Every Hour

My thoughts these days aren't very profound. One day last week I even guessed it was a Monday, or perhaps a Wednesday, or even a Friday, before I realized it was indeed really a Monday. In some sense, my new state as a mom of four, and one who has now been "on my own" for the last three days, has put my head in a spin. I often look out of the window to guess the weather, though I know I won't be getting out in it. Every hour seems to bleed into the next as I am reminded that motherhood really is 24/7.

Recently, Aimee asked, "Why does everyone like me?" It was an adorable question, and one that reminded me of how it feels to be a decent parent. When little eyes look up to you, tug on your clothes, or come running to you with open arms and a wide-mouthed smile, you do have a tendency to feel loved. With this likability comes a huge responsibility however as a primary caregiver.

I wonder how many times I have said, "Just a minute," in the last few days. As only one person, everyone has to wait in line, and priorities have to come first. Multitasking can only take a mom so far when everyone is whining and crying.

Today through my foggy brain, and one that seems to be less clear with every newborn, I was considering if perhaps God had over-estimated me. (Really God, me, four kids? I mean, I believe you won't give me more than I can handle, but besides this minute, this hour, how do I do this?)

As I was racing back and forth between two bathrooms where the kids were bathing (while James was in his bouncy chair between them), I remembered I really can't handle everything completely well. I have to calmly face each moment as though it is new or I will be tempted to throw in the towel. In every day, I know that God allows me to come face to face with the end of myself (my strength and capabilities) so that He can step in and carry me through a trial with good measure and even success.

For me, having four kids now means that in getting what I desired, I am called to accept a larger amount of His medicine. Namely, I need to be absorbing myself in every scriptural truth, so as not to become jaded in my own daily doses of trials.

As 1 Corinthians 10:13 (NKJV) states, “No temptation has overtaken you except such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.”

As a parent, I don't really ever "escape" my role. However, it is most comforting that while running in the mom wheel of activities that I am often "able to bear" more than I ever thought possible. A moment of pure disorder is strangely sometimes the instance where I am the most clear-minded. It is then that I KNOW my escape is already "in Christ."

I also have to remember that while I am on my own, I am not alone. (Again Lord, really, I have never had family in town to help me out. Why?) This has especially put me in the rare position of knowing what it is like to rely on God for things that could be much easier with help (grocery shopping with all of the kids, rarely getting out on a date, even just regular visits from familiar adults who can encourage and help me out).

The old hymn, "I Need Thee Every Hour" came into my sub-conscious state in a hectic moment Saturday while solo for the first time (since my delivery and surgery) with the kids. I have since been singing it, even as I've had to remind myself to take a deep breath, and every hour.

This rendition from Jars of Clay is especially encouraging:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2w3y3iT3NlU

My favorite lines are:
I need Thee every hour in joy or pain
Come quickly and abide or life is in vain

(Taken on Saturday, my first day solo with all four. It was my best attempt at getting them all in one frame.)

The I'd(s) of Motherhood

There are many things that tempt a sleep deprived mom who is caring for a newborn. Most of the struggle revolves around sleep itself, which usually creeps in it strange times in the night, or slumps one over unknowingly (and uncomfortably) in a chair, on a couch, or on the floor. Other children talking to her, stepping over her, shaking her, etc., can't seem to comprehend what has happened to her, especially now as she is slimming up and looking more "well rounded" like her old self. She might even hear one of them say one day (as I did recently), "All you do is sit there!" Yes children, mommy is sitting here, taking care of your brother, and is totally confused as to what day it is, how long I have been in these pajamas, and if I actually ate at the last meal where I fed you (though I do remember eating some of my chocolate Valentine candy). I do know that my life right now feels like a semi-conscious state of constant, repetitive work, all good, but all consuming.

This often makes me wonder, especially after coffee, what temptations try to take me away from this joyous chaos (such as a vacation that simply involves sleep and perhaps some sunshine on my face), but then again...

I'd rather be tired than be bored.

I'd rather be at home than away at work.

I'd rather put time and effort into my family than into myself.

I'd rather count my blessings than count my losses.

I'd rather be right here.

My View From the Nest

Yesterday, and at 8 days old, James smiled at me. I looked down to see the precious bundle in my arms and was caught in his gaze of joy. You can imagine how I knew my day was already made. Knowing he is my last baby makes me enjoy every part, and for those tiring and repetitive tasks that perhaps seemed tedious or hard with his siblings, seem the most momentous of work with him. I can honestly say that I am loving being up at nights with him, changing yet another diaper (after having just replaced his last one), getting spit up on, and yes, even looking and feeling less rested. In my own sense, I know the nest I'd made for my babies is gone, and so in my own body, my own empty nest, I am counting my hatched eggs, letting God bind my broken wings, and am learning how to enjoy the view for the days ahead.

Still, a few days after coming home from the hospital, I woke up one morning and had "that cry." It's the one you have when someone very close to you dies, and a release that I haven't experienced very often. In that quiet moment in my room, James nearby sleeping sound, and everyone else downstairs eating breakfast, I again thought through every detail of what had just happened in the hospital (a story that Paul had to tell to me in full, since I couldn't recall most of my 4 hour surgery and early recovery). I then considered every one of my births, their difficulties, their joys. I also remembered the talk Paul and I had had at the top of Stone Mountain over ten years ago when we discussed marriage and both desired to have have "4 kids." I realized the dream, I knew I was living it, and yet, I still cried. I hurt for the loss of something that had carried life in me, and then I cried for the gain of having had the opportunity to be the carrier.

I felt so peaceful at first about my surgery having made it through (and without the need for another surgery) and hadn't expected to grieve at all (though others had suggested I would need to). Still, the tears were necessary. Just as my body is now healing double time, from the c-section and approximately 350 internal staples, my heart is beating at new levels. In life, I believe that there are momentous periods, where one can heal, inspire, or grow. For me, in this experience, it's all of the above.

Honestly, I am beginning to see over and over again that I shouldn't discount a trial in my life as mainly suffering. Even so, with suffering comes a unique opportunity to exhibit Christ-like faith. While in my second day of recovery at the hospital a nurse came up to me and told me that a certain pediatrician, who was examining James in his middle of the night check-up, and one who is (as she put it) "very cynical" when it comes to anything religious, took the verse of out of his hospital bed that we'd placed there, and told her that he read the "whole thing" and that "he liked it." He made a concerted effort to go out of his way to tell this nurse about his experience and she passed this news on to us. She told me, "I just couldn't believe it. I mean, I can tell that you go to church, and so do I, but him! I just couldn't believe it."

This verse has also ministered to me and meant more than ever, just as pictures the day before James was born mean so much.

I know I will never have another 8th day with my new baby, but I am able to smile back at his reflection knowing I may never have had the opportunity in the first place. Life is a beautiful thing, and I plan on living mine not vicariously through what more could have been, but what bountiful blessings I already have in front of me.

James 1:2-4

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." 

Peaceful Understanding

I was recommended after my third C-section (from my last OB) that I should stop having babies (despite him giving me the clear to having another while in that surgery). However, for us, that decision had yet to be made. Still, and surprisingly, I later became pregnant with another child. Though sadly, that little one soon went back to God. Two months later, we learned that another was on the way. That baby I met yesterday and is my precious son James.

Perhaps that doctor was right. Not having a 4th C-section might have been wise. I realize this now that I have come through my latest surgery, one that went more smoothly than all of the others, until James was delivered and I was soon intubated unknowingly, with my platelets dropping, while I was transfused blood and platelets, then given a hysterectomy due to unstoppable bleeding from my uterus. Perhaps my last  OB was right, but even more so now, I know my heavenly doctor, healer, and giver of life was over all and His path for me, for us, was perfect.

I am still processing the last day with more peace in my being than ever before. All I knew of the surgery initially was that James was here and well. I cried tears of joy and completion of our family (from a peace in our hearts), and not minutes before official completion of my child bearing days were about to end. I remember hearing of the time of his birth (soon after 8 a.m.) and then waking up in a recovery room surrounded by people at 2:00 p.m. It took me hours to come to, to realize and understand what had just happened to and around me.

Before having children, I recall talking with my dad about my fears of bringing children "into this world." His response to my insecurities for then and now was wise, "God didn't call us to fear, but He commanded us to multiply and trust Him."

Trust. Yesterday I put my life in the hands of others to deliver my son and myself. Later on in the day, my current OB told me that strangely (and perhaps perfectly so) she'd felt impressed with something she couldn't shake going into my surgery. She knew logically ahead of time that things should be "fine," but still, felt uneasy. When she was in my surgery working on me, she realized it was prompting (God!) that had prepared her perfectly for the unexpected. I shared with her of my similar and unusual peace that I had the entire night before, the entire early morning, and through my alert times in the surgery. I honestly cannot describe this peace in words. I just KNOW who provided this peace. We both agreed God had been with us.

So, here I am tonight, momentarily alone with my son in my mother/baby room, recovering from his birth (and hundreds of staples), while rediscovering my calling to be the best mother I can be to the four children GOD has given us.

And I have a peace that passes all understanding...

He Is Here!

James Richard von Herrmann was born on January 31 at 8:09 a.m. via C-section. He weighed 7 lbs and 8 ounces at birth and so far seems to look most like Aimee or Luke. Missy is recovering and is doing better. 

The name James means, "one who follows," and is very fitting for our final baby and son.  As all of our children share some form of a family name, his name can be found on both sides of our families from past to present, making it even more special to us. 

Our James, perhaps to be nicknamed "Junior" (from his initials J.R.) is most certainly entering a family where he is loved. Of course, "Richard" is in honor of Missy's dad, Richard Cockman. "Richard" is also a well-loved name on Missy's side from her Grandpa Moore (also a "Richard") and her uncle (Richard Moore). As Richard means "powerful leader," we pray that this baby who "follows" a line of siblings will indeed be a "leader" in his own gifts.

James's dedicated bible verse at birth is from James 1:12:

"Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him."

We are so excited to share his birth announcement with you, as well as these first pictures of his life! 

Paul and Missy

The Steady Slow-Go

When Aimee told me after lunch the other day that she wanted to take a nap on my bed, I thought, "Yea right." My kids seem to acheive the "no need for a nap" milestone after age three. On days when I have longed for one myself, I have even asked her if she would like to take one. In typical Aimee fashion she has often responded, "Um, no thank-you."

Regardless, I made her a spot, gathered some of her favorite cuddle items, and left the room to her giggles echoing behind the door. Surprisingly and soon, I realized downstairs that I had two sleeping kids in the house, another away at school, and one calmly nestled inside me (but not for long). It was a rare, serene moment, especially with the comparison of the remaining snow blanketing the ground outside.

I find it appropriate that my final days of pregnancy are contained mostly within my home. Winter has a way of making me nostalgic, and for our kids, our coming baby has made them aware that just as mommy is slowing down, life is about to pick back up. Of course, finding Luke in the baby swing has also reminded him (as I say "No, that is for the baby," ) that order is really only a temporary stance in life. Unfortunately, I am a lover of order. Alongside a newborn comes the reality of more noise, less energy, and more mess. Still, for all that seems steady and never slow, babies have a way of making one stop and smile at the simple. I am so looking forward to my view from the other side of what seems like a blink, like a series of gestational naps, leading up to this day where I wake up and all that I see around me is family. God wrote our story a long time ago. We are now just beginning to read it.

This chapter in our lives, in a new state, and in a house and car quickly crowded, has sent each of our children to their own corner of calming interest. Ellie has excitedly been counting down the days on her school calendar until her brother arrives. She has also prayed the sweetest prayers of his safe arrival and that "no one will drop him" when he comes home. During most afternoons, Aimee has started coloring pictures inside of the lines and with quiet content, letting me see her growing maturity and desire in becoming a bigger girl. Luke, despite his jet engine energy, has delighted us with never getting out of bed in the mornings, though he often talks to himself for over an hour before he is retrieved. We often walk into his room and find him sitting up, covers over his head, laughing.

Paul and I have a feeling that one day (in our very near future) we will arrive at the hospital, look at each other without words, and soon after simply have our son. This pregnant go-round has been a steady series of events, but we anticipate the pause soon to come, and in the form of him. We so look forward to sharing our news with you as time unwinds from here (in prayerful hope for all things happy and healthy) soon.

Dear Son

Son,

I am writing straight, once, and now. I am thinking of you tonight; I am thinking of me. I am remembering a young girl with dreams and seeing a grown woman with age, and almost 33 years. My life is not what I imagined. It's better. It's harder. It has asked more of me, even so there can be you. I woke up last night with my first twinge of fear in thought of our surgery soon to come. Then, I remembered God. Then, I slept soundly.

Days are only between us now. Days, steps, and hope. It's unusual to wonder about someone, and then in an instant feel as though you've always known them. You are that puzzle for a moment, soon to be that puzzle piece to fit perfectly as you are intended in our lives.

A newborn you. I've done this before, but then never this way. You are the lucky one. I know my faults better than the first go-round. I know to throw all books out...but ONE. I realize that all things tiring only last for a time, as do little clothes. I know how precious milestones are, even at the expense of so many doctor visits. I know the joy of middle of the night songs never sung before and never sung again. I want to enjoy this exhaustion with you. I want to end the young years well.

Until tomorrow,
Mom
(36 weeks)