Little Steps, Big Places

The boys have started walking! When I think back to last summer I remember their tiny little bodies sleeping in their huge cribs. They seemed to be so small and their cribs seemed to be so big! Now I watch them sleeping in their room at night and I can’t believe how they've changed. I am convinced they get bigger every day. The length of their skinny bodies now takes up over half of the length of their crib. Their beds now seem tiny in comparison.

I catch myself referring to them as babies. Yet, they are not. We are now parents of toddlers. I can no longer cradle and rock them in the nook of my left arm. It takes two arms and some serious strength to hold these strong-willed and curious little boys. Their world no longer resides in the lap of their mother or the arms of their father. Their world has expanded. A year ago, they were swaddled and nestled in their swings. This year, they are walking between the kitchen and the living room. The signs are visible from the trail of diapers they have pulled out of their basket and scattered in the form of a path through the hallway. It would be obvious to any outsider. Little people live here.

Once in a while Taylor still wants to hold my hand as he cruises around. And up until last Sunday, Benjamin wouldn’t go anywhere without a solid grasp on something or someone. Now they walk, albeit not well, anywhere their curiosity will take them. They no longer desire to be in my arms. And while this is a change that brings some sadness as I close out their babyhood, it also brings excitement. I am anxious to see where their little feet take them and, eventually, where God will lead them as well. I know their steps are little, but I’m confident these little feet will take them to big places.

Just me, the road and time (oh...and the babies, dogs and hubby)

What is it about running that can be so addicting? I'm not talking about running on the elliptical. That's working out for the sake of working out. When I run I feel connected to something. Maybe its the world I feel connected to as my feet pound on the gravel roads or maybe it's the push and nudge I feel as the air breathes into my ear "you can do it". I've never felt so good about myself, my family, my God. It all comes together for me out there.

I would like to say it's just me and the road. Or it's time for me to be by myself but the fact of the matter is I have two toddler boys and a busy husband so sometimes (most times) we run as a family.

The kids love it. I mean what's better than being pushed in a stroller, drinking juice and eyeing the deer as we make our way up and down and through our neighborhood. I like to think we are helping to instill in our boys an appreciation for the outdoors, for exercise and, most of all, for family time. I love finishing a tiring jog and looking into the eyes of my tired baby boys. I imagine that they are proud of their mommy.

In high school it was about competitions. There were clear goals when it came to sports. There was a first place and a second and a third. Out on the road there is no one to compete with but myself. There's no excitement that comes from an audience cheering you on. That all rests on my shoulders now. So I've decided that it's time to make the next move. A true runner signs up for races. So here goes. 10k here I come.

These Children Are Not Ours

When was the first time I realized I wasn’t in control of my life? You might think that it came to me when I was in high school and crashed my first car just one week after getting my driver’s license. Or you might think that it came to me when I found Jesus and became a Christian. You even might think I realized this little known fact as I have struggled through depression since my teenage years. While all of these instances could push anyone over the edge, the true turning point for me was my children. And I’m not just speaking about the two boys that are my joy. I am also referring to the third child. The child I lost. The child that is waiting for us in Heaven.

My husband always told me “If you want to make God laugh then tell him your plans.” I always chuckled in response but never let those words sink in. Little did I know how much meaning those words would bring in the years to come. We made our plans: Get pregnant in our 4^th year of marriage. Have a child of our own by our 5^th year. How hard could it really be? We could put the family on hold and whenever WE were ready WE would decide to start our family.

The fourth year came and we started trying. And amazingly enough, we were pregnant on the first try. I thought to myself, this must be God’s plan because it worked out so perfectly. We settled into this pregnancy with ease (or naivety) and began planning for this little child that would change our world. Well, that child did change our world, but not in the way we had hoped. After the loss, I prayed to Jesus to fill my empty womb. I cried. I screamed. And I wallowed in the deep valley of loss. Laura Bush put it best in her autobiography :

“…for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent, ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?”

Just a couple months after the initial loss, I masked my grief through the obsession to get pregnant again. The obsession to conceive took over my life. I did everything I could to gain control again. I changed my diet. I quit exercising. I researched ways to get pregnant faster. I tracked. I temped. I tested and tested and tested. All for naught. I truly felt crazy at times. I felt my world spinning out of control. I thought “If only I could get pregnant again this loss won’t hurt so much.”

I began setting milestones. I felt confident that I would be pregnant by Easter because that would be the perfect plan. What an amazing Easter miracle that would be? Easter came and went. And I cried over the negative pregnancy tests. Then I was sure that I would be pregnant by my first due date. I knew that God had held out because this really would be the perfect time now. It would commemorate the loss of the first baby with the beginning of a new life. How perfect would that be? The due date came and went. And I fell into a deep depression.

It took me almost a year to realize what a fool I had been. All this time I had been fighting for control over my life never relinquishing that control to its rightful owner. I had my so called “perfect” plans. Dates and times that would be perfect in my eyes. But what could be more perfect than God’s plan? If only I could have faith in Him.

Exactly one year from the first pregnancy, I would find myself pregnant again. This time I would realize that this pregnancy was not of my own doing. God had once again entrusted me with His child. My husband and I would be the steward of this life. This child did not belong to us, but was rather a gift.

My first ultrasound appointment was scheduled on the same day as the previous pregnancy one year ago. And I thought "What could be more perfect than that?" And yet, God had even bigger plans because on that day we found out there were two. And, oh, how those words have changed my life. God showed me on that day that He always has a plan. And His plan is always beyond what our human minds can even imagine.