Do not fear, for I am with you- A Halloween post

The bible states "Do not fear" some 365 times.  I think that means God is trying to drill that thought and lesson into our hearts and minds, wouldn't you say?  
He is saying, "Listen, life on earth is hard, but I'm with you.  Im the Creator of heaven and earth, so what shall you fear?"
Really- if God has our back, why is there one iota of fear in our minds/ hearts?  Like...ever?

I think we are doing something wrong with this whole Halloween thing, guys.  As a culture, as a society, as a nation.
Looking at costumes, I see that scary disguises aren't  geared just toward adults.  They are marketed at infant and toddler ages. Say what???  Why would a toddler boy want to be some gory blood sucking vampire a scary skeleton, or a red, horned devil?  

{And just an FYI: Costume parties and dressing up in characters do not bother me one bit.  Imagination is key during childhood.  Pretending to be someone else develops life experience and knowledge similar to reading a book, and traveling to a far away land.  Im down with that.}

The Halloween decorations, guys- the spider webs, the spooky lighting and eery music, the tombstones with jumping skeletons, the witches, and on and on- they are completely contradicting Gods daily message to his people.
Do not fear.
Instead of helping our fellow sisters and brothers to see the truth of Gods love and the reason in which we have nothing to fear, we are CREATING fear in the hearts of our young children all month long with this silly Halloween theme.  

I can't help but believe that the numbers of children having nightmares increases tenfold during the month of October.  We are actively allowing the enemy into our children's minds with every witch hat, every hanging ghost, every devil costume.

And then when our child, comes crying to our bedside, we mutter things like, "Honey, there's nothing to be scared of.  We are right here."  The same message God repeatedly whispers to us in the word.
  

Such a contradiction.  We are sending mixed signals to our children.  The enemy will try to make his presence in the lives of our children, without our encouragement, without our hands playing a part.

I am not trying to always be that person- you know the one- that always poo-poos every cultural standard...  And tries to ruin the fun for everyone.  I know I think differently than many of you want to think, and thats ok.  I just want to be more mindful of how God feels about these things we do, here, during our time on earth.

When all things work together for good...in my life

I have wanted to be a mother as long as I can remember.  Growing up, I played with dolls and Barbies and formed my own fantasy families.  Carebears and Cabbage Patch dolls made up a large family that I got to parent.  I got to feed, love and care for a big slew of "children."

God had created this longing in my heart.  He had a plan for me.  My calling has always been to be a mother.  (Bla. Bla. Bla.  You have heard it all before, right?  Pretty sure everyone knows how important being a mom is to me.)

In 2011, this dream was just beginning.  I had snagged the husband of my dreams.  I had a two year old daughter and a one year old son.  I had hopes for more children.  I desired a large and loud family.    

And my husband and I were on our way to that, until I walked into the breast care doctors office on February 28th.  That day I learned I had stage two breast cancer.  Estrogen positive. Progesterone positive.  Her-2 positive.  

From May 2011 to October 2012, I received chemotherapy.  I was told to be on birth control because a fetus would suffer dire consequences (deformities or death) if I got pregnant during my chemo.  After that, I was supposed to take tamoxifen, the drug that would decrease my levels of progesterone and estrogen, for five years.  

I was angry.  I mean, real angry.  It is isn't the right way to deal with things, but I put God on the "silent treatment."  I couldn't believe He had just given me my dreams, a new and young family, and then allowed me to be sick.  Allowed for me to be only able to watch my children play from my spot on the couch or hear their giggles down the hall from under my bedcovers. My husband had to do almost all the work parenting our babes, and I certainly wasn't being the mother I had dreamed to be.
I worried about not seeing children off to their first days of kindergarten, or whether they would remember me if I suddenly got a serious infection and died. (Morbid, yes.  But it is a reality for some.  I met a young woman and spent every Friday with her for months, as we lounged, talked and slept during treatments.  I saw her one week, and attended her funeral the next. Reality.  It hits, and hit me hard when she died.)
I was angry with God.  Because He gave me this calling to be a mother.  He instilled in me a desire to take care of children.  And here I was, laid up, barely able to take care of myself, worrying about leaving children motherless.  And even after chemo was finished my doctor's advice was not to have more pregnancies, because a pregnancy would increase the hormones that helped my specific type of cancer to grow.
I lost my breasts,my hair, and the ability for more children. Honestly, I grieved the loss of another pregnancy, or another biological baby, more than any other part of the cancer situation.   Some days I was bitter, other days I was depressed.
At that time, anyone would have said that that anger, the sadness, the disappointment was justified.

Here's the deal though- God has a purpose for everything.  And in the midst of a cancer diagnosis/ treatment, it is sure hard to see a silver lining.  It's easy to see that loss, and be hopeless.
Here's what God did for me: He gave me more children.  He didn't let my dream of a big family die.  After all, He had given me this calling.  He had placed the longing in my heart.  But He had more in store for me than I could have imagined, or planned for.
In 2013, a beautiful dark haired girl was born miles away and without my knowledge, but four days later a social worker carried her into my home.  Almost a year later, a judge declared her my daughter, as if I had given birth to her.  And I had loved her as if she was of my flesh since the moment she entered my life. 

The following month, I learned that I was pregnant.  Despite what doctors had advised, my husband and I were once again, excited for this new life.  Sadly a few weeks later, my child entered into the Heavenly realm before making her appearance on earth.  We grieved.  I cried from a deep inner pain that I never knew women felt with the loss of a miscarriage. 

 But my grieving was interrupted within a month when our last son was born, hours from our home, but with every one of his immediate family members at the hospital to meet him.  I watched him breathe his first breath and cry his first cry.  And I realized that THIS family, the one God created just for me, was my satisfied longing that I had held in my heart all my life.

Cancer didn't mess with my purpose, and it couldn't hold me back from being who I was made to be.  Cancer was just a detour that beautifully lead me to my destination.  Cancer created the urgency in my heart to adopt, and because of that, we were licensed foster parents in just the right time to take in our youngest daughter, and then her younger brother.  

Today, I am a mother to four wild, loud, God-loving children. And one precious child who lives in Heaven with our God, waiting for her Momma to come hold her in her arms for the first time.  

I can appreciate that my calling, my purpose, is the same here as it will be in Heaven. 

A Mother.

And if I get cancer again, I will better understand that it can't rob me of me. I won't childishly put God into the silent treatment.  I will be able thank Him for what He has taken and made good. 

My family is choosing to homeschool

I begin to write this blog with some trepidation.  A little bit of fear.

But Dan and I have decided that for next year, and many years after, our children will be homeschooled.

The curriculum is bought, a homeschool room is in the works, and this momma has been doing a lot of  reading...my husband would say, a lot of BUYING things, also.  :)

And although I am somewhat scared to begin this journey- who wouldn't be?  The success and failure of your precious children's learning is now solely on my shoulders! Ahh!- I have become very excited.  Looking at P's kindergarten curriculum and all the activities I will get to share with him that I know are right up his alley...and teaching A's US history course and incorporating my beloved American Girl book collection in with the readings... is FUN!

If you know me, you know that I LOVE our community.  Our town is a little slice of Heaven in my eyes.  And our school district is top notch.
So when people ask why we've chosen to homeschool, I think some either believe I dont like the public school system or that we've had some very big problem with something at the school A attended for kindergarten and first grade.
That simply isn't the case.  Her teacher was AMAZING and so loving last year and really helped her work through some vision issues that she had in the last part of the year, while she was patching her eye.
I dont have a great answer for why we are choosing this path.  The best I can give is that while I have had confidence in our schools in town, I also believe that my family would work best as a family unit united in the home setting.  I have run from the idea of homeschooling for over a year, because it seems SCARY.  I am not the most organized woman by nature.  I can imagine sibling wars throughout the day.  Will my kids become unsocialized, and not know how to be in the public setting? And what if my children dont learn well from me?

This homeschooling idea has been with me for several years.  I think it is a great system for families and provides so much freedom to teach what and how is best for the individual child.
That being said, it totally isn't feasible for some families where both parents need to {or want to} work... or for single parents.  Im lucky enough to not be in those categories.

BUT... I have also been eagerly planning the day when all my kids were in school, and I could pick up a part time job.  {I think Dan and I will always dream of a time when we aren't living paycheck to paycheck, depending on God to come through for our finances to all add up each month...But maybe thats the point.  We are SUPPOSED to depend on God to provide, right?!  Anyway, I digress....}

The homeschooling idea has followed me and several times this year when Alayna has struggled with self esteem/ insecurities, I have thought to myself, "Wouldn't this have been easier if she were just homeschooled?"
E.g. Since Alayna has a (very) lazy eye and poor vision, we've been working on different methods to help her.  Last year, we dilated her strong eye for three months, which didnt help at all, perhaps made things worse.  This year we are patching the good eye to strengthen the lazy eye.  Alayna, who generally has a very sensitive, slightly self conscious personality wanted to stay home when she first had to wear the patch.  She was afraid the boys would be mean to her.  But that weekend that we began the patches, I waited to see how she would feel about putting the patch on for church.  She put it on without hesitation.  When I asked her how she felt about going to church that day, she said, "I dont care. No one at church will make fun of me.  Everyone there knows Jesus and is nice."

Be still my beating heart.

I believe that our kids will thrive in a Christian environment, where Jesus is praised throughout the day,  and not stuffed into a box they can't open until they get outside school doors.

I think God has been telling me to homeschool, I have been running away from the responsibility.  And yet, God has chased me down, and finally, now, I am doing my best to listen and obey.

{And my little idea of obtaining a part time job has already panned out.  I am now providing daycare for the sweetest  little baby, and earning just a little extra for the family fun money.  So God is providing again...Trust in Him, and just watch what happens, folks. }

Since I have made the decision to teach my kids at home, I have grown this huge excitement for it.  And that nasty thing called fear is slipping away.  

{So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you and with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10}

These days are just slipping away

As my two year old sat in her chair with an apple in hand and Jake and the Neverland Pirates on the tv, I crept quietly into my little boy's nursery.
I crawled into the room, and stayed next to side of his crib for several minutes.  And I stared at this beauty as he slept.  Breathing in and out with rosy cheeks and a bit of sweat dampened hair flattened to his head.

And then I started crying.

Because this boy, our fourth child, is IT.

He is the last baby I will watch sleep peacefully in a crib.

His ga-ga-ga's and dada-das are the last that will be babbled in this home.

Today, he began pulling himself up onto the couch (reaching for the xbox controller, of course).  That will be the last time I witness my child pull himself up for the first time.

And soon my husband and I will experience our last first steps, and our last first birthday.

Many days, when the day is in full speed ahead mode, I forget about how sweet these days are.  And that is the real tragedy of our current culture.  We have so many plans, are part of so many activities, own so many things that need cleaned, have long to do lists, and we never SLOW down.

It still feels like last month that my beautiful first princess came silently into the world, but she is nearing the end of her 1st grade year, her hair is longer than mine EVER has been, she is signed up for tumbling and soccer for the summer, she stomps down halls and slams doors like the best of them, she is sweet and caring and brutal and sassy all wrapped into one.

And it seriously seems like last week that we got three frantic calls (we missed the first two) at 4 am on a Sunday, and quickly woke, dressed and loaded 3 small kiddos in the minivan for a two hour ride to meet their baby brother.

Their baby brother.  The BABY of our family.

And though I cry today, and will cry probably 77 times 7 more times throughout this parenting journey at our children's "firsts"...and their "lasts," I am sure that this is right.  We were meant for these babies, and we are not intended to be parents to another newborn again.  So sure, that 24 hours after P was born, I had my tubes tied.  THAT sure, folks.

When I am knees deep in laundry, diapers and bottles, I silently wish that the kids were grown, potty trained, and able to raid the food cupboard on their own.

But not today.  Today was the last time I witnessed one of my children pulling themselves up.
And I am wishing time would slow down and that my baby would stay a baby forever.

THE JOY IN THE MY FAMILY' S JOURNEY

This post is an explanation for why my family chooses to celebrate days that are important and joyous to our family.  (As if I should really need to write a blog about the topic.)

I had several people bring to my attention a local blog written this week: a blog many could identify was written indirectly referencing my family, and stating a belief that “Gotcha Days” or the anniversary date of an adoption finalization should not be celebrated.

Since my family just celebrated the first year “Gotcha Day” for Gia and just two days later, finalized the adoption of Phoenix, we have gotten some attention around the subject.  As an adoption advocate, or hell, even an adoptive parent, a person should be happy when he/she sees a local family finalizing an adoption- a child becoming part of a family.  Adoption advocates, especially, should take pleasure in children finding a loving forever family.

(Wolves in sheepskins, folks.  The Bible warns about them.)

The blogger states that celebrating "Gotcha Day” (as in the anniversary of the day a child was officially adopted into a family) is insensitive to the birth families.  

{Shaking my head here...  And unintentionally adding an eye roll}

As a foster mother, I cared for my beautiful G since she was 4 days old.  I sat through many court proceedings and foster care meetings.  I was present at every family team meeting and even supervised visits with birth mom.  I built a relationship with my children's birth mom.  I know her favorite color, her birthday, what her hopes are for her biological children, what she likes to do on her free time, where she was born and intimate details and medical history of her family.  I can’t honestly say that I dont resent some of the things she did to my daughter, but I still legitimately care for this woman.  

At the courthouse on the date in which her parental rights were terminated, I sat in the back row, holding our daughter, and fought the lump in my throat.  My heart broke for her as I witnessed her lose the right to watch this beauty grow to a toddler, a school aged child and then into a woman.  My heart just broke.  And when I look back on that day, I still feel those emotions as strong as I did that day.  

And we dont and will never celebrate that day.  That day was a day of loss.

But months later, as I professed my love to a judge, and vowed to care for this little girl for all of her life, I felt JOY.

And JOY is to be celebrated.  

Every adoption, just like every family, is different.  What works for some, doesn’t always work for others.  Our family includes biological children and to call the anniversary of a child's adoption "Family Day" or a "Family Birthday" is absurd.  We already had a family and to call it something similar to that would be so inconsiderate and demeaning to our biological children.  (BTW, I believe my family started when I got married.  Children are not the only determining factor of "family.")
And as for birth families and their feelings: Our children’s birth mother lost her parental rights long before we became our children’s legal parents.   Her loss was experienced prior to our daughter becoming an “official" member of our family.  
I have heard that birthdays are often the most difficult for birth parents… Does that mean we should not celebrate the child’s birthday?  I hope that sounds ridiculous to you.  

Because in the end, I signed up to care for and do everything in my power to better the lives of these CHILDREN.  That is my job, and I will rejoice in doing it.   I will not dial down my joy because someone far away may have a gut check as I celebrate.  
I would hope a birth parent can, in even a small sense, find satisfaction that I love the child whom once was theirs, so, so, SO much that I celebrate when she/ he became mine.  

There is brokenness with adoption.  And if you search for it, you can find a way to twist anything into a negative light.  I refuse to do so.  
I seek JOY and LOVE and that is what I hope to pass down to my children.  

I dont want to teach them to seek offense by reflecting my actions.  I dont want to point out the “wrong” with any and every situation.  Because I do not want them to grow up to see the world that way. 

In my home, the phrase, "Be the Light" is often spoken, repeated, prayed for.  Im raising my kids to be a positive reflection of the kindness of Jesus Christ...I am trying extremely hard to make this an important virtue that my children learn.

As a Christian, the day I became a part of Gods family, a day I was adopted into the Kingdom, I believe God rejoiced.  There was celebration up in there. God was smiling as He said, "Gotcha!"  And as our adoptions are an earthly reflection of what that looks like, I am gonna party it up, celebrate, have cake and sing a song on April 1 and April 3 for forevermore.

So what Im saying is: Celebrate what is good.  Celebrate when there is JOY. 

And if you can’t do that, and if you see the world only as offensive or if you waste time on getting caught up on what we should call “Gotcha Day,” “Family Day,” or “Adoption Day” then just keep your thoughts to yourself and dont try to steal my family’s/children’s joy.  

Oh.  One last thing.  

To this blogger and anyone else who worries about not celebrating "Gotcha Days" or worries about what to call these days: I will be praying for you.  Because true importance is not held within the title of the day, but of the love and joy that is shared.

Your children deserve to live the joys.   

Especially when there is so much joy in the journey.

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY NEW SON

Dear Phoenix,

My beautiful brown eyed baby boy.

Let me tell you how I heard about you coming to our family, how I knew you were coming to this world.

Let me tell you how God spoke to me, almost continuously for months, telling me to prepare for a son...


I can remember just knowing that we would be having another son.  I dont know how to describe this in the most "correct" way.  Forgive me.  I didnt audibly hear God say those words.  Instead, I feel like those words were placed in my heart.  After I believe I understood, I started telling my good friend, Shelly and your daddy.  I told them I just KNEW that we were going to adopt again, and this next child would be a boy.  I also had a good idea, that you would be G's biological brother.
I started telling them this in November of 2013.  They both listened, believed that I believed it, but none of us thought that you were actually already on your way. 

{But it is amazing that while you were barely a seed in the womb of your birth mom, you were also a seed planted in my heart by God.}

After this, I started getting signs of a Phoenix.  I saw the word Phoenix everywhere I went, every time I turned on the tv, each time I opened a book or turned on the radio.  Again, I didnt audibly hear God say, "You shall name this son, Phoenix."  But I understood that all these signs were telling me just that.  So, by December, in my heart, I knew that I would be having a son and I was to name him Phoenix.  Again, I saw these signs so continuously that they overwhelmed me and I told my friend and Daddy about them almost everyday.

I literally couldn't go a day without several things reminding me about this son that was to be named Phoenix.  One morning, Daddy was in the shower,  and this thought of you was so heavy on my heart and mind as I walked into the bathroom, that I got down on my knees on the bathroom rug and just prayed to God, "Lord, I hear you.  I understand what you are telling me.  I need you to start speaking to Dan, so he understands too. "  This was a silent plea. Daddy didnt hear me speak this prayer.  But God surely did.
Almost a minute later, Daddy asked me to turn on his Pandora app on his phone so he could listen to music while he showered.  When I turned it on, immediately came on with an ad for the University of Phoenix. 
I laughed a little and told your dad that God was speaking to him too. 

In January of 2014, we had a court hearing for your sister, where we saw your birth mother, and also heard that her parental rights were terminated, making G eligible to be adopted by us.  We loved her so, and were happy to know that she would now be able to be a part of our family forever. 
When we got into the van from the court hearing, I buckled up, looked at Daddy and asked, "Are you ready for another one?  Another one is coming.  A boy."  He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "We dont need to talk about this right now."
Your birth mother hadn't appeared pregnant that day.  And to be honest, I wasn't looking at her in order to see if she was pregnant.  But you being so close in proximity to me that afternoon, I must have felt your presence.  Because I once again, started thinking of this son that God had promised me.

Two months later your birth mother contacted us, and let us know you were about five and half months along and that you were a boy.  I cried.  THIS WAS WHO GOD WAS TELLING ME ABOUT!  YOU!!

I talked to our pastor about this.  And I struggled with the significance of this Phoenix bird.  I knew the ancient greek mythology about the bird who burst into flames, and with its death another bird is born.    But my pastor confirmed that it was also an ancient Christian symbol of the resurrection. 

When you were born early on a Sunday morning, June 29th, you were dubbed Phoenix Aguilera.  I would have felt as though I was truly disobeying God if you had been named anything other than Phoenix.

{And boy, have we loved you so much ever since!} 

Technically, legally, we should have been able to adopt you after you lived with us for 6 months.  We should have been able to adopt you near the end of December or early January.  But there was a big problem, unexplainably, by the State releasing your birth certificate to us.  And so finally after over a month struggling to retrieve that document, we have it and were given an adoption date. 
April 3.
At first, I was disappointed.  Why so far out?  I thought we could get a date within a few weeks.  We did with G.  Before I went back to the attorney to ask if there was something sooner, I pulled out my daily planner. 
April 3 2015.  Good Friday.  The day this year, we celebrate Christ's death for us and His resurrection.
I knew then that this day was perfect for you.  

Also...
Dear little Phoenix, your daddy and I have made the decision to change your middle name.  The name we once believed was honoring to your birth mother, we now feel, may not have such a positive effect for you.  Since my talk with our Pastor Ben, before your birth, I have felt that your middle name should be James.  I thought at the time it was because of the Book of James in the Bible.
Now that we are nearing your adoption date, and making that final decision to what your name will forever be, I have looked more into the name of James.
Its meaning: the supplanter.  SUPPLANTER??  What does that mean?  So I went to the dictionary.  
Supplant: to replace one thing with another. 
Well, Mr. Phoenix.  Isn't that a theme in your world, even just at 9 months old.  This symbol of renewal.

Honey, I dont know what all this means for you. 
But I think God is going to do big things with you.  He typically does, when He foretells a son's birth to his mother.  :)

Love,
Your (forever) Mommy

Too attached

I am no foster care "pro."  Heck, we were barely in the system before being able to adopt and fulfill our family size limit placed on us by the Iowa Department of Human Services' requirements.

{We had few placements before our baby G came to us, and then her biological brother, P.  

And maybe someday when our littles are not "littles" anymore, we might dive back into the foster care world.}

But we've heard (Gosh, sometimes we STILL hear) the question, "How can you foster, knowing what they've been through, and let them go back to their parents?  Dont you get too attached?" 

Or a person, while just contemplating foster care with me, saying, "I can't do it.  I would get too attached."

RIGHT.  

Thats the point.

I never expected that my heart wouldn't become broken when we got our foster parenting license.  Our hearts break over the things that break the heart of God.  I expected it.

Poverty.  Abuse (in various forms). Neglect.  Drug Use.  

Things we never want our kids to experience.  I am absolutely one hundred percent positive that the children coming through our front doors with black garbage bags of clothes and personal items will have experienced at least ONE of those things, probably several.  

And we slowly put together pieces of a broken child.  And surely, we become attached.  We form bonds.  We love.   And during those bonding experiences, we are keenly aware that this may not last forever, and this child may be leaving us forever.

But thats our job as foster parents.  

Because we could become biological/ adoptive parents to a beautiful little girl, and find out she has cancer at three precious years old.  Would we worry about getting attached through rounds of painful chemotherapy for our precious angel, because we could lose her to her Heavenly Father?

That seems silly, right? 

{I sure hope it does.}

We would grow even more attached than we probably would have if she had been a "normal" child running the halls of a preschool.  Even more so, we would cherish all the little moments, we would make memories now, and not wait years to go to Disneyland.  We would sleep at her bedside, and hope to teach her everything she needs to know about Jesus.  We would hold her hand, and kiss her forehead and never let her doubt the love (and attachment) we have for her. 

So why wouldn't we do the same for any other child that we could hold in our arms for only a short time?  

Why wouldn't we give all the hugs we have time for, all the words of affirmation, all the bible stories we can muster, to a child that may be leaving us to go to another place?  

Surely, our hearts will be broken.  Personally, my heart is broken for foster children BEFORE they are placed into their foster home.  But a child leaving, no matter what the circumstances, is hard.  Undeniably.  

But if you, as the foster parent, made just an ounce of positive difference, in the life of a child, you have succeeded.  I can with certainty say that no current or previous foster parent has ever said, "I wish I hadn't gotten so attached to that child."  We wonder where they've gone.  We google their names or their parents' names.  We Facebook stalk to catch glimpses of them as they grow.  We pray for them.  And we still love them and the memories we created.

Too attached?   I think there is no such thing.  A broken heart?  Yep, sure, for awhile.  But there is something about a heart, that keeps beating, keeps functioning, even after a loss.  And that heart probably has enough to give more to the next child who walks in your door.    

This time of year

Ugh...This time of year.  February and March.
There is no doubt that near the end of February every year, I reflect back on that one day.  That afternoon.  Sitting in a breast care doctor's office.  Wondering why everyone kept apologizing for my wait.  I had hardly been there 10 minutes.  They were acting...suspicious.
But still...I wasn't ready for what I heard in that office, sitting alone.  When I heard the word "cancer", my ears turned off and my mind started reeling.  I dont know much more of what the doctor told me after that.  I somehow, in the midst of his announcement, asked if I could call my husband.  My nurse ushered me into her office, and I struggled to get ahold of Dan on his cell phone, so then proceeded to call all the supervisors numbers that I knew in his office.  When I finally got him on the phone, I couldn't even tell him the word, "cancer".  I just asked if he would please come to the breast care doctors office.
And then he came.
I know I had been crying.  I couldn't help but think that I might die.  I had no idea how long I had had this lump.  Had it traveled to other parts of me?  Where else was in it in my body?  How long did I have??  My kids were young.  One and two years old.  Would I see them grow up? None of these words came out my mouth.
I was numb.  Shock.  I guess thats what you would call it.

Dan walked into the nurses office, looked at me and asked, "What is wrong, honey?"  I then started to break down, and knew words weren't going to come.  I choked out to the nurse, "Please, you tell him."
She proceeded to tell him what the lab results had confirmed.  Explained to him our next steps.  Made an appointment for an MRI that week, a surgery within three weeks.

Thats where we were on FEBRUARY 28th 2011.

Four years ago.

And March 24th, I was being wheeled away from my family in a hospital in Des Moines, about to enter into a 7 hour surgery to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.
March 27th 2011, I was home and three days later I turned 28.  With drainage tubes, scars and pain killers.  But also with a beautiful one and two year old.  Whom I couldn't pick up.  Whom I couldn't hold.  Whom I couldn't rock to sleep or lift into bed.  With a husband who had to look at this new body, and realize this was the future.  This was forever the woman whom he would love, even minus parts of her that he, also, had loved.
It was a sad time.  Not that I always felt sad.  I really didnt at the time.  The pain killers and numbness really were in control of my emotions.

Fast forward.

Two years later, April 11, in a hospital in Mason City, was born a beautiful black haired, brown eyed baby girl... while I sat at a kindergarten informational meeting at SouthEast elementary.
I knew my life was changing on that day- my oldest was going to become a kindergartener.  Thats serious stuff, guys.
But I didnt know that my youngest daughter was being born.
Four days later, she was carried into our home, so tiny in her carseat, and my heart stopped.
On February 28th, of the next year, we were sitting around the table with an adoption worker, finalizing the details to adopt our little G.  And then the worker slipped out some information, immediately knowing that he had made a mistake.  G's mom was pregnant again.

February 28th, 2014, we first heard the news of our coming son.  {Three years after receiving other life altering news. }

This year on April 1st, we will celebrate one year of G being an official Aguilera. One year ago, we finally got to share our love for this little girl with the world.
Two days after her first Gotcha Day, we will be back in the courtroom.  This time, adopting her little brother.
How GOOD is this time of year?!
Yep.  Four years ago, this time of year was full of pain, fear and some suffering.

BUT...
Now and forever more, it is a time of celebration.

AMEN to that!

 

A blog from 2010

I recently went back to a blog, mostly a private journal for myself that I started in 2009.
And I found this entry dated 2/23/10
"ADOPTION
This is the beginning of probably many posts in our family's quest to adopt one or two more children to add to our family. We know that this is going to be a long process, so we are taking it slow, and just starting to talk about it.
I have wanted to adopt since I was probably 16 and had learned of the extreme poverty and large numbers of orphans in Africa. It always makes my "heart swell" (one of my famous sayings) when I see what I believe is an adoptive family.  Reading and reading about poverty (primarily in Ethiopia, Nicaragua, and now Haiti) I am broken hearted. There is so much that I wish that I could do, but know that I alone can not do. 
I have committed my heart to be a mother and a wife. But never has this committment been to my own biological children alone. I have so much love to give and have always wanted to adopt, primarily internationally. 
Finding a partner that would choose to do this with me, and see the need to give children love and security regardless of their heritage, is a blessing.
Dan and I have agreed that we will adopt and start the process when we have a new, larger home. Once that home is found, we will start the paperwork and proceed with a home study. 
I am excited."

I smile at the changes that have occurred since that post.  I am happy God put it in our hearts to adopt.  I am humored by what we thought that process would look like, when God clearly had other plans.
Now in 2015, we have four children, two of whom came to us in the last two years via adoption.
I can say with 100% certainty that our family is done adding children biologically.  But I can not say for sure that our family is finished and that we won't adopt again.
I no longer feel this unsatisfied need for another child.  I don't long to add to my crew to fulfill some feeling inside of me.  But I am very aware that there is a need and a desire for thousands of children in America, a desire to be part of a family.
So I am working on my role in that.  Im trying to be obedient to God, and give where I can give.