I got a little bit of a frantic voicemail from my mom a couple of weeks back. She had seen a status update I'd posted on Facebook and was concerned that I wasn't okay. The quote was as follows:
"God's answers to our prayers do not always come immediately--sometimes they appear to not come at all.... Assuredly, one day we will see more clearly; and on that day we will recognize the goodness and generosity of heaven." -Dieter F. Uchtdorf
My mom thought I was feeling discouraged. I wasn't. I was feeling blessed, looking back on the last 6 years of my life and seeing the goodness and generosity of heaven.
I don't blog as often as I did when it felt like none of our family dreams were coming true. I wanted to share my struggle. I knew that others could relate to lost opportunities and heartbreaking grief. Rather than pulling inward, I reached outward. It felt good to be open, vulnerable.
Here I am, 2 years into the "dream" of Tyler getting into medical school. Claira is 17 months old, with lunch on her face and light in her eyes. We are expecting another baby boy in December, one that we will get to raise in the flesh. We have the dreams we prayed for, cried for, fought like lions for.
Ain't it crazy how quickly new challenges arise and new struggles come to replace the old ones. My prayers have been answered. I feel firm in my commitment to be at home with my children because I once thought I wouldn't get that opportunity. With that opportunity comes pretty much poverty, no car to drive, and day after day of changing Claira's...shoes (you were expecting diapers, right? No prob. Diapers are simple. That girl is in love with all shoes--hers, mine, Ty's, strangers--). I changed Claira's shoes 17 times yesterday.
Claira's shoes are her freedom. She knows that to go outside, on a walk, on any adventure, she needs her shoes. She refuses to take them off for naps, and this morning I discovered that she slept in her shoes all night. She is a fierce protector of her freedom.
Our car was my freedom before Tyler's 3rd year of school started. For the last 6 years, in this one car family, I had the car. Tyler was so good to always take public transportation. I enjoyed drop-offs, pick-ups, and going everywhere together at the same time. It felt so noble to me that we could "do it all" with one car.
Since June, when T's rotations started, I have been car-less. Granted, I have a fantastic friend who is gracious to pick me up and take me anywhere, a cousin close by, and countless people from church who have offered rides AND their cars. Still, I am dependent. My freedom is limited.
Today I was determined to get Claira a new pair of...shoes :). She only has three pair that barely fit, so athletic shoes have been on my mind. I google mapped Burlington Coat Factory and discovered it was only a 15 minutes walk. But 15 minutes over a freeway. A freeway with construction on a busy, busy road. But like I said, I was determined. And so was Claira.
I prayed on the way there for safety. While I still felt nervous and the noise was deafening, we made it to the store, FOUND SHOES!! (I have been looking for awhile now in our price range), and started back home.
As I neared the scariest part of the trip, where the cars are turning right onto the freeway with all the construction lanes blocked off, I plowed forward with the stroller, praying again. A man in construction gear with a stop sign approached me (he hadn't been there before) and directed me to wait while he stopped the cars that were ignoring my "okay to walk" sign.
He stepped out into oncoming traffic and the cars stopped. I burst into tears.Yes, I am pregnant; tears are a given daily. But it was another moment when I know that my prayers are answered. I may feel alone and scared, but God answers prayers and He knows where I'm at. Every day. When I see clearly, the generosity and goodness of heaven take my breath away. We'll manage with one car, one pair of shoes, one chance at living with joy daily.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Months fly
It is cliche because it is the truth; time flies. I haven't blogged because I've been fully engaged in mommy and wife land. And while some women can successfully blog about their daily adventures, I can't seem to balance everything with such grace.
Looking back on the last 5 and a half months, the kaleidoscope of blessings and challenges mixes into a patchwork of which pictures can only do justice:
Our girl turned one in March. She started walking at 13 months. She has practically all of her teeth. She is just as obsessed with eating grapefruit as she is with dancing, raising her arms and twirling to anything with a beat. She is an early riser, like around 5 am. She just learned to pull her diaper off. She melts me on a daily basis.
Oh, how I thank my Heavenly King for all the things you are, Claira Jane.
Looking back on the last 5 and a half months, the kaleidoscope of blessings and challenges mixes into a patchwork of which pictures can only do justice:
Oh, how I thank my Heavenly King for all the things you are, Claira Jane.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Miracles in Small Packages
My last mission companion in South Africa was a petite Angolan woman named Laura. We only spent six weeks serving together in Three Rivers. Funny how little time it takes to find a connection that lasts eternally. Laura is wise and kind. She is funny, hard working, and does not give up. Ever.
How do I know all of this after only six weeks of serving? The 24/7 thing helps, as did her grace when someone investigating the church told us we would not be allowed back because Laura's skin was darker than the woman's husband liked being in their home. I can still feel the sting of indignation in my heart and how Laura quietly lowered her eyes, bringing them up again with love.
But six weeks was just the beginning. A year or so after moving to Portland with Tyler, I was Facebook chatting and found out that Laura had a sponsor and had moved to the Utah to complete a degree in medicine. She was living in a tiny room of someone's house and had no car, few friends, and limited income. Even though I was away, I knew my parents and family would fall in love with Laura immediately and arranged for them to have Thanksgiving together (Have you ever met my generous parents? Come in, sit down, and let Bob and Nancy offer you some homemade grape juice and some delicious baked goods).
Soon Laura moved in with my family and spent several years there. I can't tell you how many opportunities Laura had to give up on her dream of getting an education. Language struggles (when she went to South Africa, she spoke/understood NO English, just Portuguese) made comprehension of math and science challenging. Visa problems, extreme health problems, home sickness, a lack of resources, changing schools, changing degrees, the list goes on and on. Just when one setback was overcome, another loomed in its place.
It's really not my story to tell, all the struggles and miracles Laura experienced while here, but I am grateful I got a glimpse of her miraculous determination to keep going through all of it. Laura graduates from BYU-Idaho this month with a hard-earned, well-deserved bachelor's in Information Technology. She will be moving home to Angola where her sisters and their families are waiting for her, as they have been for years.
I had the privilege of seeing Laura one last time, as she ironically came one last time to my parents for Thanksgiving. She had yet to see my greatest miracle in a small package:
As we chatted at my in-loves' home, I asked her what the best thing about coming to the States had been for her, in the midst of all the trials. "You know," she paused, "I think it was that every time I thought I couldn't do it any more, someone came."
Someone came. Lots of someones came through. They could not help themselves. They looked into the eyes of a woman who has known pain from her earliest days, when her country was always at war and she could hear the bombs each night. They saw this tiny package of a woman who carried a bundle of faith and hope and charity bigger than her challenges. And they paved paths that she was willing to climb.
Laura looked tired to me this last time, as she should. But her eyes are still bright. Her soul is light. I thank the Lord for this small angel.
How do I know all of this after only six weeks of serving? The 24/7 thing helps, as did her grace when someone investigating the church told us we would not be allowed back because Laura's skin was darker than the woman's husband liked being in their home. I can still feel the sting of indignation in my heart and how Laura quietly lowered her eyes, bringing them up again with love.
But six weeks was just the beginning. A year or so after moving to Portland with Tyler, I was Facebook chatting and found out that Laura had a sponsor and had moved to the Utah to complete a degree in medicine. She was living in a tiny room of someone's house and had no car, few friends, and limited income. Even though I was away, I knew my parents and family would fall in love with Laura immediately and arranged for them to have Thanksgiving together (Have you ever met my generous parents? Come in, sit down, and let Bob and Nancy offer you some homemade grape juice and some delicious baked goods).
Soon Laura moved in with my family and spent several years there. I can't tell you how many opportunities Laura had to give up on her dream of getting an education. Language struggles (when she went to South Africa, she spoke/understood NO English, just Portuguese) made comprehension of math and science challenging. Visa problems, extreme health problems, home sickness, a lack of resources, changing schools, changing degrees, the list goes on and on. Just when one setback was overcome, another loomed in its place.
It's really not my story to tell, all the struggles and miracles Laura experienced while here, but I am grateful I got a glimpse of her miraculous determination to keep going through all of it. Laura graduates from BYU-Idaho this month with a hard-earned, well-deserved bachelor's in Information Technology. She will be moving home to Angola where her sisters and their families are waiting for her, as they have been for years.
I had the privilege of seeing Laura one last time, as she ironically came one last time to my parents for Thanksgiving. She had yet to see my greatest miracle in a small package:
(Thank you for the darling dress, Laura!)
As we chatted at my in-loves' home, I asked her what the best thing about coming to the States had been for her, in the midst of all the trials. "You know," she paused, "I think it was that every time I thought I couldn't do it any more, someone came."
Someone came. Lots of someones came through. They could not help themselves. They looked into the eyes of a woman who has known pain from her earliest days, when her country was always at war and she could hear the bombs each night. They saw this tiny package of a woman who carried a bundle of faith and hope and charity bigger than her challenges. And they paved paths that she was willing to climb.
Laura looked tired to me this last time, as she should. But her eyes are still bright. Her soul is light. I thank the Lord for this small angel.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Real Mothers Use Formula
It's 5:34 in the morning. I've been up thinking since 3:55, when Claira let out her third bout of cries for the night. It's only been since her 6 month appointment a month and a half ago that I have gotten a straight 7 hours of sleep on a regular basis. Thank goodness for teething to remind me that I have many sleepless nights in my future.
Like I said, I've been thinking. Thinking about my life post Claira's birth. I haven't blogged nearly as often now that I take care of an infant. But today I blog about motherhood, motherhood post-Claira's birth. It actually isn't any different of a feeling than pre-Claira's birth.
I remember an afternoon several years ago when my friend came to visit with her three year old son. I was trying to thank my friend for including me in all her social gatherings, where everyone present had children of their own. As I spoke, my emotions got in the way and I could barely make out the words, "I feel like a mother...."Cooper, the three year old, who had been playing with cars on the floor, looked up at me and with piercing eyes and an empowered tone exclaimed, "You ARE a mother!"
Cooper knew what Sherri Dew knows: "Our motherhood began before we were born." I can honestly say that I feel no different in terms of my worth as a mother after having Claira than before I had her. I simply have always been a mother. I believe that every woman is a mother. Thus, the loss of children, born or unborn, is a great and heart-wrenching burden.
The night before leaving the hospital with Claira, I was informed that she was losing weight too quickly and my milk supply was not giving her the nutrition she needed. I was told I would need to supplement her diet. It took several moments for my mind to register what the nurse was saying. My heart seemed to know immediately, though. I would be introducing my baby girl to formula. I burst into tears. I had been to the OB for three different pregnancies where I was always asked, "Will you be breastfeeding your baby?" When I applied in the affirmative, I always received the response, "That's wonderful! Breastfeeding is the best thing for your baby."
It was somewhere in the middle of that long night that I recognized my motherhood again, as Claira cried in hunger, and I relented to giving her some donor breast milk. She needed nutrition, and even if that meant not receiving it from my body, she would receive in any way I could find. I left the hospital with my bloodshot eyes from my body laboring her here and my heart laboring over the uncertainty of her future. It felt like a matter of life and death to me. We left with 16 ounces of donor milk in hopes that my milk would come in soon. Donor milk was $3.50 an ounce. I knew we couldn't keep up this habit.
It turns out that many women who experience infertility issues also experience low milk supply. This surprised me, as I remember my milk coming in with Truman. During the first 2 weeks with Claira, I was a hormonal disaster and realized that I would never, ever, be able to give all that she needed. I remember driving to my neighbors to pick up some extra formula, feeling like I had let down my daughter and all of the medical community who had helped me try to get more milk. Herbal supplements, around the clock pumping, constant feedings. My milk never "came in" as I hoped, but I was able to combination feed her for her first 4 months. I see small time period as a gift.
Grief makes joy brighter. My life with Claira now? Joy that leaves me in tears. When her hand reaches out to touch my face. When she leans over to catch my eyes and smile from across the room. When she surrenders to sleep in my arms. When she jumps in her jumper like she'd determined to hit the ceiling. When she kisses her reflection in the mirror. It is in these moments that I remember that I am a real mother, I always have been, and real mothers sacrifice whatever it may be--their dream of nursing their babies, the incredulous looks of other mothers when they see her bottle and wonder if it is truly possible that it might be f.o.r.m.u.l.a.--to keep their children healthy and growing strong.
Real mothers exist without having to prove themselves with natural births (which I just so happened to do, and I don't think I love Claira any more than I would have otherwise), without having extensive training in child development (which I also happen to have, and still don't have a clue what I'm doing most of the time), with or without fancy baby clothes and gadgets (let's face it, we are broke).
Like I said, I've been thinking. Thinking about my life post Claira's birth. I haven't blogged nearly as often now that I take care of an infant. But today I blog about motherhood, motherhood post-Claira's birth. It actually isn't any different of a feeling than pre-Claira's birth.
I remember an afternoon several years ago when my friend came to visit with her three year old son. I was trying to thank my friend for including me in all her social gatherings, where everyone present had children of their own. As I spoke, my emotions got in the way and I could barely make out the words, "I feel like a mother...."Cooper, the three year old, who had been playing with cars on the floor, looked up at me and with piercing eyes and an empowered tone exclaimed, "You ARE a mother!"
Cooper knew what Sherri Dew knows: "Our motherhood began before we were born." I can honestly say that I feel no different in terms of my worth as a mother after having Claira than before I had her. I simply have always been a mother. I believe that every woman is a mother. Thus, the loss of children, born or unborn, is a great and heart-wrenching burden.
The night before leaving the hospital with Claira, I was informed that she was losing weight too quickly and my milk supply was not giving her the nutrition she needed. I was told I would need to supplement her diet. It took several moments for my mind to register what the nurse was saying. My heart seemed to know immediately, though. I would be introducing my baby girl to formula. I burst into tears. I had been to the OB for three different pregnancies where I was always asked, "Will you be breastfeeding your baby?" When I applied in the affirmative, I always received the response, "That's wonderful! Breastfeeding is the best thing for your baby."
It was somewhere in the middle of that long night that I recognized my motherhood again, as Claira cried in hunger, and I relented to giving her some donor breast milk. She needed nutrition, and even if that meant not receiving it from my body, she would receive in any way I could find. I left the hospital with my bloodshot eyes from my body laboring her here and my heart laboring over the uncertainty of her future. It felt like a matter of life and death to me. We left with 16 ounces of donor milk in hopes that my milk would come in soon. Donor milk was $3.50 an ounce. I knew we couldn't keep up this habit.
It turns out that many women who experience infertility issues also experience low milk supply. This surprised me, as I remember my milk coming in with Truman. During the first 2 weeks with Claira, I was a hormonal disaster and realized that I would never, ever, be able to give all that she needed. I remember driving to my neighbors to pick up some extra formula, feeling like I had let down my daughter and all of the medical community who had helped me try to get more milk. Herbal supplements, around the clock pumping, constant feedings. My milk never "came in" as I hoped, but I was able to combination feed her for her first 4 months. I see small time period as a gift.
Grief makes joy brighter. My life with Claira now? Joy that leaves me in tears. When her hand reaches out to touch my face. When she leans over to catch my eyes and smile from across the room. When she surrenders to sleep in my arms. When she jumps in her jumper like she'd determined to hit the ceiling. When she kisses her reflection in the mirror. It is in these moments that I remember that I am a real mother, I always have been, and real mothers sacrifice whatever it may be--their dream of nursing their babies, the incredulous looks of other mothers when they see her bottle and wonder if it is truly possible that it might be f.o.r.m.u.l.a.--to keep their children healthy and growing strong.
Real mothers exist without having to prove themselves with natural births (which I just so happened to do, and I don't think I love Claira any more than I would have otherwise), without having extensive training in child development (which I also happen to have, and still don't have a clue what I'm doing most of the time), with or without fancy baby clothes and gadgets (let's face it, we are broke).
Yes, real mothers feed their babies formula.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Joy
I've been awful at posting about Claira. I've been too busy enjoying her.
She is goodness and light. She is divine. She is a miracle.
I am not a morning person, but my heart wakes right up when she calls out to come and get her to start a glorious new day.
4.5 months old. Fleeting moments carved into my heart forever.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
When a Mom Met Her Daughter
When a mom meets her daughter for the first time in the flesh, it doesn't feel like it's the first time they've met. The day Claira was born, I could not believe that the time had already come. Was I really ready for this? When contractions started and got more and more painful so quickly, you'd think we'd just have gone straight to the hospital, but there was no way I was going to be sent home without a baby.
When a mom meets her daughter, she wants to be looking her best. I happened to decide not to wash my hair for church that day. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. By the time we got to the hospital, I was sweating from contractions. Triage felt like a lifetime, not being able to find a good vein for the IV felt like eternity, each contraction rose in me like waves of shredded glass that I could manage only with the thought "I'll get an epidural and it will be all right." Famous last words.
When what definitely felt like a head pushing down started and the nurse was calling to me "don't push" and doctors were coming with their masks and gloves and no epidural was in sight, I didn't feel like I was ready to meet my daughter.
But when a dad calmly and firmly counts in bouts of 10, encouraging and strengthening, this mother pushed and pushed with all she has ever known of pain and grief and a desire to know this precious little one; it wouldn't matter that when this mother met her daughter, she would have bloodshot eyes for weeks from laboring, that they would cry together over the pain of mortality even with all the joy that entwines them as kin.
When a mom meets her daughter, she holds her tight and says over and over "You're here!" She carries her proudly as the nurse wheels them to the mother-daughter unit. This mother remembers well the two other times being wheeled through the hospital with babies that would not be coming home. It's unreal and so real that it hurts.
When a mom and dad meet their daughter, the daughter learns quickly that parents make mistakes. Sorry, sweety, for the dumped ice water just moments after your fresh bath and measurements, just when you thought you were safe and cozy :(
When a mom and dad meet their daughter, they endure three days of hospital stresses,
dad studying and holding and running to and fro
in order to go home to the nursery that Dad and Mom have been preparing for months.
After a mom meets her daughter, there is sleeping time and feeding time and tummy time, and that's the best thing about having her daughter--time.
"I'll take the time to love the best I can
and hold this little life with tender hands."
-Nancy Peterson, aka, Mom/Grandma Nancy
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Amazing Grace
I will miss being pregnant, but it's definitely getting uncomfortable. The stitches came out yesterday! I was hoping I would be one of those woman that spontaneously goes into labor, but alas, almost 24 hours later, and nothing. Here is a picture of a picture of the 3-D ultra sound the perinatologist tried to take for us, but as you can see, at this point, there is no room in the inn for a camera to snap a picture. He tried hard to get her to move her hand and arm away from the side of her face, but she wasn't having it. She looks pretty squashed--especially her nose :).
SO. We will keep waiting. The ultrasound measures her at 7 lbs 2 oz, plus or minus 15 oz. So much for accuracy. Still, when everyone says they think I'll have a big baby, they are probably right. Should you see me and I have not had this baby yet, please do NOT say:
1) When are you gonna have that baby already?
2) You look like you're going to pop!
or
3) You looked like you were due 2 months ago!
Yes, these are the common greetings I receive. If I knew when I was having this baby, my life would be a lot less exciting. I don't know of any pregnant woman whose belly has ever really popped open like a balloon. AND, I'm grateful I didn't have her two months ago, though she would have shared my cousin Crystal's birthday, and that would have been tender.
Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. I've no less ways to sing His praise than when I first began. This is truly an incredible experience that I give thanks to God for multiple times daily. I do not doubt that HE has preserved this child. Let her take her time in coming--she is long awaited.
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