My Road To Salvation (part 3)

“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”

Part III: The Good

I feel I need to include a short prologue here: I’ve been putting off writing the conclusion to my story. You’d think this would be the best part; the most wonderful, joyous part for me to recount. And it is. It really is in the end. But to get there honestly, which was something I promised myself I would do when I started this, I need to address the last ugly turn my life took before things changed for me forever. My heart is beating out of my chest in anticipation of sharing this. I know it will probably change how some of my readers view me. I will be judged by many and probably condemned by a few. I’ve kept this horrible, dirty secret hidden for a decade for exactly those reasons. But now I feel it’s time to be truthful despite my fears. In order to see God’s glory at its greatest, as it’s been shown to me in my life, you need to see just how low I sank before the Lord rescued me. How unworthy I was of His love…

** *** **

So, I had made a real mess of my life- wasn’t that where we left off? Oh yes, in all my years of unwise decision making I had never fouled things up so badly. I had allowed myself to become pregnant by I man I barely knew while I was essentially homeless, with no way to support myself- let alone another innocent human being.

It didn’t take long for my parents to hear that I was pregnant. (News travels fast in a small town.) I’m sure you can imagine how they reacted. I received a single phone call from them informing me that I’d better “figure something out” because there was no way they were going to help me- emotionally or financially- raise this child. If I chose to keep the baby they would not accept it as their grandchild and I would not be welcome in their home ever again.

I discussed adoption with the baby’s father who adamantly refused and said he would never give up his rights. Not that he had a way to take care of a baby either, what with his alcoholism, his inability to hold down a job and the fact that he already had 3 other children with 3 separate women, none of whom he financially supported or had any involvement with. Things were looking more and more impossible by the minute. What was I going to do?

Weeks later, out of the clear blue, my Mother tracked me down and insisted I come eat dinner with her and my Father at home. I knew they were up to something- they had to be- but after weeks of living on ramen noodles and saltine crackers I was willing to go with her just to enjoy a square meal again. After dinner they announced to me that they had made an appointment for me for the next morning…With an abortion provider.

Now let me stop for a moment to say that even at this time in my life, as morally corrupt as I was, without being raised with any true leaning on this subject one way or the other, I had never been a pro-choice girl. Never. In fact I had harshly judged other girls who had chosen to terminate their pregnancies. I had even talked a close girlfriend out of having an abortion herself just a month or so before. When I found myself unexpectedly pregnant I knew that abortion was not an option for me. I never considered it for a second. When I told my parents as much they assured me all I had to do was talk to the doctor, see what he had to say and then make my mind up. Fine. Whatever. Agreeing to their request meant a clean bed to sleep in that night, a safe roof over my head and breakfast in the morning. So I went along fully intending to walk out of that appointment just as pregnant as I had walked in.

But it didn’t end up that way. Instead, I selfishly ended the life of my unborn child that day.

How many lame excuses can I give as to why I did it?

I could explain that I had started to bleed the night before, which continued into morning and the nurses at the clinic told me the pregnancy probably wasn’t viable anyway. (I know now how FLASE that is. Who am I kidding, I knew it then.)

I could share in detail the conversation in the car on the way to the hospital that morning where my Mother offered to set me up in my own apartment and help me go back to college if I’d only go through with the procedure.

I could recount how hysterical I was in the office, how I agonized over the decision, so much so that to finally get me to sign the consent form the doctor had to give me a dose of Valium to settle me down.

All of these things happened.

But if I want to be truly honest I have to admit as well that I was absolutely selfish to the core. I didn’t want to face the consequences of my actions. I didn’t want to be tied to the baby’s father for the rest of my life. I wanted that warm bed to sleep in at night and 3 square meals a day. I might as well have sold my soul to the devil. There’s no amount of rationalizing or justification that will ever excuse what I did. I was the one who made the choice in the end. I was ultimately responsible for the horrible thing that took place in that sterile procedure room. And it didn’t take me years to come to this realization. I knew it immediately. I knew it walking out of the clinic that very day…

My parents were true to their word. They found me a safe, clean apartment in town, set me up with everything I needed- furniture, clothing, money for groceries. They gave me a car. They helped me find a full time job. They promised me that if I stayed out of trouble for 6 months they’d pay for me to pick up classes again at my old college. Everything should have been wonderful. I had everything now that I had so longed for when I was drifting and homeless. I had my supposed second chance to turn my life around. I should have been happy right?

But I was miserable. More miserable than I had ever been in my life. I could not get past what I had done. I thought of it almost every moment of every day. I hated myself. I had dreams that I was still pregnant. I wondered if it had been a girl or a boy. I saw babies everywhere; at work, at the grocery store, pushed down the street in their strollers, and I would burst into tears. I had never experienced depression similar to what I was facing now. I simply wanted to die. I didn’t want to get better. I deserved to suffer. For years whatever circumstance I had found myself in I could play the role of the victim: it was my parents fault, I had a bad childhood, I had had difficult things happen to me that no teenager should have to face...In my mind nothing had ever been my fault- but this was different. This had been my fault entirely. It was my fault I had gotten pregnant in the first place and it was my weakness and fear that had led me to that abortion clinic. I seriously began to contemplate suicide for the first time- not as a cry for help, but because I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life with the knowledge that I had murdered my baby. I couldn’t bare it.

There aren’t words enough to tell you how difficult it is for me to share this part of my life publicly. I am still deeply ashamed and it isn’t without tears that I describe it now. It would certainly have been easier for me to have kept this to myself entirely, or skipped over it in my testimony. I can’t help thinking though that perhaps there’s a chance, even a remote possibility, that there’s a girl out there experiencing something similar that just might stumble upon this blog someday. And to her I’d like to say don’t give up! As dire as things seemed for me, as low as I had sunk into sin and despair, there was still HOPE for me. God had not forsaken me. He is the ultimate authority on second chances. My life today proves that...This is how I was redeemed:

As I tried to “fix” my life, failing at every turn, I couldn’t help but look back to the people who had made the most lasting impact on my heart. The woman who had taken me in when I was 16- what was it about her life that had been so different? What was it that had motivated her to love a homeless girl and see her buried potential? I knew it had been her faith. She never preached to me, but had lived her life as a clear example that she followed Jesus and He was her anchor.

There was another woman who had caused me to pause and reflect. Coincidentally, it was the mother of my now ex-boyfriend- the baby’s father- who in our short acquaintance had accepted me without question and never judged me. She was a devout Christian and had taken me to church with her on several occasions in the brief time I had been a part of her son’s world. More than anything, I remembered that she had been happy, really and truly happy, despite not having a perfect life from the outside. She came from a rough background, not unlike my own, and struggled to make ends meet. But she had a joyful heart despite everything. That intrigued me.

The next series of events which took place I really can’t explain, except that divine intervention occurred.

As I mulled over these Christian women who had affected my life, wishing that I had what they had, I noticed a box of my old books that my Mother had dropped off. Tucked inside was a dusty bible. One of those youth study bibles that I had been given at church camp eons ago. I’m sure it hadn’t been opened in more than a decade. I had the most overwhelming feeling that I had to pick it up. It was as if something outside of myself was leading me to it after all my years of protest…It fell open to a pressed flower I had tucked inside during a long ago outdoor bible study.

The pages that held that flower for 10 years told the story of Paul form the book of Acts. Paul, who had started out murdering Christians for a living, yet was forgiven by Jesus himself to become one of the most loved and respected apostles in the early church. For many months I had told myself over and over that God could never forgive me for what I had done. Yet, here was this man straight out of scripture who was showing me otherwise…The same week my ex-boyfriend’s mother called and invited me to come to bible study with her. The lesson was on King David and Bathsheba- yet another story about a man who had committed horrible sins (adultery and murder) but had been forgiven by God entirely when he finally repented with a sincere heart. I sat silently taking it all in, mystified at this God who could still make use of people who were so damaged and lost. I could see fragments of my own life in these bible passages.

There’s no way this was all mere coincidence.

I began attending an evangelical church on Sunday’s on my own. Every week it seemed the sermon was written just for me. God was working on my heart, chipping away at the blackness that had descended there over the years. I began to take notes, memorizing these stories that gave me so much hope. But I was still hesitant to pray and accept Jesus for myself. For many years I had been of the belief that yes, maybe Jesus had existed, he was probably a pretty great guy, but he couldn’t possibly have been the son of God. That was just crazy…But the more I learned about His life, the more it seemed without question He was indeed who he said He was. And I was surrounded by people whose lives had been transformed by following Him.

Finally a day came where I just broke. I was tired of trying to fix things in my own strength. It wasn’t working. I was still depressed. I still couldn’t look towards any happy future for myself. I needed something more- I needed Jesus’ love and forgiveness in my life. I prayed a simple, stumbling prayer in the quiet of my bedroom admitting that I was a sinner, that I believed that Jesus was Lord, that I intended to submit to His plan for my life (whatever that might be) and I begged for His forgiveness for the wretched things that I had done.

Everything changed for me in that moment. I can’t fully describe it. It was as if a weight had been lifted from me. As if all the evil and anger and sadness were taken away in an instant. I didn’t feel depressed anymore, I felt hopeful. The next morning I woke up fully expecting to sink back into my old mental state. I almost felt foolish and questioned myself, afraid all that I had felt the night before was some kind of dream and now reality would set back in. But that never happened. I only felt better and better.

I continued going to church and began to see where I could be of service. For the first time I could see that God had blessed me with unique gifts. I could live my life with purpose knowing that He'd had a plan for me from the beginning. It was amazing to me to think that as worthless a human being as I had become, God still loved me and could still make something wonderful and useful out of my life.

I met my husband-to-be not long after. (God’s perfect timing!) He was a good Catholic boy from a good family who had never been in any trouble. He was warned by many to stay away from me. He certainly heard all the gossip about me that our small town had to offer. Despite it all, he got to know me and liked me for the person I was, not the person I had been years before. He was still a practicing Catholic and attended mass every week, but he saw how excited I was about what I was learning in my church and eventually he started coming with me. He was impressed with the solid bible teaching offered there and began to see his relationship with Christ in a new way. When a baptismal service was offered that summer he decided to be baptized as an adult. I’m quite sure I fell in love with him in that moment. His dedication to his faith was inspiring. God had truly brought this man into my life at just the right time. What a fantastic blessing!

My life had been absolutely transformed in every way- except for one lingering issue. I had to forgive my parents. I still blamed them for the things that had taken place in my childhood. I had to let this go. I had to give it all over to God. If I didn’t forgive them, when I had been forgiven completely for all the wrongs I had committed, I would be exactly the kind of hypocritical Christian I had so despised while I was growing up. I prayed for forgiveness to wash over me. But as time went on I could see that it wouldn't be that simple. God required more from me. I felt led to reach out to them.

We began to have dinner together once a week. I’d call my Mom just to see how she was. I hugged them goodbye when we parted. (Believe me, this was not easy. I had to pray every day for the strength to follow through. I wouldn’t have been able to do it on my own.) At first my parents probably thought I had some ulterior motive, but as weeks passed they could see that there had been a sincere change in me. They were curious as to what was different and I simply told them that I had begun attending church. Imagine my surprise when me Mother asked to come with me one morning! A few weeks later my Father came along too, all the while protesting that he just didn’t want to be left alone at home. But once again, the Lord’s timing was perfect. Within the year both of my parents had accepted Christ for themselves! Miracle of miracles! I could hardly believe it myself!

On a beautiful summer evening in August 2009 my parents and I were baptized together in a full immersion service. All 3 of us, side by side. Words cannot do justice to the overwhelming emotion I felt that night. As I sunk under that water I could literally feel the past slipping away from us. All the hurt was behind us now and our family was finally able to heal. Only the power and grace of God could have made a way for this to happen.

Now, almost 10 years later, my Mom is my very best friend in the entire world. We talk almost every single day. And it’s worth mentioning that she tells me she loves me at the end of every conversation.

My Dad and I also have a solid relationship. Whenever I’m in town we have lunch together and I honestly enjoy his company. We laugh a lot and have made many good memories to replace the bad ones that I foolishly held on to for so long.

My family together at our home church.

I enjoy a wonderfully blessed life now. My relationship with my parents has been restored. I have a husband who loves and supports me through thick and thin, 2 beautiful children and another on the way. I’m excited about what the future holds. Do I deserve any of that? No. I deserved punishment, suffering and death. My life was a washout. I was a lost cause. It was only the miracle of God’s salvation, His free gift to me that turned it all around. If it can happen for me, it can happen for anyone. God doesn’t care where we’ve been or what we’ve done- He loves us anyway. He’s only waiting for us to acknowledge that love and accept it.

I will be forever grateful for what the Lord has accomplished in my life. I stand in awe of it.

A pressed flower, a dog eared bible, His enduring love…and here I stand today.

Praise God!

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away, behold, all things have become new." (2 Corinthians 5:17)

My Road To Salvation (part 2)

“The good, the bad and the ugly”

Part II: The Ugly

After my last post I’d love to move right on to “The Good” in my story. There is plenty of good to come I assure you. But life is complicated and I was a stubborn, stupid teenager. Unfortunately I brought my fair share of Ugly upon myself before I was ready to embrace the Good that was out there waiting for me all along.

(I promise there is a point to my rehashing all of this doom and gloom! It all ends in an amazing way!)

When I left my parents home I had two very distinct paths I could have followed. For a time I settled on the more positive road despite my circumstances.

I stayed in an apartment with 3 of my coworkers for the summer. All men in their early to mid 20s. It was a horrible, dingy, basement apartment with only one bedroom. But it was within walking distance to my job and I honestly had nowhere else to go. There was no shortage of drunken partying going on there at night. But somehow, apart from a bit of typical teenage shenanigans, I continued down the straight and narrow. When my senior year of high school began in the fall it never occurred to me not to go. I attended school all day, worked all night to pay my rent and somehow kept up the façade of an average 17 year old girl. Almost no one knew that I wasn’t still living at home. No one questioned why I kept falling asleep on my desk in the middle of the day.

A few weeks into the new school year a women whose children I had babysat for many times discovered my situation. I was horrified and embarrassed. Despite my protests that I didn’t need any help, she wouldn’t hear of leaving me in my current living situation. She insisted I stay with her. She had an extra room and she assured me that I could continue to baby-sit for her boys to earn my keep. I finally agreed. Life was wonderful for me after that for many months. For the first time I felt that I was part of a true family. We ate dinner together, I was invited to celebrate every holiday with their huge assortment of Italian relatives, and we attended Catholic mass together on Sundays. Still, my heart wasn’t open to God’s prodding. But this family seemed so peaceful and this saint of a woman had embraced me so fully that I began to wonder if there wasn’t something to all of this faith stuff after all. She had achieved something in her life that I desperately wanted for myself someday- a happy, loving family. She had planted a seed in my heart and shown me, without saying a word, a true representation of Christ's love and acceptance. I so admired her. She treated me as if I were her own daughter. I couldn't have loved her more.

Late that winter she went out with friends for an evening of dinner and music. I never saw her again. She died that night without warning of a pulmonary embolism. She was only 30 years old.

I stayed on in the house for some time after that. But things were strained. Her husband was in shock and grieving. There were 2 little boys left behind that didn’t understand where their mother had gone. I felt totally out of place and in the way. After all, I was not family, as much as I would have liked to have been. I felt like a burden on them and became increasingly uncomfortable living there. It was then that I turned to drugs and alcohol to escape from painful memories and depression. I also began cutting myself. Something I had dabbled with years before, but now it became an obsession in earnest. I used any conceivable method to avoid my grief, even if I knew it to be destructive. I was totally ashamed of myself knowing that if my "adopted mom" could see what I was doing to myself she'd be utterly disappointed in me. Still, it wasn't enough to make me stop. Once again I found myself at a fork in the road. This time I clearly chose to follow the wrong path.

Somehow, I managed to graduate from high school with a decent GPA. I applied to a nursing program at a local community college and was miraculously accepted. Things went fairly well for awhile, until I found myself in an abusive relationship. *Bad choices*. I should have known better….He ended up stalking and threatening me when I tried to break things off. It took an official police report and the threat of pressing charges to finally convince him to back off. I began having terrible panic attacks and delved even deeper into drugs to numb my anxiety. I started skipping classes, afraid to leave my room, and by the time the second semester rolled around I had dropped out of school entirely.

With no direction, no parental guidance and battling serious depression, my life swirled into a downward spiral. I drifted, fell in with a bad crowd and put myself in many risky situations. I became promiscuous. I allowed myself to be used. I lied and cheated and took advantage of people. I was not a nice girl. My spirit was broken.

Still, I continued to search for some purpose in my life. Some reason to keep on and not give up entirely. I always believed in a higher power, but I couldn’t seem to connect with it no matter what I tried. I dabbled in eastern religions but none of that helped me. It all seemed like common sense with no real substance. I explored Wicca and settled on that for a time, learning as much as I could. But in the end meditating on stones and chanting ancient spells were of no comfort to me in the midst of my depression. It didn’t help me to overcome any of my struggles or make any positive changes in my life. It left me feeling strangely hollow and empty. I had one Christian friend who ceaselessly encouraged me to come to church with him. But I had been down that road before (or so I thought) and there was no way I was going back to that again. No way, no how. “Christians” had done nothing but fail and betray me. I was still scarred by my upbringing…

Finally my Mother caught wind of my situation and offered to let me come back home. I’m sure this was out of guilt for how she had handled things years before. I know now that she fought with my father for weeks before she wore him down enough to extended the invitation. I was so desperate to have a consistent roof over my head by that time I accepted. She sobered me up with tough love and for that I will always be grateful. However, my time there wouldn’t last long. About a month after moving back in with them I went out with several friends to celebrate my 19^th birthday. Nothing crazy, just dessert and coffee at a small café. I was 20 minutes late for the curfew my parents had set. They promptly kicked me out of the house. The doors were locked and my few belongings were scattered in garbage bags across the front lawn. It was a terrible misunderstanding; I hadn’t been out doing anything wrong. But looking back I don't blame them for their reaction considering what a terrible track record I had created for myself the year before. I'd screwed up and I knew it. I had been warned that there would be no second chances.

Once again I had nowhere to go- except straight into the arms of the next dysfunctional man waiting in the wings. A guy I had only just met at work said I could stay with him. He seemed to be my knight in shining armor, swooping in to save the day. I was so naïve! He came complete with his own boat load of terrible problems...And as if that weren't enough, It didn't take long before I discovered, much to my shock and dismay, that I was pregnant.

By now it was clear to me that my “knight in shining armor”, the baby’s father, was a raging alcoholic. He had no job. I had no job. We were basically living in a flophouse surrounded by drug users. And I was pregnant at barely 19 years old. What a mess I had made.

Things couldn’t possibly get worse.

Could they?

All the while God was watching, patiently waiting for me to reach out to Him....

(Part III, The conclusion to my salvation story, will be posted soon. As soon as I muster up enough courage to write it.)

My Road To Salvation (part 1)

My bloggy-friend Diane at Meyers on the Hood is hosting a blog carnival this week asking her readers to share their testimony- or rather, how exactly it was that they became Christians and how it changed their lives.

I’ve gone back and forth about whether or not to participate. I expect it’s obvious to anyone reading my blog that I am a Christian woman. I don’t make any secret of that. My faith is without question the most important part of my life. But I don’t speak of it here often except in small mentions in the midst of other subject matter.

To be honest, I’ve not been more bold about it because I guess I’m afraid of offending people or causing unnecessary drama in my small blog-world. Shameful! I know there are many readers out there that are absolutely turned off by all things religion- particularly the Christian faith. But I finally came to the realization today that this is my blog and I should be able to share anything I want here without fear of being persecuted for it. If there are some out there that don’t appreciate this type of post then they have the choice not to read it. And negative comments won’t kill me either, I’d be willing to bet I’ve heard it all before anyway. And better yet, there’s always that amazing application called “delete” that I can begin to make use of if necessary! ::wink::

I’m not sure I can share my testimony in a few short paragraphs. To truly appreciate the enormity of what Christ has done for me, how He saved me from myself, I think I need to first explain where it was that I came from and what ultimately led me to seek His face.

Because I know that few of us have never ending hours to spend reading long winded blog posts on the internet (and I am the queen of long winded blog posts!) I’ll break this up into 3 installments for your reading pleasure :)

So….Here it goes. This is how it happened for me. This is the story of how my life was changed forever through God’s amazing love, forgiveness and grace.

* ::deep breath:: Not that I'm nervous to write about this or anything...*

This is “the Good the Bad and the Ugly”: (although, not necessarily in that order)

Part I: “The Bad”

Here’s the story I’d like to be able to tell: I grew up in a stable Christian home with two loving, supportive parents. I was a well adjusted, delightful girl who always did well in school and never got into any trouble. I went to bible college on scholarship, met my husband and the rest is history!

….Not so much…

Here’s the truth: I grew up in a very dysfunctional family. You wouldn’t have guessed it to have seen us from the outside. We probably looked very typical all-American. Upper middle class, always well dressed, knew how to slap on a happy smile and always behaved perfectly in public. But behind closed doors things were miserable. My parents had a terrible relationship. Many times I wondered why they were still married at all. I remember wishing as a young child that they would just divorce and get it over with. (What kid wishes for something like that?!) My father never wanted children, and was very vocal about that- even in front of my brother and I. My parents were 10 years into their marriage when I was born, and I was not planned. My brother followed 2 years later- in a desperate attempt by mother to save her failing marriage- in the midst of my father’s second affair…Needless to say, there was not much attention to go around in our home as we were growing up. My parents were consumed with their own messy problems. We were to be “seen not heard” and if we violated this expectation there were always dire consequences to pay.

My father was abusive. There’s no other way to say it. He was emotionally and mentally cruel. We never knew when he would snap and lash out. There was no rhyme or reason as to what would set him off. I remember being about 5 years old (in kindergarten) the first time he informed me- screaming- that I had ruined his life when I was born. This was a popular theme as the years went on. For whatever reason most of his rage and aggravation fell onto me. As a child I grew to believe I had no self worth, I was useless, I was an inconvenience, I didn’t deserve to be loved. And I was terribly depressed. When I was about 7 or 8 I had a stint where I stopped getting out of bed for entire weekends and did nothing but cry. My Mother, at a loss as to what to do with me, sent me to therapy where the counselor determined I was “a worrier” and needed to learn to relax. I tried to explain what was going on at home, but then my parents would have a session with the counselor and they’d deny everything I had confided to her. It got me nowhere and nothing really changed- with the exception that now it was confirmed in my father’s mind that I was the problem in the house. There was clearly something wrong with me. After all, the counselor had said as much. And this only irritated him further.

Around this time my father, a lapsed Catholic, decided that we would begin attending a Presbyterian church in town. Many of his business associates attended there and I think he was tired of all the questioning about where he worshiped with his own family. It wasn't long before my Dad became a deacon, served on the board of trustees, and was in charge of the treasury. He was every bit as "successful" there as he was in his chosen career and that pleased him very much. But at home the abuse continued. There was never any talk of God or religion. Jesus’ name was never spoken. We did not pray-ever-even before meals. I’m not sure there was even a bible in our house. There were many Sunday mornings when our family would fight all the way to church, smile and hold hands during the service, and then fight all the way home. It was all a big show. I decided then that if this was what Christianity was all about then I wanted no part of it. In my mind all Christians were liars and hypocrites. I closed my heart off from it entirely and participated in my confirmation and youth group meetings absolutely numb. I went through the motions with a smile so I wouldn’t embarrass my family, but it meant nothing to me in my heart.

As I moved into my teens I began to retaliate verbally against my father when he’d start to rage at me. That was when things turned physical. It didn’t happen often. But when it did, it was bad. There was one instance when my nose was broken on a bedpost and I wasn’t allowed to go back to school until the bruising under my eyes faded. I also remember vividly being choked up against our refrigerator, the room spinning, as my Mother stood by and did nothing…When I was 15 a classmate’s Mom call the police after a friend noticed my bruises and I admitted to her that I was afraid to go home. The police showed up at our house that evening asking to speak with me, and of course, my father was right there listening to every word. I was terrified that if I admitted anything I would suffer worse than I ever had before. So I assured the officer that everything was fine and my friend didn’t know what she was talking about. That was the end of that.

Not long after this incident I attempted suicide. I slit my wrists in the bathroom and my brother found me nearly passed out. Not sure how serious I was. I didn't even do enough damage to warrant more than a few stitches. I think more than anything I wanted my Mother to notice my pain and fight for me- to force things to change for the better in our family. Maybe I was hoping it would be some sort of wake up call to her. (How entirely selfish of me, I know. I'm not at all proud of it.)... My father was on a business trip at the time and in the wee hours of the morning in the hospital emergency room my Mother told me she loved me for the first time. I honestly cannot remember a single time before that moment when she had ever uttered those words. I could see a glimmer of hope in the distance....Unfortunately, my father returned in short order and took over. I was thrown back into therapy, diagnosed with Bipolar disorder (which I'm convinced to this day I never legitimately had), and I was put on several heavy anti-depressant medications against my will. Nothing changed in my house. In fact I received an open handed slap across the face for pulling my "little stunt".

And where was God in all of this suffering? He hadn't sent anyone to save me. I grew more resentful by the day, never realizing that the Lord was in fact preparing and shaping me even as I silently lashed out against Him in bitterness...

When I turned 16 I got a job at a local fast food restaurant mostly to avoid being in the house. My parents signed special paperwork that allowed me to work the closing shift and many nights I wouldn’t get out of work until 1AM. That was just fine with me. It meant when I returned home my father would already be in bed, and that was perfect. Everything went well until one Saturday when I was working a particularly long double shift. I made the mistake of leaving the store to walk uptown to eat dinner with friends at a coworker’s apartment. A boy’s apartment. My father just happened to call the restaurant that night. I wasn’t there and my manager let him know where I had gone. He sent my Mother to pick me up immediately and on the car ride home she let me know how furious my Father was, how much trouble I was in. She had never seen him so worked up. I had better prepare myself for his anger before we arrived home……Well, something came over me in the car that day. When she stopped at the next red light I got out of the car and walked away. I didn’t look back. I could hear my Mother yelling for me in the intersection but I was not going to get back into that car no matter what she did. And in the end she didn’t do much. After about a minute of screaming after me she simply drove away.

I didn’t live with my parents again for more than 2 years.

This was the first major turning point in my life. It changed everything…

(More to come...I promise there's a very happy ending!)

Baby update

Yesterday I had my follow up appointment with my obstetrician to see if anything had changed with the baby since last weeks scare.

Good news!

The ultrasound showed that the area of the tear in the placenta has all but healed itself!! The doctor said that there is still a small spot that he'd guess at first glance might be a tiny clot, but this is so minimal that if he had been scanning me for the first time, as a new patient, he would not have even mentioned it to us as a potential problem. The "bleed" has reabsorbed and he doesn't even feel he needs to see me again for another 4 weeks!

Can you believe it?

We were told that there's no reason not to think that everything will move along normally from here on out.

Wow!

To say I'm grateful and relieved right now would be an understatement. This is simply amazing to us. We knew there was a slight chance this could resolve itself- but in a week?? The Lord has been at work here. There's no question! Even the doctor seemed surprised. He kept looking back at the original ultrasound pictures and report, almost as if he didn't believe what had been written the first time. I hardly know what to say about it myself- except that God can do anything! Anything. I absolutely believe that with my whole heart.

Baby is measuring 12 weeks today :) Very active with a strong heartbeat. Six months to go and we will be a very blessed family of 5.

Here's a new picture that I simply must share because I'm so excited :)

5 perfect fingers above baby's head:

Isn't it wonderful?

PS- Just have to share this too because it made me smile:

As I'm sitting here typing this post Nathan is sitting on my lap looking at the new ultrasound pictures. "What's that?" he asks. I explain to him that those are pictures of the new baby in Mommy's tummy. He wants to know, "Can he see in there"? Well, I explain, he probably can't open his eyes yet, but even if he could there wouldn't be too much to see. It's very dark in there. And Nathan, who has a solution to every problem, responds "Well Mommy, we need to get him a flashlight then".

Ahhhh, the reasoning of a three year old. They make life seem so simple!...lol

Am I crazy?

Korea anyone??

So.....*J* and I were talking the other night about how we would really like to go overseas for our next assignment. Sort of a pointless conversation because his special duty assignment here hasn't even officially started yet. We know we have at least 4 more years to go in Jersey. But hey, It's still fun to wonder and speculate about where life might take you.

It seems to us that if we're going to be a military family and make the sacrifices that come with that, why not strive to enjoy the more unique experiences the Air Force has to offer us? I mean, why commit yourself to 20 years of....New Jersey? When you could be in Italy or Germany or Japan or who knows what other fantastic, adventurous places! We want to go somewhere cool! really reeeeeelly cool! Somewhere that offers an entirely different culture, language, food....Oh you know- all the bells and whistles. We're ready for something new!

Yeah, there's only one problem with that. It's not like we exactly get to choose where we get stationed. We'll get stationed where they need *J* to work. And that could very well be Jersey for the next 11 years.

So as we were talking this over (totally hypothetically of course) *J* kept coming back to how unfortunate it was that we weren't able to take advantage of our "base of preference" perk after he did his remote tour in Korea. In most cases, after an airmen has done his 1 year unaccompanied tour in South Korea he's pretty much able to hand pick his next base. Sometimes it doesn't work out- nothing is ever guaranteed. Obviously they cant station you somewhere that doesn't even offer positions in your career field for example. But for the most part it's kind of a shoe-in that you'll get one of the top choices on your "dream sheet". *J*'s closest buddies from Korea are now in Italy, Hawaii, Alaska and Germany. *Nice!* (Well, maybe not so much Alaska for me since I hate snow and the dark of winter. But it was that guys first choice so it worked out well for him, lol)

We gave up our base of preference option when Dillon became ill. We knew we needed to be near a state of the art children's cancer center for 4 years after *J* returned home. There's a world renowned pediatric cancer hospital in Philly- just 45 minutes away from this base, so New Jersey was it for us. And that's working out beautifully :)

But 4 years from now I know we'll be ready to move on. How are we gonna get out of here? (haha)

Yes, we can always put in for new orders. We'll be due for a change of station. But usually then people get sent somewhere totally random. Like North Dakota.

We could just wait and hope they send us somewhere new. But most SatComm guys stay here forever! Like, 6, 8, 12 years solid. Booooo! (No offense to you born and bred Jersey guys and gals! But we'd prefer not to live here for the rest of our lives.)

~Or~

*J* could volunteer to go back to Korea. They pretty much take anyone who volunteers to go to Korea. (Mostly because no one with a family ever wants to go.) Then he'd have his base of preference opportunity once again.

Bwahahaha! We laughed that off right away. Korea was horrible for us. I'd venture to say it almost ruined our marriage. Long story- but it was rough people. I would never want to go through that again- not by choice. I told *J* as much and said that the only way I would ever consider that would be if we were able to come with him.....And he thought that was a brilliant idea!

I guess *technically* you can go with your husband to Korea. If you foot the bill for moving all your stuff there and live off base.

Uhhhhhh....

I told him I wouldn't do that for a just a year. A year goes by so fast. Why go to all that trouble when just as you're getting settled you have to pack up and move- again.

"But we could stay for 2 years," he replies."And the second year they pay you a few extra 100 dollars per month for staying on".

Uhhhhh....Really?


Can you believe I'm actually considering this? I must be totally whacked out of my skull. But it seems kind of exciting. And fun. And adventurous. And terrifying. But still cool.

I must be crazy.

I don't even know how all of this would work. From talking to other women on message boards and such I've found out that the Air Force will continue to pay BAH (or OHA) for your area if the family chooses to move to Korea with the service member. But what about schools? Where exactly would we live if we aren't allowed to be on base? And how much does it cost to move your household to the other side of the planet? Cripe- we'd probably have to save for a year to make that happen. And isn't it kind of, you know, dangerous over there with North Korea's insane dictator and all those little, mundane details?

But still, it seems like such an interesting idea. I mean, the food is awesome! And *J*'s pictures of the country side are breathtaking. He loved the people there....And maybe this is wrong to think about- but 2 years in Korea would mean 2 years safe from Iraq and Afghanistan.

It probably wont ever happen. But IF we somehow stumbled upon information that made it seem in any way doable...Well then, I could live in Korea for 2 years. And not just for the follow on assignment. I honestly think it would be fascinating in it's own right.

I have two requests to throw out to my faithful readers:

1- If anyone out there in blogland knows of a family that's ever done this successfully I'd love to hear all about it. I know officers can get the OK to accompany to Korea- but *J*'s enlisted so that makes it much more complicated :(

2- If this is just absolutely absurd, someone please tell me so. I think I might need a little shock back to reality tonight, lol. I get a little carried away sometimes...

A few snapshots from *J*'s year in Korea:

One of the many ancient temples dotting the countryside.

Seoul at it's finest.

Ancient culture, modern city= fascinating!

Mmmmmm.....Bulgogi!


And one more just for fun:

Can any of you spot the mistake in this sign? You get bonus points if you can catch their mess up!

*J* says he had to walk past this sign almost everyday but was never able to stop laughing at it.

We really ought to send it to Jay Leno for his "headlines" segment ;)

¨Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.¨
Mark Twain

Lucky Girl

Will you join me while I brag on my family for a minute?

I had the loveliest day today with Dillon. He had a special Mother's day lunch at school that I was invited to attend. The kids made us cake and served it to all the Mommies themselves. They even cleaned up for us when we were done like little waiters and waitresses. So cute! Then we enjoyed a special presentation on the "BIG stage"- I finally got to hear the songs that Dillon had been practicing in secret all week :) Awwww! It was such a nice day! Dillon was so excited to show off his classroom and introduce me to his friends.

Dillon in his classroom

With his baby chicks- the children were lucky enough to watch these little guys hatch from eggs.

It took 21 days :)

They sure are cute!

What could make this day better? Oh, maybe arriving home to find that these had been delivered to my doorstep in my absence?:

I tell ya, that husband of mine is a sneaky one! Very sweet of him. I think I'll keep him for a few more years ::wink, wink::

Dillon made me some flowers today too. I'm having a difficult time deciding which is the most beautiful bunch. I think Daddy has some tough competition on his hands!


I'd love to show you the cute little box of chocolate truffles that arrived with my flowers too, but those are...umm...gone. I don't know how that happened! ::cough, cough, clears throat::


So... This post was totally random and pointless, but I've been blessed with such a wonderful family that I sometimes cant help but get a little braggy on them. I truly am a very lucky girl!

I'm not even minding the dirty socks and matchbox cars strewn all over my living room floor right now! haha. Nope, not one bit :) What socks?

Miracles Abound

What a day we've had. I think I've experienced every emotion in the book in the last 12 hours.

This morning I woke up not feeling quite right. When I finally dragged myself out of bed I immediately knew something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

*Let me give everyone fair warning right now that this might get a bit graphic for a second*

When I stood up, still half asleep and in a fog, I was shocked to see that I was bleeding. Not just spotting, but bleeding- alot. Enough that I had to rush to the bathroom to keep from ruining my floor. Thank goodness *J* was home and not on another TDY. (In fact he hadn't even left for work yet, which was unusual. Coincidence? I think not.) It seemed clear that I was having a miscarriage. I couldn't even cry. I think I was in shock.

I called my doctor right away who told me she couldn't see me until 1PM- not for 4 more hours. She said I could go to an ER if I wanted to but they probably wouldn't do much for me and considering I was still in my first trimester, there wouldn't be any intervention that could be done to change the outcome either way.

So we waited. And worried. And grieved. Mostly preparing for the worst. On the ride to the doctor's office I felt numb, trying to accept that this baby was not to be- this pregnancy was over.

Upon arrival they took down my "symptoms" and then explained to me what my different options were depending on what they could see on the ultrasound. I barely remember anything that was said. It was all hazy and surreal. There was a moment when I was sure I would wake up any second to discover this was all just a really bad dream...We were finally led to an exam room to determine if I'd be able to go home or if I needed further medical intervention to "help things along"- what a horrid way to explain that. It sure didn't feel like there was going to be any "help" for me in this situation at all. Poor choice of words in my opinion.

Can you imagine our surprise when the doctor began the ultrasound, basically gasped, laughed to herself and announced "Oh honey, you're not miscarrying. Your baby looks great"!.....*J* was standing next to me and began to cry, asking me "Can you see that"? The doctor turned the monitor towards me and my gosh...Our baby was indeed beautiful: arms and legs bending and moving everywhere, kicking and waving to us. Perfect, wondrous, tiny child- most certainly alive and thriving. I started sobbing with joy right there on the table. I couldn't help myself.

The doctor measured everything carefully and let us know that the heart rate was strong and healthy. The baby is about 11 weeks old (10 weeks and 5 days to be exact). Right about where things were expected to be.

So why am I bleeding? And so heavily? Honestly it's a scary, shocking amount that doesn't seem compatible with any healthy pregnancy I've ever heard of.

It seems I have the same condition with this pregnancy that I experienced with Dillon: Early placental abruption. In simple terms the placenta is not fully attached. There is a gap between the placenta and my uterus that's either been torn, or hasn't developed properly. That's where the bleeding is coming from. No one seems to know why this is happening. I've been referred to a high-risk specialist who might have more answers for us. We'll see him next week. We do know that there's a 50/50 chance that if you've had this condition once you'll have it again in subsequent pregnancies. So, here we are again...

But there's good news! The location of the bleed is relatively low in the placenta and the doctor was very positive about this. I guess when this occurs higher up there is more of a chance of the entire placenta detaching from the top down. In which case miscarriage would be inevitable. In our case there is nowhere else for the tear to go. She doesn't seem to think it will continue to tear upwards. So, because It's still very early in the pregnancy, it's likely that the upper portion of the placenta will continue to grow and compensate for the part that isn't healthy. And in very rare cases this can heal itself entirely- which is exactly what happened 5 years ago with Dillon and I have no reason not to believe we will have the same outcome this time. I'm praying for that and believing it will work out that way.

So for now I'm taking it very easy. I wasn't ordered bedrest, but I'm certainly not doing much besides resting anyway. I'll have another appointment and ultrasound next week to see how things are going. I was told I will most likely continue to bleed but not to be concerned unless thing worsen. So far, so good.

Can I just share my excitement for a moment at seeing my baby today on that ultrasound screen. What a miracle it is, this child growing inside me! Everything is there already at 11 weeks. Fingers and toes and tiny ears and facial features. To look at me you'd never even know I was pregnant- I'm certainly not showing yet. The baby is only about an inch and a half long, but he (or she) is a perfectly formed little person already. And I am absolutely head-over-heels in love! It's amazing. There aren't even words for it. I am so grateful, so blessed to be experiencing this. A third child. A third miracle. I can barely wrap my mind around that. It's too wonderful :) God is so good!

Baby's first picture!


"For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well."

Psalm 139:13-14

The results are in...

Dillon is cancer free!!

Praise God, thank you Jesus and Hallelujah! *J* said he did very well all day and didn't even cry when they stuck him for his blood draw.

And that's all I have for now. I am overwhelmed with gratitude and fairly speechless at the moment.

Thanks so much to everyone for your prayers and support...

"O Lord my God, I cried out to You, and You have healed me."
(Psalm 30:2)

Scan Day

Well, it's upon us once again. Dreaded scan day. I suppose I shouldn't say it's dreaded. For us so far it's always been a good day by the end. A day of affirmation that Dillon is still healthy. A day full of phrases like "remission", "No Evidence of Disease", "No visible after effects at this time"....But it's also the day where we are forced to face the reality of Dillon's cancer head on. As the months tick by I'm able to put it out of my head more and more often. Obviously not today.

Scan day is always a looong day. And a stressful one. Especially the waiting.

Hopefully we'll have results by evening on Dillon's tests. One thing I have to say for CHOP is that they're good with speeding results to the family as soon as they possibly can, sometimes before we even leave the hospital. (At our last hospital we'd sometimes wait 3 or 4 days before we heard anything back)

It should be a fairly quick visit for a change: a chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound, echocardiogram, lab work and an exam by the oncologist. No CT scan this time- and that's what usually holds things up.

I'm here at home with Nathan trying to keep busy. (Can you believe he's not even awake yet?!) I've found it's better for me to just let *J* handle the hospital now, rather than cart both kids and try to keep the two of them entertained all day. I did my share of that a couple years ago, and it only makes an already tense day more hectic.

I'll update when we hear any news.

Please pray for Dillon today.

Please God, allow this miracle of healing to continue for my little boy...

5 years later...

Today is Dillon's 5th birthday!

I am astonished by how quickly the last 5 years have blown by!

Dillon, you are my heart. I'm so excited to see the little man you're becoming: giving, caring, loving and compassionate. I'm taken aback at times to see the level of empathy you have for others. (I wonder if this is because of the struggles you've already faced in your young life?) You are careful and decisive in everything you do and full of thoughtful questions. You are definitely an "old soul" in a little body. It's amazing to see the special traits the Lord has gifted you with at such a young age. I couldn't be more proud of you!

You are my miracle, my fighter, my inspiration. I am so blessed to be your Mommy!

Happy birthday "Dilly-O" :) You've come so far!

3 months old

1 year

2 years

3 years
(first portrait with hair after chemotherapy!)

4 years
(First ever school picture!)

5 years old today- "That's a whole hand"!