I have for our situation is that of disbelief.
I have no strength left. I can't say I'm very dignified at this point, either.

I have a horrible attitude for my friends and family asking for prayer.
"Oh...your son got a bug bite... sorry? My kid scratches all day every day of her life. And no. She's not 'used to it' "
"Your baby is having a hard time nursing? Just take him to one of the millions of chiros on your street."
"Had a rough day? Just get one of your dozens of friends to bring you your favorite wine."

What. A. Bitch.
AmIright?!

I don't recognize this person. Crying all of the time, paying little attention to her kids, a peice of crap friend. Hopeless.

I am ready to be done with this part of my life, God. I know You're still there. I know You can do this. Please. Just do this.