Snuggle Time

I’m at home getting sick baby snuggles and so arrives a new naptime narrative as my drowsy darlings snooze their sneezes away.

Three babies in three years … If I were younger, I’d keep going until I had a little football team and a little cheerleading squad all under one roof. Not really, but I do love my time at home with my little ones. They are fresh, innocent, fragile, tough, loving, playful, unique and fun, fun, fun.

We wanted children. Our marriage was full of so much love. We prayed for babies. Kevin wanted three; I wanted two. God had a plan for our lives so we didn’t sweat the small stuff – number of babies. We joked about it and tried to be patient. Kevin was more relaxed about it than I was.

Did we get what we want? I honestly have no idea. I do believe with all of my heart that we have what our Heavenly Daddy wanted us to have – even if I can’t define it.  Some moments I let people assume we have two children. Most often I say we have one in heaven and two hanging out with us and that we’re thankful for them all. I’m Ok with my lack of understanding of the “whys” of life.  I don’t ask why. I trust and obey. I know He always answers when I call. I know He comforts me when I’m scared and meets me at the door – every time I knock, or whisper, or pass out from exhaustion. He forgives me before I realize what I did wrong. He loves me SO BIG as we say all the time in our house these days.

Our Heavenly Daddy was and is in every detail – the wanting, the waiting, our imperfectly perfectly designed babies. God made room. We had no idea our oldest would worship at Jesus’ feet from his Day One on earth or that our second and third would light up our lives the way they have. You never know – that’s why it’s called hindsight. And hindsight may be 20/20 but only if you slow down enough to focus on it. Otherwise we speed up – rushing to the next step, the next accomplishment, the next earthly success.

The Christmas season is the perfect time to slow down because our culture and sin mindset try to make us prepare so much for every part of Christmas – except worshiping Christ.

Christmas is just days away. Gifts? Trees? Parties? Budgets? Time? Santa? Rudolph? No. Christ. The third of the Trinity made human – born a baby, adored by kings, conceived by The Holy Ghost. Why would anyone make up a story like that? Why would the people who hung out with Jesus the most die before they would say the resurrection wasn’t real? Maybe because they experienced it. Maybe because it happened. Maybe because they were changed. (Passive voice because it happened to them. They didn’t do it. It happened to them.) Gabriel changed me. It happened to me. I’m his mama. See what I mean?

I’ve been on the right side of arguments many times – especially back when I was a newspaper editor upholding the responsibility of freedom of speech – but I wouldn’t have knowingly died for that principle. If my life was on the line and I knew it, I would’ve agreed to disagree and moved on knowing I was right but not caring that the other guys also thought they were right. Not so for those guys who hung out with JC. He’s a game changer. And we have his rulebook. And we – we meaning people who live after his death and resurrection – we – get stressed over tinsel and toys and time management. Please. Lord Jesus come quickly. Thank you for forgiving us of the sneaky sins that steal our hearts and heads away from you.

Back to reality. Oh, there goes gravity. (What? I had access to a radio – at least a dozen years ago anyway.)

A lot has happened since I last gathered my scattered thoughts. We had a wonderful visit with the Bonus Parents, and together celebrated my 40^th birthday, enjoyed Thanksgiving, baptized Charlie and ate lots of good food. Oh, and I busted my pelvic joint somehow – reread three babies in three years—and have a condition called SPD, which may as well stand for Serious Pain Downthere even though the medical community calls it symphysis pubic dysfunction. I’m down with SPD – yeah you know me. (Second and final bad rap song reference).

Everyone has a pelvic bone. You don’t appreciate how it holds your legs and hips in place until you make it mad. Mine was mad – like rabid dog mad. Like The Godfather mad. Like some of you normally sane people in real life who can’t resist making political comments on Facebook mad. We’re talking lightning strike intensity, a jumbo jet of pressure on a tiny bone that has just moved aside to let a watermelon of love (baby) eject nearby.  So the morning after delivering Charlie I told my doctor, “It hurts to lie on my side.” He said, “Don’t lie on your side. You just had a baby.” I said, “Wow, you drink a lot of Red Bull.” He said, “Are we doing the circumcision today or tomorrow?” I said, “Today. Let’s get outta here.”  We left the hospital about six hours later making our stay 24 hours or less.

While this is not a particularly interesting conversation to relate, it is important because it was the first of MANY times over the next three months that I failed to accurately describe, explain, acknowledge, discuss, admit, reveal – clearly communicate – my pain to anyone in the medical profession. In fact, it took Kevin having beer with an out of town friend who happens to be in physical therapy before I even saw someone who could remotely help me address this pain. Pelvic floors: men have them; women have them. If you don’t know you have one, you don’t have a problem with yours. Nuff said.

Eventually, here’s what I learned: SPD is what happens when the joints that hold your pelvic bone in place – seriously?!!! – loosen during delivery to the point where they don’t tighten back after delivery. This causes “instability” and “pain” in the pelvic joint. Ya think? Ya think having your hip bone connected to your leg bone connected to your pelvic bone which is now just floating along under your intestines and above your pelvic floor would cause “instability.” Thank you Google. This is why we no longer talk.

Also, if you remember the song you learned in preschool about all those bones being connected, you’ll know the song ends with, “Now hear the word of the Lord”. There is a reason for this. The author of that song no doubt was a woman who had lots of babies and had a rubber band or two of joints fail her causing her to praise the Lord for the human body’s miraculous nature.  Not really; I jest. In truth, the 1928 Delta Rhythm Boys song was a reference to Ezekiel 37: 1-14 when the prophet, well, prophesies that the dead will one day rise again at the command of the Lord. “Them bones, them bones, them dry bones … gonna walk around.”

God was begging me to rest, and I was begging to differ.

Two weeks after delivering Charlie I started pulling weeds in the back flower beds. Those weeds had taunted me throughout my pregnancy and finally I could destroy them properly. Roots and all. My favorite kind of exercise is exercise hidden inside a tangible accomplishment. And adding fresh air, screened windows, and sleeping babies in 2.5 hour stretches and I could get a lot done.  I wanted to return to my pre-pregnancy persona ASAP. I had Charlie’s schedule in harmony with Dorothy’s, so I planned feats of real estate genius and physical accomplishments in record time. All for selfish reasons. Vanity. Pride. Delusion. Pick a sin, I was ready to roll around in it like when my lab Sammy finds a really good stinky spot for wallowing. But instead….

Heavenly Daddy drew me closer to Him. Lean on me, Lee. Slow down. Don’t rush this time.  It’s not about you or your body or your job. I ignored His plea and pushed onward, hurting (literally) myself more when I tried to do more than my body would withstand. He raised His voice to a calm but steady command. I ignored Him again. Soon I was unable to lift Charlie’s car seat, push a stroller, walk up stairs, or hold a gallon of milk in front of me – the pressure of holding anything that tilted my floating bones forward was virtually unbearable. My physical therapist said I was among the top 5 or 6 worst patients – wait no, I mean patient with the worst condition – that she had seen. The one who was the very worst was in a car accident and a metal object shattered her pelvic joint causing trauma. She was the worst. I have a freakishly high pain threshold so I was confused, physically tired, and unable to really communicate clearly because the pain was so distracting. My savior was not confused. He wanted me to be a Mary not a Martha. (Luke 10:38). I eventually “got it.” Today, just shy of four months after Charlie was born, I am through physical therapy – something you can start at 6 weeks post partum by the way – and I wear a belt holding my hips in place if I’m not horizontal. I’m so so so so so so so much better.

I say all of this not for a “woe is me” moment. I say it because you never know what people are dealing with on the inside – literally and figuratively.  The pain spiked the very worst the weekend we baptized Charlie, appropriately the Sunday after Thanksgiving. Boy, are we thankful. No literally – for this boy we are SO THANKFUL.

I’ll elaborate because who’s going to stop me?

At Charlie’s baptism, we stood up in front of our church congregation and looked like normal people. I was wearing a medical belt to try to stabilize my skeletal frame and I was in flats because my PT said wearing heels would’ve put me in a wheelchair. I picked up Dorothy and held her while Kevin held Charlie. We looked normal. That was among the only 10 minutes I stood up that day. I left with the kids before the sermon began. Also not strange because two under 2 are wiggly and wild and not necessarily front row fit.

The night before Charlie’s baptism, we got news that broke our hearts. The six-year-old daughter of a Memphis family was now in Jesus’ arms. She had been battling a fatal brain disease. She left behind one healthy sister and one sister who also has the same disease. She left behind a family that believes in God before and after the diagnosis.

Kevin and I – about 2:30 am that morning – prayed for peace in their suffering. We surrendered our children to the Lord (again). We surrendered ourselves (again). We surrendered our finances (again). We surrendered all the things we hold dear that are of this world. We cried. We thanked Him for the hard things. Then we prayed specifically for the friends we’ve made since becoming Kee. They have sick children; they have failing marriages; they are sexual abuse survivors; they are addicted to bad things; they are addicted to good things; they are addicted to distracting things; they are riddled with cancer; they are overcoming adultery; they are battling their demons; they long to be married; they yearn for more children, for any children, for clarity from Christ. They look normal. They dress normal. They suffer inside and share their hearts with people who open up to them and we are SO thankful for their friendships – both casual and close. I’ve learned everyone has a something, a suffering. It doesn’t have to be physical, visible, tangible, explainable…. But a Christian who truly believes does suffer. I’m not being dramatic; I’m being honest. It’s in the handbook. Look it up. All that stuff, concealed in so much normalness – is known to our Heavenly Daddy and it’s placed in our paths to bring us closer to Him. I’ve probably said it before but someone told me you’re always either moving closer to God or moving farther away from Him and that’s so true.

I cried during most of the baptism, not because of Gabriel, not because I was in pain, not because I was sad for the Memphis family’s crushing loss, but because God was, and is, with us. He is with us. He is in us. He is for us. And I know that. So I cried because we were acknowledging that truth at our home church, with our loved ones in town, with our Sunday School pastor who buried my baby, attended my wedding and sat with his wife at a six-year-old’s funeral. God was so with us in that sanctuary. Charlie was quiet enough for our congregation to be able to sing “Jesus Loves Me” at the end of the sweet, sweet experience.

We have a new lead/senior pastor at our church. We’ve spoken a couple of times but nothing major. It’s a big church. He happened to be there that Sunday and stood in the huddle that prays with the family of newly baptized little ones. I wanted literally to reach out, grab his arm, look him in the eyes and tell him one thing: get to know the people here. Not all the people, but a few of the people here. Pick a very small few and be there for them. Really get to know them. Deeply. Find a trusted handful of fellow journeymen and women and enter their lives. You’ll never know all 2,000 of us but you can be there for a solid few and your heart, ministry, and purpose will stay centered from there. Slowly. Not meticulously. Organically. Honestly.

That conversation didn’t happen because there was only small talk time, family picture time, baby fluffing time, well wishing time and me trying to use Charlie as a human barrier to hugging or standing – two things that might snap me in half for good. You know, normal church stuff.

I wanted to tell the new pastor that unsolicited advice because Kevin and I love – and receive love from – the people of our church. We only know a handful of them and some better than others, but there’s a propensity to be open and honest at our church – at least that’s been our experience over the last 6 or 7 years. Where’s your husband today? Rehab. Months ago, that was a verbatim conversation Kevin had with someone in our Sunday School class who had an empty seat beside her one day. Three immediately great things about this 1) she was comfortable with Kevin and, therefore, honest 2) we hadn’t already heard about it from gossip (a most pervasive sin in churches) and 3) she was standing by her man. Praise the Lord for this family and her faith. She is not alone.

Emmanuel. God is with us. No, really, that’s what Emmanuel means. “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” (origins in an 8^th century Gregorian chant). Do you know what Noel means? We sing “The First Noel” (written in 1823), and I can feel out a tiny section of it on the piano – one childlike keystroke at a time. “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” (16^th century). Do you know what that means? More Christ. These are other songs are the background soundtrack this time of year and the lyrics are imprinted on our memories. But memorization is not learning. I’m 40 and I’m still learning. I’m still leaning. I’m still resisting. I’m still regrouping. Emmanuel. He loved me first. He loved you first. He is love.

I don’t know whether I’ll update this blog again. I do know I’ll love and I’ll lose and I’ll praise our Heavenly Daddy through every bit of it. I don’t know how my Life of Lee story ends, or when. Maybe I’ll chronicle the funny things my healthy (manna for the day) children will do. Maybe I’ll keep that private. I don’t know. My overriding prayer for my children is that they know and love our Lord. Please pray that with me. Thank the Lord I don’t have to have answers now – for the small or the very, very large questions.

So like my sneezy, sleepy babies collapse on my shoulder in surrendering snuggles, I’ll try try try to slow down and lean on Him. My heart is sick – thanks Eve, I mean an apple, really? – my mind wanders, but I’m so so so much better after I snuggle with my Father. I pray you all feel that feeling this season and, at least for a nanosecond, every single day. Love, Lee

Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel (which means, God with us). – Matthew 1:23 

Charles in Charge - of our days and our nights

Praise our Heavenly Daddy for the safe arrival of Charles Davidson Holt born August 24 at 11:15 am. Charlie was 7 pounds 10 ounces and 20.25 inches. His name comes from both sides of our families, and we are deeply thankful. Charlie, my sunny-side up son, is home and healthy. My doctor and our pediatrician are awesome. I am healing. Kevin is beyond stalwart and patient. Dorothy is being doted on by both sets of grandparents. All is well. All is not quiet, but all is well.

We have only this moment, and we cherish it. Manna for the day.  Our hearts are bursting with love. Thank you everyone.  Your pound cake- lasagna-wine love is our favorite. We are deeply, personally grateful. We feel you being the hands and feet of Christ.

Speaking of hands and feet, that’s exactly the disease (hand, foot and mouth) Dorothy came down with one week before delivery. I wish I could say I handled it well. But I was scared. The days before delivery always scare me. My prayerful friends and family pulled us through, and by the grace of God, Charlie is healthy thus far. He turned one week today.

We are so thankful. So thankful. Every gurgle. Every diaper. Every sweet scream. Yes, Father, we thank you. We praise you. Thank you for this precious gift. We know our children are yours, and they are simply on loan to us. Thank you for letting us love Charlie and Dorothy on earth – showing a tiny, imperfect reflection of your immeasurable love for us. Thank you for holding Gabriel in your arms. Tight and safe.

When I was stressing about germs, a friend sent me this email shortly after Dorothy’s highly contagious diagnosis: “We will pray for you. This will be a great week for your family… Dorothy will get better, and your baby boy will arrive. Your Heavenly Father loves your children more than you can imagine. Trust Him.”

Trust Him. With everyone and everything.

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord. And he worshiped the Lord there. – 1 Samuel 1:27-28

Sweet 16

Today marks two years since sweet Gabriel was healed in heaven by our creator, our good good God. Two years … and the last week I’ve been extremely emotional. But as my Heavenly Daddy always does, He gave me peace today. Tears, sure, but also peace, and a ton of love. Love from family, friends, our phenomenal real estate office – everywhere we looked we were met with love. I didn’t leave the house today but God showered us with love right at our doorstep.

We received a framed print of Gabriel’s day gown and bonnet – both made by dear friends. I literally had to cover my face with both hands I was crying so hard.  Beneath it reads my favorite scripture for Gabriel: “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” – 1^st Corinthians 13:12.

Dorothy also made today sweet. Early this morning she “went bang” – a fairly common occurrence during these wobbly wayward pre-toddler days – but this time even though she was being comforted by Kevin, she looked at me and cried out, “Mama! Mama!”  Those were the first words I heard this morning, and it framed my day with joy and gratitude. (She’s babbled it before but not with a sense of purpose and direction about it. Precious, cherished timing.)

I am actually Mama to three babies. Kevin and I are pregnant again – due August 30. Nine weeks is too soon to tell people, of course, so here I am saying it anyway and asking for your prayers for a healthy baby and gentle pregnancy. Dorothy is a middle child now even though she won’t meet her big brother until she arrives in heaven one day – Lord willing. She’ll be a Sweet 16 months apart from her younger sibling. We pray our third baby is healthy and has a heart for our Heavenly Daddy. We pray that every one we know grows to love our Lord and seek Him first. I also pray for Jesus to come back right now – this moment – and right every wrong in an instant.

We praise Him for this day. This January 25, 2016. This moment. This family of five with three on earth, one in heaven and one in a womb with a fresh heart beat, beat, beating. We are a family yearn, yearn, yearning. Meanwhile, friends get cancer; other babies die; marriages struggle; and entitlement abounds in our selfish, sinful hearts. People try to cling to everything within their own power – refusing to cry out to the one entity with all power, all truth, all light. And He’s standing there. Standing at your bedroom door hoping you’ll shout – just once – “Daddy! Daddy! Fix it.” Please cry out to Him when you “go bang.” He longs to hear you call Him by name – with intention. He’ll wrap you in His eternal care if only you cry out.

 “And he said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.’” – Revelation 21:6 

No way; no how

Where to start? Dorothy was baptized in a beautiful service in September. It meant the world to us.  It was such a high having friends and family from near and far honor God with us and pledge to raise her as best we can to know the Lord our God. My friend, Christian, made Dorothy’s gown from lace she had used in Gabriel’s day gown he was buried in. So special. We celebrated God’s covenant relationship with us. She turned six months old on the 29^th of October. We celebrated.

Then two days later, I cried so hard at a friend’s father's visitation that I couldn’t stay for the funeral. I spoke to my friend, her husband, and her newly widowed mother, and then the thought of her father running into Gabriel in heaven stopped me in my tracks. It made me seek out the nearest bathroom for tissues, then the closest exit to escape because I couldn’t control my crying. That’s not helpful to anyone.

Her family held it together, and I couldn’t. I wanted my boy. I knew I couldn’t have that, so I wanted to tell the widow that her husband raised incredible kids and that, if it wasn’t too much trouble, I’d appreciate it if he’d check in on my son every now and then to make sure he’s OK. You can’t say that. You can’t say that to anyone.

I’ve been to one funeral and three visitations since Gabriel met Jesus. I’m not good at them because heaven is real.  I have yet to participate in one without a full-sized sob fest in the car afterward. It’s the same thing every time:  those departed Christians might happen to run into Gabriel at the feet of Jesus and that makes me miss him with an unbearable freshness. I’m jealous of dead people – spoken in my best creepy kid voice from the movie The Sixth Sense…. What?  Not really, of course, but it’s because I know death isn’t the end of life for Christians. It’s the beginning of an eternity of bliss and wholeness.

Lord Jesus, come quickly! I mean it when I say that would fix everything. Everything.

I have never had a suicidal thought, and I never will. I believe in God’s timeline for everyone’s life, and I am on board with His protection and plan for me.  (Growing up, my dad, who influenced me in more ways than I can count, fairly often would say, “If you ever find me dead and they say it’s suicide, you check it out.  You check everything out because it’s a set up. That would never happen. No way; no how. You check it out and keep checking it out until you find out who did it.” Strange to hear as a young child – Dad has zero enemies, of course, but comforting to know he was solid and would always be there for me if it was left up to him. We talked about everything at seemingly age appropriate times so this wasn’t earth-shattering to me.)

Today marks two years since Gabriel’s fatal diagnosis was confirmed by the specialist.  Two years since a friend sent me a text of John 14:27 that read: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” I try to cling to that promise every day. Sometimes I pray it back to God. I think He probably likes hearing His words spoken back to Him. A wise woman once told me that, and I like the notion.

Contrast that with the joy I feel in virtually every minute with Dorothy. Her smiles, her eyes, her focus, her snuggles, her squeals, her frog hops, her innocent dependence.  She is the best baby. We have so much fun together. She’s THAT good.

The greater the sorrow you experience, the deeper the capacity for joy – raw joy and raw pain. That won’t make sense unless you’ve known great sorrow. It makes the little things that trip people up – make them complain – it makes those things evaporate. It doesn’t make me a nice person all the time, but it does make me cut some slack to the idiots in the world who honestly don’t know any better. They probably don’t know God and they probably don’t know loss, so they don’t know not to sweat the small stuff.

What is the small stuff?

Turns out it’s almost everything. It’s where your kid goes to school: small. (Took me a long time to realize that one. And I still struggle with it.) It’s how much money you make: small.  It’s where you live or don’t live: small. It’s whether you dress well or don’t: small. It’s ALL small stuff. If you wake up in the morning, you praise God for that moment – that day in all its messy imperfection. I’m not saying don’t save for a good school, or care how you invest your time and energy – God gave us brains to use them – but to worry or dread or fear for the future is a total waste of time, and it’s disrespectful to the One who created time. It also robs you of your potential to find the joy within today. The things happening in front of you that deserve your attention. 

So what’s big? I believe the most important thing you can do for your child is teach them to have a heart for the Lord. Let them know there is someone they can count on and that they are not alone in this world. Give them God. The rest will work itself out.  Kevin and I just read Meg Meeker’s book “Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters,” and it is a must read if you have a daughter of any age.

So I stay at home with my little one. I hold her tight. I read her “The Jesus Storybook Bible” aloud; we’ve made it through four or five times now. I thank God for Kevin and his good health and Dorothy’s good health and my good health. I thank him all the time. I thank him for Gabriel. I leak tears randomly; I rebuke the Devil; and I praise my Heavenly Daddy.  I strive to be more present in the present. (I even went back in time, technology-wise and got a flip phone so Dorothy will know I am interested in her, not the Internet.)

Some days after Dorothy’s baptism I was driving down Yates in no particular hurry, so I pulled into Memorial Park to visit Gabriel’s grave on a pleasant fall day. I never plan to visit but when I’m in the area I stop by from time to time. After that I was driving home on Walnut Grove, and it started to rain. The sun still beamed brightly but it also was 100% raining. For me, that’s how joy and grief live together in the same heart. That’s what my Heavenly Daddy chose for me before the beginning of time and I embrace it. I practice living with it. I learn how to say things to strangers without crying just like I did today while out with my parents. “She’s my second child. Her big brother is in heaven, and we’re excited she’s hanging out with us here on earth. We are incredibly thankful.”

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.  – Hebrews 10:23

Windows and Wonder - Dorothy Ruth Holt

It’s surreal to be writing this. I started this blog to heal, to remember and to satisfy curiosity so I wouldn’t have to tell the same story of sadness, pain and hope over and over again. And now this post, this post, only contains joy, fullness, and hope affirmed over and over again. Crazy. But our Heavenly Daddy’s plan is crazy. And full of wonder and awe.

Dorothy Ruth Holt arrived April 29, 2015 weighing 7 pounds 2 ounces and stretching 20.75 inches. It was 12:52 pm. Our doctor said she’d arrive during his lunch break and he was right. We induced a little after 39 weeks at his recommendation.

She arrived healthy. I wept. I had a smile on my face while I wept but the tears leaked out all the same. Labor was great – only 35 minutes of pushing – thanks to the inducement and the epidural and our doctor’s experience and expertise. I thought of Gabriel so much during the hours beforehand. Last time, we didn’t monitor Gabe’s heartbeat audibly because no one wanted me to hear at what point it stopped during his delivery. This time we heard and tracked Dorothy’s heartbeat. A couple times during the inducement, her heart rate dropped, and the nurse put me on oxygen. I concentrated on breathing and staying calm, and I had Kevin monitor the monitor – ha – the actual radar thing that showed the number of beats per minute her tiny heart was making. At one point, very close to the actual labor part, her heart rate plummeted and I hit the emergency nurse call button. I began shaking uncontrollably – very appropriate since I had no control over anything. We never have control over anything. We just have the illusion of control brought on by our worldly assumptions, the can-do attitude our loved ones instill us with, and the self-sustaining mentality we possess as the species at the top of the food chain. It’s not our fault; it’s how we’re wired.  We just have to be aware of it and give credit – control – where it’s due. (Hint: it’s not us.)

She was fine. Healthy babies always take a dive in heart rate right before the actual pushing begins. My friend, Christian, had told me that and my brain knew it but my fearful heart couldn’t stop my one-person earthquake. I was holding the side railing of the hospital bed to try to steady myself. I had to be on my side because the epidural was causing more numbness in one side than the other side so they wanted to even things out. And somehow the side position also got more oxygen to little girl and therefore regulated her heartbeat better. I have no idea. Again, I was the lab rat, everyone else was the expert. Kevin was the rock of strength, love and support – as always.

So she arrived. Dorothy Ruth Holt. Kevin cut the cord. She came out “clean” and our doctor said he couldn’t do his normal joke: “She must be a Packers fan because of all that cheese.” (This reveals a HUGE clue as to our doctor’s identity because he is a HUGE Green Bay Packers fan.)

She is named Dorothy for Kevin’s grandmother, who will be 99 in July. As you know, she is sharp as a tack. After Christmas dinner this year, Kevin gave her a picture frame when all the Holts and Bonus Sister’s family were gathered together. The frame read: 

A Tale of Two Dorothy Holts

May our baby girl have your generous heart, contagious optimism and enthusiasm for life. We honor you. Pray she grows into a woman who is like you in every way! We love you! Love, Kevin & Lee * Christmas 2014

We captured it on video. Grandmum cried. It was so sweet. We can’t wait for them to meet in person!

At a shower in New Jersey, Bonus Sister told me the origin of the name Dorothy. It’s Greek and means “gift from God.” Appropriate. God has such a sense of humor and purpose. She is a gift from our Heavenly Daddy. So was Gabriel. It’s in Psalm 139 which is SO APPLICABLE TO OUR DAILY LIVES I CAN’T HELP BUT USE COMPUTER YELLING TO SAY IT. Sorry. Not sorry. Look it up. Hug it. Love it. Dorothy does not and will not and cannot replace Gabriel. She is unique. He is unique. We will see them both in heaven for all eternity. Thank you Heavenly Daddy for that promise.

Her middle name is Ruth. It’s more Biblical than family related. Ruth was a woman of extreme loyalty and conviction and strength – all traits we pray our sweet girl possesses. There’s so much I could say about the hospital stay, the beautiful insanity of breastfeeding, the depth of love you find in a newborn’s eyes. And more. And more. Instead I will say that God worked on my pride in a big way those first two weeks.

She wouldn’t latch. Every seven or so hours we’d have a new nurse offer the ONLY way to be successful and it wouldn’t work. Shift change: miracle promised. No dice. Shift change. Definitely do this. Definitely do NOT do that exact same thing. Just quit. Here’s some free stuff. Just quit. Never quit. Quitting is the same thing as giving your child obesity, cancer and allergies all at once. But first she’ll probably dehydrate and you’ll have to put her back in the hospital. What? Um, the real miracle is that my blood pressure didn’t go up with all the well meaning helpers hovering. And then there was the one who didn’t speak English clearly. She ended up being my favorite because you can say more through quiet compassion than you can using words. She was the best. For real. Shift change.

(Side note: I also missed Gabriel SO MUCH during that post-delivery hospital stay. The physical pain reminded me of him so much because that’s the same pain I experienced with him. This time I had a beautiful, bright-eyed, alert, awe-inspiring little girl in my arms but – but – the pain was what I knew of Gabe. And oh how I missed him. Oh, how I wondered what his face would have looked like on earth. Would he have Dorothy’s lips? Or eyes? Or size? I know his hair was a similar color because I have his lock of love tucked safely away at home. But the rest I won’t know from this side of  heaven. One day, I will.) 

We made it home. My parents had stocked our home with food, flowers, and every imaginable practical aid. My Bonus Mom had made sure we got a pump – something I was sure I wouldn’t really need. “Wrong-o round eyes” as my father used to always tell me. He also used to say, “You’re entitled to your own ridiculous opinion.” Yep. I needed the pump. So grateful Bonus Mom got it for us.

For the first two weeks, I pumped and fed her through a syringe and a guard. Girl friends were – and continue to be – awesome in their help, food, guidance, wisdom, compassion and love. There’s also a TN breastfeeding hotline available 24/7 that I called three times. Those folks literally saved me mere hours before some ignorant decisions on my part would have made the journey so much harder to take.  Pride, pride, pride – there it goes. My prayer quickly changed from “I’d like X, Y and Z to happen” to “Whatever you want, Lord; let it happen. Give me guidance. Give me guidance. Seriously, just tell me what to do. Make it so clear because I’m toast without your direction.” 

Mastitis. I had it for three days before I called my doctor because the internet said wait for flu-like symptoms. Well, I’ve never had the flu so I thought chills, night sweats and extreme exhaustion were a normal part of having a newborn. Then day four, the body (I can no longer call it my body, it’s just the body) turned against me and told me it was past time to call the doctor. Mommy-to-be readers, call me with ANY questions. ANY questions. Experience is the only way to, well, experience this and you can avoid painful (I mean literally intensely painful) mistakes by asking questions.

Breastfeeding can be sweet when it works. But it takes time to work. Conversely, women who choose not to feed that way shouldn’t be called quitters. They should be called “doers of what’s best for their baby” either to reduce depression (baby blues) or be able to nourish their baby (low supply) or whatever else unpredictable occurs. I was fortunate not to run into those things (72 5 oz bags tumble around in our freezer), but I want any formula mama out there to know that I’m not judging. No one but the mom can decide what works for her baby. Nuff said.

Somehow another two weeks went by. Dorothy is a rock star at being a baby. She sleeps 6-7 hours at night, nurses every 4 or so hours during the day, doesn’t fuss, and is simply precious. She is a good baby. She loves her Daddy. Kevin is the BEST father on the planet. He’s kept the house together, me together, real estate together and still finds time to play the piano for his new girl. He is smitten. He covers her in kisses. He is the best swaddle-er. He is the best. We knew that but it’s so fun to see him with his arms full of fresh love. If she is in the Guinness Book of World Records for Earliest Smile, it will be because of the gigantic smile she gets from her Daddy every second he is around her. Love, love, love, love, love watching their relationship flourish and unfold.

Thank you to everyone who brought food, words of encouragement, and prayers. Prayers and prayers. Thank you, thank you. My world works in windows now, as I call the hours between feedings. The windows are often short but we’re establishing a decent pattern, it seems. I know that could all change in an instant as she grows in spurts and stuff. I’ll say “and stuff” so this post won’t haunt me when things change drastically. The other thing that’s changed is my complete inability to respond to people in a timely manner. I used to be Lightning Lee and now I have one priority in life – family. That’s God first, then Kevin, then Dorothy. Dorothy is a full-time, round-the-clock commitment, which means I have to make extra sure to pray first (ie talk to God constantly) and make a cognizant decision and concerted effort to keep Kevin my first (earthly) priority. After all, Kevin is the reason I wanted children, and he’s the glue in our collage of craziness.

It took me a month plus to be able to write this. It took 45 minutes once I had the 45 minutes it required, but it took a month to get the time to write it. So if you text and I don’t answer quickly, we are still friends. You just have to wait for a window. Know that I’m nursing and praying and praising the Lord – for Gabriel and Dorothy and Kevin and our extended family and our friends and everyone else we love and know.

I can never be short-winded with these things. But I just want to remember. I want to always remember. Also, as my Heavenly Daddy continues to draw me closer to Him, I see this verse in a whole new light now. Could you willingly, purposefully give up something you love for the sake of others? Not just some THING but someone? Not just someone but your only child? Soak it in. Soak it in like Epsom salt. Then keep asking questions if you don’t get it because this – this, my friends – is the every thing in everything – the beginning and the end – He is the I AM.

For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but shall have eternal life. – John 3:16

The Greatest Love

Love:  it’s more than donuts and bacon, although – in my experience – those tend to play a role in every successful marriage. Love is putting the other person first. That’s what God did when he sent His only son to die for our sins and grant us grace-filled eternal life. It’s such a radical thing to say. But if you look into it and believe it, you can bet your life on it. God possesses the greatest love possible. Period. God IS love. One day when Christ returns and the new heavens and new earth are created “all sad things will be untrue.” I don’t remember who said that, but I love it. I cradle that thought more carefully than I do the last crumb of donut.

I felt like I should do an update, so what better time than Valentine’s Day? January came and went –  hard. We embraced, honored and cried through Gabriel’s first anniversary in heaven, his birthday, his Glory Day on Jan. 25, a Sunday. It was so hard. Harder than I had imagined it would be. But we were dearly loved that day too. A friend brought us a good pound of bacon and homemade pimento cheese. Kevin and I visited Gabriel’s grave to see that he has a new “neighbor” – so new that the bunny placed atop the tiny rectangle of fresh dirt hadn’t been rained on yet, and it was definitely going to rain that dreary day. We went to church. I did the ugly cry during the sermon and left before Sunday school class. Two Spirit-filled friends caught up with me when I tried to sneak out during the final hymn. Two hugs later, I was better although far from composed. Hugs mean so much. I’ve said it a thousand times, but words aren’t important – making the effort to be present with someone is. The people who remembered that day and weekend mean everything to us.

We are less than 12 weeks from our due date with Baby Girl Holt. My nesting is in full flutter. I’m not used to my healthily expanding belly and keep running into things. Sometimes it looks more like leaning into things, really, things like doors, because my balance is a little off. I’m now the person that gets a polite tap on the shoulder at parties when people want to pass a narrow space that I’m unaware I’m blocking. It used to be people would squeeze by or I’d instinctively move out of the way. Now I am a construction zone, and people slow down and proceed with caution.

I’m happy; I’m sad. I miss Gabriel. I cherish the current health of our baby girl. Kevin is wonderful. He cooks a lot more, and I eat a lot more. Everything is working. Every part of me is clinging to the gospel truth especially when I get afraid. Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone – not because we love each other – or the one you’re with – but because He loved us first, best, and always. Thank you, Lord, for loving us enough to give us your Word, your Son, and hope. Precious things are these.

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Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. – 1 John 4:7-10

Rainbow Bright

Dec. 4 – I’ve learned a couple of words that have brought me comfort in this new world I’m living in. A “shadow baby” is someone else’s healthy baby born near what would have been your Heaven-sent baby’s due date. That healthy baby casts a similar shadow of growth, life and development that yours would have cast had he or she stayed on earth.  We have four of them:  two boys, a girl and another precious girl who isn’t healthy but is here and is dearly loved.

I also learned that we are having a “rainbow baby” – a term for our own baby on the way following a miscarriage or infant loss. God gave Noah a rainbow after the flood. That’s why. God gave us a rainbow baby and we’re nearly 19 weeks along – almost halfway if I looked at it through normal people’s eyes. But I don’t. I look at it through tear-stained but Light-seeking eyes. One-day-at- a-time eyes. Grateful eyes. I can get way off the path but I’m blessed to have faithful friends who point me back time and time again.

I tried to put on makeup before going to the doctor’s office Thursday morning to get our 18.5 week ultrasound, the one that would tell us whether Baby No. 2 would travel the same road as Gabriel. But my leaky eyes kept cutting through the powder making it a futile attempt.  (I gave up on mascara about a year ago. Duh.) Kevin prayed. I prayed. We prayed together. We got countless texts from friends who were praying as we drove to the doctor’s office.

 Our rainbow baby.  Is. Healthy. Today. Normally I find all caps and single word sentences annoying but after that ultrasound, I could only text most friends one word: “Healthy.” That’s all they needed to know; all they’d been praying to know. Relief, gratitude, praise to my Heavenly Daddy. Then shock, then relief again. Then stillness and quiet. That’s how it went down in my tired body. Kevin and I sat in the car together after the appointment was over. Kevin had to do the talking telling the good news over the phone to his parents, his sister and my parents. I texted my sister and some more friends. Still quiet. Still absorbing.

Every day I enter a “new phase” with baby No. 2 I think about Gabriel and this season last year and what was happening then. I haven’t even written in my daily journal since we found out we’re pregnant this second time. Day after day of looking back at what was happening last year would have been too painful to re-live. I hope now I’ll pick it up and get back into it.

Thursday we also found out it’s a girl. Kevin is – and I will be once the shock of “healthy” wears off – SO excited about having a girl. She’s growing right on track with our due date, which is still Cinco de Mayo. I’m exhausted right now but once I get some sleep, hopefully, I can think about a nursery. I wouldn’t let myself mentally go there prior to this appointment.

Not that clearing this hurdle is any kind of guarantee, but it is nice to see history not repeat itself – at least in that specific way. God is faithful. He gets it and I don’t have to. I rest in that. And I rest in Kevin’s kind arms, literally. When we pulled out of the doctor’s office, he was already to the giddy excited part. “I’m going to read ‘Strong Fathers, Strong Daughters,’ and I’m going to learn ballroom dancing so I can teach it to her,” he said matter-of-factly.  I cried again.

I don’t know if Kevin is learning the difference between my happy tears and my sad ones but he comforts me through them all and that’s what counts. Our Rainbow Bright is so mightily, uniquely, wonderfully made. (Psalm 139).  Gabriel was perfectly made too. For real, look it up. It’s in there! We praise God for him, for her, for this opportunity, for this day, this moment. Even for the ability to share it. Keep praising. Keep praying.  Keep giving others grace and space to be. I guarantee they’re going through something that your gentle and generous grace can help soothe.

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And God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations:  I have set my (rain)bow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh. –  Genesis 9:12-15